Leader Dog, Day 0

I’ve neglected this blog, which is tragic to me, but also unsurprising. Somehow, when I was a teen, I LiveJournaled every single day, page upon page of nonsense from school, life, and, later, my innermost soul, filtered elaborately to various sub-groups. After that, it was pages-long Facebook statuses (stati?). Hopefully, over this next week, I can shoot down the middle and land somewhere between posting absolutely nothing of note and writing a gargantuan novel no one actually wants to read.

So, here’s the scoop. I’m going to Leader Dogs For The Blind in Michigan, not to get a guide dog, but because they have a (seemingly) fantastic, “mobility brush-up program” of sorts, which can truly be customized and tailored to individuals’ needs, interests, and areas of strength and growth. It’s completely free, too: flight, food, room and board, and I think we even get a cane out of the deal, which is great, because I’ve never been entirely convinced that I’m using the most ideal cane length. As with many things, there are different schools of thought on that.

My friend Alexis generously Facebook-documented her experience at Leader Dog, and I thought the program sounded really accessible and trauma-informed, in the sense that (a) you can attend whether or not you want a guide dog in future, (b) you work 1:1 with a mobility instructor after an in-depth discussion of what you would (and, hopefully, would not) like to work on, and (c) they make it very clear, from the outset, that they accept blind folks with multiple disabilities and “additional” access needs.

I’m not diagnosed with any disabilities other than blindness; however, I am diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which, I think, contributes to a lot of my struggles with mobility. Multiple instructors have assured me that, actually, my mobility skills themselves are great at best, passable at most. The problem, I think, is my confidence, my tendency to dread the worst-case scenario if and when I get lost or disoriented, and my preoccupation with how I must look to everyone if I pause or deliberate as a means of problem-solving and recovering from disorientation. I’m often convinced that everyone’s staring, that I’m setting a horrible example for all of blind-kind if I get turned around, and so on … and it’s also true that, perhaps because I present as young, white, and female, people seem to foist their help upon me whether or not I need it, which can also be destabilizing when I’m trying to travel independently. This is particularly true, of course, when people insist on grabbing, pushing, pulling, and generally ignoring my bodily autonomy.

I received mobility from various providers growing up and definitely gleaned some good stuff. I’m told that my physical spatial awareness is strong (by which I mean I’m savvy about, and move safely in various environments, despite my inability to mental-map AT ALL), and I’m good at writing out routes (complete with lots of helpful, multi-sensory details like slopes, cracks in the ground, sounds, weird auditory or tactile landmarks, etc.) and following my own directions. However, besides my aforementioned struggles, I decidedly did not master street-crossing analysis. Like, at all. I tell people often that I think I only received my guide dog because the school thought we’d look cute on their brochures. Even when I was receiving my dog at age sixteen, the school often asked me to crate Lannie so I could get some remedial cane training and street-crossing support.

I was certainly taught, for many years, how to analyze intersections. However, the actual street-crossing concepts always confused me; plus, I was resentful because, I mean, it was Friday afternoon, or recess time, I had way better things to do than guess when it was safe to cross a street.

I have made it a shockingly long way without feeling confident about street crossings. Drivers do usually walk me to doors. If I do have to wander and come across a street that’s not laughably simple, someone always shows up to guide me across, if I wait long enough. This is why I often tell blind kids and parents that, although this method won’t work for everyone, mobility need not be the end-all, be-all. My struggles with (and subsequent hatred of) mobility haven’t kept me from doing anything I’ve ever wanted to do (that sounds more inspiration porn-tastic than I’d like, but I honestly don’t mean it to). However, I’d like to not feel intense fear and panic if I need to get across a busy street quickly and no one comes immediately to hand. I’m hoping that the folks at Leader will have an ingenious, hitherto unexplored method of explaining intersection analysis that will make sense to me. And I also know myself well enough to know that, if I want to genuinely work on these things, it would need to be full immersion. I won’t do well cramming in a lesson a week amid a life that’s already filled with stressors and things to do. I need to take myself out of the soup and focus, like I did in guide dog school, on this one big monster, or mountain, or whatever we want to call it.

I also feel hopeful that I can learn from other clients about map apps and accessible ways to use tech while traveling. I’ve always found juggling phone, braille, cane, and my own nerves very difficult, but I also know there’s most likely an app, or combinations of apps, that I can at least use to get myself out of jams, or perhaps to map an area beforehand, even though my mental-mapping skills are also pretty nonexistent.

This is already too long for a standard blog post, but just a quick note that the application process was SO smooth and great. Because I have anxiety, and also ARFID (Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder), I spoke to both the kitchen staff and to the resident psychologist, which made me feel much more at ease. I also requested a mentor and was lucky enough to get the amazing Juanita, who is totally Facebook-famous as “The Blind Advocate.” I will ask her permission to link her page because it’s awesome. Even though she lives in Michigan and we were hoping to meet, I’m not sure that will happen; however, kudos to her for answering my many questions and assuring me that, yes, as long as I speak up, I can really make this program be whatever I want it to be. This will be a great chance for me to also practice not people-pleasing and, instead, being a strong self-advocate and being vulnerable about the thousand-and-one reasons mobility stuff often makes me anxious and upset. I’m sure I’ll be getting into more of that later.

Like guide dog school, this training will be rigorous, but there IS downtime, and I pledge to do the best I can to blog about this. Who knows, maybe I’ll get into good habits and start blogging here more consistently.

As the kids say, “Like and subscribe!” Hopefully more soon. Caitlin H, out!