“In a one-on-one with good light, I follow everything. But in a crowded space at the end of the day, I’m practically deaf.”

The biggest impact of my hearing loss is social. A quick chat at the coffee machine, lunch with a large group, drinks after work. These are the moments when people connect and the unspoken context gets shared. They’re also the hardest moments for me. In those situations, I miss almost everything.

What makes it confusing for others is that my hearing changes with the environment. In a one-on-one with good light, I follow everything. But in a crowded space at the end of the day, I’m practically deaf. A colleague can think I hear just fine, then a few hours later realise I can’t follow a word. It depends on the setting.

“My disability is invisible, so people forget.”

Reading lips, facial expressions and body language to understanding what people are saying is like speaking a language that isn’t your mother tongue. You can do it, but it costs energy. It looks automatic, but it isn’t.

My disability is invisible, so people forget. That’s normal, even I don’t think about it all the time. But it means I need to explain things again and again, at work, with friends, even with family. That’s not easy; I don’t want to make everything about me.

“I joined a group for people with hearing loss. It was liberating.”

I usually describe my condition as “hearing loss” or “hard of hearing.” “Impairment” or “disability” are also fine. The only word I dislike is “handicap.” But as long as people are respectful, the exact wording doesn’t matter much to me.

I wasn’t always open about it. I got my first hearing aids when I was ten, and spent years pretending I didn’t need help. I acted like everything was fine and managed everything on my own. It wasn’t until I was thirty things changed. I joined a group for people with hearing loss, and for the first time in my life I didn’t need to explain myself. Everyone was in the same situation. It was liberating.

Over time I’ve learned how to ask for what I need. For example, if someone lights candles at dinner and dims the room, I can’t lip-read. I had to learn not to just get up and change the lights, but explain it. That took practice too.

“Most people want to help. They just need to know how.”

I believe inclusion and accessibility need to go together. Good intentions only mean something when things are accessible. For some that might be wheelchair ramps. For me its live captions or interpreters when needed. These aren’t extras. They’re what allow me and people like me to give our best.

In the end, most people want to help. They just need to know how. If we’re open about what we need, and if others are willing to ask instead of assume, we can all reach our full potential.