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I’m typing this blog post while wearing my brand-new eyeglasses. I’m really enjoying them, and I’m enjoying the fact that the lenses are the same as my previous glasses—not progressives. But that almost wasn’t the case, despite the fact that I was sure that I didn’t want progressives.
Let me explain.
After going through my yearly eye exam, I was ready to pick out my new glasses. Now, keep in mind that my eyes were healthy, and my prescription had not changed since the last time I had come. Because my health insurance is pretty comprehensive, it did cover the cost of new glasses (to a point), and I figured that I might as well get a spare pair that looked nice. I wasn’t a huge fan of my current rimless glasses, which had nose pads that were a continuous bother to me, so I was looking to go for full-rimmed glasses.
As I was browsing, the elderly salesperson was already pushing me toward the more expensive glasses on the wall. “Go on,” he said, “your insurance is so good, it’ll cover these really nice ones.” The pressure was on. I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between the really expensive ones versus the cheaper ones, but I could feel my insides clench up as I fell back into the defensive shell of my rule-following self. I didn’t want to make any fuss or cause any kind of scene, so I let myself be pushed toward the expensive frames.
Still, I told myself, I will choose the ones that I like. I tried on all of the glasses that I could, envisioning myself picking a bolder and flashier style than my old ones.
I finally found the ones I really liked, and I had chosen an opportunity to pick them from the less expensive wall while the salesperson was helping someone else.
As he started to ring my price up, he started muttering something like “Well, you didn’t get progressive lenses the last time you were here, but your insurance is so good, surely you’d like to get them this time.” I couldn’t quite catch everything he was saying. I am nearsighted, so as I’ve gotten older, I’ve had to take my eyeglasses off to see things close up, but that nearsightedness has delayed me having to get readers. Everyone tends to lose their ability to focus on things close up and need readers as they get older, but my nearsightedness was delaying that.
While it is a bit of a pain to take my glasses off to read things up close, I've gotten used to it. I certainly didn’t feel the need to have bifocals let alone progressives.
But, again, I didn’t want to make a fuss and just nodded along with the salesperson. He had been so nice and was talking to me about writing and how it was great that I was trying to be an author (“Hey, my son is an author as well!”). But his niceness was your typical salesperson niceness, something I recognized when I saw the final bill: it was at least $600 more than I was expecting to pay, with a fair amount coming out of pocket because of the costs of the progressive lenses.
And still, I didn’t say anything. I was internally thinking, maybe having progressives would be nice. Even though I hadn’t planned on it, my insurance was making the purchase much cheaper than it would have been. As I was walking out of the door, he was telling me that I was going to need to put on the glasses as soon as they arrived to train my eyes. Progressives were tricky, and they sometimes can make people dizzy and nauseated as they got used to them.
I kept going over that message in my head as I drove home, becoming increasingly agitated. Urgh. I did not want to train myself to use these new glasses and then to become used to them so that I would be stuck using these more expensive options going forward. Why had I let him talk me into a purchase that I hadn’t wanted in the first place?
It was because I’m a people pleaser. I don’t want to make a scene. I don’t want to cause any ripples. I’ve thought a lot about this, and I also think it’s because I’ve been overweight all of my life. I’ve spent a lot of needless energy trying to minimize myself, making myself as small as possible, even if that is only metaphorically.
I was so mad at myself for not saying anything. When I finally got home, I stared at my phone and took a deep breath. No. I did not want to make that purchase. So, I called the store up and chatted with the salesperson:
“Hey, so, uh, I’d rather not get the progressives, if that is alright? I’d just like the prescription and the lens type that I always get.”
The salesperson was understanding, though I’m sure he was sad at losing the larger sale. He was also much nicer about changing the order than I thought he would be. It made me realize that I could be more of an advocate for myself (and that it was easier to do that over the phone than in person).
It’s definitely something that I need to work on more, making space for myself in this world. I find that I’ve learned to do that more as I go on my querying journey for my novel. I belong in this space, and my voice matters. I don’t need to make myself invisible anymore.
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