Let’s Hear It — An Anecdote. I am proud to be deaf. It is not…
By: Sophie Terry
Tags: Schools, Deaf, Work, Bullying, Memoir

Playing head games with a stranger is one way to get to know them, an awkward strategy, if you must. Another is maintaining a position on the left side of your friend as you walk down the street, just to keep up the conversation. And in a bar it’s easy to strike up a chat, when you have a glass of wine armed with a cheesy one-liner. You’re good to go.

But hearing them? Now that’s a whole different ball-game. The idea of moving your head side to side, back and forth, and instinctively moving around a person, is not a good way to maintain a conversation. It’s tiring and to the other person, they might seem weirded out by your inability to stay put. Yet that is the daily life of a D/deaf person, or at least, that’s what I argue.

I was eighteen-months-old when my parents took me to the doctor’s clinic for a routine check-up, where they discovered their daughter was deaf. Profoundly deaf in the left ear, mild sensorineural loss in the right. Life as my family knew it had changed. Parenthood had to be navigated differently to what they were used to because having twins is one thing, but having a child with a disability is another.

The reason why I am deaf is still unknown, I mean I have cells missing, but they don’t know why. I like to think I’m unique that way. D/deafness does not run in my family nor were there any issues during the pregnancy or birth which could’ve caused it, at least that’s what I know. It’s a life-long mystery the audiologists and I still confuse ourselves with.

Because of my rare and unusual deafness, standard hearing aids; cochlear implants and other hearing devices are of no use to me. That being said, I am often mistaken for having no disability at all, because there are no aids in sight and the fact that I have ‘no speech impediment’, which is a common stereotype among the deaf.

“You don’t sound deaf,” and my favourite, “You don’t look deaf.”

— —

It’s not a tragedy like many people think. I don’t need to be pitied, when being deaf gives me many humorous and bittersweet memories. A fond one of my family is when [toddler-Sophie] tried to repeat the alphabet after my dad. In this moment, I would get the first few letters right, before I began to mix up his words and start counting numbers instead — completely going off topic. I’m pretty sure there is a video of me somewhere doing this.

Another perk is the absolute bliss of silence when I go to sleep. As soon as my hearing ear hits the pillow, I can block out almost everything. I remember being amazed by this trick when I laid down on my sofa and stared at the TV. It was on. I knew there was sound, but as I watched the people interact on the screen, I found a sense of placidity in the quiet. And if I closed my eyes, it was as if everything in the world was still. It was a different kind of peace.

Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash

In times like this, it’s good to have positive memories of being deaf, but it doesn’t negate the struggles the D/deaf community go through. From our own inner battles to the barriers constructed by our world, we face a lot.

Identity and belonging was something I struggled with immensely growing up, and still to this day I have difficulties in knowing where I belong. As a person who fits into both the hearing world and the D/deaf community, it’s hard to find a place where I can stand and say, “This is me. I belong here.”

With my deafness, I’m not solely merged into the hearing community. You see, I can’t communicate in certain settings, I rely on subtitles for Netflix and I won’t hear you call for me from a distance. Yet, without being profoundly Deaf, CODA [Child of Deaf Adults] or using hearing aids, I don’t fit into the bracket of being wholly D/deaf either. I believe that having an identity is so important — it defines who we are and how we present ourselves to the world. We may identify as LGBTQ+, an ethnic minority, or even a religious identity, all of which helps to bring us a sense of belonging. Shared understanding and common knowledge is something that solidifies our confidence to be ourselves and support one another. These social or cultural identities shapes the person we become today, as we can also feel accepted in our identity where other members of society deem to reject us.

Furthermore, there are many different opinions in the D/deaf community. Some say those who are not profoundly Deaf should never use the term deaf, instead, they should coin the term ‘hard of hearing’. Personally, I identify myself as a deaf person. It’s my decision and I will stand by my term. And from working in a customer-facing role I realised that by directly using this term, people understood I have hearing loss.

Years ago, I used to wear a badges which said ‘hearing impaired’ or ‘hard of hearing’ — quickly, I gathered that customers only read the word ‘hearing’ and made their own conclusions. To be clear, they concluded I was hearing. In their minds, any other term would not be recognised and that being deaf simply wasn’t the truth.

