020 Personal Perspectives on Vision Loss with Jessie Wolinsky

I’m so pleased to welcome Jessie Wolinsky to the show, a graduate student in clinical mental health counseling who has been living with retinitis pigmentosa since she was seven years old. After losing her driver’s license and facing legal blindness at age 26, Jessie navigated a profound journey through depression and identity loss to emerge as a powerful advocate and future mental health clinician. Today, we’re exploring her personal evolution from viewing her diagnosis as a "death sentence" to finding autonomy through mobility tools and movement. Jessie’s story is a masterclass in reclaiming your narrative and building confidence from the ground up.

The Muscle of Confidence and the Art of Occupying Space

As a psychotherapist who works daily with the low-vision community, I often hear from clients who feel they are standing on a precipice. The ground beneath them—the vision they relied on, the future they envisioned—has started to give way. In my recent conversation with Jessie Wolinsky, she described this sensation as a "rug pull," a visceral image of how a diagnosis of retinitis pigmentosa (RP) can upend a young person’s sense of self. Sitting across from her (virtually, from Atlanta to San Francisco), I was struck by the clarity and hard-won wisdom she brought to the table. Jessie isn't just someone living with vision loss; she is a future clinician who has looked into the mirror of her own despair and decided to break the frame.

One of the most poignant parts of our discussion centered on the intersection of genetics, disability, and chronic depression. Jessie was candid about her struggles with self-injury and the moment of "violent assault" against her own reflection when the weight of "Why me?" became too much to bear. As a therapist, I know that grief is a natural human process, but depression is a different beast—one that requires tools and support to navigate. Jessie credits her early entry into therapy with helping her dismantle the narrative that she was "not worthy". It is this lived experience that is now driving her toward her own career in mental health, a move I welcome with open arms because we desperately need more providers who truly understand the "othered" feeling of disability.

We also spent time deconstructing the "spectacle" of the white cane. Jessie’s initial resistance to the cane is a story I hear often. For many, the cane feels like an outward signal of vulnerability, especially in a world that doesn't always feel safe. But Jessie’s reframe was brilliant: she realized she was living her life for the comfort of others, staying on her couch to avoid being "seen" as blind. When she finally embraced cane training, she didn't just find her way to the grocery store; she found her way back to herself. She reclaimed her autonomy. As we discussed, for every "bad actor" who might see the cane as a sign of weakness, there are thousands of neighbors and bus drivers who become part of a community safety net when we choose to occupy space.

What I want my readers and clients to take away from Jessie’s story is her definition of confidence. It isn't a gift you are born with; it is a muscle you build. It involves the "non-negotiable" act of leaving the house every day, even when the low-friction option is to stay isolated. It involves choosing "clean-burning" empathy over the exhaustion of anger when a stranger treats you like an object rather than a human.

Jessie reminded me that while we cannot control the hand we are dealt, we are the conscious creators of how we play it. Whether you are struggling with the stigma of a mobility aid or the heavy fog of depression, know that change is possible. You deserve to occupy space in this world, and you deserve a life designed by you, for you.

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021 On the Other Side of the Diagnosis with Kimberly Stepien MD

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019 Living as a Therapist wth Low-Vision  with Jon Weaver LCSW