Insight: What I learnt from my deaf mum (BSL)

Growing up, it was just me and my Mum. I’m an only child, raised by a single deaf parent, and for most of my childhood I didn’t realise how unusual that might seem to other people. To me, it was simply life!

My mum is deaf. And she is also one of the strongest, funniest, and most resilient people I know.

As a CODA (child of deaf adults), people often assume my story must be about challenges. I have lost count of the amount of times (new) hearing people would comment ‘oh gosh, that must have been hard!’ – in reference to having a deaf Mum.

But for me, it wasn’t hard at all. She was just my Mum. What I mostly carry with me from my upbringing are the lessons my Mum taught me—lessons about resilience, joy, and seeing the world through a wider lens.

It wasn’t a hard childhood, it was a really fun, free and educational one actually. And as odd as this may sound to others – I’m actually so blessed to have been raised by my Mum. So what did she teach me? The first thing…

Resilience

One of the first things you notice growing up with a deaf parent is how often the world isn’t built for them. I used to get angry when this happened – why didn’t other people realise my Mum needed subtitles, or things written down, or someone to sign a word?!

Interpreters weren’t always available. Important information was spoken instead of signed. Phone calls, announcements, conversations happening too quickly—it all created barriers that hearing people rarely think about.

But my Mum never approached these barriers with defeat. She never complained or criticised the hearing people. She approached them all with determination.

I watched her advocate for herself countless times. I watched her ask people to repeat themselves, to slow down, to write things down, or to learn a sign or two. Sometimes people were kind and accommodating. Sometimes they were impatient. And sometimes they were outright rude.

People occasionally said mean things about deaf people too. Sometimes they assumed my Mum wasn’t intelligent because she couldn’t hear.

I remember one time in the school playground, other parents talked about her while she was standing right there. As a child, that used to make my chest burn with anger but when I told her she would tell me to let it go, not worry about what other people say or think.

She was always calm but firm and she never once apologised for being deaf. That taught me something powerful: resilience isn’t about pretending things are easy. It’s about standing your ground when they aren’t.

My Mum didn’t have it easy. A lot of the times I wished other parents would chat to her like I could, and involve her in things. But I guess – it was their loss! Why? That brings me to the next thing –

Joy

One thing people don’t always realise about the deaf community is how funny it is. Deaf humour is quick, expressive, and wonderfully visual.

Our house was full of it. My mum could turn almost anything into a story—acted out with exaggerated expressions and dramatic signing that would leave us both crying with laughter.

When I was younger, I assumed everyone communicated like this – that everyone told stories with their whole body.

It wasn’t until I spent more time in the hearing world that I realised how different deaf humour can be. In the deaf community, people tease each other constantly, but always with warmth. Stories get bigger with every retelling. Facial expressions become performances.

Joking with my hearing friends at school was different. They wouldn’t get the visual stuff or they’d mock me or become offended by things I’d say light heartedly.

My Mum had this incredible ability to find humour in almost everything—even frustrating situations. A miscommunication at the shop would become a comedy sketch at the dinner table. A confused waiter would become a full theatrical reenactment. Maybe she did it to make me feel better about things or maybe it’s just her humorous approach to life!

Growing up with my Mum meant growing up bilingual and bicultural, even if I didn’t have those words for it at the time.

British Sign Language was my first language alongside spoken English. Before I could properly speak, I could sign. My first sign was ‘Mum’ and I took a while to speak English fluently because I communicated so much in BSL. I soon caught up when I started school.

And so, I grew up moving between two worlds: the deaf world and the hearing world.

The deaf world gave me community, culture, and a language that feels beautifully alive. Being raised in that environment gave me a wider perspective. I learned early that there isn’t just one way to communicate, one way to think, or one way to experience life.

Today, I work within the BSL and deaf community myself. That’s one of the reasons I’m writing this anonymously—it’s not really about me – it’s about my Mum.

Everything I do in my work is rooted in what she showed me growing up: the importance of access, the importance of language, and the importance of respecting deaf culture rather than treating it as something that needs fixing.

My Mum never set out to teach me these lessons. She was simply living her life. But by watching her navigate a world that often underestimated her, I learned resilience. By sharing laughter across our kitchen table, I learned joy. And by growing up in the deaf community, I was given a wider perspective on what communication and connection can look like.

So whenever hearing people respond to me with sympathy or concern regarding the fact that my Mum is deaf – I wish they could see just how much she enriched my childhood and taught me qualities that I never would have if I had grown up in a hearing family.

This blog has been written anonymously as part of the Insight series – created by Assistant editor Rebecca A Withey.

If you have a story, experience or viewpoint you would like to anonymously share please email Rebecca on  rebecca@rawithey.com

Image courtesy of Pexels