No Juan Is An Island

They say we should face our fears, but what happens when your fear is literally the loss of how you see the world?
Yesterday, I lived through my absolute worst nightmare. For those who don’t know, I live with a progressive eye condition. My right eye is already blind, and I have spent the last 4 years meticulously guarding the precious vision left in my left. It is a fragile balance, and yesterday, that balance shattered.
The day started productively—I was buzzing from dropping off candle orders and attending meetings for my upcoming workshops. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I decided to take a quick nap to recharge for evening chores and feeding my dogs.
The Moment the World Blurred
When I woke up, the world wasn’t there. Everything was a terrifying, indistinct blur. I scrambled for my phone, trying to perform the “reading test” I’ve practiced in my head a thousand times, but I couldn’t make out a single word.
Living alone with only my dogs for company, panic set in fast. Who do I call? I thought of my siblings and mother, but remembered the sting of past emergencies when my calls went unanswered. I thought of my best friends, but they are time zones away, and even in a crisis, I didn’t want to “bother” them. Finally, I reached my Manang (my older cousin). As soon as she picked up, the dam broke. I just cried.
A Flood of “What Ifs”
While she tried to calm me down, my mind was sprinting toward a dark future:
How will I live or take care of my dogs?
Candle making is my bread and butter. How do I create without sight?
How do I navigate the simplest tasks?
Mental Health: I’ve fought depression before; I wasn’t ready to fall back in.
After an hour of agonizing uncertainty, my vision slowly began to return. It wasn’t perfect, but I could read a text message again. However, that didn’t fix the cloud over my heart.
The Weight of Uncertainty
Today has been a heavy carry. That hour of darkness brought back every “Why me?” I’ve ever asked the Lord. I am tired. My faith feels worn thin, like a piece of fabric stretched too far.
I don’t have the answers tonight. I don’t have a “silver lining” to wrap this in. All I have is the truth: I am scared, I am exhausted, and I am grieving a security I thought I had. Sometimes, the only thing I can do (despite the difficulty) is write it down and let the words hold the weight for a while.