'I had to have both eyes removed by the age of one. Ever since, I have made clicking noises with my tongue to understand my environment'

I had to have both eyes removed by the age of one to save my life – I was born with an aggressive form of eye cancer called retinoblastoma. Ever since, I have made clicking noises with my tongue to understand my environment. I wasn't aware I was doing it, just as sighted people don't consciously teach themselves to see. It was only when I was 11 that a very bright friend realised that what I was doing was echolocation, the same technique that a bat flying in the dark relies on: I was navigating my surroundings by listening to the echoes as my clicks bounced off surfaces.

Every surface has its own acoustic signature – I can recognise a tree, for example, because the trunk produces a different echo from the leaves. The hard wood reflects the sound, whereas the leaves reflect and refract, too, scattering the sound waves. Everything around me becomes identifiable with a click. It provides me with a 3D image in my mind with depth, character and richness; it brings light into darkness. I can often find my way out of an auditorium quicker than a sighted person because I can identify the exit. If I'm in a noisy place such as a concert, I don't feel anxious – I just increase the volume and my click cuts through the noise. I'm very familiar with its sound and don't feel at all self-conscious if other people hear me.

I don't have superhuman hearing, even though I'm sometimes called Batman; I have just trained my ears to understand the echoes. Anyone could do it, sighted or blind – it's not rocket science. If you hold up a book in front of you and click, then take it away and click, you can hear a difference, just as you know you're in an empty room because it's echoey. When I was in college I wrote my thesis on echolocation, and during my research I had to consciously deconstruct how I was doing it to understand the process. I know there's a wall in front of me, I'd think, but what's tipping me off? I would set myself tasks and try to get quicker and quicker at navigating obstacle courses.

Although clicking is inordinately helpful, blind children aren't encouraged to use it, maybe because it's seen as socially inappropriate. The worry is that the sound makes you look odd. Instead, there is an unfortunate slant towards dependency, rather than encouraging freedom.

Even now, although I have travelled around the world successfully, when I'm in an airport I feel that officials yearn to get me in a wheelchair, take away my documents and leave me feeling powerless. One friend wasn't allowed to leave the plane until "assistance" arrived, even though he held the world record for blind cycling; he was too nice to make a fuss but I would have insisted.

I have made it my life's work to teach blind children how to empower themselves using echolocation, which I call flashsonar. As you become more adept, you also click more subtly and naturally, like blinking, so often people around you aren't aware you're doing it and you aren't stigmatised for it.

Luckily, when I was growing up my parents supported my clicking and encouraged me to have a "normal" childhood. My friends all rode bikes and I wanted to, too, so I taught myself by riding next to a wall and clicking to stay in a straight line. Gradually I was able to ride to school and to friends' houses on my own, using echolocation.

I didn't realise I was exceptionally independent or behaving unconventionally for a blind person. I went to a mainstream school with extra support and was never bullied. In fact, my ability to navigate by clicks brought me kudos.

Now I can ride along a busy street or go on a trail in the woods. I have never hit a pedestrian – touch wood – because I don't ride on the pavement. Cars are excellent echo targets, so I can easily avoid them. I won't say I've never had an accident, but every activity holds an element of risk.

Negotiating rush hour traffic isn't my dream; I am just glad I can if I want to. It's ironic – I spend all my time encouraging blind people to be active participants in society when, really, I'd love to step out of it. When my work is done, you'll find me in the mountains like an old hermit, with just my clicks for company.

• As told to Emily Cunningham

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