I was born and raised in Seattle and currently live in West Seattle. I am visually impaired and I use a red-and-white cane. That does not mean I see nothing. It means I do not see well. A cane is a symbol that says:
“Hey, I need some awareness and space because my vision is limited.”
The red-and-white coloring specifically means I still have usable vision. Probably more than you think. It is an internationally recognized symbol for low vision, not total blindness.
I don’t use my cane extended and I don’t need it for mobility. I use it as a signal. It says: “I can’t see that well.” Sometimes it also comes in handy when I need to ask for help reading something. That is a valid way to use a cane.
No, I will not “get in trouble” for carrying a cane because I don’t look blind enough.
No, strangers do not get to decide who is “allowed” to use a cane or have a guide dog.
No, I am not obligated to explain every nuance of my eyesight.
No, I don’t have to only date blind people.
No, blind people are not automatically friends just because we share a disability.
These are actual things people in Seattle have said about me while I was standing right there:
• In a store in West Seattle, seeing me with my folded cane:
“Why is she carrying that? She shouldn’t be carrying that, she’s going to get in trouble.”
• Going to the ballet at McCaw Hall:
“Oh… I have to sit behind the blind girl.”
• Walking in my West Seattle neighborhood:
Husband: “You could be friends with the blind girl.”
Wife: “I don’t want to be friends with the blind girl.”
And then there are the quieter moments. I met a man recently who was clearly interested in me. We were talking, laughing, and connecting… until he noticed my cane. The shift was immediate. The interest disappeared. The energy changed. Nothing about me had changed except what he suddenly assumed about me.
Seattle loves to see itself as progressive and inclusive. But apparently that stops when disability enters the picture.
I lost most of my vision later in life. I would never talk about someone this way. And yes, most blind and visually impaired people can hear you — often better than you realize.
And to the mother who took up the entire sidewalk in West Seattle and complained that I didn’t make room for her children:
No. I don’t owe anyone my body or my space. That was a teaching moment you chose to turn into judgment instead.
The hardest part of losing my vision isn’t the vision loss.
It’s the ignorance.
So please remember:
Blind and disabled people are human beings.
We are not props.
We are not inconveniences.
And more often than not, we hear you.
If you see someone with a cane in Seattle:
You can say “hi.”
You can step aside.
Or you can say nothing.
Just don’t be cruel.
submitted by /u/Lite_Brite90
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