The Truth Is: You’ll Never Be The Perfect Blind Person

I’m a perfectionist. I look at my completed work and feel irritated and disappointed because it’s never quite good enough. No matter how much time I spend refining a piece of writing or carefully preparing presentation notes, the outcome can never live up to my expectations. I’m also a control freak, so handing over responsibility to others fills me with anxiety. What if they don’t do a good enough job? What if we all look ridiculous because they didn’t work hard enough? What if I have to confront someone about their work ethic? Criticising myself is easy, telling other people where they’re falling short fills me with terror.
Throughout my life I’ve been told that I have to work harder than other people. Nobody is going to take me seriously, I’m blind and therefore easy to dismiss, so if I want a job, an education, if I want opportunities then I need to fight for them. There’s unfortunately some truth to this. It shouldn’t be my responsibility to be twice as good so I can be taken maybe half as seriously. I shouldn’t have to demonstrate that I am even more skilled and experienced than a sighted person who is applying for the same position. Knowing that I shouldn’t have to do it doesn’t change the fact that I do. It’s a vicious circle, I can’t change anything unless I can get to a position where I have the power to make that change. But I also can’t get to that point unless I conform to the very system I want to dismantle. I’m sure this is a dilemma that anyone belonging to a minority group has faced.
There are so many problems with this. The system itself is toxic and destructive and it ultimately harms our society. If we prioritise giving opportunities to those who conform, who fit a very narrow definition of what it means to be a “normal” or “good” person, we miss out on so much talent. But there is also a personal cost. If you are constantly told you have to be better than everyone else, suddenly that high standard becomes the norm, and as the days turn into weeks and then months, you are constantly raising your expectation of what you need to do in order to be good enough. You’re never going to get there. You tell yourself that you just need to work a bit harder. So, you do. You stay up an extra hour each night. But it’s still not good enough.
As blind people we can unfortunately perpetuate this system. Most blind people will have chatted in a group, comparing how well various mutual friends can travel with a cane. You’ll talk about someone’s ability to cook or use technology or read, criticising them for not investing enough time in their blindness skills. The person isn’t acceptable unless they are perfect. Anything less is not only a personal failing, it lets the entire community down. I am just as guilty of this as anyone else. I have cringed in public when I see a blind person acting in a way that draws attention to their blindness. Perhaps they spill their drink or turn the text to speech on their phone up to a volume that means everyone around them can hear it. I’ve texted friends before, telling them there’s another blind person here and they’re acting really “blind.”
The same culture that tells me I must work very hard if I’m going to be taken seriously makes me judge and cringe at my own community. This isn’t to say there aren’t blind people who are embarrassing or objectional, and that we shouldn’t call them out for this. If a blind person is being sexist or racist, or making derogatory comments towards someone, we shouldn’t let their blindness excuse their behaviour. But we also shouldn’t judge them for their skill set, especially when we have no idea where they are at on their journey.
The truth is everyone has strengths and weaknesses. I am dreadful at music, an area in which, if the media is to be believed, blind people should excel. I’m also horrible at art, at swimming, and coding. None of these weaknesses make me less of a person. And yet I can’t help feeling guilty whenever I confess to a new acquaintance that no, I don’t play the piano. There are also so-called “blindness skills” that I’m not particularly good at. I have already written about my concern with the term blindness skills, as I believe they for the most part are skills everyone may learn. I don’t like ironing, in fact the idea that I’m probably going to destroy my clothing makes me avoid it at all costs. I’d quite happily spend the rest of my life never needing to put a piece of furniture together or unblock a drain. Can’t somebody else do it? Does this make me a bad blind person?
If the blind community is to be believed, it absolutely does. In fact, I’m not only a bad blind person, I’m letting the entire community down because my personal failings reflect on every other blind person. If the sighted community is to be believed, of course it doesn’t, a blind person shouldn’t be expected to do something as difficult and dangerous as that. I would argue that neither community is right.
If as blind people we recognise that we are all individuals, we need to stop expecting every blind person to conform to an unattainable standard. Instead, we must ask the wider world to recognise our individuality. And the world must see us as the individuals we are, recognising that some blind people will struggle in a particular area and others won’t.
I am never going to be perfect. Not because I’m blind. Not because I don’t try hard enough. Not because I need to get more training or believe in myself a bit more. I’m never going to be perfect because absolutely nobody in this world is. There are areas I am more skilled in, and I’d love for the world to celebrate those successes, not because it means I have “overcome my blindness,” I haven’t and have no desire to. I’d like them to be celebrated because they are part of what makes me the person I am. As too are the areas in which I struggle. I am human, and that is enough.