Tag Archives: Adjustment

Blindness Isn’t Black or White

The Foundation Fighting Blindness has launched acontroversial campaign encouraging sighted people to blindfold themselves for a short time to see what it’s like to be blind. Most blind people I know are vehemently opposed to this idea. I am no exception. It’s however not because simulation is wrong by definition.

First, simulating disability is often seen as fundamentally wrong by the disabled. The reason is that you don’t know what it’s like to live your entire life or the rest of your life with a disability by putting on a blindfold, sitting in a wheelchair or trying out other disability simulations. You will be able to take off your simulated disability when you’re done with it, after all.

Though I mostly agree with this, I can see how simulation can be useful for relatives of someone with a disability to learn to understand the alternative ways in which the disabled accomplish everyday tasks. They will also experience, though to a lesser degree, the obstacles people with disabilities encounter as they use these alternative techniques. For example, when I was at my country’s blindness rehabilitation center in 2005, my parents tried to put jelly on a slice of bread while blindfolded. My mother and I made a mess, while my father didn’t. Then again, he noticed as he took off his blindfold that he’d placed the can of jelly, the butter, the bread etc. all around his own plate. In a similar way, sitting in a wheelchair can help able-bodied people understand the need for ramps.

However, by experiencing “disability” for a short while, you will not experience the systemic societal oppression that comes with being in the minority position of being disabled. You will not experience the psychological and social impacts of disability. You will not have time to adjust, but then again, you won’t need to have time to adjust.

Another problem specifically with blindfolding to see what it’s like to be blind, is that blindness comes in many forms. (I’m sure there are analogous explanations of this for other disabilities. For example, most wheelchair users can walk a short distance. However, since blindness is what I know best, I’ll go with that.) Blindness, in other words, isn’t black-or-white. Only a small percentage of people who are blind have always been totally blind (with no light perception) or went totally blind (with no light perception) in an instant at one point in their lives.

Most people have at least some viison, whether that be useful or not. Many people who say they are totally blind, in fact have light perception only. Light perception is the ability to tell whether it’s dark or light. In its most limited form, it is the ability to tell the difference between daylight and nighttime. Light projection is the ability to tell where the light comes from, such as where there are windows in a room. Since both light perception and light projection are measured with the eye doctor’s flashlight, not large sources of light like windows, it is possible to test as having light perception only when you really have some light projection. I am an example of this. When I went to the blindness rehabilitation center, they were initially informed by my doctor that I am totally blind, since in the doctor’s opinion I had no functional vision. I have heard from many people who have experienced true light perception only that indeed this would be the point at which they’d consider themselves completely funcitonally blind. However, this is the reason there’s a difference between functional vision and vision as measured by an ophthalmologist.

However, I always say that I am “blind.” This led to a particularly frustrating experience one time in 2010 or 2011, when I had to undergo oral surgery. One of the doctors or assistants said that I didn’t need a sheet over my eyes because I’m blind anyway. Guess what? Even those with the most limited forms of light perception can be bothered by a bright dentist’s light shining right into their eyes.

Then I didn’t even mention people who are judged to be functionally blind but who do have some very limited but useable vision. I was in this group from age eight till age eighteen. I had very limited color, form and object perception, but my parents and even psychologists working with the blind said I needed to accept the fact that I am blind. Maybe I wouldn’t have had that much trouble with it had they not constantly suggested that blind meant no useable vision. Visual techniques may not be the most efficient in many situations, but that doesn’t mean the vision isn’t there.

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All the Light I Cannot See: Adjusting with Blindness

This month, it’s two years ago that I had my last eye surgery, an attempt at removing a cataract from myleft eye. It was hoped that I’d see a little again – before then, I only had a tiny bit of light perception. Though the surgery was a partial technical success, I gained only very minimal functional improvement. I am still classified as having light perception only.

The adjustment process to my blindness is ongoing. I remember ten years ago when I was at the blindness rehabilitation center, my psychologist, herself blind from birth, telling me I just had to accept the fact that I am blind. I didn’t see myself as low vision anymore – hadn’t fo ryears -, but I still had trouble accepting the fact that i’m essentially completely funcitonally blind.

For those who are coming here from a linky and don’t know my story, I was born three months prematurely in 1986 and developed an eye condition common in preemies. It left me legally blind all my life, but until I was around eight, I had considerable vision that I used everyday. I had some vision beyond light perception until I was seventeen.

