What blindness looks like for me!!


An Afternoon Reflection from a Totally Blind Advocate

I am totally blind.
I have no natural eyes.

That sentence alone often carries assumptions for people who can see. Many imagine darkness. Emptiness. Nothingness.

But my experience of blindness is not empty—and it is not dark in the way people often think.

In my inner world, what I call my mind’s eye, there is color.

This is not something that happened overnight. After losing my eyes, my experience began with small sparks and scattered spots of color. Blues here. Browns there. Fleeting flashes that didn’t yet have meaning. Over time, especially after my right eye was removed in 2016, those inner sensations became more frequent, more fluid, and more emotionally connected.

My brain adapted.
It learned a new language.

Today, that language showed itself again in a way that felt especially clear.

After a quiet nap this afternoon, while resting and listening to stories on my phone, my inner world shifted. The deep orange that often accompanies connection and activity softened. A pinkish purple appeared briefly—gentle, calm, reflective. Then it gradually deepened into a warm, vivid hot pink, with small yellow clouds drifting through it like light threads.

This shift didn’t come from effort.
It came from rest.

It came while listening to stories about people dedicating themselves to community, creativity, and inclusion—especially for people with disabilities and developmental differences. Hearing about people showing up consistently, month after month, with care and intention, added to that warmth and depth.

There was also affirmation today. I learned that I received a conversational badge on Facebook for starting engaging conversations and creating meaningful content—on both my personal profile and my disability advocacy page. Both pages have professional mode turned on, high reach, and strong engagement.

That recognition mattered—but not because of numbers.

It mattered because it reflected connection.

The hot pink didn’t arrive because of validation alone. It arrived because of a combination of rest, meaning, shared values, storytelling, and knowing that my voice reaches others in ways that matter.

The yellow clouds drifting through it felt like clarity, lightness, and joy—present, but not overwhelming.

These colors are not something I see.

They are something I experience.

They respond to emotion, to connection, to responsibility, to rest, and to purpose. They move with my day the way sight once organized the world for me—except now, they organize feeling, meaning, and presence.

This is what blindness looks like for me.

Not darkness.
Not emptiness.
Not absence.

But color shaped by emotion.
Rest shaped by safety.
Joy shaped by connection.
And purpose shaped by advocacy.

Every blind person’s experience is different.
This one is mine.

 

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