by Kathryn O’Toole
Losing my sight later in life has been not just a physical shift but an existential one. After decades as a Cardiac Nurse Practitioner and keynote speaker where competence and care were my currency, I have found myself navigating a world that suddenly feels unfamiliar, excluding and overwhelmingly visual. But I am not ready to fade into the background. Instead, I have chosen to return to University of Adelaide to study a Bachelor of Sociology and Psychology.
Re-entering academia as a vision-impaired student has been both empowering and disorienting. The lecture halls, tutorial rooms, digital platforms, and group discussions are designed for sighted norms. I’ve quickly learned that “accessibility” often means patching over exclusion, not fostering true inclusion. Screen readers clash with clunky PDFs, lectures and tutorials rely on PowerPoint presentations with font styles and colour schemes that are difficult to discern. Most times, I simply can’t see them.
I have come to understand that “accessibility” is frequently approached as a remedial adjustment rather than a foundational principle of inclusion, assumed visual cues and orientation sessions rarely considered non-visual navigation.
Yet, I also discovered resilience in unexpected places. I have begun to advocate, not just for myself, but for systemic change. I plan to work with disability support services, not as a passive recipient, but as an active collaborator by sharing feedback, suggesting alternatives and reminding educators that inclusion isn’t charity – it’s an essential design.
What surprised me most was how my lived experience has engaged and enriched my academic work. Studying sociology and psychology, I can see – pardon the pun – how deeply ableism is embedded in our institutions. It is my quest to write essays that will weave theory with personal narrative, challenging assumptions about independence, productivity and belonging.
Fitting into a sighted world isn’t about assimilation. It’s about transformation. I don’t aim to “pass” as sighted. I aim to make space for difference. That means asking for audio descriptions without apology, questioning inaccessible course materials and mentoring others who feel unseen.
To anyone navigating vision loss later in life: returning to study is not just possible, it’s powerful. You bring wisdom, perspective and a voice that academia sorely needs. The path may be uneven, but each step is a reclamation of identity, purpose and possibility.