Even though I’ve been (almost) totally blind for over ten years now, it’s still hard to accept. I don’t miss the loss of independence as much, as I was never all that independent to begin with. Also, though I lost some independence over the years, it’s more to do with my increasing executive dysfunction than with my blindness. What I miss most, is the loss of appreciation. For example, when I craft, I can no longer see what colors I’m using.

I don’t know for sure that I ever had the abilities that I wish I had. For example, it frustrates me that I cannot add pictures to my blog posts without help, because the requirement of having an image go with every blog post is one of the most 101’ish lessons in blogging. Blogs didn’t exist when I still had considerable vision, so I cannot be sure I was ever able to work pics in blog posts. I do appreciate the help kindly offered to me by some fellow bloggers in checking images for me to make sure they go well with my posts. It is a nuisance though having to constantly ask for help. In this sense, I cannot say I miss the loss of independence, but rather the lack thereof.

Sometimes, I wish I were partially sighted again, even though I cannot even know what I’d be able to do that I cannot now with low vision. After all, like I said, blogs didn’t exist back then and I didn’t do many crafts. IN this sense, I wonder whether I truly wish for myself to be the old, partially sighted me, or for myself to be able to compete on equal footing with sighted people.

This post was inspired by the one-word blog challenge. The choices of words for this week were “shame” and “light”.

Everyday Gyaan

First Steps Towards Independence: Blindness Rehabilitation in 2005

This week on the spin cycle, we’re discussing firsts. Last Friday, I visited a woman I first met at the blindness rehabilitation center in 2005. Another guy we both met there too also came over. This was my first time meeting them since I graduated from the rehabilitation center.

The rehabilitation center experience was quite interesting. I had just graduated from high school two months earlier and didn’t want to go straight to university. So in order to have some practice on my first steps towards independence, I became a resident there four to five days a week for four months.

The program was quite intensive. I had orientation and mobility training, occupational therapy, physical therapy, music, textile arts and handycrafts, as well as three different types of communication training and counseling with a psychologist. I also had vision therapy.

During orientation and mobility training, I learned to plan to go someplace and to travel there effectively using my white cane. I learned to be quite a good cane traveler even though I’d always had trouble using the cane correclty, and still do. After about six weeks at the center, I started using public transportation to go there on Monday and to travel back home on Thursday or Friday. I also learned to travel to and from the local supermarket and to use customer service to get my groceries.

Occupational therapy had several components to it. First, there was the teaching of housekeeping and cooking skills. I didn’t yet master these when I graduated from the center, so went on to live at an independence training home afterwards. Another part of occupational therapy was group-based training in compensating for our visual impairment with our other senses. This, for me, was quite easy in the practical sense, but my social skils difficulties emerged there. There was one great workshop on applying make-up without sight. I loved it.

I also had physical therapy because I have poor posture and had developed mild scoliosis as a result. Physical therapy wasn’t all that effective, because I didn’t practise the exercises out of session.

Vision therapy was very interesting. At first, I had a vision therapist who didn’t acknowledge my admittedly tiny fraction of residual vision. When at one of the communication sills training sessions though, another vision therapist joined the trainer and I arranged for sessions with her. My vision was still virtually non-existent, but I learned a lot about what I could and couldn’t do with it. I also had an opportunity to select NoIR sunglasses that would help me cope better with my light sensitivity. This vision therapist was very patient and thorough in answering my questions. Though in the end my emotional adjustment problems surfaced, which of course she wasn’t trained in dealing with, I did feel very much validated.

Music, textile arts and handycrafts were quite useful too. Though I didn’t practise what I learned there for another few years to come, the instructors there taught me that I could indeed do arts and crafts with no vision. Music wasn’t my cup of tea, so I stopped playing the keyboards after graduating from the center.

The communication skills training sessions were great. I took basic communication skills, assertiveness and communication about your visual impairment. I had one trainer for both basic communication skills and assertiveness and another for the communication about your visual impairment training. The first one was great at letting me see that, if I moved past my anxiety, I could be quite sociable. The second trainer was the one who cooperated with the vision therapist.

