by Stephen Theberge | From BayLines Express, September, 2025
The story of my blindness has never been a single moment, but rather a lifetime of adjusting, adapting, and building resilience. I was legally blind from birth. Congenital glaucoma, cataracts, corneal edema—these words have followed me all my life, shaping how I navigated the world. For many years, I lived with a degree of sight, partial though it was. It allowed me to sense shapes, light, and fragments of a world that most people take for granted.
Then came August 27, 2019. That was the day the last remnants of my vision disappeared. I had known it was coming. Doctors had explained the inevitable.
I had prepared myself in ways only someone living with lifelong blindness can: bracing for impact but never knowing exactly what the collision would feel like.
When it finally happened, there was no dramatic ending. The light simply went out. It was quiet, almost anticlimactic, and yet profound. I had crossed from a world of low vision into total blindness. The change was permanent.
What defined that moment, though, was not despair but resilience. I turned to what I knew would keep me moving forward. I underwent refresher vision rehabilitation. It wasn’t the first time—I had already learned the skills—but this time, I needed them sharpened. It was about adapting to my new reality, equipping myself for the future and proving that blindness would not stop me.
And I didn’t stop. I leaned into my writing, the craft that has carried me through so much. Within that first stretch after losing the rest of my vision, I completed two books. Writing has always been my way of seeing — Through science fiction, I create worlds beyond this one. I’ve written about androids and aliens, about the tension between humanity and technology, about the struggles of addiction avoided in alternate timelines, and about blind detectives solving murders in unexpected ways.
In those months after 2019, my writing became more than creativity—it was resilience made tangible. It was my way of proving that I was not diminished, only changed.
Life has continued to challenge me since then. I’ve worked to share my books with the world through Amazon, Kobo, and Smashwords. I’ve tried ads, some successful, some flawed, even pulled by bugs beyond my control. I’ve read guides, run promotions, and wrestled with the saturated world of self-publishing. I’ve seen how luck and money often shape success. And yet, I have persisted because I love storytelling. I love reaching even the readers who never thought they would enjoy science fiction, but discover they do through my words.
Blindness has never defined my worth—it has refined my perspective. It has deepened my advocacy for accessibility, whether in technology or in daily life. It has fueled my conversations, my projects, and even the questions I bring here.
Six years later, I can look back and say that August 27, 2019 was not the end of something. It was a turning point. A day when resilience carried me from one chapter of my life into another. Today, I remain a writer, an advocate, and a believer in the power of imagination. My blindness may be total now, but my vision—my true vision—has never been clearer.