Living In Between
When most people look at me, they probably don’t see my hearing aids. They probably don’t know that I struggle with comprehending a spoken conversation. They most definitely don’t know that I am juggling life between two worlds.
Many of us in the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community wear hearings aids or cochlear implants, however, this doesn’t mean we can understand every spoken word. With my hearing aids, I simply hear more noise. The noise itself is not distinguishable between rushing wind and someone shouting my name from far away.
From the time I was five years old and I received my first hearing aids, I was encouraged to “be hearing.” I went to speech therapy but was never introduced to American Sign Language. I didn’t even know the Deaf community existed, until I was in high school. While my parents weren’t supportive of me attending the American School for the Deaf, I could take ASL classes. It was there that a passion was born. I finally found a place where I wasn’t an outcast. I wasn’t the only one who was different. I could breathe.
I remember when I was in elementary school trying so hard to fit in. I purposely left my hearing aids at home, “forgot” my FM unit in the audiologist office and must have done the Deaf Nod a million times a day. I always felt like the odd ball. The misfit. I was constantly fighting what made me different – unique. I didn’t want to be that way. I wanted to be like everyone else, you know, normal. It didn’t become painfully apparent that I would never be normal until I was in high school.
My high school experience was not a good one. Honestly, I’d rather pretend those four years never happened. Not only were students picking on me for not being able to hear them, teachers did it too. They could be in earshot of someone bullying me and wouldn’t say a word until I retaliated. The one memory that is forever burned is when one of them called me a retard. That word haunted me and still does sometimes. Any time I wanted to try something new, his voice would echo in the back of my mine until I decided not to try. I had started to believe that word was synonymous with my name.
Since no one in my family learned ASL, I was forced into a life of lip reading everyone all the time. Whenever I went home after school, I rarely wanted to have a conversation because my energy was often tapped out. I’d go to my room, crawl into a comfy chair and read a book. In those fictional lands, I didn’t have to work as hard to understand what was going on. If I missed something, all I had to do was turn back a page or two. Whereas in a real-life conversation, I was always lost. If I had to ask, “What did you say?” more than once, I usually just read their facial expressions to figure out how I should react. It got to the point where sometimes, I was 100% guessing during a conversation.
During the pandemic, I have been guessing all the time. My insecurity is now through the roof! I can no longer hide my hearing level as well I used to. I have started to use alternative methods for communication among general public like Sprint IP Relay and typing my food/drink orders in my phone. Lip reading and facial expressions were the skills I could use to understand what I couldn’t hear. Now, I have less to work with when figuring out the correct response to a question or statement. Every Deaf and Hard of Hearing person would probably agree to this, I can’t wait till we no longer have to wear masks in public!
While hearing aids allow me to hear sounds, I can’t otherwise hear, this means many people I encounter think I am hearing. Since they assume that I am hearing due to what I can understand and my speech, I have always been embarrassed whenever I need to ask, “What did you say?” I am positive that they will think less of me, if I told them the truth. In reality, I think of myself as less than. Not good enough. Subpar. Don’t get me wrong, the bullies from high school and others I have run into over the years who have said, “Never mind” or looked down on me, played a part. Those looks, words and vibes chipped away at my self-esteem, as I grew older. I hardly thought of myself as successful or worth anything. This is something I still struggle with.
So, when it came time to move almost halfway across the country to start my own life, that mentality followed me into every kind of relationship. Whether it was trying to find a job, friends, boyfriend, or roommate, I was constantly second guessing myself. When they looked at my hearing aids, they automatically saw what I couldn’t do, instead of what I could do. Eventually, I met individuals who saw my potential, my worth, my essence as something to be cherished instead of frowned upon. In an effort to acknowledge my own self-worth, I have a mantra. I am a Black Deaf Queen who deserves to have space to be me. I will accept nothing less. I can do anything, except hear.
