Seeing Clearly

How I dealt with my kōtiro getting glasses:

A couple of weeks ago, Jess took our pōtiki (youngest), Kōtuku to get her eyes checked out. Apparently she didn’t pass whatever test they get at age 4 or something. I didn’t think much of it so I wasn’t really prepared for what came next.

The optometrist told Jess that Kōtuku had 2 dodgy eyes. One had an especially bad astigmatism and the doc was surprised she was doing so well despite it (for those who know how eye prescriptions work, one eye was +4.5 and the other was +6.5).

Basically, she’d have to wear glasses all day, everyday, forever.

Since finding out that Kōtuku was getting glasses, I’ve gotta be honest… I’ve really struggled to come to terms with it.

Not because glasses are a big deal. I mean, I know it’s not cancer. She’s got all her limbs. Kids wear glasses every day. I get it, I do. But something about this hit me harder than I expected.

It’s not like she fell and damaged her eyes and this is just the consequence. She didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t a result of a bad decision or some kind of accident. This is something she was born with. Something she’s had her whole life. And we never even knew.

I felt like we’d failed her. Like somehow we should’ve known. I should’ve noticed something sooner. And the guilt that came with that was heavy.

But there’s one part of the story I haven’t shared yet.

I’ve known for about 10 years that I have an astigmatism in my right eye. That eye’s been blurry as fuck for ages. I got glasses once and wore them for a little bit, lost them, and just never bothered to replace them. Honestly I didn’t like wearing them. That they were uncomfortable, fogged up all the time and gave me headaches sometimes. I just got on with it and that was my choice that I had to live with.

But when I found out Kōtuku needed glasses, something shifted. Deep down, I felt like maybe this was my fault. Like she inherited my dodgy eyesight. And that made everything feel even heavier. Like I’d passed on this broken piece of my whakapapa to my baby girl, and that made me angry.

My first reaction was denial. Straight up. I thought, “This doctor doesn’t know what they’re on about.  Her eyes are fine.” I was ready to book a second opinion until Jess looked at me sideways and said, “Don’t be stupid… I was in the room. She couldn’t tell us what a single thing on the screen was”

Once the reality hit me, my next move was to fix it. Typical. I went deep into researching eye surgery for kids. I was already calculating how much it would cost and when we could book her in… only to find out no one does eye surgery on tamariki that young.

So I sat with it. And I felt shit.

This was something I couldn’t control. I couldn’t hustle my way out of it. I couldn’t “just work harder.” I couldn’t eat better or train more and make it disappear. I couln’t fix it and that wrecked me. Because I realised how much of my identity is tied to being able to control the outcome. And when I couldn’t… I didn’t know what to do.

So I did what I could.

I started researching private health insurance. If she was going to wear glasses, then she was going to have the best. Whenever she needed them, as often as she wanted, no questions asked. I might not be able to fix her eyes today, but I can damn well set her up for the future. And when the time comes that she can have surgery, she’ll be ready. We’ll be ready. And there won’t be a single barrier in her way, because I’ll make sure of that.

And last week, I booked myself in for another eye test too.

Turns out my astigmatism is more than twice as bad as it was in 2021. Of course it is.

So I ordered some new glasses. Not because I want to. I don’t. They’re uncomfortable. They annoy me. And if I had it my way, I’d just keep winging it. But I’m not doing this for me.

I’m doing it for her.

If she has to wear glasses, the very least I can do is stand beside her on that journey. Let her see her pāpā wearing his too. Show her there is absolutely nothing wrong with her. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll mean I’m less tired. Maybe I’ll be able to focus longer and stop squinting at my laptop as I sit here and write this blog. It’s probably a good thing, really.

But most of all, it’s about showing her that she’s not alone. That wearing glasses doesn’t make her less. That it doesn’t define her. That it doesn’t make her any less beautiful, capable, or strong.

She’s perfect exactly as she is.

And if that means I’ve gotta wear some uncomfortable-ass glasses too, then bring it on. That’s a small price to pay to remind my baby girl just how seen, supported, and loved she is.

Ngā mihi

Anton