Telling Your Employer You're Losing Your Vision

Hi, friend.

I'm really glad you found your way here.

If you're reading this, I'm guessing life has changed recently. Maybe you were just diagnosed. Maybe your vision has been changing for a while. Or maybe someone you love is navigating vision loss and you're trying to understand what they're experiencing.

However you got here, I want you to know one thing before we begin...

You don't have to figure this out alone.

I'm Kenisha.

I live with progressive retinal disease and legal blindness.

I'm not here to give medical advice.

I'm here to share what I've learned, what I wish someone had told me, and to walk beside you as a friend who's been there.

So grab a cup of coffee, get comfortable, and let's have another conversation.

Telling Your Employer You're Losing Your Vision

There are conversations you can rehearse a hundred times and still never feel ready to have.

Telling your employer you're losing your vision is one of them.

I remember thinking through every possible scenario before I ever had those conversations. What if people thought I couldn't do my job anymore? What if they stopped trusting my work? What if opportunities quietly disappeared because someone assumed my diagnosis meant I wasn't capable? Those fears were real, and if you've had them too, I want you to know you're not alone.

For many of us, work is more than a paycheck. It's part of who we are. It's where we've built relationships, developed expertise, and found purpose. When your vision begins to change, it can feel like your professional identity is changing too. But one of the biggest lessons I've learned is that losing vision and losing your ability to contribute are two completely different things.

Your eyesight may change.

Your experience doesn't.

Your leadership doesn't.

Your education, creativity, and ability to solve problems don't disappear because you have low vision. The way you do your work may change, but your value never does. I wish someone had reminded me of that much earlier in my journey.

For me, this conversation felt especially complicated because I work in technology.

Think about that for a second.

I had built my career helping organizations solve complex problems, modernize systems, and embrace technology. Then I found myself wondering, How am I supposed to tell my tech employer that I'm losing my vision?

It felt incredibly vulnerable.

I worried people would assume I couldn't keep up with the demands of my job or that I'd somehow become less capable overnight. The reality was exactly the opposite. I could still do my work. I simply needed different tools to do it.

When I finally asked for accommodations, I was nervous.

Really nervous.

I needed Fusion, which combines screen magnification and screen reading software, so I could continue working efficiently. I also needed a large external monitor for my home office and another one that I could use when I traveled for work. Even though those accommodations would allow me to continue performing at the level I expected of myself, I still felt guilty asking for them. I kept wondering if I was asking for too much.

I wasn't.

Those accommodations didn't make me better at my job.

They made my job accessible.

Once I had the right tools, everything changed. Instead of spending my energy trying to see my screen, I could focus on the work itself. I could think strategically, collaborate with my team, analyze complex information, and continue delivering the work I was hired to do. The technology didn't replace my skills. It simply removed barriers that were getting in the way.

As my career continued to grow, I realized accommodations didn't stop at my desk.

In addition to working in technology, I also travel around the country as a keynote speaker, trainer, and consultant. For a long time, I tried to make it work without asking for anything. I memorized more of my presentations than I should have. I strained to read notes that were becoming harder to see. I crossed my fingers that the lighting in the conference room would be bright enough and hoped I could safely navigate unfamiliar stages without drawing attention to myself.

Eventually, I realized I deserved the same accessibility on stage that I needed in the office.

Today, before I speak at a conference or facilitate a training, I ask a few simple questions. Will there be a confidence monitor or screen where I can easily see my presentation notes? Can printed materials be provided in large print? What does the lighting look like on the stage? Will someone be available to help guide me on and off the stage if the lighting is dim or the layout is unfamiliar?

At first, I worried those questions would make me seem difficult.

Instead, I found something completely different.

Most event organizers were grateful I told them.

They weren't unwilling to help, they simply didn't know what I needed. Once we had the conversation, they were happy to make adjustments. Those accommodations allowed me to focus on what mattered most: connecting with the audience, sharing my story, and delivering the best presentation I could.

Looking back, I realize I wasn't asking for special treatment.

I was asking for access.

There's a big difference.

One of the questions I'm asked most often is, "When should I tell my employer?"

The truth is, there isn't one right answer.

Some people have the conversation shortly after they're diagnosed because they know changes are coming. Others wait until their vision begins affecting specific tasks or until they need accommodations to continue working effectively. Every person's journey is different, and this is deeply personal information. Give yourself the time you need to process your diagnosis before feeling like you owe everyone an explanation.

When you do decide it's time, try shifting your mindset. Instead of focusing on what you're losing, think about what helps you succeed. What tools would allow you to continue doing your job well? What adjustments would remove unnecessary barriers? Those questions lead to a much more productive conversation because they focus on solutions instead of limitations.

Many people don't realize they may have rights under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). Depending on your employer and your role, reasonable accommodations can help ensure you have equal access to perform the essential functions of your job. That might include screen-reading software, magnification tools, accessible documents, larger monitors, additional lighting, speech-to-text software, flexible scheduling for medical appointments, or other adjustments based on your specific needs.

If you're unsure where to begin, remember that you don't have to figure it out alone. Your Human Resources department can help explain your organization's accommodation process, and your state's vocational rehabilitation agency may be able to recommend technology, workplace assessments, and additional support. The Job Accommodation Network (JAN) is another excellent resource with practical guidance for both employees and employers.

I also want to acknowledge something that isn't talked about enough.

Not every workplace gets it right.

Some employers immediately ask, "What do you need?"

Others have never worked with someone who is blind or has low vision and simply don't know what's possible. Sometimes you'll find yourself educating the people around you. That can feel exhausting, but it doesn't mean your career is over or that your value has changed.

Friend, your diagnosis did not erase everything you've worked so hard to build.

You are still intelligent.

You are still experienced.

You are still capable of leading teams, solving problems, serving clients, creating ideas, and making an impact.

Your career may look different than you imagined.

Mine certainly does.

But looking back, I can honestly say that living with vision loss has made me a stronger advocate, a more creative problem solver, and a better leader. It has taught me to ask for what I need, embrace technology in new ways, and see accessibility as an opportunity rather than a limitation.

If you're standing at the edge of this conversation with your employer, wondering if you're ready, let me leave you with this:

You are not asking anyone to lower the bar.

You're asking for the tools that allow you to continue reaching it.

And there is nothing wrong with that.

Before You Go

If you're preparing to talk with your employer, spend a little time thinking about what helps you do your best work. Make a list of the tasks that have become more difficult and the accommodations that might make those tasks more accessible. If you're unsure where to start, contact your state's vocational rehabilitation agency or visit the Job Accommodation Network (JAN). You don't have to have every answer before starting the conversation.

Until Our Next Conversation...

Friend, I know this journey can feel overwhelming. Some days you'll feel hopeful. Other days you may feel frustrated, scared, or exhausted. All of those feelings are welcome here.

You don't have to figure everything out today. You don't have to have all the answers. Take one step at a time, give yourself grace, and remember that asking for help is a sign of strength, not weakness.

Most importantly, I want you to remember this: vision loss may change how you experience the world, but it does not change your value, your purpose, or the life you're still capable of building.

I'm honored to walk alongside you.

With you every step of the way,

Kenisha