Blinded with Insecurity
In this episode of Village Voice, I read an essay I memorized… because I’m blind and I can’t visually read my own formatting.
The essay is called “The Words I’ll Never Read.”
And yeah… the irony isn’t lost on me.
What I Cover
What it’s like building a writing platform without sight
Navigating Substack by sound instead of vision
The irony of coaching writers while using assistive technology
Why trying to “fix” insecurity can actually reinforce it
Choosing permission over perfection
Okay.
Let’s actually talk about it.
I publish in a visually curated world… and I can’t see the layout.
Menus are read aloud.
Buttons are announced one by one.
Formatting is interpreted through narration instead of sight.
While you scroll and see the whole page at once, I move through it sequentially. Carefully. Hoping I didn’t knock something out of place.
Sometimes there are typos.
Sometimes the layout wobbles.
Sometimes an image doesn’t land the way I imagined it in my head.
And sometimes?
I feel insecure about it.
Not about being blind.
About how it shows up.
For a long time, I thought insecurity was something I needed to overcome.
Improve more.
Polish harder.
Compensate.
But I’m starting to question that.
Because trying to fix insecurity often reinforces it.
If I treat my blindness like the problem, I confirm it is.
If I believe I’ll feel worthy once everything looks perfect, I teach myself I’m not worthy now.
I can’t remove my blindness.
But I can remove the shame around it.
And that shift?
That’s where freedom lives.
This episode isn’t about inspiration.
It’s about permission.
Permission to be a little insecure.
Permission to show up anyway.
Permission to stop turning every discomfort into a self-improvement project.
A Question I’m Sitting With
What insecurity are you constantly trying to improve… instead of just allowing?
Not indulging.
Not spiraling.
Just acknowledging:
“I feel unsure right now. And I’m still here.”
What if you gave yourself permission instead of pressure?
If this hits, don’t just nod at it.
Sit with it.
Write about it.
Have the uncomfortable thought all the way through.
And if you want to do that kind of work, the kind that turns insecurity into clarity instead of shame … come write with me inside Written Identity.
Two minutes a day.
Real reflection.
No performance.
There might be typos.
The layout might wobble.
But the honesty won’t.
I’ll be here
Alli 🖤
