This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kiana Glanton. It has been edited for length and clarity.
Nearly 10 years ago, in the middle of postpartum depression, learning how to be a mom for the first time, my body decided to respond to the extreme stress I was under with a huge amount of inflammation. Inflammation that led to rapid, severe vision loss.
I was going to need to learn to be a mom who was blind, and it all felt overwhelming — too much to handle.
I was blind but independent
My vision had been gradually declining since I was 16, due to an autoimmune condition. Although I was technically considered blind, I was completely independent, still able to read print, and didn’t need a cane.
To treat my autoimmune condition, I had chemotherapy in low doses for a decade to kill multiplying cells. I didn’t think I would ever be able to get pregnant or sustain a pregnancy.
Much to my surprise and delight, I conceived and gave birth to Kali Jai in September 2015. My pregnancy was beautiful, and the inflammation in my body miraculously calmed, but soon after Kali Jai was born, I struggled to find joy.
By the time Kali Jai was 2, life felt ugly. My relationship ended, I was constantly anxious about how to parent as a blind parent, we had to move home, and there was endless noise telling me how to be the best parent.
It was the perfect storm, and it led to a quick decline in my vision.
I was scared to be a blind mom
How was I going to be a mom to my daughter if I couldn’t see? I was scared she would eat a penny, and I wouldn’t know. I was scared she would put a key in an electric socket. I was scared that she’d startle me when I was cooking and I’d drop a pan of grease.
I was scared all the time.
How should I push a stroller with a cane? How do I even use a cane? How will I tie her shoes? How will I clean the house? How will I get her to school?
I had to learn how to be a blind mom, but I didn’t know how to learn. I had to find help.
I knew I was losing my sight, but I wanted to show my child that challenges will come to her (in different forms than blindness) and how she handles them, how she arms herself, and what tools she has in her tool belt will separate her from other people. I wanted to model resilience for her, and to do that, I had to get help.
I called my counselor at the New York State Commission for the Blind and asked for help. I told them my world was coming down, and I needed someone to help me figure things out. They told me about Lighthouse Guild, a blind-led, New York City-based nonprofit with more than 120 years of service to the blind and low-vision community.
I was connected with a woman called Lily, who told me something I’ll never forget: “You are a mom. You’re not a blind mom. Your job is taking care of you and this baby.”
My only other option was to give up, and I wasn’t willing to do that.
I connected with other blind moms
One of the first steps was learning how to use a cane. Blindfolded, I was supported by a mobility trainer and Kali Jai as I navigated a neighborhood. The blindfold was soaked in tears at the end — it was horrific.
Slowly, we learned. Kali Jai learned to squeeze my hand twice when she saw the walking man, indicating we could cross the street. I learned how sound moved around me and would feel the sunlight. We had to learn, but Kali Jai had to get to preschool, and I had to get her there.
Through the Lighthouse Guild, I was connected to other blind moms, who gave me community, acceptance, and friendship. We talked about whether we should put a leash on our child, how to change diapers, what to do when the school gives you mounds of paperwork for your child, how to engage with other parents at school, how to set up playdates, recipes to cook in the Instant Pot, and how to approach stereotypes other parents might have about our family.
We felt seen and heard, which rekindled my spirit to go on and take the bull by the horns and move forward.
I represent the US in baseball
In 2022, I was asked if I wanted to play blind baseball, which initially, I absolutely didn’t want to do.
I was still dealing with internalized self-hate about blindness and didn’t want to be in public, flaunting it.
Convinced to try it, I went to a practice and became envious of the self-assuredness of one of the women playing. That’s what I wanted. I was determined to give baseball everything I had.
Soon after, I was asked to try out for the team representing the United States. I did. We went to the Netherlands to compete and won the bronze medal. I’m the first black and only woman to win a medal in blind baseball in the US.
I did it for me, but I also did it for my Kali Jai. I may not be able to see, but she sees me. She sees me on the field, in my cute outfit and lipstick. She sees me doing my best. She sees me staying busy. I want that little girl to have someone she can be proud of.
Every game I play, I wear a necklace with a little family tree. Touching it is my signal to her that I love her. Blind or not blind, I will always fight for myself, and I was always for her.
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