Counseling was the least useful bit about the rehabilitation program. The psychologist was blind herself and for one thing didn’t grasp my emotional adjustment issues. She focused on the fact that I had to put non-disabled values into perspective and for example learn to ask for help. Though I did accept this eventually, I still couldn’t cope with the many losses of vision loss. I don’t think a four-month-long rehabilitation program is enough for that anyway, as I still don’t fully accept this ten years on. However, the other problem was we just didn’t click in terms of communication styles. I didn’t open up easily and there just wasn’t enough time in the program for me to work on even just those issues that are due to blindness. I understand that, but the psychologist could’ve refrained from rushing me through a dozen issues.

I was a residential client there even though the rehabilitation center was in my home city. In the evenings, the clients spent lots of time amongst ourselves discussing our rehabilitation process. This was very healing to me. It also was a great opportunity to practise social skills.

Even though my rehabilitation was supposed to be my first step towards independence, I was in many ways at my highest point in terms of independence while there. I don’t like to admit this, since I did learn other sklls in the ten years since. Also, the fact that I didn’t become more self-reliant makes it look like I just need a kick in the pants. In fact, however, the program had lots of one-on-one instruction incorporated, which I can’t get now that I’m a mental patient. I still grieve this loss of independence, but this possibly has to do with my adjustment to my psychiatric illness.

The As of My Life

My Interet access got cut off last week due to data overuse. I have a mobile USB modem, similar to a cellphone Internet connection, and until recently had virtually unlimited data use. That was changed to 1GB/month without my knowledge (I’d forgotten to issue an address change). I used this up, plus E100,- in extra data use, within three days and was cut off. Today is the start of a new month, so I have an Internet connection agian, though I have to be very careful not to overuse this time. I obviously switched ISPs, but the new modem won’t be delivered till sometime in the coming week. This is the reason I’ve hardly been online – I published Wednesday’s post while at my husband’s -, and I’ve not been able to catch up with other bloggers much.

You’d think I’d have a ton to write about with a week of Internet-free time. Well, since I get most of my inspiration online, I don’t. Today, I am therefore writing up the ABCs of my life, or at least the As. I got this idea from a post I came across while browsing PoCoLo, a general interest linky. I go with the letter A only because I can’t be motivated to think of something for every letter, and I don’t intend to post a follow-up.

Acceptance: this is a tough one. I strive for and advocate for acceptance of myself, autistics, disabled people in general a lot, but do I accept myself? I honestly don’t think so.

Adjustment: related to acceptance. Adjustment is a constant process, because life constantly changes. You can adjust without accepting the new life situation.

Advocacy: what I do a lot on my blog, but fail to do in daily life. My husband has pushed me to stick up for myself in regards to the difficulties I’m facing in the institution, but I don’t. I fear that I’ll lose my support if I do.

Alters: I still feel them, though not as much as I used to. Maybe they were fake all along. Maybe they’ve gone in hiding, being told they’re fake so much over the past year. I don’t know.

America: not really relevant anymore, but I dreamt of living there when I was a teen. Still sometimes wish I could live in the U.S., but I know I never will.

Autism: that one is obvious, though people around me still like to question it. In this sense I can totally relate to Joanna, who inspired me to write this post.

Autonomy: what I ultimatley strive for. Autonomy means being able to direct your own life. This is not the same as not needing support or care. You can be perfectly autonomous while needing lots of help. What it means is making your own life choices and taking responsibility for them. I really wish the care system, with its mouthful of deinstitutionalization and self-reliance, would help clients on the road to true autonomy.

Always Greener on the Other Side

Another jouranling prompt. This one was meant for kids, and it asks what we mean when we say “The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”. This saying speaks to me and makes me feel quite uncomfortable, because I can definitely relate.

I remember that, when I go to a new place, like anew ward or institution or supported housing or whatever, I’m always optimistic that this will be suitable for me, but I’m very soon disappointed. For example, when I first got to this institution, I felt truly like I’d landed in a cozy place, or as close to it as an institution can get. Within days, however, I heard the staff reprimand the clients for not doing their chores and I was upset at the phrasing: “You guys are the most independent group, the more independent one on this unit.” A few days later, I was further disappointed when my staff insisted I do chores I cannot do. Pretty soon, I wished I’d stayed in the big city institution, and I still wish for that at times.

I have always felt like this. When I came into blindness rheabilitation in 2005, I saw it as a wonderful opportunity to learn sklls and aadjust to my blindness. By the middle of the four-month rehabilitation program, I felt I was lagging horribly behind and hadn’t learned most of the skills I’d wanted to. Same when I came into independence training, the psychiatric institution and every ward I’ve been at since except this one, where I was quickly realizing that it wouldn’t be helping me much.

