Charlotte Hyde: It’s okay to have ‘off days’ when you’re deaf

I had a really heavy week at University last week. This severely impacted my energy levels and conversely, my ability to hear while aided. 

Usually I (almost) seamlessly blend into the class. Apart from my hearing aids in my ears and the Roger Pen dangling around my lecturer’s neck, my classmates could be forgiven for forgetting I’m deaf. I occasionally have to remind my lecturer to mute or unmute the Pen, but that is hardly a disturbance. 

Last week was different. Voices blurred together more than ever; I even remarked that one of my classmates sounded like she was speaking Welsh.

The Roger Pen helped me hear, but it didn’t help me understand. Most of what my lecturer was saying washed over my head. I had to ask for repetition far more often, which became mildly embarrassing by the end of the class. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m faking being deaf – that I’m not really “deaf enough”, and that I don’t really need the aids I have. It’s almost like a kind of deaf imposter syndrome. It will gnaw at me for weeks and guilt trip me into refusing help.

I convince myself that I’m ‘fine’; moderate hearing loss isn’t a lot, really, and I’m just being silly. A deaf lecturer at my old university told me that they felt they had perfect hearing because they’ve never known any different. I’ve always been deaf, so I only know the difference between having my hearing aids in and having them out. 

Weeks like last week remind me exactly why I need those aids. If I’m not feeling one hundred per cent, my ability to use the hearing I do have is impacted.

Concentration fatigue develops much more quickly than usual. In secondary school and Sixth Form, I distinctly remember telling my teachers that I was “double deaf” whenever I was ill, and I had to ask them for extra patience. 

I’d warned my lecturers at the start of the year that concentration fatigue is one of my biggest barriers, and that if I’m tired it would be harder for me to hear. I’m glad I’d prepped them on this, because it made my struggle last week much easier to explain.

Yet even though I’m distinctly aware that I cannot prepare them for every curveball thrown my way, I still felt slightly guilty that this was happening. The last thing I want is for someone teaching me to be thrown off course by my needs, or that they panic because they don’t know how to handle the situation.

I view my role as a deaf student as like a partnership with my lecturers. I’m lucky that my lecturers are so flexible and really want to involve me with the class. They’re willing to let me teach them how to include me, and in turn I get to learn about the subject of the course.

I think it’s really key to understand that accessibility is an ongoing learning process. Hence, I give my lecturers room to make errors and forgive them for any mistakes. I’m the first deaf student they’ve ever taught; I don’t expect them to get it right straight away. 

While I believe this is a good approach, I do often worry that I prioritise managing their feelings (and the feelings of my classmates) above my own access. It can be quite easy to step over that line, but luckily I’ve firmly drawn up boundaries that I’ve been able to stick to. 

This attitude is fuelled by my worries – so much so that I often write about my anxieties regarding self-advocacy and my deafness. This was especially apparent in my piece on the emotional impact of the subtitles disappearing on Channel 4. I’ve received responses on these articles encouraging me to own my deafness – to be more confident about who I am. 

I’d like to take the opportunity to respond and say thank you to these people for their kind words, but I would also like to say that I do own my deafness. I love my deaf self. I feel lucky to be who I am and I wouldn’t like to be hearing. The world is so noisy, so I’m incredibly grateful I get to ‘switch off’ at the end of the day and live in my little quiet world.

I take any chance I can to take my hearing aids out because I enjoy giving my brain a break. I developed such a strong sense of deaf identity when I learned BSL during my undergraduate degree. I’m eternally grateful I had that opportunity – especially when I think about the prices of external courses. Learning the language of my community felt like I was coming home, and I’m desperate to keep my knowledge now I’m no longer in classes. 

However, even with all of this confidence, a love of my deafness and such a strong sense of deaf identity: I still falter sometimes. I’m usually the only deaf person in a room full of hearing people, and that can be isolating. I think any deaf or disabled person finds it a little daunting to communicate their access needs sometimes, and I don’t think it is any testament to my confidence waning or a sign that I’m having a crisis of identity. 

By writing about my anxieties, I always hope to make others feel less alone. I’ve had to learn to be my biggest cheerleader, but sometimes you do just need someone else to encourage you.

If you take anything from reading this article, make it this: it’s okay to feel anxious about being deaf. It’s okay to ask someone to help you communicate your needs.

It’s definitely okay to have days when you’re feeling ‘off’ and any communication method just isn’t working for you. It doesn’t make you any less deaf to also have days where you feel that you fit into hearing society. Remember that you’re trying to survive in an mostly inaccessible world. 

As for going back to class, I’ve made sure to take some extra time to rest before going back. I’m hopeful that I’ll have a better week feeling slightly more refreshed. I have all the lecture slides downloaded to my computer as well as access to a recording if I wish, so I’m able to catch up on anything I’ve missed. I love being at university, but I do wish it wasn’t so tiring.