Last month, I had a few harder-than-usual days emotionally. Those emotionally off days were both tied to the same thing, and over the past 15 years, there’s been more than two hard days tied to that thing. Hearing loss. Early onset hearing loss.

Early onset is pretty key, so don’t be mistaking me for my grandmother’s age. I’m 35 years young, and that’s part of what bothers me with regards to my hearing loss. I was 20 when I was first fitted for hearing aids.

I cried that day because I was so sure it would mean I couldn’t or shouldn’t have children. Nobody would want to make a deaf baby with me. What a logical leap, especially at 20!

If I could go back and tell myself things on that day, I’d certainly have a lot to say.

Today, I’d like to share some of those things I’d say regarding my hearing loss—to my younger self, to myself today, and to, well, anybody I might interact with.

What I Tell Myself

It’s Humorous

Recently, I explained my week to a good friend as, “We’re here, I’m deaf, and the cat is a fool.” In and out of context, that’s just hilarious to me. I honestly think it’d make for a great title of something—this piece, a book chapter, a whole book even. Maybe if I could hear how bad it’d sound, it could even be a song. Just kidding!

There are plenty of times my hearing is “funny,” and thank goodness I’m fine with laughing at myself.

Here are some of my choice favorites:

One of the first times I was driving in our new country (read that as the steering wheel is on the right-hand side of the car, and you drive on the left-side of the road) I started using some not-so-nice swear words in response to my husband’s comments. He looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Why are you swearing at me?” Defensively, I said, “You swore at me first!” True story, he did not utter one unkind swear word at me and my fabulous ears made it all up. Oops!

There was another time we were waltzing through the BX, and I turned and looked at him and said, “What?” He hadn’t said a single solitary word. It was an announcement being made over the store intercom.

How about a fun drive-thru story? I was on lunch break from work, when I decided to visit a local Checkers. One of the college students from my workplace sold me one of those discount cards, and the deal for Checkers was to get a free burger with any purchase of another entrée. I didn’t necessarily need an extra burger to eat, but I thought I’d share it when I got back to the school. I ordered my choice of sandwich and then inquired about my free burger deal. The poor drive-thru attendant and I went back and forth several times trying to establish what a “chicken-burger” was. I was thoroughly confused. Is it chicken? Is it a burger? Is it still going to be free with my handy discount card? I couldn’t even tell you how many repeats the attendant went through before I finally said, “All right, well I’m going to pull up, and we can figure it out at the window.” There’s no such thing as a “chicken burger,” and all along, what was being said, that I could not comprehend, was “Checker Burger.” The menu item is called a “Checker Burger.” My co-worker and I laughed about the chicken burger until the day I had to leave for PCSing.

I could go on and on. The humor that my ears offer up is endless. It will only get worse and funnier over time.

It’s Progressive

Yes. That’s right. It’ll only get worse over time.

Since my first set of hearing aids at 20, my hearing has progressively worsened. I’ve had four different sets of hearing aids over that 15-year time span. Three out of four times, my new set of hearing aids was needed because the ones I currently had couldn’t be adjusted any further to meet my hearing loss level. I needed more amplification.

For the current set that I wear, I recently needed custom fit molds added to the inside piece in order for them to be turned up to my correct volume. It wasn’t a whole new pair, but it was an adjustment nonetheless.

When I first got hearing aids, my level of hearing loss was such that I only wore them to school or work. I needed them to hear in my college classes and then I needed them in my own teaching classrooms. I wore them around friends that I hadn’t known for a billion years, but when I came back to my hometown, I regularly didn’t wear them around old friends or family. I could still talk on the phone without any additional modifications. I could have a fun day at the beach or the pool with soaking wet hair and no hearing aids needed.

Flash forward to now, and I need a special Bluetooth necklace to use a phone. I generally have to make the choice between participating in water activities or being able to be social while other people have fun swimming. Everywhere I go, I have to carry an umbrella because I can’t risk getting my hearing aids wet. I can rarely hear my husband without having my hearing aids in. So many times now, I ask him to text me whatever he’s trying to say while my hearing aids are out. I use a closed captioned device at the movie theater, and I don’t even turn the volume on when I watch TV alone—I just “read” my shows.

I’ve had two different audiologists and one ENT explain to me that, for my age and current level of hearing loss, someday, probably in my near future, hearing aids won’t be enough. I’ll either need to live in silence or have cochlear implant surgery.

‘It Is What It Is’

This is just life. My life with hearing loss. And you want to know the truth of it?

Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes, yes, I feel bad about it. Sometimes, yes, even at 35, when my husband and I discuss if we want to have children or not, it’s something I consider.

What will it feel like to not hear my own child?

What does this mean for me as caretaker? Will I pass this on to my kid? Will their early onset start even earlier than mine did?

These are real things I think about.

Other times, I think, “So, what?” Nobody really cares that I have hearing loss to the extent of it affecting my social life. Even in the times when I feel dumb because I make a way-out-of-context remark, or I can’t understand a lecture or speech, or I know I’m sitting in a booth taking a test I can’t pass, it’s just feeling dumb. My hearing loss is not a reflection on my intelligence in any way.

