No shade to Kelly, but I have found that what hasn't
killed me hasn't only made me stronger- it has made me softer.
Almost 19 years ago, I found out I had hearing loss. That
day is seared in my memory and physiology in only the way a trauma can.
While the intensity of the day has faded, and now I don't
think about it unless something goes wrong with my hearing aid. But for almost
two decades, the visceral memory brought tears to my eyes whenever it
surfaced.
The day before the 4th of July, I was reminded of my
dependence when one of my aids stopped charging. I'd like to tell you I rolled
with it- but in reality, I tossed and turned all night. Wrapping my head
around the next steps I knew I needed- finding an audiologist, appointments to
get it sent in for repairs, lopsided hearing for who knows how long, and a
dreaded retesting of my hearing.
Not to mention, the financial cost as hearing aids are seen
as ELECTIVE - like breast implants and viagra, and are not covered by most
insurance companies.
Undergirding the pillow planning, there was shame- I knew I
was anxious, sad, angry- but what I started to accept- was that I also felt
shame.
No one but myself told me that "I should be past
this", "its been 20 years- get over it".
But life-long loss, is going to be felt, well, all along
life.
I enjoyed the 4th with the aid I had- got lunch with new but
dear friends who helped me feel supported, and not like a burden that I worried
I would be.
For so long, I didn't know anyone else around my age with
hearing loss, but now I know a few- and its a gift to have people to relate to.
To remind myself it's "not just me".
Sunday I was able to take my aid in, get a battery for my
technologically ancient hearing aid from 2013, and made a plan to get tested
today.
I was able to reflect with a new perspective- secure
enough to ask myself- what exactly about this is bothering me- besides the
obvious?
What story am I telling myself about what my hearing loss
means about me? Is there a different way to write it?
A few days later, I was in a counseling session, where we
pivoted from our usual topics to preparing for my appointment today. As I
mentally walked through a typical hearing test appointment (watch this for how EMDR can support processing) I
realized the roots of the story I'd been telling myself about what my hearing
loss meant about me.
I'm not going to trauma dump that, but I'll summarize by
saying I'd internalized that loss= less. I was afraid of not being okay- that
any change would make me (more of) a burden.
Walking through some objectively not great audiology
memories- times where there were assumptions and unfounded proclamations -
things like accusing me of cheating to get attention, saying that
"teaching would be hard for you to succeed in"- I began to change the
narrative. To look back and look ahead seeing my resilience not my inadequacy.
The fear of unknown change was still there, but the shame was less. I started
to believe that I would be okay- I am okay, no matter the outcome.
Today, I walked into that testing booth, nervous but not
overwhelmed. The hearing technician was knowledgeable and kind. I asked for a
break when I needed it, and I made it through more grounded than I ever have.
My hearing is stable- tested almost identical to 2019, and
actually was about 5 decibels better in 2 frequencies.
As I went about my afternoon, I found myself thinking- I’m
actually pretty damn proud of how I live with severe hearing loss. It’s severe-
and I’m okay.
I’m proud of the way I have lived my life in the 20 years
since I was diagnosed. I thought back to those audiology appointments and metaphorically
gave those me’s a hug. We’ve done it. I have a softness replacing the shame-
and I’m grateful.
Like Jon Foreman and Switchfoot recently proclaimed, “it’s a beautiful
life, I’m still learning to breathe”
