Most people don’t know I have a disability. Most days, I prefer it that way because I used to be afraid of how people would react.
Today I decided to talk about it.
About sixteen years ago, I was diagnosed with a hearing loss. I’d been frustrating my family with a lot of comments like “Huh?” and “What did you say?” I saw an audiologist, expecting to be told something like I had an overabundance of ear wax.
Gross, yes – but easily dealt with.
Instead, I was told I had a “moderate” hearing loss, but a significant one for my age. I was in my early forties at the time. Y’all know how old I am now because I’ve blogged all about turning 60 last May.
The audiologist, who was probably in his seventies, chuckled as he said, “I have better hearing than you do.”
I wasn’t laughing. And I certainly didn’t laugh when he informed me that I needed hearing aids. Or when my husband filled out disability paperwork for me so that my first pair of hearing aids would be partially covered by insurance.
ME: I don’t have a disability.
MY HUSBAND: Yes, you do.
ME: Then make sure you fill out the paperwork for the handicapped parking permit, too.
MY HUSBAND (Unsure whether to laugh or sigh): That’s not how this works.
Sometimes the best thing to do when you’re facing an unexpected situation is to go looking for the humor in it.
Or … to not talk about it
And that’s how I’ve handled my hearing loss. I either laughed about it – When I first started wearing hearing aids I could hear my hair grow! – or I just avoided it.
It’s easy enough to hide my hearing aids beneath my hair. No short haircuts for me. And no one really notices if I say, “Pardon me?” once in a while because, well, don’t we all?
Sometimes my batteries stop working and I’ve perfected a little sleight of hand to switch in new ones. Some people do card tricks. I change my hearing aid batteries.
And sometimes when I’m in a crowded, noisy room I still struggle to hear conversations, even with my state-of-the-art hearing aids. I pretend I’m tracking what someone said. Or I give up and retreat to a quieter corner.
But the truth is, concealing my hearing loss isn’t easy.
Hiding the reality of who we are is exhausting – and I’m talking about all the things we want to keep hidden from others. Our physical disabilities. Our heart wounds. Whatever we think makes us “less than” who we want to be – or who we want others to think we are.Yes, I have a hearing loss … but that doesn’t make me less than anyone. Of course, I don’t have to greet someone by saying, “Hi, my name is Beth and I wear hearing aids” – that would be overdoing it a bit, wouldn’t you agree?
But more and more, I’m accepting who I am and sharing honestly about who I am – my strengths and weaknesses – when appropriate. And I trust others will accept me, too. The ones who do? They’re the ones I call family and friends.
Being Strong Enough to Abandon the Idea that We are Less Than Anyone Else http://bit.ly/30B4GA0 #confidence #selfworth Click To Tweet 'Your problem is how are you going to spend this one odd and precious life you have been issued ... whether you are going to ... find out the truth of who you are.' Quote by Anne Lamott http://bit.ly/30B4GA0 #quote #perspective Click To Tweet
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There’s still time to get an e-book version of Moments We Forget, book 2 in my Thatcher Sisters Series, for only $1.99! And I have to give a shout-out to my daughter Christa, who makes such fun graphics for me!
Comments 24
Yesterday a tumour tore
and I’m bleeding from within,
something bad to underscore
I fight that I cannot win.
This is something that defines me,
though I’d as lief be know for less,
but for this, my awful ministry
I suppose it’s for the best.
I have to own the killing stroke
and turn it into shaking grace
that by its tremors, bare awoke
a sleepy God of shining face.
In letting fear and misery show
I can still say, “I’m good to go!”
Aaargh…sixth line, should be ‘…known for less.”
Author
Andrew: Don’t worry about correcting typos, friend. I know what you meant. Grace, grace …
Author
A good early morning to you, my friend. You are ever faithful to the conversation here, and I am grateful. The harder the battle, the more bravery you show … and your writing turns more poetic. You are ever in my prayers.
Love this ♥️. One of my dear friends my age has hearing aids. My favorite line of hers: I used to think I was thinking to myself. Now I’ve realized that I’ve been talking to myself out loud all this time. I love the humor and the truth – and all of those emotions make sense to me. Love you, dear Beth!
Author
Jill: I think I’d get along with your friend — I like the way she thinks … um, talks out loud to herself. 😉 Love you, dear Jill.
I also applaud your honesty here and didn’t notice you had any hearing loss until you shared that with me. There were so many other neat things about you to enjoy that that wasn’t even on my computer screen. You handle it very well and I don’t see you as disabled–maybe as a super compensator instead.
Author
Dee: And you just made me cry, my friend. <3
Thanks for this, Beth. It’s especially hard when your disability is not readily visible. I suffer from Rheumatoid arthritis, which doesn’t necessarily show on the outside – at least not in my case. And when people don’t know they are asking too much of you because you look fine, it’s hard to know how to explain. I struggle to let myself avoid situations that could require too much of me, but sometimes I just have to do that. It’s like your quiet corner. We adjust, we accept, we keep moving forward. You have done that with grace!
Author
Thank you for your kind words, Jan — and I didn’t realize you have Rheumatoid arthritis — such a daily challenge. But you face it with grace, friend.
This truly touched me heart and soul as I’ve been going through a very hard season . My disability and health struggles have truly come to the forefront and have impacted my life and those a round me so profoundly,I’m truly uncertain where to go from here. Despite praying deligently daily for blessed change, I feel like a complete and utter failure as there is no change or answered prayer in sight. Most heartbreaking is the financial \emotional toll. I’m still seeking but Hope is hard to feel when it’s been so long. I know God led me here to see this post. I just wanted to you to know you are not alone in your fears and struggles. I wish I was braver and stronger like you, there are just some things I’m not certain I will ever be good enough to do or have the right people accept that. I hope I made sense in my bumbling way. Please know you did give me a blessing this morning.?
