I Lost My Sight, Not My Vision

Because Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DE&I) is now at the forefront of awareness for many organizations and has become such a high priority worldwide, I finally feel compelled to tell my story after decades of hiding my “invisible disability.” I am doing so in hopes that it will inspire others facing similar challenges and encourage all employers to strongly consider hiring disabled individuals regardless of their disclosed conditions. There are so many amazing people out there that are incredibly talented who might have what is referred to as an “invisible disability.” This is a physical, mental or neurological condition that is not readily visible to others; however, it can limit or hinder a person’s movements, senses, or activities. I have been faced with this form of disability my entire adult life and that is the basis and impetus for this article.?

Before I begin, I want to take a moment to thank all of those in my previous careers who have fought for and supported me. You know who you are. Additionally, I want to thank my current employer, Dealerware. I have been fully supported and respected by everyone within the organization, starting with HR and my immediate team and going up the ladder to the Senior Leadership Team. Thank you all!?

As nervous as I am about this, what I would consider an exposé of my life, let’s go for it and get into it!

We are taking it way back to 1998. In that year, I spent weeks going to eye specialists and having dozens of medical students and physicians peer into my dilated pupils with magnified lights.?I was 18 years old, and I was sitting in an ophthalmologist’s office with my dad, who just a year prior lost his wife of 30 years to cancer. Clipboard in hand and a weary look in her eyes, my doctor explained:?

“We have finally come to a diagnosis. You have a condition called Stargardt’s Disease, a rare genetic form of Macular Degeneration, a retinal disorder where a fatty material builds up on the macula, the small part of the retina needed for clear and precise central vision.”

“Hold on a second . . . what?” Fear washed over me. “Please explain what that means,” I pleaded.

My doctor’s eyes lowered to the floor. Her expression softened, and the clipboard in her hand slowly slumped to her side.

“Well, unfortunately, because this will essentially eliminate your central vision, sadly, this means that you will begin to go blind progressively over the next couple of years, with a prognosis of being legally blind within two years. There is currently no correction or treatment.”

?Hearing at the age of 18 that I was going to lose my vision was horrific, especially since I had just lost my mother not too long before that moment. However, nothing could have been worse than seeing my dad slowly lowering his head into his hands, shaking his head in disbelief.?

It was then that I knew I had to make sure that this was not going to ever slow me down. I made a choice to always do whatever it took to make myself, my dad, my three brothers and, most importantly, my late mom proud. A determination grew inside me at that very moment; what we all commonly refer to as “grit.”

?I forced myself to work through the struggles of college. And without the technology we have today, I had to have my textbooks enlarged so huge that I had to store them under my bed. Yep, they were that big. Imagine how my reputation preceded me as I traipsed across campus and could not even see my closest friends waving at me from a distance. Nevertheless, I managed to trudge through the next five years and obtained my undergraduate degree. At that time, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do for my career.

Then, here’s the fun part: at 22 years old, straight out of college and cash-strapped like most recent grads, with my credit card almost maxed out, I had just enough to purchase two Seattle Supersonics tickets. Because I could barely afford a single seat, it was nosebleed or nothing. This young, newly blind college grad was taking her friend to that damn game come hell or high water!

?Knowing my eyes were bad enough to not really see the game, I took a chance a week before that night and sent an email to the Director of Operations of the Seattle Supersonics. I explained that I had poor vision and asked if he could do anything to help improve my experience.

He wrote, “Please be at your seats at 6:45, and we will do what we can.”

Excited and desperately curious, we arrived at the arena. We made the climb up to the seats I had originally purchased. I had to clear my ears as we ascended the steep steps of the Key Arena. We were in the top row in the 300 level, which means we could literally touch the ceiling.

We had gotten there early so as not to miss out on whatever opportunity awaited us. Patiently, we waited for a representative for the Seattle Supersonics to stop by. Finally, a man in a Sonics polo came toward us up the stairs. As he approached us, he asked:

“Are you Erica??

“Yes, I am. Am I in trouble?” I joked.

“We have new seats for you.” He flashed tickets and gestured to follow. “Please come this way.”

?As he escorted us to our new seats, we were pleasantly surprised by how close we were getting to the court. We descended further and further down until we reached the floor. Yep! We landed courtside. I could see the game without any of the usual struggles. We could literally feel the sweat. We were in the middle of the action and took it all in as if we were Jack Nicholson sitting courtside at the Lakers.?

At halftime, the lights darkened as the spotlights began swirling around the arena. Near-deafening music filled the entire space and the crowd went wild. Little did I know, sitting right next to me was Seattle Mariners Bret Boone. I made it onto the jumbotron as the camera was zoomed in on Bret and me as if we were together. Before I knew it, the Sonic’s mascot Squatch was giving me a lap dance (figuratively, of course) introducing the 2023 hopeful baseball Hall of Famer!?For the rest of the night, I was asked repeatedly if I could ask Bret for his autograph. Oh, what a night!?

The moral of the story is? It is astounding what you can get in life by merely asking. Unbeknownst to me, that simple email I sent to the Director of Operations became the first building block of my now nearly 20-year career. After that experience, it occurred to me that sales could be my calling.

As I reflect on that night, it was then that I discovered that if I am bold enough to simply ask for the business during my sales meetings, I’ve often been able to convert those prospective clients into customers. This seemingly obvious and straightforward approach is what has been the driving force behind my success as a salesperson. Indeed, in the decades that followed, I pursued a career in sales with passion.

However, all throughout this time, I hid my disability. I have often worried about what would happen if potential employers were to know about my vision condition. Would I be excluded from consideration for a position? During the application process, I would not even check the “Disabled” box for fear that my application would be immediately discarded. I felt that I might be viewed as inadequate for the position because of my low vision and what limitations that could potentially involve. I did not want to be viewed as different. Despite barely being able to see the giant “E” on the vision chart, I have worked tirelessly to find success with every new venture I have taken in my career.

I now believe that I have performed at a higher level than I would have without Stargardt’s Disease. I became gritty in my perseverance to do all I could to prove that I was not broken. Cue the historic John Williams theme to Star Wars. I now believe that I have a lot to offer and that I bring something unique to the companies I have been fortunate to become a part of throughout my career. I attribute a great deal of my success to everyone who has believed in and supported me over the years.

Thank you for taking the time to read this article. Deciding to share my story was difficult, but I hope it is inspirational. If you are still reading and are interested in learning more about me, my career, or my experience, please feel free to provide your feedback in the comments—unless it’s bad, then never mind! In all seriousness, I do want your feedback. Also, please let me know if you would like more information or have any other topics you would like me to write about. Hit me up in the DMs! Alright, that was the first time I have ever said that phrase, and I am fairly sure it will be my last!?

I am highly motivated to be an author and to keep taking opportunities to make myself vulnerable in order to embolden others to truly find their story. This is the beginning of what will be a long-lasting endeavor. I will end with one of my favorite movie quotes: “Keep it classy, San Diego!” - Ron Burgundy, Anchorman.?