Focus on what you can do, not what you can't—How my daughter with esotropia helped me grow

When my eldest daughter was three years old, she was diagnosed with "esotropia." From that moment on, I began to feel pessimistic about her future.

I had actually noticed it much earlier. When she was three months old and lying on the tatami mats, I felt as if she were glaring at me with a sharp gaze. I thought it might just be because I was tired, but I was concerned, so I took a picture. When I looked back at it, her left pupil was turned inward. I dismissed it by telling myself that since she was a baby, her eyes might not be stable yet as she grew, and I let it go.

Shortly after we moved when she was two years and seven months old, we were having dinner facing each other, and I felt that "the position of her left pupil is clearly different." However, I was busy unpacking and ended up forgetting about it.

Right after she started kindergarten, I began to worry about it again, so I took her to an ophthalmologist. The diagnosis was "esotropia." I was told that it would be difficult for her to develop the ability to see a single image with both eyes, making it hard for her to perceive things in three dimensions.

I understood it in my head. But to be honest, I was pessimistic about my daughter's future. It was because it was hard to imagine what kind of future awaited her.

There was even a time when her kindergarten bus teacher said to me, "Does your daughter dislike me? She is always glaring at me." I explained her eye condition and the misunderstanding was finally cleared up, but my heart ached. If the teacher felt that way, I worried that she might be ostracized by her friends at school. That anxiety never left my mind.

When she was in the first grade of elementary school, my daughter said, "I want to do rhythmic gymnastics."

I thought she had fallen in love with it at first sight, perhaps because she associated the cute floral leotards with Disney princesses. She begged me repeatedly, so I finally gave her the OK, but in my heart, I was anxious, thinking, "Of all things, rhythmic gymnastics..." It is a sport where you throw balls, ribbons, and hoops, do forward rolls, and catch them. I wondered if it was too high a hurdle for my daughter, who had difficulty with stereoscopic vision. I imagined the look on my daughter's face when she came home hurt.

But my daughter, while appearing laid-back, had a strong core.

When she was in the second grade, she saw on TV that actress and figure skater Miyu Honda was doing 600 to 800 sit-ups every day, and she said, "If it's necessary to do those movements, then I will." For the next two years, until she was in the third grade, she did sit-ups every single day without a break. Although it stopped when we moved, I watched her every day. I watched the back of my daughter who would just silently keep doing it.

After we moved to our new home, she asked to join the athlete course in the fourth grade, and she was accepted. That was the beginning of a difficult path. The apparatus required for each competition changed, and because she clearly couldn't catch the apparatus as well as the other children, she was scolded by her instructors.

One night, I heard crying coming from my daughter's room.

I stopped outside her room. Should I call out to her? Should I go and hold her shoulders? But I thought this was something my daughter had to face herself, so I walked away from the door. Now, there are times when I think I should have gone in to hold her. I still don't know if that was the right thing to do.

Even so, my daughter continued. She practiced whenever she had free time and started taking ballet lessons to develop her expressiveness.
I didn't tell her instructors that she had difficulty with stereoscopic vision due to esotropia. I wanted them to treat her the same as the other children.

My daughter decided for herself, "I will do rhythmic gymnastics until the second year of junior high school." From rhythmic gymnastics, she moved on to the path of contemporary dance. She carved out the path she chose for herself, all on her own.

In March of her third year of junior high school, my daughter had surgery to correct her strabismus. She still needs corrective glasses, but her eyes no longer look strabismic, and her vision has improved. I asked her how she sees things, but it seems it hasn't changed much for her. Still, I thought about my daughter, who had been looking forward all this time with those eyes she had lived with for so many years.
And now, she has moved to the United States to study dance.

One day, I asked my daughter, "How did you catch the ribbons and clubs?"

She replied, "It's a sense. I can roughly tell how long it will take to fall if I throw it with this much force. Besides, I don't know how normal people see things anyway. I don't even know what it's like to have stereoscopic vision."

Then my daughter continued, "I'm not good at anything at first and I'm clumsy, but I don't give up on what I want to do, so things often work out well."

When I heard those words, I couldn't say anything. At the same time, I felt a chill. It was because I remembered the words I had kept saying to her when she was two or three years old: "You are a late bloomer; you might not be able to do things at first, but you will be able to do them well much later." She was laid-back, so I said those words to encourage her. I had no basis for them back then. Maybe I just wanted to believe it. But my daughter really did bloom in her own time, with her own strength.My daughter had always focused on what she could do, not what she couldn't. With those eyes I had been so worried about, she was looking forward more than anyone else. What kind of scenery will this child, who looked forward more than anyone else with eyes that couldn't see in three dimensions, see from now on?

Looking back, how was I?
I was good at finding reasons why I couldn't do things. I had a history of surgery for a herniated disc and a history of lower back pain after childbirth. But when I looked at my eldest daughter's back, I felt that this was no time for excuses. I feel that part of the reason I didn't give up on my body and went on to get my yoga instructor certification was because I was watching her work so hard. The fact that I am now able to teach students as an instructor might be thanks to my eldest daughter.

It was I who was helped to grow.
My daughter is now a college freshman. I am sure she will continue to teach me many things in the future.

*️⃣The following is the article that gave me the realization mentioned above. I would be happy if you could read it as well.