Finding My Frequency

By Skylynn Brown, Nevada H&V

If you had told me a few years ago that a small piece of technology would completely change the course of my life, I would have laughed and asked if it came with an instruction manual. Back then, I was a quiet, small-town girl keeping my hearing loss to myself. I had gotten pretty good at pretending it didn’t exist. But life has a way of taking your carefully drawn plans, shaking them up, and handing you something better, if you let it.

What started as a scary medical decision became something much bigger: a journey back to myself. I didn’t just gain sound. I gained confidence, community, and a sense of identity I didn’t even realize had been on mute for so long. Getting a cochlear implant opened doors I never expected. It led me to volunteer, meet incredible people who share similar experiences, and even inspired a complete career change outside of my original plan.

I was on track to becoming a physician, my dream as long as I can remember. During my CI evaluation, I met a fourth-year extern who was bimodal like me, and she completely changed how I saw my future. For the first time, I didn’t feel so alone. There was only one other student using hearing aids in the small town where I grew up. No one had a CI. The only people I knew with hearing loss were my sister and father.

From Physician to Audiologist

That extern gave me something I didn’t even know I was missing: a sense of belonging. I remember thinking, “This is the feeling I want others to have, to feel seen, connected, and understood.” I had spent so many years trying to blend in. I never realized how much I needed to stand out in my own way. So, in November of my senior year, I took a leap of faith. I searched for top Doctor of Audiology programs, applied, took my GRE, and told myself, “If this is meant to be, it will happen.” I was accepted into UT Dallas, one of the top audiology programs in the country. Changing paths so close to the start of medical school was terrifying, but it was one of the best decisions I ever made. Who knew sound booths would be in my future?

When I finally went through with CI surgery when nearly 20 years old, I wasn’t sure what to expect. My head was full of “what ifs.” What if it was worse than hearing aids? What if I wasn’t ready? None of us are ever completely ready for a big change. Sometimes we just have to take the leap, even if our legs are shaking. My implant was activated in January 2020, right before the world shut down. Masks and social distancing made communication incredibly difficult and delayed my progress, but I kept going. It wasn’t easy, but eventually, I found my rhythm. I’m proud of how far I’ve come, even if the road wasn’t always smooth.

Since then, I’ve learned to embrace my hearing loss instead of hiding it. I’ve learned that confidence doesn’t mean pretending everything is perfect. My youngest sister, who’s fifteen, received her first CI three years ago. Being able to share this experience with her has been one of the most meaningful parts of my journey. She’s doing so well that I tease her about being the “version 2.0” upgrade of me. Newer, faster, and probably more stylish.

I know that cochlear implants aren’t the “answer” to hearing loss. Everyone’s journey is different. Some people find their rhythm with hearing aids, others find pride and power in Deaf culture and sign language, and some of us end up somewhere in the middle. There’s no right or wrong path, just the one that fits who you are.

Over time, my path has led me to roles I never imagined for myself. Volunteering as a Cochlear Ambassador has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I love connecting with people who are navigating their own hearing journeys and swapping stories that only someone who’s been there can truly understand. Sometimes those conversations are serious, sometimes they’re funny, and sometimes we’re just laughing about how our devices seem to lose a magnet at the exact moment we need them most, like when you’re trying to look composed and professional.

I’ve also had the privilege of speaking for the Dallas Hearing Foundation’s LoneStar Cochlear Clan and helping re-ignite the Dallas chapter of the Hearing Loss Association of America with my late friend and mentor, Kevin Medlin. Together, we spent more than a year rebuilding that community. After Kevin’s unexpected passing, I moved to Las Vegas to complete my fourth-year externship at the VA Southern Nevada Healthcare System, working with veterans who have hearing loss. They keep me on my toes. I am holding my own in rooms full of veterans with opinions, stories, and a healthy dose of sarcasm. I also began working as a Deaf and Hard of Hearing Guide and Community Outreach Manager for Nevada Hands & Voices. All of these roles have been deeply meaningful, combining my professional background with my passion for advocacy. I get to help others find resources, community, and confidence in their own unique way. Every connection reminds me that while our hearing journeys might look different, the heart of it all is the same: understanding, resilience, and belonging.

Every June, I plan to return to Colorado to volunteer at the Listen CI Family Camp, working with kids from fifth grade to recent high school graduates. Watching them grow in confidence and connect with others reminds me exactly why I do what I do. Plus, nothing keeps you humble quite like getting annihilated in a camp dodgeball game by a group of ten-year-olds and having to yell “FREEZE!” anytime a processor is knocked off while everyone searches for it together.

I don’t share my story to convince anyone of anything. It’s mine: honest, imperfect, and still evolving. My hearing loss and CI experience has taught me that strength often looks like persistence, that laughter really does help, and that sometimes the best thing you can do is keep showing up. This once-shy girl from a small Kentucky town now works with veterans and families, speaks to groups, and can laugh when her CI battery decides to die mid-conversation. Life, like hearing, doesn’t always come with a warning tone, but that’s what makes it beautiful. ~

H&V Communicator – Spring 2026