Leslie Schmidt

“Yep, I’m partially blind.”

“No, glasses don’t help.”

“Yes, I can get around on my own, in familiar places.”

I do not begrudge for a minute the questions I’m asked anytime I meet someone new and, for example, they see me trying to read. I’ve subconsciously developed a sort of scripted response to the more common questions about my disability.

It goes something like this: “I have bullseye macular dystrophy. It’s a blind spot, shaped in rings, right in the centre of my vision. If I look directly at you, I can’t see you. If I look up, I’m not rolling my eyes; I’m just trying to see your face in case I missed a cue in an expression.”

I hold my fist up in front of my eyes to demonstrate, then I continue. “It’s like macular degeneration, but different. So if I see you and don’t smile or say ‘Hello,’ it’s not because I don’t want to. I just don’t know that it’s you.”

I love talking about my vision: the way I see fascinates me but, more importantly, it’s very useful to me for people around me to understand that I can’t see like them.

I never know who’s around me unless they’re where I normally see them or someone whispers the name of the person approaching. Or, my favourite, when people say “Hi Leslie, it’s [insert name].” I can’t tell you how much of a joyful relief it is when people initiate contact and identify themselves early. Otherwise there’s a very awkward period of trying to guess and not knowing how to act.

It’s hard for me to initiate contact because I’m unable to see faces, so I don’t know if I’m smiling at a person or a bush. For months, I smiled and waved at my neighbour who was always in the same place in his yard, only to later discover that it was actually his garden hose hung on the wall.

It can be lonely. So I cherish the opportunity to “explain about my eyes.” It adds that person to my small, sometimes isolated world—one more person I don’t have to worry about accidentally offending by not saying hello. I can breathe a little easier.

I don’t know if others with a disability feel the same way , but it seems to me that well-intentioned questions are useful and kind, even if they do get a little repetitive. Sadly, there’s no real set of rules to follow when talking to someone about their disability. Even the golden rule doesn’t apply because you can’t know how you would feel in that person’s situation. Everyone is different.

But don’t let the uncertainty deter you. Just like with anyone you talk to, take cues from them, try not to make assumptions about someone’s needs or beliefs, apologize if you cause offence, even if you don’t understand why. 

But most of all, please don’t avoid the conversation just because it might be awkward for a moment. 

As I said once on social media while letting more friends know about my diagnosis: “I look like I can see you, but I can’t see you. If you see me, please say hello. Whoever you are, I miss you.”

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Leslie Schmidt (she/her) is an American-born Australian, mother, sculptor and crafter. She has a Bachelor of Visual Art from Monash University. Leslie specialises in making custom, weighted stuffed animals to help with anxiety or sensory sensitivity (or as a baby stats keepsake).