09/12/2025                                                                            
                                    
                                                                            
                                            Please continue to spread the word. These author’s stories deserve to be heard. And, though not interpreting related, a number of them were written by your colleagues. 
I’ll share the one about my journey with my eyes here: 
Unseeable Light
 
“You are going to become blind, so start practicing getting around now.” 
 
Though this wasn’t an actual voice I heard as I descended the darkened staircase that morning, this internal ‘knowing’ was something with which I was quite familiar. It doesn’t happen often, but I have experienced a number of these intuitive revelations in my life, all of which have come true. As a result, I was not quick to simply dismiss it.
 
I began to practice. For a couple of years, I practiced walking downstairs with my eyes closed. I learned to count steps. Other times I deliberately didn’t count, instead trying to get a sense of when the last step was approaching. When I took my morning walks, I practiced walking with my eyes closed. I tried to increase the number of steps I took before I started to feel an overwhelming need to open my eyes to check my position. I performed a variety of tasks with my eyes closed, often making a game of it. 
 
I knew, even before it happened, but I still wasn’t fully prepared for when it did.
 
Once it started, my eyes quickly worsened. In the beginning, they felt so strained and tired it became difficult to keep them open. Over the next few months, it began to feel as if I had an eyelash under my eyelids all the time. This quickly progressed to a constant sensation of gravel and ground glass. It was extremely painful. My eyes began to reflexively blink nonstop. Sometimes too, it felt as though one or both of my eyeballs were shriveling up in my head.
 
Though I wasn’t considered legally blind because my acuity was not yet severely affected, I was functionally blind. I could no longer do many of the things that had previously been an integral part of my life. I couldn’t read, which had always been a great love of mine. I couldn’t write, which was how I often processed my world. I couldn’t edit the last book I had written. I couldn’t drive, which meant I was often homebound. I wasn’t able to engage with people on social media with any frequency. I began to avoid in-person social interactions because it was so taxing. A significant way in which I had always connected with people was through eye contact and reading body language. These essential tools for how I gauged and adjusted to the tenor of my interactions were substantially impacted. 
 
My world shrunk dramatically.
 
Over the next few years, several eye doctors treated me. Their initial diagnosis was severe dry eye disease. However, I didn’t respond to even the most innovative treatments for dry eye. Eventually more intensive testing revealed my severe dry eyes were a symptom, not the root cause of my eye issues. I had an underlying condition that had been missed. As time went on many of the lubricating glands in my eyes became scarred, depriving my eyes of much needed moisture. The severity of dryness resulted in abscesses on the surface of my eyes and corneas. 
 
I was functionally blind, since I had to keep my eyes closed most of the time due to the constant and excruciating pain.
 
Over the next year I underwent a total of five surgeries. With each surgery, I clung to the hope my eyes would get better. That did not happen. I was despondent and consumed by fear. The idea of spending the rest of my life in pain and with severe visual functional impairment was devastating. I wanted to die.
 
This emotional period of darkness lasted about four days. Then, I had a moment of clarity. I suddenly realized I could focus on my limitations, or I could focus on ways to do things I love. Many people before me, with far worse visual impairments - in some cases total blindness - lived joyful, meaningful lives. Many have even changed the world. I realized my challenge was to also find a way to live a life of joy and contribution. 
 
I thought about the impact of people like Helen Keller, Andrea Bocelli, Stevie Wonder, Joseph Pulitzer, Galileo, Monet, and Harriet Tubman. Their examples inspired me and left me without excuses. I decided I could wallow or follow. I could wallow in my pain and misery, remaining mired in feeling helpless, or I could follow the example of their courage. 
 
So, I considered how to continue to do the things I loved, even if nothing changed with my eyes. I spoke with the companies for whom I had provided workshops and webinars for decades. They offered to provide a Communications Facilitator for every webinar I taught for them to provide support by assisting me with tasks my eyes would not allow me to do. I developed strategies to continue to provide some services to my patients. I listened to my favorite movies. I ‘read’ via audio books. I now utilize a ride service for people with disabilities. I travel internationally with my sister, arranging for special accommodation as needed. I hired two editors to finish editing the book that had been languishing for almost three years. I put in place the resources necessary to compile the book you’re reading right now. And I started working with a therapist to help me process the enormous impact my visual impairment has had on my life. 
 
In short, I decided to live with purpose and joy instead of waiting and praying for death.
 
At this point, I am still unable to drive. I can read for a few minutes now, but my eyes quickly become strained, so I still depend heavily on audio versions of information. I can, however, keep my eyes open more, which has made day-to-day activities much easier. I have to get regular treatments designed to calm the eye spasms that became hardwired due to blinking so much, for so long. While the discomfort is still constant, I take solace in the fact that the pain is no longer excruciating.
 
Sometimes I still feel overwhelmed by my limitations. In those moments, I seek to treat myself with tenderness and compassion. I honestly don’t know if my eyes will ever return to anything resembling normal, but regardless of what happens, I am committed to living my best life.
 
My mantra has become a line I heard in a movie a few years ago - “The most important light is the light we cannot see.” This inclusive, larger light has expanded my world dimensionally. I am learning to access and trust my insight and deeper intuition more skillfully. I see the value of nurturing a rich internal world, not just an external one. And while I can more easily see through façades, pretenses, and inauthenticity, I also see kindness, empathy, generosity, courage and other intangible qualities in myself and others much more readily. 
 
This unseeable light has illuminated much beauty in life I had previously missed seeing. It has given me the gift of greater insight. It has certainly shown me that real hope isn’t predicated on getting a specific, desired outcome. There are, after all, some things beyond our ability to control. Hope, rather, is an active response to life’s difficulties. It is a choice to believe in and work toward a positive outcome, despite adversity. It's a way of engaging with life’s challenges with optimism and positive action to create a brighter future.
 
You see - hope is an unseeable light. 
 
© Diane Gross                                        
                                    
                                                                        
                                        ‘When All Hope is Gone - What Then?’ gives a voice to the authors’ lives and stories. It is a testament to their courage and ability to and hope during times of overwhelming despair. Their stories are a light to others who find themselves walking a dark and seemingly hopeless path.