Many of you who have known me for a long time have known that for the past several years, I have taken part in a Paralympic sport called goalball.  It has given me many opportunities to train, compete, and learn lessons both on and off the court that I might not otherwise have encountered.  I have made no secret of my love of the sport.  What I have kept reasonably quiet (apart from my husband, several close friends and family) is that after last week’s Canadian National tournament, I have decided to hang up the jersey and pursue other interests that have gone by the wayside while traveling 8 hours round-trip to practice most weekends.

Almost every year (usually around February), I get sick of the bus trips and make noises about not coming back next year.  Ben has always been supportive, giving me the room to make decisions that would give me such joy, while at great sacrifice to himself.  But this year has been different for several reasons; we both came to what turned out to be an easily-made decision to let it go.  I still enjoy the sport, and that will probably never change.  But (without getting into personal nitty-gritties), the investment of time that I put in is no longer paying sufficient dividends to be worth the cost.

After Nationals, I had the privilege of having a great chat with two wonderful women who have both retired from Parasport.  They will both likely be a great source of encouragement as next year’s season starts and I am not out on the court.  I’ve been told that the first year is often the hardest, because even though there WILL be other things filling my time (friends, family, beading, curling, music), a HUGE part of my life will be gone.

At first, I dreaded giving back my tournament jerseys last weekend.  While it was a bittersweet feeling, it is also freeing in its own way.  I can sleep in on weekends (as much as Jenny will let me), stay up late playing games with friends, go running with my guide runner, take up curling next winter, make cute bracelets and earrings from designs I dream up, sit at the piano and create music or reinterpret old favorites… the possibilities are endless.

Goalball had its time, and for the most part I would say that it’s been worth it.  The lessons I have learned about athleticism, sportsmanship and commitment are invaluable.  But now it’s time for other things – and people – to pour into my life.  Join me on this exciting new journey!

Last week, I wrote a brilliant (or not) blog post on the expectations of my capabilities by extended families which are brought center-stage during the holidays.  This week, I had a conversation on Twitter which brought to mind the idea that many blind people have expectations of our own which are going unmet.

This week, Apple released its Apple Watch, and the blind community was all aflutter because Apple store employees were not familiar with Voiceover (the screen reader software built into IPhones).  Here’s a sample tweet:

Now, should employees know what is pre-loaded onto their devices?  Yes!  I wouldn’t want to buy a computer if I didn’t know if any software was included or what version of Windows it runs.  But perhaps because the blind community can be considered a bit of a small world where everyone knows everyone else), I have seen a lot of flack given to store employees for not instantly knowing about something only a small market share of their customer base rely on.

This is just one example – admittedly not life-threatening – of expectations not being met.  But do we not do the same things sometimes ourselves?  If we’re not treated the “right” way, do we not get offended?  If we are asked questions about how we perform everyday tasks, do we not sometimes sigh heavily in answering the same questions again and again?  If we have a job interview, does our blood not sometimes boil when we are told that we can’t possibly use a computer, and we have to not only describe how we can but act like a trained monkey by demonstrating these skills?

And yet the general public fears what they do not know.  I’ve stated this before, that vision impairment is feared more than death.  So few of us exist that we sometimes need to take a step back and realize that just because WE know 50 other blind people, the general public will seldom encounter us.  Do we have the right to be treated like adults?  Yes!  Do we have the right to be left in peace to go about our shopping, eating, walking, living?  Yes!  Do we have the right to be considered for jobs for which we are qualified without jumping through hoops?  Yes!  But until such point as we are considered humans first and disabilities second, that’s not likely to happen.  So do we not have bigger problems to worry about than weather a high-end brand’s store employees know exactly what this built-in software is, how to activate it, and how to walk people through it?  I think we do…

I have a love/hate relationship with holidays as it comes to family dinners.  Sure, some of this is the result of distant, fractured or toxic family relationships, but I find that holidays tend to bring out the lowered expectations of me as a blind person.  More than once, I have found myself banished from the kitchen because it is “too small” or there are “too many people” or “nothing needs to be done” (even as I notice that everyone else has a role to play in the family dinner).  It is a pretty lonely yet awkward place, because I feel like I am just there to eat; standing up for myself might be problematic because I think I know why this is being done.

Does this come from a good place?  The answer to this is usually “yes.”  No one in their right mind would want a blind family member to cut their fingers while slicing vegetables for a salad, or scrape their  knuckles on the cheese grater.  But these events CAN happen to sighted people, too, so what is the big deal?

I don’t have all the answers about the best way to stand up for myself.  Sure, I could say something, but how do I say it beyond “I’m not a helpless child… give me the potatoes”?  I could invite people over to my house, but the last time that happened, the entire family took over my kitchen and it didn’t even feel like mine anymore.

The end result of lowered expectations in a family setting does, unfortunately, perpetuate a problematic dynamic in which the blind family member(s) are viewed as less than competent in other ways, too.  If we are incapable of slicing carrots or boiling soup, then there is no way we can be viewed as competent employees, students, parents, or spouses.

Are there things we do not succeed at?  Of course!  But that in general has little or nothing to do with lack of sight.  It is most likely due to our experiences, desires, or shared humanity.  Mistakes happen, so let us make them, and don’t think of us as less-than-capable, especially the next time you slice your finger open while cutting a carrot.