I read in a paper a few months ago that this thing where “the honeymoon is over” and people start out okay but end up worse after a while, is common in people with borderline personality disorder. I remember in 2007, when I’d only been in the hospital for a few weeks, being told by another patient, who happens to have BPD too, that I need to work on myself, not on changing my environment every so often. I realize this at some level, but at another level, I think: “What do you think I was in training and treatment for all these years? To change the environment? No!” Yet maybe I still look to others to change me, not to myself.

Three Months Since My Eye Surgery

Today it’s exactly three months since my eye surgery. I’m not sure what to think of it, given that it failed in all respects. That is, it did give me clarity about my prognosis, ie. total blindness for the rest of my life, but I’m not sure I’m adjusting ot this well. It constatly strikes me that I don’t really miss stuff that comes naturally to the sighted, like reading or independent mobility, but I do miss stuff that came naturally to me. I don’t wish to become sighted, and this is not even because it’s unrealistic. Becoming a low partial again is equally unrealistic now, and I do grieve that.

About eight years ago, I drafted a few responses to Robert Leslie Newman’s Thought Provokers, which were story-based discussion topics circulating on blindness E-mail lists in the late 1990s and early 2000s. One of the stories was about sight restoration. I just thought of this.

When I was twelve in 1998, my father came up to me with some new research he’d heard about that would allow blind people who had previously had some sight, to see through a computer chip or something like that. They were testing the thing with sighted people at the time and planned on testing it on blind people by about 2005, he said. “So when you’re in college, you might be a participant for the research,” he said. Not only did I not get into college by 2005, but his ideas were likely totally off-base. I have been severely visually impaired my entire life, in 1998 had some useable vision and now have none, and those equipments would most likely not work for my eye condition, since many require a retina to be attached to the back of the eye. At that time, I didn’t think about the research much. I had recently lost some of my vision and was scared of losing more and all I thought was: “By 2005, I won’t be totally blind.” When I originally wrote this comment, I said I wasn’t, but realistically speaking, I was.

I don’t have all the facts, but it seems to me that in 1997 and 1998, there was some hype about the possibility of blind people getting their sight back. I know about blind people like Stevie Wonder wanting to see for a short while, and I think he even had surgery so he might see for a few minutes (I don’t understand the technicalities) a few years back, but I never quite wished that for myself. In a way, this is strange, since I used to be about as poorly adjusted to my blindness as could be, given my situation. However, I’m realistic and I know that artificial vision doesn’t work for me at the moment, and vision for a short while would be useless.

As I looked for the above comment, I came across several other drafts of responses to Thought Provokers. One was about which would be easier: being born blind or losing your sight later in life. Another was about whether losing your sight slowly or fast would be easier. I talked in these posts about grieving the sihgt I had, not the sight I never had. This may seem odd, but when thinking aobut vision loss, I always miss seeing colors and some pictures. I wish, for example, that I could use Pinterest. Oh wait, I never had that ability and if Pinterest had existed in 1998, I wouldn’t have been able to use it. (I remember having tried to use a mouse but failed.) I guess after all what I miss are the things I could enjoy with viiion. I don’t miss reading print because I’m pretty proficient in braille, and I never cared much for independent travel so I don’t miss that either. What I did care for, and still do, are crafts, pictures and colors. Especially colors, and these can’t be repplicated non-visually.

Non-Disabled Standards and Afjustment to a Disability

When in counseling at the blindness rehab center in 2005, the psychologist, herself blind from birth, had me read her college thesis. I don’t remember its exact topic – it was soomething about adjustment to disability -, but I do remember her outlinign stages of becoming aware of nd adjusted to disability:

  1. Adhering to non-disabled standards while not feeling one’s disability is a handicap. This is the stage where a person is mostly unaware of their difference from non-disabled people. People with an acquired disability may not go through this stage – I am not sure whether the psychologist, herslef blind from birth, talked about this -, but congenitally disabled people do, for example, when they’re in special education surroudned by all disabled peers.
  2. Adhering to non-disabled standards while feeling one’s disability is a handicap. This is the stage of becomign aware of one’s difference, but not accepting it and assuming one shuld really be non-disabled.
  3. Putting non-disabled standards into perspective while feeling one’s disability is a handicap. This stage is somewhat of an intermediate stage between non-acceptance and adjustment. I think it can be seen as encompassing the reassessmet and reaffirmation stage and the coping stage in Tuttle’s model. While in this stage, the person acccepts the use of alternative techniques, for example, but still feels their disability makes them somewhat inferior.
  4. Putting non-disabled standards into perspective while not feeling one’s disability is a handicap. This involves self-acceptance as a person with a disability, with an awareness of the way in which one is different but while not seing this as making the person inferior.

