Talking Hearing Loss

You think you know what it means to struggle? Try living in near silence, surrounded by a world that refuses to slow down, to accommodate, to understand. For years, I thought I could pretend my way out of it—pretend that my hearing loss didn’t matter, that I could still be ‘normal,’ whatever that means. But here’s the truth: the only person I was fooling was myself and the price of my foolishness was years wasted in loneliness and depression.

Hearing loss isn’t just about the sound of the world fading away. It’s about the crushing weight of isolation that comes with it. It’s about the depression that sneaks in, the loneliness that wraps around you like a vice. It’s a Pandora’s box, and once it’s open, the fallout is relentless.

Communication? Forget it. What used to be effortless becomes an exhausting chore. You miss words, you miss context, you miss the jokes everyone else is laughing at. And with every missed moment, the walls close in tighter. The world doesn’t wait for you to catch up. And the shame—the shame of not hearing, of having to ask again and again—drives you into the shadows.

And let’s talk about stigma. The misconceptions, the stereotypes—people think hearing loss is just about volume. They don’t get that it’s a fight to stay connected, a fight not to retreat into yourself. But you do retreat. Because it’s easier than explaining, easier than facing the awkwardness, the misconceptions, the pity.

Accessibility? What a joke. So many places are hostile to those of us who can’t hear. There are no accommodations, no understanding. And so you avoid those places, those gatherings. You isolate yourself to survive, to escape the constant reminders of what you can’t do.

But this isolation, it’s a trap. It starts as a coping mechanism, a way to protect yourself, but it becomes a prison. The longer you stay in, the harder it is to break free.

This isn’t just about not hearing. It’s about losing your place in the world. It’s about the mental toll, the emotional wreckage. But it doesn’t have to be this way. We can do better. We must do better.

We need empathy. We need awareness. We need to build a world where those of us with hearing loss aren’t left behind, where we can engage, connect, and thrive without fear of isolation. Because the alternative is a silent, solitary existence—and that’s no way to live.