Like most people, I had preconceived notions about deaf individuals. However, when a mysterious woman appeared at my school and informed me that I had been mishearing things my entire life, I was utterly perplexed. She was a “teacher of the deaf” from South Tyneside council, assigned to me by my GP who had diagnosed me with significant hearing loss.
In my own family, I have deaf relatives – my grandmother’s brother and his children. But like many, I had mistakenly believed that deafness was a black-and-white condition. I was ignorant and unaware of the complexities.
This woman explained that I struggled to hear certain high-frequency pitches and would experience difficulty in rooms with high ceilings or excessive background noise. I couldn’t distinguish sounds like “f,” “s,” or “ph,” and I often confused similar-sounding words such as “Ireland” and “Thailand.” Suddenly, my various experiences of communication started to make sense. My tendency to mumble, speak softly, and tilt my head to the left when listening – all were connected to my hearing loss.
To confirm her suspicions, the woman conducted a test where she covered her mouth and repeated sentences. It was then evident that I had been lip-reading, perhaps unconsciously, all along. She concluded that without lip-reading, I missed approximately 15% of every sentence. Lip-reading for those with hearing loss becomes second nature – the mind fills in the gaps using context and facial movements. This explains why it becomes easier to understand someone the longer you know them.
To this day, the cause of my hearing loss remains unknown. I’ve questioned whether I was born this way or if there was an accident that triggered it. The news injected a bewildering dimension into my worldview. I began analyzing how I listened and spoke to friends, attempting to comprehend my hearing loss better. I searched through childhood memories, desperately attempting to identify the moment when the loss became apparent. It made me cautious, paranoid, and endlessly curious. I became hyper-aware and self-critical whenever I missed something.
The doctors provided me with hearing aids, which I intermittently used for the next two years. However, I eventually decided to stop wearing them. My decision stemmed from multiple reasons, some of which are ever-evolving.
First and foremost, from a practical standpoint, the sounds picked up by my hearing aids proved to be distracting. Rather than enhancing my life, they pulled me away from the present moment. All I could focus on was the sound of grass beneath my feet or the beeping of the fridge when I left the door open for too long. Mundane sounds, perhaps, but they annoyed me.
I also wanted to prove to myself and others that I could succeed without relying on them. To a large extent, I have – I’m married, own a house, and have a stable income. However, back then, nothing was certain. I had managed to navigate school without additional support, and my upcoming university experience brought both excitement and anxiety.
Embarrassment also played a role, fueled by adolescence. I must emphasize that wearing hearing aids is not embarrassing by any means – but as a fifteen-year-old, I felt self-conscious. Today, I understand that this is an outdated perspective. I deeply appreciate the remarkable technological advancements in hearing aids and how they can transform lives.
Nevertheless, my embarrassment was so immense that even after facing a potentially dangerous situation due to my hearing, I still resisted wearing my hearing aids. During a late-night altercation, I misheard someone, and my genuinely puzzled response was mistaken as a sarcastic challenge, leading to an attack before the police arrived. Growing up with hearing issues caused a great deal of anxiety in nightclubs, parties, and social settings. Often, my natural inclination to lip-read was misinterpreted as “staring people out.”
Compared to others, my hearing loss isn’t as severe. In one-on-one conversations in quiet environments, I can hear reasonably well (with some lip-reading involved). Some people may never even suspect that I have hearing loss. However, I’ve spent my entire life trying to conceal it. But if you catch me in a crowded room with high ceilings and background noise, the truth becomes evident.
Today, I choose not to wear my hearing aids because I’ve never known life with them. I do, however, undergo yearly hearing tests to monitor any further deterioration. During these tests, the doctors always inquire about my hearing aids, and I consistently explain my reasons for not using them.
By abandoning my hearing aids, I discovered that I can still achieve success without assistance. It taught me that the best solution is the one that works for you, regardless of what others may say. Above all, it granted me a profound understanding of the intricacies of disability – not just limited to hearing loss.
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