"You don't let it limit you"

"She hasn't let blindness limit her." This statement was recently written about me in an article that appeared in the local newspaper. A few days later, someone spoke the same words to me while discussing a potential speaking engagement: "You haven't let blindness limit you." I have been mulling over the statement since then, trying to understand why it bothers me. Some of my friends and colleagues who have disabilities would not be so bothered by the words. In fact, they would agree wholeheartedly that the statement portrays a chosen approach toward life with disability: facing it head on instead of letting it determine the course of one's life.

My experience of disability does not generally revolve around these choices. There are frustrations associated with disability and the barriers it erects in my life; but to say that I don't let it limit me implies that I might entertain such an option. Generally this kind of statement has more to do with the speaker's thoughts about himself than it does about whatever expectations he has of me; but the implication that is not stated is that I am, to his surprise, better because I have not done what he would expect himself to do. The remaining assumption is that I always did it with a positive attitude.

When I was attending training with my third dog guide, a decision had been made that students getting successor dogs would not have to walk through a particular route. I was very happy because the route had a steep hill and at this point in my life I had begun to suffer the effects of arthritis in my left ankle. Unfortunately, I was paired with a new student; and my instructor decided that I should walk the route with her. I protested; but he asked me to do it once and said that he was sure I could take it.

Walking down the long blocks, the other student dropped behind and needed help with her dog. The trainer dropped back to work with her, and I continued ahead. I trudged up the hill, my ankle throbbing mercilessly. If I had been anywhere else, I would have turned and gone home. But it would have been as far to go back as it was to finish the route. I wished I could just sit down and cry. Of course, I couldn't. I needed to complete the route with the other student. So I walked--and cried.

Life with disability is not always upbeat and inspirational. When I get up in the morning, I have a big to-do list of things that need my attention that day. When I applied to seminary, I didn't think, "I won't let blindness (or migraines or anything else) limit me in doing this. I thought, "I am called to do this. I must commit myself to the task and see it through." And I walked ... and sometimes cried--not only because of blindness but because of many other life circumstances as well. Sometimes I knew much better how to live with blindness than I knew how to live with other things that were raising barriers in my life.