But oh, we do love retail and the wondrous people we face. One afternoon, after a few months at my first ever job, my manager pulled me aside informing me I had customer complaints. These customers assumed I was ignoring them whenever they called me for help. Instead of tapping my back or confronting me themselves, they turned to the managers. But I was not neglecting them, I simply could not hear them call. I must say at that time I was so, so embarrassed and ashamed that my hearing was not good enough. I became sad and frustrated. All of a sudden, I felt an immense pressure to be more aware of my surroundings, to master a supernatural sense of when someone wants to talk to me. I couldn’t relax.

Of course you may ask what my employer’s response was. Well, they understood and were sympathetic. No telling off, here! Alas, with my type of hearing loss and the environment in which I worked, I couldn’t be accommodated any further. My work was in a large warehouse, which contained rows and rows of unusual and vintage items for sale. The ceilings were high, and the radio was constantly on at full volume, which counteracted the low volume on the phones. Every time a customer rang, I had to leave the till to speak to them. Realistically, I had every right to demand changes as part of the Equality Act 2010, but I didn’t. My role was only temporary and I didn’t feel important enough to request proper accessibility. That said, please do ask for accommodations. It is your right.

The same applies to my current job, again — retail. I would love to learn sign language and incorporate this into my working environment, because having my coworkers shout across the room to ‘hop on a till,’ or ‘grab a parcel’ in a roaring environment of chatter and moving cages isn’t feasible. I also imagine it wouldn’t be cost efficient for my employer to train people on British Sign Language [BSL] for the needs of one employee, unless a marketing strategy or some company benefit could be implemented.

Instead, I opted to wear a badge [again] which I would clip to my shirt on every shift. But even this failed. “Please be patient, I am deaf” — it said. Unlike my previous job, this had the opposite effect. Customers argued with me that i wasn’t deaf. Their reasons? I could hear them without lip-reading. [Current pandemic timings, so mask-wearing is essential for my role. Unless medically exempt.] Or, if we flip the coin. I am confronted with eye rolls, loud scoffs and also, complaints to the manager. A more common response is to avoid all conversation with me and find someone else to serve them.

Photo by Dennis Siqueira on Unsplash

With experiences like this, it shows how overlooked this disability is and how unintentionally ignorant society is towards the D/deaf community. Yes, it’s a hidden disability but it makes me wonder how people with other disabilities/chronic illnesses — visible or not, cope with every day or working environments, where there is little to no support, awareness or understanding available.

I know this is becoming a slightly negative anecdote, but I feel like there is so much to address about being deaf and the experiences that come with it. It isn’t always sunny-side up. My own struggles didn’t start when I became a working adult, it stayed with me from the day I was diagnosed. In school, I was often excluded from conversations because no one had the patience to keep me in the loop.

I can imagine that D/deaf people are very familiar with these three phrases. ‘Never-mind.’

‘Don’t worry!’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

If you don’t know, these words are massive pet peeves amongst the D/deaf community. It’s no longer surprising when someone you know says these things and sadly, family and friends are not the exception. I know people may be doing it unintentionally, often ‘forgetting’ that we are deaf. But it feels so belittling and no one realises how hurtful these comments are towards us.

To create a picture; imagine you are sitting at a circular table in a noisy environment with a group of friends. You are all drinking coffee, tea — maybe even alcohol, and someone comes up with a joke that sends you all into fits of laughter. Except you.

You are lost. You don’t know what the joke was. You need someone to tell you, but when you ask, what do they say? “Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell you later.”

Everyone keeps laughing, talking about how they said it, maybe even cracking one more that triggers another round of hysterics. Again, not you. You just sit there in silence, not laughing and feeling excluded. You don’t want your drink anymore and you don’t want to be involved, you just want to go home. There may be times where you do have the energy to pick up contextual clues, catching a few phrases here and there before piecing it all together. But by the time you get the joke, the conversation has likely moved on. You don’t even want to ask them to repeat things, in case you receive heavy sighs and grunts of annoyance.

My words of advice: Tell. Us.

It takes two seconds and you open ourselves up to a happier, inclusive and more trusting environment.

