This As Told Essay is based on a conversation with Kiana Glanton. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Almost 10 years ago, in the midst of postpartum depression, learning to be a mom for the first time, my body decided to respond to the extreme stress I was under with a tremendous amount of inflammation. Inflammation that caused rapid and severe vision loss.

I was going to have to learn how to be a blind mother, and it all seemed overwhelming, too difficult to handle.

I was blind but independent.

My vision had been gradually declining since I was 16, due to an autoimmune disease. Although I was technically considered blind, I was completely independent, could still read print, and did not need a cane.

To treat my autoimmune disease, I received low-dose chemotherapy for a decade to kill multiplying cells. I didn’t think I would ever be able to get pregnant or maintain a pregnancy.

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 subsided, but shortly after Kali Jai was born, I struggled to find joy.

When Kali Jai was 2 years old, life felt ugly. My relationship ended, I was constantly anxious about how to parent as a blind parent, we had to move house and there was endless noise telling me how to be the best parent.

It was the perfect storm and caused a rapid decline in my vision.

I was afraid of being a blind mother.

How could I be my daughter’s mother if I couldn’t see? I was afraid that he would eat a penny and he wouldn’t know it. I was afraid he would stick a key in an electrical outlet. I was afraid I would get scared while cooking and drop a pan full of grease.

I was scared the whole time.

How should I push a stroller with a cane? How do I use a cane? How will I tie his shoes? How will I clean the house? How will I take her to school?

I had to learn to be a blind mother, but I didn’t know how to learn. I had to seek help.

I knew she was losing her sight, but I wanted to show my daughter that she will be challenged (in ways other than blindness) and how she handles them, how she puts herself together, and what tools she has in her tool belt that will separate her from other people. I wanted to be a model of resilience for her, and to do that, I had to seek help.

I called my counselor at the New York State Commission for the Blind and asked for help. I told them my world was falling apart and I needed someone to help me figure things out. They told me about Lighthouse Guild, a blind-led nonprofit based in New York City with over 120 years of service to the blind and low vision community.

They connected me with a woman named Lily, who told me something I’ll never forget: “You’re a mom. You’re not a blind mom. Your job is to take care of yourself 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 to use a cane. Blindfolded, a mobility trainer and Kali Jai supported me as I made my way around the neighborhood. The blindfold was soaked with tears by the end; It was horrible.

Little by little we learned. Kali Jai learned to squeeze my hand twice when she saw the man walking, indicating that we could cross the street. I learned how sound moved around me and how sunlight felt. We had to learn, but Kali Jai had to go to preschool and I had to take her there.

Through the Lighthouse Guild, I connected with other blind mothers, who provided me with 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 a bunch of paperwork for your child, how to interact with other parents at school, how to schedule playdates, recipes to cook in the Instant Pot, and how to address stereotypes other parents might have about our family.

We felt seen and heard, which revived my spirit to move forward, take the bull by the horns and move forward.

I represent the United States in baseball.

In 2022, I was asked if I wanted to play blind baseball, which I initially didn’t want to do at all.

I was still dealing with internalized self-hatred for being blind and didn’t want to be out in public, flaunting it.

Convinced to try it, I went to practice and was envious of the ease of one of the women who played. That’s what I wanted. He was determined to give baseball everything he had.

Shortly after, I was asked to try out for the team representing the United States. I did. We went to Holland to compete and won the bronze medal. I am the first and only black woman to win a medal in blind baseball in the United States.

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 in the field, with my cute outfit and my lipstick. She sees me doing the best I can. She sees that I’m busy. I want that little girl to have someone she can be proud of.

Every game I play I wear a necklace with a family tree. Touching it is my sign to her that I love her. Blind or not blind, I will always fight for myself and I was always there for her.