Frequent Feelings: One of Our Most Requested Topics

Over the past 10 years of blogging and meeting with others with low vision, there is one topic that comes up again and again. It comes up most often around holidays or social gatherings but sometimes at the workplace. It comes in the form of many different questions, stories and laments, usually surrounding not feeling helpful or useful, but it basically boils down to one word: worth.

I was discussing this with my uncle Kevin recently, and he wisely pointed out that the feelings of unworthiness are experienced by all humans, not just those with vision loss or disabilities.

We’ve addressed this topic peripherally, such as in holiday posts like “Blind Survival Skills in a Bustling Holiday Kitchen”, but after a recent evening at a friend’s house, I came face to face with it yet again.

My husband, Ben, and I came early to help our good friend, Scott, set up for an important community gathering he was hosting. Scott sped around the house, moving shoes and other random items to a closet, remarking that he hoped no one would accidentally open the closet door during the party. I made a mental note not to open any doors, knowing I was the most likely candidate to commit such an act. Thankfully, the bathroom door was nowhere close to the closet door, so no chance of mixing those up.

Scott’s daughter, Elise, was intently arranging a beautiful, large charcuterie board while her boyfriend was helping with ice and other last-minute tasks. Ben was cleaning the large glass coffee table, which my shins begged me to steer clear of. It seemed everyone had a task but me. I had helped fold cloth napkins when we first arrived, and I was fairly certain that the stack I placed on the table looked as if a small child had been playing with them, and that was after 45 minutes of trying to make their wrinkly edges look nice. I imagined how cute and professional Elise would probably have made them look as I tried to hide them behind the plates.

I was looking for another way to contribute and asked Elise if there was anything I could do to help in the kitchen, but she couldn’t think of anything, so I quickly exited the room. Previous experiences have taught me that standing in the middle of a buzzing kitchen is kind of like standing on the median of a busy highway. It probably wouldn’t kill me, but it’s not the safest place.

I placed myself on the sofa in the living room, the spot where I knew I wouldn’t be in anyone’s way and watched everyone bustle about, wishing that I could transform my eyes into ones that could see what needs to be done.

It was 10 minutes before the guests were set to arrive, and I just sat there on the sofa, feeling useless. I felt myself slipping into a very familiar yet torturous dungeon, one in which the guards are shouting “You’re worthless!”

I try not to let the words of these inner-critic guards get to me, but they’re so loud. Familiar knots fill my stomach. But then something interesting happens. I remember my breath. Are all those mornings spent on the Calm app finally sinking into my busy brain?

I begin to inhale and exhale my way out of the dungeon, the guard’s voices growing quieter as I ascend.

When the knots in my stomach begin the dissolve and my body reaches a state of calm, a favorite Mother Teresa quote pops into my head, “You can do no great things; only small things with great love.”

It’s as if the eyes of my soul open up, and I can see what needs to be done.

I know well the familiar, anxious feeling that arises minutes before guests arrive when you’re trying to get everything ready, and I sensed those around me experiencing this. I began sending out calm thoughts to all those bustling bodies around me.

While sending out calm thoughts brought me a sense of calm myself, not to mention a sense of purpose, I wondered whether it was doing anything for the busy people nearby.

As if sensing my thought, Scott turned to me and said “Joy, I’m really glad you’re here tonight.”

“Really? I feel like I’m doing nothing,” I laughed.

“No, just your calm presence is helpful.” These words silenced the guards completely.

They also made me think about how many other evenings I’d spent over the years attempting to make myself look busy, attempting to make myself feel useful, and attempting to earn my worth.

Brene Brown sums it up beautifully when she writes “you either walk inside your story and own it or stand outside your story and hustle for your worthiness.” I am done hustling.

Sometimes walking inside your story involves sitting on the sofa.