By Michele Linder – Originally posted Dec. 14, 2017
There are both good and bad things related to hearing loss, but the misconceptions that others⎯those who do not know what it’s like firsthand⎯have about it are something we who live with it every day have a responsibility to change.
Reading a Hearing Like Me article, Being the Change: How to End Hearing Loss Prejudice, this morning made me think of my own life and the moments along the way where I felt as if I was doing my part to put a positive spin on living with hearing loss.
Do you remember the exact moment that caused you to turn the corner? That point when you went from accepting the negative of how others see you with hearing loss⎯sometimes we feel as limited as the wrong perceptions we encounter⎯to a more confident and better version of yourself and capability?
For me, it was a gradual, decades-long process. Each teaching moment pushing me toward who I wanted to be without my even knowing I was headed there, until something would happen to shine a light on the positive. I’ve written about such moments, and this article, from November 2014, was a memorable moment for me:
Be What You Want the World to See
Originally posted on the SayWhatClub Blog,
November 20, 2014
You just never know… there will be moments when people cross your path at the exact time you need them, for the exact encouragement you are looking for. I’ve had this happen to me countless times in my life, and when it happens I’m always in awe of how the universe looks out for me.
Then, on the flip side, you just never know when your presence in another’s life will be just what they need at that moment. Those moments are just as awe-inspiring, they serve to give you confidence, and to let you know all of the struggling you’ve done to get to a better place can have value, not only for you, but also for others who are struggling and searching for answers.
Sometimes all that is needed is someone to cry with. Never underestimate the power of sharing tears and letting down your guard to show compassion. It means a lot no matter which end you are on.
One morning last week, I got up at 5:30 to leave the house in order to drive (an hour and a half) to Grand Rapids for an appointment with the Morton Building people to talk about some barn improvements I’m looking to make to our pole barn. The gentleman who handles our area of Minnesota seemed very nice via our email conversation, and upon meeting him I could tell he was very eager to accommodate my hearing loss, which I had made him aware of through our Internet correspondence.
Morton Man and I walked to his office and got down to the business of barn brainstorming. During our meeting, there came a point when we needed to go out into the warehouse to look at some of the applications we were discussing. Talking while walking came into play, and, of course, when someone is trying to show you something and talk at the same time they tend to point at what they’re talking about. Pointing also means they tend to look at what they are pointing at, which is a train wreck for a lipreader, so the Morton Man kept apologizing for looking away as he pointed. I told him it was okay, as there is a learning curve, he would eventually get it.
The Morton Man paused, and I could clearly see he was collecting himself to tell me something personal. When he spoke, he told me our interaction was actually very good training for him because he had a 4 year-old granddaughter with a conductive hearing loss. As he shared her story, it was clear how concerned he and his family were for her and how emotional it was to see their beloved girl struggle to hear. This began a 15 minute discussion about hearing loss, how really debilitating it can be, but also how manageable it can become if you have the right attitude and tools. We talked at length about the information that was out there and how to go about finding that information, and I shared some of my own experiences with him, telling him how hearing loss does threaten to take much from you, but it can’t take more than you let it. At one point he actually broke down and cried and had to collect himself before he continued speaking. I instinctively gave him a hug and let him know that it was okay to cry, as hearing loss is very upsetting. Tears are common and very appropriate.
As we walked back to the office and began again talking about my barn, the Morton Man paused once more to say, “I have kind of a strange request… my daughter’s office is just a couple of miles down the street and I think it would be beneficial for her to talk to you and to see someone who is deaf and who handles it so well.”
I told the Morton Man, “Sure, I’d be glad to stop in and meet your daughter. We can exchange contact information and I can share some resources with her that might help her deal with her daughter’s ongoing hearing loss.”
Our meeting on barn matters concluded and I followed Morton Man to his daughter’s office. The daughter and I had a very similar conversation as the one I had had with her dad, as he looked on. I repeated some of the same information that I had given him and there were about three instances where the daughter teared up and had to compose herself, which, of course, made her dad break down. I held her hand or hugged her each time and then went over and hugged her dad. It came in handy that I come from a family of contagious criers… I’m pretty comfortable with tears.
We all exchanged information and I promised to email the daughter with some research results on groups she might join for parents of children with hearing loss and other information I thought she might find helpful.
The final thought I left the Morton Man and his daughter with was this: Make sure you instill in your granddaughter/daughter that there isn’t anything she can’t do because of her hearing loss. And when you come up against people who might discourage your girl from participating in something because she can’t hear, move on to the next person, and the next until you find that one person who says, “Let’s see what you can do.” If she knows she can do anything, believes it, and then acts upon it, it becomes true… she’ll be okay.
And their little girl will be okay… it won’t be easy, there will be challenges, but she’ll learn some good things along the way to carry into who she becomes as an adult.
Yes, you can be capable, confident, strong, and deaf. I’ve learned that from people who have crossed my path at the exact moment I needed them, saying “You’re not alone, you’ll be okay.” I’m thankful for the opportunity to pay it forward on days when I’m able to be what I want the world to see.