Seeing with my Heart
Motherhood can’t be dimmed by blindness.
By Erin Czadzeck
Erin Czadzeck and her son Noah, | Photo courtesy of Erin Czadzeck
I was born with Retinitis Pigmentosa, a genetic condition that slowly stole my vision. As a child, I enjoyed the colorful world like anyone else, but over time, my sight disappeared. Today, I am blind.
Still, I live a full life with my 5-year-old son, Noah, exploring a world that’s sometimes tough but always extraordinary. Motherhood is a wild, tangled web of love, exhaustion, doubt, and pride. Toss in blindness, and you get a uniquely layered adventure. My husband is my steadfast partner, my son is a thoughtful and energetic teammate, and together we’ve built a happy, loving home.
Navigating Motherhood Without Sight
I’ll be honest: life as a blind mom isn’t exactly a walk in the park — unless that park is full of invisible toys, loud giggles, and the occasional surprise game of blindfolded tag where you’re definitely “it.” Some days, my most impressive achievement is not tripping over the invisible attack zone of magnetic block creations that Noah insists on mysteriously placing around the house. Spoiler alert: I lose that battle more often than I’d like to admit.
But beneath the chaos, there’s a whole lot of laughter and magic. Noah is a careful and thoughtful child, never one to leave things lying around for long. He’s conscious of his surroundings and takes pride in keeping our space organized, which brings a sense of calm to our home, even in the midst of our playful commotion.
The Moments That Matter
The moments that matter don’t need a lightbulb. When Noah was a baby, I never needed eyesight to find him or change a diaper because maps of his tiny face and quiet breaths were etched into my fingers. Back then, I read to him from braille books as his little hands searched for mine. Now, he takes my hand to share the world: the smoothness of rocks, the bumps in his school projects, or the jingle of our soccer ball with bells. Those tactile exchanges are our secret language of love and trust.
Noah and I are constantly on the move, playing flag football, soccer, and all sorts of sports in our yard. Sometimes, like when we play tag, I even feel like I have an advantage since my other senses are sharpened and I navigate with a freedom that surprises most.
Our favorite ritual is walking hand-in-hand to my parents’ house about half a mile away. He’s an amazing helper, but I’ve never expected him to be my guide. We’re teammates who choose to support one another, embracing new experiences with humor and patience.
Holding On to the Magic
Though these rituals fill my heart, some moments sting: the first day of school, getting on the school bus, scoring his first goal, and those everyday milestones other parents see easily. Though I miss those visual memories, I hold tight to the excitement in his stories and the rush of accomplishment in his voice.
Likewise, the holidays blend joy with bittersweet feelings. I wish I could see the sparkle in Noah’s eyes when he opens presents or watch him marvel at twinkling lights. Before I lost my sight, I loved my childhood evenings spent driving through decorated neighborhoods. Though mostly blind now, I catch glimpses of our nine-foot Christmas tree glowing softly, knowing it’s adorned with family ornaments and Noah’s creations. I imagine how spectacular it looks.
I hold on to every hum and giggle that fills our home, especially during holiday gatherings where family rallies to include me fully, painting pictures with words and sounds so I’m at the center of it all. Those moments deepen my gratitude and remind me how strong our bonds truly are.
Choosing Bravery
While I constantly feel supported by my family, making mom friends and scheduling playdates are a whole other realm and definitely a workout. I’m goofy, full of nonsense, and have a great sense of humor, but there’s always a moment when I hope the other moms will look past my blindness and just accept me as I am. Sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t, but I keep showing up because community is essential for Noah and me. We remind each other that belonging happens one brave step at a time.
I’ve learned to find my own paths to fulfillment. I’ve completed triathlons, century bike rides, and the Boilermaker race — not to prove something to others, but to show myself and my family that anything is possible when you set your mind to it.
A few years ago, I threw myself a new challenge. Feeling work and motherhood weren’t enough, I enrolled at SUNY Oswego for a master’s degree in business. Late nights and sheer determination got me across the stage in December 2024, cheered on by my family. That degree is more than a diploma—it’s proof that grit, hope, and belief make mountains move. I talk to Noah about bravery often. We agree that new things can be scary, but unless you try, you’ll never know the adventure waiting for you. We remind each other that real courage is choosing to keep moving forward even when it feels hard and uncertain.
Embracing My Reality
The truth is, my situation doesn’t change. I can either embrace it, having fun, accepting myself, and finding joy in who I am, or I could let it overpower me and become something that depresses or diminishes me. I choose to lean into joy and authenticity. Every day, I give 200% to being the best mom and person I can be. Honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing — not my blindness, not the tough days, not the victories. They’ve made me more compassionate, inventive, and deeply connected to love. I often joke, “If I could see, life wouldn’t be challenging enough for me.” It’s true. These challenges have opened my eyes in unexpected ways, revealing beauty beyond sight.
To every mom reading this, whether you see clearly, partially, or in your own way, motherhood comes with challenges for us all. What matters is rising to meet them with a spirit that won’t quit and realizing that each day offers a chance to grow. Motherhood, holidays, family, and everyday moments are incredible gifts. And gifts are always worth celebrating.