I’ve always loved going for walks. My habit of taking my dogs for walks almost every day has stuck with me since I was a child. Walking is an escape, a time to think. Walking allows me to process thoughts, take time for myself, enjoy the nature around me, and bond with my dogs. It’s also my most reliable mode of transportation. Since I can’t drive, I rely mostly on my own two feet to get me to where I need to be. No wonder a pair of shoes never lasts more than a year with me.
Walks, whether to the bus stop, down a nature trail, or through my neighborhood, have taught me how to adapt. With vision loss, even the most familiar places and routes can lose familiarity.
Really, I should’ve been using my white cane way before I finally started using it. An orientation and mobility instructor would probably shake their head in disapproval, as I walked cane-free down my neighborhood’s streets and sidewalks. I did this however, because I felt comfortable with what I could see.
For years, I didn’t need to rely on my white cane to walk routes I frequented. Mostly, I’d use my white cane for unfamiliar indoor spaces, where there was no natural light to brighten up the space. Whether it was sunny or overcast, I could comfortably walk outdoors. I could see what mattered – the curb of the road or sidewalk, cars, and other large obstacles. Occasionally, I’d trip over rough patches in the road and other unseen obstacles, but I continued to resist using my white cane.
I also just wanted to “look normal.” Sure, I get plenty of stares out in public with my guide dog, but with a cane, I felt as though the stares were of something different. I had always felt that way, starting when I was introduced to the white cane as a child.
So, for the longest time I’d fake it, the best I could. Until the summer of2021, when I began realizing the consequences of not using a white cane.
With a smaller field of vision, walking became more of a chore than a pleasure. With no cane, I’d constantly stare ahead of me. Whenever I’d look around to take in my surroundings, I’d feel myself beginning to swerve. Suddenly, I’d be on the other side of the sidewalk, or in the middle of the road or trail. I started to get self-conscious of how this made me appear to my neighbors and passersby. I’d trip over curbs, off the trail, or smack into a branch. I thought, maybe it’s time for me to quit faking. I wasn’t gaining anything from it besides scrapes and embarrassment.
Frankly, by not using my cane I was putting myself in danger. Two experiences on separate walks made this clear.
First, it was a fall. A few blocks from my apartment is my favorite city park. It has a small pond with a paved trail looping around it. One day, I took a morning walk to clear my mind before work. I leashed up our dog Mossy and we were on our way. It was an early June morning, and the sky was beginning to brighten. When I arrived at the park, I proceeded to walk down to the pond towards the loop trail. I walked a little too far, falling down the rocky slope to the pond. I was inches away from the shallow water, stunned at what had just happened. I was shaken up and frustrated. How did I not see when to turn?
What did I learn? To not walk during that time of day. So, I avoided it, going back to my regular walks during the brightest parts of the day. Months passed and I continued to not use my cane. Until one day, a car almost backed into me.
It was a September afternoon. I went for a walk around my neighborhood to enjoy the fall colors in the setting sun. As I walked on the sidewalk of the busier street in my neighborhood, a train on the other side of the street was passing, drowning out much of the surrounding sounds. As I passed a driveway, I heard a man shout “Stop! Isn’t your rear camera working?!” The man had been standing next to a car, as it backed out of its driveway, a car I neither heard nor saw. Embarrassed that I just walked in front of a moving vehicle, I quickened my pace home.
They didn’t know I couldn’t see…What would’ve happened if the car kept going?
And from that day on, I started taking my cane on walks with my dogs.
A freedom, lost and grieved for. For so long, I didn’t need my white cane. I could appear like anyone else out walking their dog.
It was an instance when I didn’t feel disabled. I didn’t have a guide dog or white cane labeling me as blind. It was an escape from all the stares, hushed voices, and awkward interactions white cane and guide dog users encounter. I worried so much about what other people could say, could do, could think, that I lost sight of the importance of doing what’s right for me, what works for me, so I can enjoy my walks like anybody else.
So now, I’m that blind woman walking her dog.
It feels great to not be faking it anymore. I can embrace my blindness now, instead of hiding it. I feel safer using my white cane and walk more confidently than I did without it.
Everyone’s vision loss journey is different. Though I’ve had my eye condition since I was two, received white cane training, and am going on 8 years with a guide dog, I’m now using and appreciating my white cane for what it provides.
Don’t be afraid to be different. Be different, if it’s what’s right for you.
Photo Descriptions
Featured image: Trees on the left shade the closest portion of a grassy trail. A bluff and leafless trees are to the right of the trail. The rest of the trail shines in the sun, as it extends farther from the camera. White text in the lower left corner reads When Familiar Routes Become Foreign in handwritten font.
Photo 1: Shannon walks towards the camera on a shaded path. She uses her white cane on the trail, which is surrounded by large cedar trees. Patches of sun splotch the trail.
Photo 2: Shannon walks with her dog, Frasier on a gravel path. Both walk towards the camera. Frasier, a black lab/golden retriever mix, walks to the left of Shannon, panting. Shannon uses her white cane, smiling and wearing sunglasses.