Any choice I make regarding what I do or don’t do because of my hearing loss is simply that—my choice. Do I choose to not do something because of comfort, or because I know my current limitations, or because maybe I’m jumping to the worst case scenario? I probably make choices for all of those reasons. That’s probably fine.

But, the best choice I can make is to still live my life to the fullest. A favorite quote of mine from Derrick Coleman’s No Excuses says this:

“But here’s what I think: When you come across something hard in life, or if something bad happens to you—and these things definitely happen in life—you can’t let your grieving period last too long. There’s just too much great stuff out there in the world waiting for you. If you’re still mourning something that happened or didn’t happen years ago, then you’re going to miss out on the great opportunities that God has placed right on your doorstep today.”

If I want to welcome all of my opportunities, I don’t have time to mourn my hearing loss. It’s just something to accept and live with, and I’m living just fine.

What I’d Tell Others

It’s Humorous

You really have to know your friends, your family, and maybe even your co-workers. I think my hearing is humorous. To me, this means it’s fine if you want to laugh with me through this part of my life. Chances are I’m not going to become upset or even hurt if you share in my funny moments.

Someone else though, they might have something they struggle with, and they might not find it funny at all. Even the kind of humor that is made in just plain-old-good-fun can be hurtful. So, I’d advise you to know your friends well enough to draw that line where you can be certain of whether you’re laughing with them or at them.

It’s Progressive

You have to understand that when someone has a progressive type of condition, your level of understanding might need to progress, too.

When my husband and I started dating eight years ago, I might have been embarrassed or wondered about his motivations if he went around telling people about my hearing loss. Now, I appreciate it if he can be the one explaining my situation instead of me having to do it myself. When you move around as much as military families do, you have no choice but to meet new people all the time. My hearing aids aren’t usually that visible, so for anyone I just met to understand what I’ve got going on, someone has to tell them. It’s a relief for me if my husband takes the time and care to share rather than me having to repeatedly do it myself. It might sound weird, but it’s not what I want to tell people when I’m first meeting them, even though I know it’s generally something they need to know.

My friends are pretty much aware that it’s probably a good idea if they text me before calling, because I might need a minute to round up my hearing aids and my Bluetooth necklace.

My family knows I can’t hear if I just stepped out of the shower and my hair is all wet.

Understanding that I might have more to process and share as my hearing loss progresses is a big deal, too. The limits I try to explain, the feelings I encounter, the day-to-day interactions I crave and miss, are all things I would want someone to openly try to empathize with.

‘It Is What It Is’

Dealing with a friend or family member who might be going through something you yourself have never experienced can be hard. The good majority of people I interact with do not have hearing loss. That said, there are some things that maybe they just couldn’t know, until I told them. Often times, since my hearing loss is not the subject of conversation, I don’t find reason to share these things, but I still wish somehow people would know.

Hearing loss is not like vision loss. I don’t have perfect eyesight either, so like many people I have glasses and use contacts. Once I put my glasses on or my contacts in, I can see just fine. When I put my hearing aids in, I cannot hear just fine. As one of my audiologists explained to me, even with my hearing aids in, my listening comprehension level is about 85% at best. That is in the best of conditions, too—relatively quiet, without much background noise going on. Once you put me in a high background noise setting, my hearing functionality drops even lower, sometimes to the point of hardly hearing anything comprehensible at all.

Hearing loss is a struggle. My hearing loss puts a strain on my everyday activities. It doesn’t mean I should do these activities less or avoid them all together, it just means that sometimes I want others to know I’m trying extra hard to do regular everyday things. Sometimes, my hearing loss is a barrier to communication. Another contributor recently wrote about The Struggle of Communication as she sees it through her son, and I felt such a connection to her writing. Communication is huge! So much of life is dependent upon it, and nobody ever wants to feel like they are missing out on things in life.

Hearing loss is something that requires accommodations. I know what modifications I need, but more than knowing my own needs, I appreciate more than anything when other people anticipate them. We had friends at our last duty station, and I am beyond thankful that one of them recognized when I had trouble in conversations. On more than one occasion when it was obvious to him I hadn’t heard his remarks, he’d ask if I heard him. I wish everyone did this! It gave me the chance to say that no, I hadn’t, and he then repeated whatever needed repeating. I didn’t have to ask him, he asked me! He knew I was missing some key part of our interactions and took care to make sure I didn’t miss out. It’s okay to ask your friends, family members, or even co-workers with necessary accommodations if they need help. They’ll tell you if they do or don’t, and most likely, they’ll be grateful you took notice and offered.

Hearing loss is an expense. Let me just say, I’m thankful for Tricare! I have often worried how my husband and I would foot the bill for my hearing aids if our insurance wasn’t so helpful. My current hearing aids cost almost the same price as my husband’s last car which he purchased used. Let that sink in for a moment. Could you afford the price of a new-to-you used car every three to five years? Would you want to spend that much that often for a necessity? Again, thank you, Tricare! I might have had to put in several phone calls to get the referrals for the audiologist that could work with me, but it was more than worth it to have help with cost coverage.

My hearing loss is something I’ll be carrying through the rest of my life. Chances are, everyone you meet is carrying something, and whatever their something is, chances are it’s sometimes a heavy load for them. My best advice to you is to be supportive, be kind, and when needed, find out more about what your friends are carrying and find ways to help them along.