I do not remember ever having been unaware of my disability, but my parents tell me that, as a preschooler, I was. I was quite a cheerful child back then. When I was still having the DID diagnosis, my parents assumed the trauma causing it was my having had to go into special education and hence becoming aware of my difference. This is somwhat contrary to my rehab psychologist’s experience, who shared in her thesis that she was mostly naive towards her difference when attending special education.

Stage two is where I was stuck for years or even decades. I was solidly stuck on this stage when I was in rehab. When my mental health conditions forced me to step back and put non-disbled standards into perspective I slowly slided into stage three, but with a twist of overcompensation. I became insistent on accommodations probably a little more than I could expect. I am still not sure whether my emphasis on my difference as a badge of honor, so to speak, is in itself unhealthy. I do think that its masking a sense of inferiority is.

What I am not sure about, is what putting non-disabled standards into perspective means. Can you overemphasize your difference and alienate yourself from non-disabled people? Or are disabled people naturally alienated from the non-disabled through the idea of non-disabled standards. After all, what I see in this stages model, is that the person with a disability is always seen as deviant rather than equal. They adjust to their disabiliy relative to non-disabled standards. Is this really as it should be? From a social model perspective, can we abandon this non-disabled standards paradigm and replace it with ahumand ignity paradigm? If we can, will this make adjustment easier? I will have to think on this.

The Many Losses of Blindness

There are many aspects of blindness a person losing their vision must adjust to. I just found an article describing twenty losses of blindness. These include:

  • Losses in the basic sense of psychological security.
  • Losses in basic skills, such as mobility or techniques of daily living.
  • Losses to communication, such as loss of social adequacy, ease of written and spoken communication.
  • Losses of appreciation, such as loss of physical integrity, visual perception of the pleasurable or beautiful, or loss of confidence in the remaining senses.
  • Losses concerning occupation and financial security.
  • Losses affecting the whole personality, such as loss of independence.

For me, losses in my basic sense of psychological security are common and not just blindness-related. I am not dealing with losses in basic skills at this point, and have never felt a loss in communication. Oh well, I have, but it was easy to adjust to.

Where I really struggle is with loss of appreciation. To be honest, I’d hoped to gain color perception back after surgery. This didn’t happen, and there is no way of compensating for the meaning of colors. After all, they can’t be touched, heard or otherwise non-visually perceived. Having always been quite a visual person, I still have a vivid but decreasing imagination of color, but this actually further reinforces the knowledge that I’ve lost the actual perception of it. I remember in 2004 going to blindness rehab and discussing with my fellow students what we would do if we gained sihgt. Most people said they’d read, travel or otherwise gain independence. I said I’d appreciate the beuaty of the sights around me.

As for losses to occupational or financial security, these have not really been related to blindness in my case. My parents say I would’ve gone into engineering or math if I’d been sighted, but this not at all interests me and never did after the age of around twelve. Whether vision loss contriubted to my loss of interest in math, I do not remember. I did consider career paths, such as in speech and language pathology, that are not suitable for a blind person, but I do not know whether I genuinely wanted to become a speech/language pathologist or just wanted to read up on it in university. What I did lose that somewhat relates to this, is recreation. I still miss not being able to draw, for example. Whether this is a loss of appreciation or a loss of occupation, I do not know.

Lastly, there is the loss of personal independence. I did lose independence skills when I lost vision up until my most recent vision loss ten years ago, but now my dependence is mostly related to my mental health conditions and autism. I have to think further on how this personal independence thing affects the whole personality, as is postulated. I think more is meant than just loss of practical independence, but I’m not sure.

Adjusting to Total Blindness

In his book Freedom for the Blind: The Secret Is Empowerment, James H. Omvig talks in the chapter on emotional adjustment about the importance of discussing blindness intensely and mentioning the word “blind” over and over again. This, according to Omvig, makes blindness part of a blind person’s everyday language and desentiszes the negative connotation of blindness.

