I never imagined that one day, I would have to learn how to live without sight.

Twelve years ago, my world changed quietly but completely. I was a young mother, raising my first son, when glaucoma slowly took away my vision. It didn’t happen all at once. Instead, it came like a shadow - gradually dimming the world around me until I could no longer rely on my eyes.

Before losing my vision, I had already faced another life-changing challenge: cervical cancer. Experiencing serious illness, followed by vision loss, forced me to confront fear, uncertainty, and the fragility of life in ways I had never expected.

At first, I was overwhelmed. I was not only losing my vision, but also my sense of identity. I had always been independent. I moved from Vietnam to Australia on my own, built a career, and created a life through determination and hard work. Suddenly, everything felt uncertain.

How could I continue to be a mother?

How could I take care of my children?

How could I rebuild a life when I could no longer see it?

There were moments when I felt lost. Moments when I questioned my purpose. As a migrant woman and a mother, I felt a deep pressure to stay strong — but inside, I was struggling.

For a long time, I tried to cope on my own. It wasn’t until I connected with Vision Australia that things began to change.

That connection marked a turning point.

Through support, training, and community, I slowly started to rebuild my confidence. I learned how to navigate with a white cane, how to use technology, and most importantly, how to trust myself again.

But rebuilding my life was not just about learning practical skills. It was about rediscovering who I am.

I am not just a blind woman.

I am a mother.

I am a professional.

I am an athlete.

I am a woman who refuses to be limited.

Over time, I stepped outside my comfort zone again. I returned to work and became active in sports, including blind tennis. On the court, I found strength, confidence, and a sense of belonging.

Through tennis, I discovered not only confidence, but also purpose. I am now working towards becoming a tennis coach, with a dream of creating opportunities for blind and low vision people — especially those from migrant backgrounds, to access sport, build confidence, and feel that they truly belong.

But my journey did not stop there.

I have challenged myself in many different ways - playing golf, basketball, trekking long distances, and even learning skydiving. Standing at the edge of a plane, preparing to jump into the open sky, I realised something powerful: fear does not disappear, but we can choose to move forward anyway.

For me, skydiving is more than an activity. It represents my desire to rise above limitations, to get closer to the sky, and to remind myself that life is still full of possibilities.

At the same time, I have been committed to giving back. I have taken part in fundraising efforts to support blind and low vision children, because I want the next generation to grow up believing in their potential, not their limitations.

But one of the most meaningful parts of my journey has been finding my voice and using it for others.

Today, I work with organisations such as Centre for Disability Study and Vision Australia to advocate for accessible cervical screening. As a woman who has experienced cervical cancer and now lives with vision loss, I understand how critical it is that healthcare is inclusive and accessible for all women.

I also support and connect blind and low vision Vietnamese women in my community, helping them feel less alone and more empowered as they navigate life in a new country.

Through my platform, “The Blind Mum,” I share my journey- my challenges, my growth, and my everyday life. I want to show that disability does not define what we can achieve.

As a woman from a culturally and linguistically diverse background, I know how easy it is to feel invisible. But I also know how powerful it is when we are seen, heard, and supported.

Today, I am raising two boys, working, playing sport, and continuing to explore the world in my own way. My life may not look like what I once imagined, but it is full, meaningful, and deeply my own.

Losing my vision did not end my story. In many ways, it was the beginning of a new one.

A story of resilience.

A story of courage.

A story of rising higher, even without sight.

If there is one message I hope to share, it is this: Even in darkness, we can still find our way. And sometimes, we can even learn to fly.

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