Jane Titterton: What it’s like being a deaf introvert (sort of) (BSL)

I thought you were hearing, you’re very quiet. (Have you thought that you may be very noisy?)

You never go out. (I do, you just don’t know where I go)

Don’t you have any friends? (I do, I just don’t announce them to the world and its mother)

You stay home 96% of the time (huh?!? How do I manage to go to work, shopping, generally go out?)

My friends think I’m locking you in at home! (Whatever)

Why are you so quiet, talk to me! (But the view out of the car window is so beautiful!)

These comments came from different people I have had the pleasure to know or meet, the common thread being they are all deaf. And these comments were made to me, a deaf person, during various stages of my life.

The deaf community as a whole is rich and diverse, with an undercurrent of passion, rebellion and activism running through, navigating these torrid waters we call life. I have great admiration for those who make it their life’s focus to advocate for, and enrich the lives of those who need support, advice, someone to listen to their struggles and work towards making things better.

I worked in various community focused roles for many years and saw firsthand the struggles vulnerable members of the deaf community were facing, with no idea of how to climb out of their depths of despair. Having support in place made their lives easier.

I really enjoyed the work, but it did on occasion lead to emotional burnout which culminated in me seeking quiet spaces for myself so as to allow me to decompress. I have a mind that is consistently busy, always something spinning – random thoughts about space exploration, what shall I cook for dinner tonight, who was the first Roman Emperor, how much would it cost to buy all the tea in China…so many tabs open in my brain, questioning, searching, ideas popping up – what if, what if? Exhausting.

Where my deaf colleagues and friends would seek out company with others socially to help them wind down and relax, I felt a real need to withdraw my energy, to gather my thoughts and just ‘be.’ This led to some interesting comments; others could not understand why I wanted to be alone, I should be ‘out there’, laughing and chatting with other deaf people at the pub, or at parties!

The very thought of making small talk at parties filled me with dread, I would much rather have a meaningful conversation with another person, to talk about the world, life, meaning, the stars, abstract thoughts running wild amidst a haze of steaming coffee and cake.

Some introspection followed; I realised after a pattern of similar comments about me not being social, or not ‘normal’, I came to the realisation that I was perfectly happy being ‘quiet’ and doing my own thing, rather than exhausting myself further by keeping busy all the time to ‘keep face’, or meet other’s expectations of what I should be.

Did I unnerve extroverts who were used to boisterous interactions? Did my quiet observations unsettle them?
Society rewards extraversion: extraverts are seen as popular, have many friends and are usually successful in life. Introverts should also be celebrated, for their quiet, thoughtful ways, often hiding minds that are simmering with ideas. If you’re an ambivert, well you have the best of both worlds!

I have embraced the fact that I am finally moving into my true self, mostly identifying as introverted, but I am perfectly content with this. People will always question or judge but as I said earlier, the deaf community is richly diverse, this means not every deaf person fits into the same box. And why should we?

Jane says:

“Growing up in a non-signing family after becoming deaf at 2.5 years old due to meningitis, my childhood and teenage years were not easy. As my environment was within the hearing community, access to information, education, and social connection were incredibly challenging.

Learning BSL and meeting other deaf children at secondary mainstream school was a turning point—it opened up a whole new world, one where I have never looked back.

I have worked in various roles across both deaf and hearing environments. These experiences have shaped my understanding of the importance of accessible communication. I now work as a freelancer, supporting individuals in accessing English—bridging gaps and helping others find their voice, just as I found mine.”