Author
Melissa: I’m so grateful you joined the conversation this morning. I understand hard seasons and I want you to know you are not alone and that God has not lost sight of you. He never, ever turns His back on you. I know health challenges are all the more difficult when our prayers seem to go unheard, but God promises that He hears our prayers. And being brave isn’t about being perfect or not being afraid at times. As John Wayne said:”Courage is being scared to death — and saddling up anyway.” Gotta’ love John Wayne. Please know you blessed me this morning and that I’m praying for you.
Ah, a disability we have in common! I wear a hearing device in my left ear now. My craniotomies left me with mixed conductive and sensorineural hearing loss on the left. I have mild sensorineural loss on the right that is not a big deal (until you can’t hear out of the other ear, lol). When I sing, I think of it as my “in-ear monitor” and I sometimes joke that it’s my “comm.” I like using the bluetooth tech when I teach online to stream audio from Skype right into my ear. How cool is that? I almost look forward to when I get my second device so I can hear in stereo. But, it doesn’t solve everything. In loud environments, I’m still unable to hear conversations, tv, or a speaker, so I need captions, etc, It’s all new, and I’m learning about work arounds. Friday is my 2-month recheck to see if my hearing is stable or declining. I perceive it has gotten worse, but I may have just gotten used to the hearing device and need an adjustment. Thanks for sharing your experience! At under 50, losing hearing has been an adjustment. I wasn’t expecting it this young.
Author
Lauri: I count you as a brave woman, my friend, having watched you face your health challenges in recent years — and continue to smile through them. And yes, being diagnosed with a disability later in life is an adjustment — physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Beth, great post. I wonder how many of us who are authors also have a “disability” of sorts. Mine, although it’s not really a “disability,” is that I’ve been on this earth for quite a while–much longer than the three-score and ten we’re promised–but even though my distance with a 5 iron has decreased and I, too, wear hearing aids, I think I have a bit more left to share. Thanks for what you do, what you write, and who you are.
Author
Good morning, Doc! I’m honored that you joined the conversation today. 🙂 And yes, you do have more left to share, and I’m thankful you do, and respect you as a fellow author. That’s a vital truth to remember: no matter our hindrances, we all have value and something to share with others.
I do love this post, Beth. Thank you for the courage to share and, by the way, I think you’re “multi-abled,” not disabled!
Author
Hugs to you, my friend! 🙂
“Hiding the reality of who we are is exhausting.” Hiding who we are, where we’re at, how we’re doing… all are exhausting, especially when where we’re at is already weary. Yet, as others have commented, when the challenge is not outwardly visible, it’s especially difficult to convey those needs and limitations. It seems easier to stay hidden.
My companions are depression, and more recently, anxiety. I have found my aversion to transparency is often an effort to avoid well-meaning platitudes and side-line shoutouts, “Well, just do ______.” “Just call ______.” I often want to say, “Why don’t you JUST come do that?! I’m JUST a little beat up over here!”
Does anyone else get inwardly snarky like that? Bleh.
Thank God, I have a few people in my life with whom I can vent honestly, but by and large it often feels easier to hide. And while laughter is surely healing, I’m very aware that much of my humor is often an effort to deflect what’s difficult — from myself and others.
(Yes, I am actively doing what I can and seeking support. I’m “just” feeling more buried than usual at the moment.)
Beth, I am sorry to learn of your hearing loss. Physical changes that require life adjustments definitely create all manner of fallout.
As I read what you shared, something came to mind. Your outward sense of hearing may be effected, but from your writing and my personal encounters with you, I know that you have an incredible internal sense of hearing, of listening. Whether to the voice of God, the words of a friend, the nuances of life situations and relationships, you have a keen sense of hearing beyond the surface. Your words reflect a life journey of joy, pain, and perseverance that have attuned your ear to deeper things. I do not share this to diminish your inner dealings with hearing loss, but hopefully as an encouragement that, in spite of it, God is enabling you to hear other things in increasing measure.
Keep listening. It’s a grace He’s pouring through you to others.
Author
Bernadette, my friend … yes, there are times I get inwardly snarky. And sometimes the snark slips out.
And yes, thank God for people who love me, snark and all.
Platitudes? Like you, I’m not a fan, although people who speak them are often well-meaning. Platitudes don’t bear the weight of our heartaches.
And thank you for your kindness … your words caused me to tear up. But yes, I’m listening. I’m listening.
Thanks for being your beautiful, vulnerable self as always. You continue to inspire your readers to love themselves, and others. So grateful we’re friends.
Author
Lisa: I’ve always been grateful that our lives intersected so early along the writing road. You were gracious from the very beginning. And for that, I’ve always been thankful.
I had a vision disability from age 9 on. It got progressively worse over time. At least 400/600 vs 20/20. Thick glasses and contacts for many years. A few years back I had crystal lens implants in both eyes and now I don’t wear any corrective lenses, even when reading.
I’m 65 and my family tells me I need hearing aids. But the expense! Do they not come in rechargeable instead of having to use batteries?
Author
Gail: How wonderful that you no longer need to wear any type of corrective lenses. I’ve never heard of crystal lens implants.
I haven’t heard of rechargeable hearing aids, but I think they’re a good idea, too. I was shocked at the cost of hearing aids, but I’ve also learned you get what you pay for.