Finding Your Village

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.

Finding Your Village

One of the biggest surprises after losing my vision wasn't my diagnosis.

It was the loneliness.

I expected the doctor's appointments. I expected the uncertainty, the testing, and the endless questions about what was happening to my eyes. I expected to spend hours searching the internet trying to understand medical terms I had never heard before. What I didn't expect was how alone I would feel.

The people in my life loved me deeply. They wanted to help, and they did everything they could. But there was something they couldn't give me because they had never experienced it themselves. They didn't know what it felt like to wonder if my vision had changed overnight. They couldn't understand why I was suddenly excited about a new accessibility feature on my phone or why walking into a dimly lit restaurant made me anxious. They cared, but they couldn't fully relate.

For a long time, I thought that meant I needed to figure everything out by myself.

I became really good at researching. I read articles, watched videos, joined webinars, and searched for answers every chance I got. I thought if I learned enough, eventually I'd stop feeling overwhelmed.

But eventually I realized I wasn't just looking for information.

I was looking for people.

People who understood what it felt like to lose part of your vision. People who had already navigated the questions I was asking. People who could say, "I've been there," without me having to explain every emotion I was carrying.

The day I found the blind and low vision community, something inside me changed.

Not because someone suddenly had all the answers.

But because I realized I wasn't walking this road by myself anymore.

I started joining Facebook groups where people openly shared tips, asked questions, celebrated victories, and admitted when they were struggling. Some conversations were about technology. Others were about parenting, careers, cooking, or simply making it through another difficult day. I wasn't just learning new information—I was watching people live full, meaningful lives with vision loss.

That gave me hope.

I also found communities on Reddit where people shared honest experiences, both the good and the hard. I discovered creators on TikTok and YouTube who were showing the world what blindness really looks like. They weren't trying to inspire anyone by pretending life was easy. They were simply living their lives, sharing what worked, laughing at the awkward moments, and teaching others along the way.

Watching someone confidently travel with a white cane, use assistive technology, cook dinner, or explain a screen reader did something I didn't expect.

It expanded my imagination.

Until then, I had spent so much time thinking about what I was losing that I hadn't stopped to think about everything I could still do.

Those creators reminded me that blindness wasn't the end of a meaningful life.

It was simply a different way of living it.

Along the way, I also discovered organizations that I wish someone had told me about from the very beginning.

One of my favorites is Hadley. If you've never heard of it, I encourage you to spend some time exploring what they offer. Their workshops, podcasts, discussion groups, and practical classes are all designed for people adjusting to vision loss. Whether you want to learn technology, cooking, daily living skills, or simply connect with other people who understand, Hadley is an incredible place to begin.

I also learned about my state's blindness services and vocational rehabilitation program. Before my diagnosis, I honestly had no idea these programs existed. I assumed vocational rehabilitation was only for finding a job, but it's so much more than that. Depending on where you live, they may help with assistive technology, orientation and mobility training, transportation, education, employment, and independent living skills.

Looking back, I keep coming back to the same thought.

I wish someone had told me.

I wish someone had told me about transportation programs before I spent so much money on rides. I wish someone had told me about low vision rehabilitation. I wish someone had told me about AI, accessibility features, and all the incredible technology that exists today. Most of all, I wish someone had told me there was an entire community of people who were waiting to answer my questions.

That's one of the reasons the Eko Vision Foundation means so much to me.

We didn't create it because the world needed another nonprofit. We created it because we wanted to build the kind of community we wished we had found when our own journeys began. A place where people could ask questions without feeling embarrassed. A place where learning about assistive technology felt exciting instead of overwhelming. A place where conversations about blindness included honesty, hope, laughter, and practical advice.

Most importantly, we wanted people to know they weren't alone.

Friend, your village doesn't have to look like mine.

Maybe it's one close friend who listens without trying to solve every problem. Maybe it's a Facebook group where people understand exactly what you're experiencing. Maybe it's your vocational rehabilitation counselor, your local blindness organization, or a creator whose videos make you feel seen. Your village might even include people you've never met in person but who somehow understand your journey better than anyone else.

One of the greatest lessons vision loss has taught me is that independence isn't about doing everything by yourself.

Real independence comes from knowing when to ask questions. It comes from accepting help without guilt. It comes from learning from people who have already walked the road you're just beginning.

And here's the beautiful part.

One day, you'll become part of someone else's village.

You'll answer a question from someone who's newly diagnosed. You'll recommend an app that changed your life. You'll encourage someone who's convinced their future is over. Without even realizing it, you'll become the person you were once searching for.

That's how community grows.

One conversation.

One shared story.

One act of kindness at a time.

So, friend, if you're feeling lonely today, I hope you'll remember this.

There is an entire community waiting to welcome you.

People who understand.

People who have cried the same tears, asked the same questions, and celebrated the same victories.

People who know that vision loss changes your life, but it doesn't end it.

Sometimes all it takes is one conversation to realize you've finally found your people.

Before You Go

Today, I want to encourage you to take one small step toward finding your village.

Join a Facebook group. Follow a blind or low vision creator on YouTube or TikTok. Listen to a podcast. Explore Hadley. Reach out to your state's vocational rehabilitation office or a local blindness organization.

You don't have to join everything.

Just make one connection.

Because the hardest part of this journey isn't vision loss.

It's believing you have to face it alone.

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