I have been practising this desentisization for years, and it has helped me to adjust to my blindness. In 1999, when I transferred from special education into mainstreaming, I made a conscious decision to identify as blind from then on. After all, my tiny bit of residual vision was not going to be relevant amongst all fully sighted peers.

Still, I know that blind does not necessairly mean no visiion at all. In 2005 or 2006, I wrote my Dutch information page on blindness, and one of the FAQs I answered was whether all blind people are completley blind, and I answered it with a clear “No”.

As I’m facing the reality of the mostly failed cataract surgery, I wonder if I need to do a further desentisization, this time with the term “totally blind”. I have been doing this for a bit already since early this year, when I noticced my light perception had decresed to the ability to discern daylight from nighttime, but at the same time I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary with surgery. Now my vision is back to probalby where it was around 2004 or 2005, with my being able to see room lighting, detect the position of windows, etc. I was writing this post, then midway through it left my darkened room and realized that my vision, while still technically being only light perception, had increased a bit from before surgery. Should I use this as an excuse not to desentisize myself to the idea of being totally blind?

I know that now that I’ve had cataract surgeyr, I’ve had my last chance of regaining sight. My intention with seeking an ophthalmologist’s opinion on surgery was more of a psychological nature than of a medical nature. Of course, I hoped for that hand motion vision the eye doctor said was the best possible outcome, but at the same time, I realized right from the start of this journey that a more likely outcome would be no improvement in vision. After all, before the cataract specialist had pretty much given me the choice, I’d expected him to flat out refuse to perform the surgery on me. Once I’d been put onto the waiting list, my hopes were somewhat up, but I still counted on a bad outcome.

Okay, I know this adjustment process has taken me over two decades, so can I technically expect to accept that I’m totally blind and will never regain my vision two days post-surgery? I’m not sure, but I’m actually tired of this adjustment process.

Stages of Adjustment to Blindness

Today on the Psych Central blog, I found an article on coping with chronic illness. According to Donna White, the author of the post, people who are facing a chronic illness go through the five stages of grief populated by Elisabeht K├╝bler-Ross as occurring in bereavement. These stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. This post inspired me to pull out Dean Tuttle’s 1996 book Self-Esteem and Adjusting with Blindness. He describes not five but seven stages of adjustment:

  1. Physical or social trauma. This is a situation or circumstance the awareness of which brings about severe anxiety, discomfort and/or turmoil. In blind people, this may be the onset of blindness or vision loss (for those losing their sight later in life), becoming aware of one’s blindness (for the congenitally blind), or the knowledge of impending vision loss (for those who know they will lose their sight at some point before actual onset of blindness).
  2. Shock and denial. This involves mental numbing, including feelings of detachment or unreality, as well as the cognitions involving denial. Denial can be partial or full.
  3. Mourning and withdrawal. This stage happens when people become more aware of the reality of their situation and the psychological defense mechanism of denial decreases. Characteristics of mourning include self-pity and a sense of helplessness. People in this stage often withdraw from their physical or social environment. Hostility may also be part of the mourning phase.
  4. Succumbing and depression. This phase involves a gradual awareness of more specific consequences of vision loss. When these (real or perceived) consequences exceed a person’s ability to cope, they may fall into depression. The succumbing phase is characterized by negativism and pessimism.
  5. Reassessment and reaffirmation. This phase involves the re-evaluation of one’s situation. Anger, depression and self-pity begin to recede and people re-examine the meaning of their life, their values and beliefs and habitual patterns of behavior.
  6. Coping and mobilization. In this stage, individuals manage the demands of their social and physical environment and direct their energy towards the tasks of everyday life.
  7. Self-acceptance and self-esteem. Having a positive self-image is the last stage in adjustment. Accepting one’s blindness is a prerequisite for this. However, a positive self-image is far mroe than accepting blindness. It involves the realization that one is a valuable person. This means confronting one’s beliefs about oneself and one’s blindness, and challenging negative ideas about oneself.
I was unable to see where bargaining fits into the seven-stage model. Bargainign is where I believe I’ve been stuck for years, although I may confuse bargaining with partial denial.

In 2004 and 2005, when an online friend had sent me Tuttle’s book, I had done a series on my old blog on adjustment with my vision loss and actually the reality of finally having become totally blind. I guess in the next few weeks, I will revisit these posts. I realize I’m actually back where I was in 2004, realizing I’ve become totally blind and (now truly) there is no way this can be fixed.