— —

Although there are negative [environmental/societal??] aspects to being deaf, these experiences have strengthened my character. But, I must acknowledge the beginning of my personal growth, back in 2010.

In 2010, my parents discovered a charity for children and young adults called; Dorset Deaf Children’s Society (DDCS). This charity was set up to organise events and activities for those with hearing loss. Over the course of five years, I would say they were best years of my life. Through this charity, I became brave and I got to meet so many young people who were so different in terms of their hearing losses, but all the same with their experiences in the world.

I can remember my first ever event with DDCS. It was a residential trip away from home to a PGL activity centre at Osmington Bay in Weymouth. It was a weekend where we could be free, to an extent, with no parents to watch over us. This was also the first time I went on a trip without my friends or family, which was a little bit scary because I knew absolutely no one. It was also the first time I had ever met a fellow D/deaf person. It felt nice to be able to connect with those of a similar background to me, and not feel awkward about asking them to repeat themselves. [Funnily enough, this event was the reason I got my first mobile phone. Shout out to to my little, pink flip-phone Nokia!]

Some of the activities included going on a giant [seatless] swing, abseiling and quad-biking. I attended this trip every two years and I got to bond with so many people because of the team-working nature and our mutual characteristic — hearing loss. As young kids, we promised each other to return until we were too old for it.

On the very last trip I went on with them [I think I was 16], I realised how large the gap of communication between the Deaf and the hearing world really was. It was late at night and all the older teenagers were gathered in a spare bedroom at the end of the accommodation block, while the younger ones were sent to sleep. As usual we all joked, played games and received warnings from the adults to keep our voices down — when I noticed one of the girls who sat with us didn’t contribute to the conversation. She was silent.

This was because her main form of communication was British Sign Language, which no one in the room was fluent in. I felt bad sitting there, laughing and enjoying my time when someone right next to me couldn’t experience the same thing, because she had no idea what was going on. We all communicated through speech. Eventually, she left the room and found some other girls who knew sign language. But I’ll never forget that moment, of what may have seemed like total isolation for her. In that time, I wished I instantly knew how to sign with her instead of just knowing my ABC’s.

Although my hearing loss was completely different to hers, I felt I could somewhat relate to what it was like to be in that moment. When involving myself in extremely loud situations such as; restaurants, cafes and parties, it sometimes means I can’t hear one person at all. No matter how hard I try to decipher their words, the sound coming out of their mouths is just a jumbled, incomprehensible mess that I have no energy to figure out.

It can be hard to write positive memories about being deaf, except for my funny, hearing mishaps and beautiful moments with my D/deaf peers. But over the years, I can say that being with these people and being in this community helped build my confidence so much and made me be more assertive.

I am proud to be deaf. It is not something I will ever want to ‘fix.’

And I am so grateful for all the charities out there, local and worldwide, who work together to connect people with all types of disabilities so they know they’re not alone in this world. I am happy for all the parents who get to meet each other, to receive support on how to care for their children with disabilities on a daily basis. To advise on how to give them the best experiences and opportunities in life, with better and wider accessibility, just like every other child.

If you’re reading this and you are D/deaf/Hard of Hearing, please be proud of who you are. Fight the barriers that prevent us from succeeding and we will show the world all the wonderful things we can contribute.

As a message to my younger self, it’s ok to ask what’s going on. It’s ok to ask people to speak up or to repeat themselves, and it’s ok to call out on those who try to make you feel inferior, just because you are not the same as them. I want to reassure my younger self that her voice isn’t too loud because she is wearing hearing aids, and to not feel ashamed to say; ‘I am deaf’. I want her to feel glad that she is able to experience a world in a different light to others.

As an end note, it is truly amazing and an honour to meet people who are so different in terms of their disabilities, but all the same with their experiences in the world. The way they experience day-to-day life while remaining positive and compassionate is empowering. Because of this, I wouldn’t change mine for the world.

So, let’s hear it for the D/deaf.

Links to resources:

NDCS — National Deaf Children’s Society

BDA — British Deaf Association

RNID — Royal National Institute for Deaf People

British Sign

Sense — Sign Language

BSL Zone

Your Local Cinema

Bullying Support

Legal Rights

Deaf-Friendly Tips