Finding My Stride

By Sara Robinson

My hearing loss was first identified after I did not pass a school hearing screening in first grade in 1989, before systemic newborn hearing screening, and long before most kids were identified early enough for early intervention. My parents dutifully followed up with the recommendation to see an audiologist and I was diagnosed with a mild hearing loss. The audiologist recommended regular testing to monitor my hearing and said I should sit in the front of the classroom with my better ear towards the teacher (my right ear was slightly better than my left). There was no mention of hearing aids and no discussion of any support services. My language and speech were developing well, and my parents had no concerns in those areas. They were a little surprised to find I had hearing loss, but my mom says it did make sense to her then why I seemed “in my own world” and tended to not hear her calling me to come in from outside. I was very shy in school early on and often didn’t speak. My mom wrote in my memory book that I didn’t raise my hand and say “present” when my name was called for roll call. I was comfortable at home, though, and thrived with my family.

My parents did everything they knew to do to support me as a child. They followed up regularly with the audiologist and made sure to talk to my teachers at the start of each school year. My parents also encouraged my love for reading, imaginative play with my sisters, and as I got older, music. My hearing loss was not something that was pointed out to me or talked about. This was certainly not intentional, as I don’t think my parents even realized the impact a mild hearing loss could have for me. As a result, though, I learned early on to “pass” as someone with typical hearing. I think I subconsciously learned that I needed to hide any hearing difficulties I was having so that I did not stand out.

I’ve had a slow progression to my hearing loss, and it wasn’t until high school that I recall hearing aids being mentioned for the first time. I got my first pair of hearing aids in college and it was not a successful start to hearing aid use. I wore them off and on for years, always convincing myself that I didn’t really need them, and that I could hear fine without them. I didn’t want to appear different, and I disliked the attention when others realized I was hard of hearing. I basically tried as hard as I could to appear “normal” and hide my hearing loss. Without realizing it, I was working harder to compensate for my hearing. On the outside, I appeared to be doing fine. I generally hid it well. What wasn’t seen was the furious paddling underneath the surface to keep up the act.

As my hearing loss progressed a little further, I renewed my efforts to try hearing aids again as it was getting harder and harder to keep up. To my surprise, I found hearing aids that I actually liked and began to wear them more often. I was taken aback with how much more I could hear with them and stunned at what I had been missing. It wasn’t until very recently though, that I started to become more comfortable being hard of hearing and advocating for myself. The turning point, really, was the start of COVID-19. The overnight switch to virtual work, mask-wearing, and social distancing introduced a whole new set of challenges. I hadn’t realized just how much I depended on visual cues until they were taken away. All of the sudden I couldn’t fake it anymore. I had always worked harder to listen but now I began to experience extreme listening fatigue.

I have spent much of this past year sorting through my identity and what it means to be hard of hearing for me personally. I have learned on the fly how to advocate for myself and let others know what I need, rather than putting the burden of accommodating on myself alone. I have gone from trying to hide my hearing aids to learning to enjoy showing off my sparkly purple earmolds and often pull my hair back so they are more visible. It has been an uncomfortable year. I have many more years of practice at working to “pass” as typically hearing and only a short time learning to be comfortable with my authentic self and learning to advocate for what I need. There have been many bumps along the road this past year; in advocating, learning to accept that I really am hard of hearing, and having many more conversations with people about my hearing. There has also been a lot of progress too; I have made some changes that have helped reduce listening fatigue and most importantly, I am learning to accept my hearing and maybe even be proud of this part of my identity.

In the deaf and hard of hearing professions, we know so much more now, especially about the impact of mild degrees of hearing loss. While I don’t think I would change the way things happened for me, I wonder how I would be different if my hearing challenges were acknowledged when I was growing up. Though I’ll never know this answer, I can provide support and encouragement to today’s parents and their children to consider my experiences along their journeys.  ~

Editor’s Note: Robinson is a Speech-Language Pathologist on the Deaf and Hard of Hearing Team at Children’s Hospital Colorado in Colorado Springs.

H&V Communicator – Summer 2021