Rebecca A Withey: My confession to my hearing friends

I have several friends who happen to be hearing and as much as I enjoy chatting to them, there’s something I must confess…

I don’t enjoy meeting hearing friends in a group.

I recently found myself declining an invitation to go out with a group of school Mums and I wrestled with the decision.

Should I just stop being so anti-social, go and accept that I’ll always be three steps behind?

Or admit the fact that a night of lipreading is going to be far from fun and have a quiet night in instead?!”

Just the thought of going along with the group takes me back to my first experience being the only deaf person at a social event.

I was 13 years old at the time and my childhood best friend – a hearing girl called Kelly – invited me to her birthday meal with lots of her hearing friends who I’d previously never met.

I didn’t think the birthday meal would be an issue. Throughout primary school Kelly and I did everything together and we communicated with absolute ease. I didn’t feel different around Kelly. She was just a best friend I loved to hang out with.

But when secondary school beckoned, I ended up going to a school miles away with a Unit for deaf students whilst Kelly went to the local high school with most of our primary friends. Our social circles understandably changed.

So, at this birthday party there were around ten of us at a Mexican restaurant. As we all sat down to read the menu and select our food, I was unaware of the server behind me repeatedly asking what I’d like to drink.

Kelly interrupted me and made sure I was able to order but the glaring stares and awkward smiles from the rest of the table set the tone for the evening.

Kelly hadn’t told anyone that I was deaf nor did anyone ask me about it. I suppose at 13 years old, it wasn’t a topic any of us felt comfortable bringing up either. These girls weren’t used to being around anyone who was different and I was trying so hard to fit in and disguise my ‘different-ness!’

I wasn’t a confident teenager at all. Back then I didn’t know anything about my access rights, my deaf identity or how to be proud of who I was. I had no idea how to ask for help or state what I need. I just felt like one big ball of insecure awkwardness.

Anyhow, back at the party the conversation bounced from person to person at fast speed and I – of course – found myself unable to follow what was being said.

Kelly, meanwhile, was smiling and laughing along and I felt unable to ask my only friend what they were talking about. Instead, I swallowed my discomfort, sat in silence and fake smiled through the night as the group largely ignored me.

I silently swore that I would never put myself in that situation again.

As years went by a social turning point for me was when I started going to the deaf club. From this, my circle naturally expanded and on a personal level, I thrived.

I met up with my deaf friends more and we would even get the bus into town together at weekends! We shopped, ate and went to discos. Without the effort of lipreading, it freed up so much more energy to just have a good time!

My conversations with friends now were effortless and natural! I also made some hearing friends who were deaf aware or knew how to sign as they had deaf relatives.

It soon dawned on me that I actually loved meeting new people and finding out more about them.

It seemed I wasn’t ‘shy’ as previously labelled, but that I’d been struggling to communicate easily purely by lipreading.

Why? Lipreading. Is. Exhausting.

And although I wear a hearing aid, it’s really just to let me know when there’s a loud sound of some sort.

It doesn’t help me understand speech; the only way I understand speech is by lipreading and following cues from body language, gesture and facial expression.

When there’s a group chatting and I’m spending time and energy following what several people are saying, I also miss the opportunity to contribute my own thoughts to the conversation.

A lot of beginning or end sentences get lost as my head whips from face to face so I only get pieces of the whole conversation.

This is why I tend to meet only one or two non BSL users at a time. If their attention is on me, they remember to look at me and speak at a comfortable rhythm – they don’t revert to their naturally fast default mode of talking.

I’ve been to gatherings with hearing friends who have gone from being incredibly deaf aware to saying ‘it doesn’t matter, I’ll tell you later’ when I’ve missed the punch line to a joke…

Deaf Awareness can also go right out the window when a person has got a few drinks in them too.

The sheer effort of lipreading is also why I often choose to be alone to decompress. Eyes have muscles, ears don’t.

Sometimes I just need a plain and simple eye break! Just the very act of conversing in speech/lipreading is three times more draining for me as it is for the hearing person I’m talking to.

So – Dear Hearing Friends – although from the outside I appear to cope perfectly well as I smile and call out “Good Morning!” on the school run or stop for a quick chat the truth is it takes an awful lot of effort for me to communicate with you using your preferred language.

I’m not being anti-social, honest. Nights out are supposed to be fun, not hard work though right?

I guess the only way our large social outings together could ever work is if

1. I stop pretending that it’s easy to communicate with you and…
2. You all learn some BSL.

This article is my attempt to cover the first point above, so now it’s up to you to learn some of my language. Time to meet in the middle, eh?!

Here’s to open, honest friendships and fun nights out!

Rebecca

Rebecca Anne Withey is a freelance writer with a background in Performing Arts & Holistic health. She is also profoundly deaf, a sign language user and pretty great lipreader. She writes on varied topics close to her heart in the hope that they may serve to inspire others.