BEHOLD: How losing my eyesight showed me how to see things in a different light
Finding clarity and transformation through unexpected detours and the practice of truly beholding life's moments.
We all lead varied, busy lives, with so many things going on at once it seems—wishes, needs, wants, to-do’s due “now.” We don’t have a priority; we have priorities, which is a misnomer by definition. I was living in this same pattern when, for absolutely no reason at all, I experienced flashing lights and “trash” obscuring my vision. I knew enough to recognize that this could be emergent, so I went to the ophthalmologist with concerns of a tear in my retina.
This was indeed confirmed, and I was informed that surgery was required the next day. That’s it. My plans and schedules became irrelevant if I wanted to keep my vision. How did this occur? No idea, but I would be required to be on “couch rest” for one to two weeks. Just like that, I found myself missing a graduation, with no travel to the mountains, and absolutely no flights for at least three weeks.
These sudden change-in-plans experiences are not unique to me, and the fact that I could have surgery to save my vision remains remarkable. As the story continues, I was told there was a high likelihood it would occur in the other eye as well. Why? Not sure—I was just “made that way.” I know of no one else “made this way,” but here I am.
With the repairs came forced rest, changes in routine, and having to ask others to drive for a bit, get groceries, and handle other to-do’s. Learning to navigate computer work was interesting, to say the least. Healing occurred, but indeed, about six months later, I experienced a similar retinal tear event in the other eye, also non-provoked. A second surgery followed—again, I was so grateful and humbled by another detour.
Yet, in the midst of “getting on with it,” as I do not slow down very well, I really took notice. I was attending Mass at church, and the word “Behold” was pronounced as it always is. Hmm, it is difficult to actually “behold,” and what does that truly mean anyway?
Behold
Behold is much more than just “look.” It is a command to pay intense, focused attention to something significant, divine, and life-changing. In the celebration of the Mass, it refers to Jesus Christ—Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity—in the consecrated Eucharist. Do not just look, but behold.
It requires one to pause in order to truly see, perceive, and internalize. To ask someone to behold something is to ask them to look deeper, to ponder, with the expectation that it may lead to transformation. It is the introduction of a pivotal moment or profound truth. This I understood as it relates to the Mass, but I began to take those words deeper to also apply to other aspects of my life and to determine how it could empower and support others.
Behold—how do we manage this when what I was seeing was physically all a blur? As my vision took time to heal again, I naturally became more aware of my surroundings—of balance, color, and how fatigued my brain would become by the end of the day as it tried to navigate various stages of interpreting what it was “seeing,” much less beholding. Some details I found to be significant and not to be taken for granted. Others, however, I placed on the “not necessary” list.
For example, after several routine follow-up visits, I became acutely aware of the lighting and background music playing in the waiting room of the eye doctor’s office. Note to other practices: adjust your fluorescent lighting, given that most people waiting have dilated eyes. In addition, choose your background music wisely. No one needs to hear “Afternoon Delight” at 8:00 a.m. while pondering how long—or to what degree—this healing process will take.
I empathize with those who have lived with impaired vision for much longer than I have, annoyed as I was when I had to get right up within inches of the television to check the score of a soccer match, or when I misjudged the door frame as I was leaving the house. And the patience—yes, it must come with healing and couch rest. The detours or rerouting I often recommend others expect at various times in their healing journeys, I now had to live out myself.
Detachment
I appreciate this, though—not that we should have to live out each other’s illnesses, injuries, or experiences in order to empathize or understand how to support the healing process. Instead, the appreciation is for my own growth. There is detachment required from so many things in this world (not necessarily retinal detachment, though) in order to truly see, to “behold.”
Detachment from hustle culture, having to take the rest needed, and learning to detach from my plans—as well-meaning and virtuous as they may be. These may not necessarily be God’s plans, nor part of anyone else’s plans for that matter. My idealism to serve and support others is good, but timing and receptivity must also be aligned.
In addition, just because I may behold more now, have incorporated a different mindset, and want to offer more does not mean others are ready or willing to receive those insights. Humbling. Good—as Jocko Willink states. This is an opportunity to grow after being pruned, to actually do the work, and to dwell—to use another “old-fashioned” word. To dwell or abide is to allow yourself to be fully present in the moment without an agenda, timeline, or need to “do” anything. Being present is healing.
So, as I continue to progress through this second retinal detachment recovery, feeling confident that I know how this goes and truly trusting that it will “work out,” I notice that this time recovery is actually slower. The lens after the second surgery still appears, from my vantage point, as if I am looking out of one eye through a dirty fishbowl. “It may take time; see us in a month,” I am told at follow-up. Noted. Clearly, more lessons are to be learned, though again I am beyond grateful.
It does take time, so I am called again to focus on what is truly important, how I can advance health habits that will support healing, and to truly live those out so I can share and support others who will experience detours. There is no “fault” here, as the world sometimes likes to suggest. That would lead down a rabbit hole of feeling “robbed” or “not fair,” which serves no healing purpose and is no longer in my vocabulary.
The Only Path
I can offer what I have “observed” during this time—yes, pun intended. Will it be received with the genuine hope with which I am presenting it? Not necessarily, and that is not the point. We share the good or the lessons we learn for the sake of empathizing with or supporting another, not for a dopamine feedback loop. Does it raise the bar for me at least? Yes. Am I called to be more aware and patient? Yes. Do I fail at times? Of course—but I acknowledge, learn, and move forward once again. The only path to travel now is that which has been presented as a gift, something to behold that leads to ongoing transformation.
How could I not share that and want the same for others? Wellness and healing are journeys that take time, trust, and some occasional rerouting, but are always backed by a grateful, sincere community we offer in our practice.
