By Simone Margett

Growing up in a small Norfolk town on a council estate was difficult in many ways, the first being that I was the only deaf person in my family and at my school. I didn’t have the means to learn sign language; it wasn't something that was available to me. The only way to survive, in a sense, was to watch lip patterns and rely heavily on lip reading.

On a deafness scale, I am moderately deaf or what is known as partially deaf. With the help of hearing aids, I can ‘hear’, but a small machine like a hearing aid can only make sounds clearer – a hearing aid or cochlear implant is not a fix. There is no one size fits all in hearing loss, as we all have different experiences. I wear hearing aids, but I don’t know sign language. To some, I am ‘not deaf enough’ to fit in the deaf community. But I don’t hear enough to fit in the hearing community for many, too. Where do I fit in?

It wasn’t a horrible childhood; in fact, I had a great childhood. But it was lonely, and no one in my family understood that I felt lonely. Perhaps I was good at keeping it under wraps. One thing no one prepares deaf children for is the alienation that comes from hearing people. They didn't treat me like I had a disability, which I was thankful for in a sense, but I was unable to embrace my deaf identity, which may have been easier if I had been in a larger town with more access to services and community.

Deaf and Hard of Hearing people are twice more likely than hearing people to experience anxiety, depression and other mental health problems due to oppression and inequality. As a child, I had a few hearing friends, but those friends became my bullies. Often, when I asked what they were talking about, I was told, ‘It's nothing.’ ‘You wouldn't understand.’ ‘It's not important.’ ‘I will tell you later.’ ‘It doesn't matter.’ In short, I was constantly dismissed and disregarded.  

Eventually, I gave up asking and sat by myself. It was preferable to be alone than lonely in a hearing crowd. Asking my supposed friends to repeat things if I didn't quite catch what they were saying and then them getting annoyed made me feel like it was a chore to talk to me and make me feel included. In reality, it wouldn’t have taken much had they wanted to.

When I went to a mainstream high school, I became a target for bullies who would shout into my ear and rip my hearing aids out of my ears. Trying to follow the teachers’ lips was also difficult as they would turn their back as they wrote on the board.

Even amongst family members, I would follow their lip pattern the best I could, but most of the time they would talk at me, instead of to me. To ‘survive’, I moulded myself into what I thought everyone wanted. I focused on fitting into the hearing world instead of encouraging hearing people to imagine walking in my shoes as someone who experiences deafness. These two worlds could work together if hearing people and society stopped ableism, but there is a lot of work to be done to bridge the gaps between them.

Due to the lack of deaf awareness in my family and inner circle, I was left to deal with the loneliness of it by myself. You are never prepared for the social exclusion that comes with deafness and mental health difficulties too. I spent the majority of my childhood without hearing aids. When I finally got them at the age of seven, I heard the sea for the first time and I felt joy.

I used to be ashamed of my deafness and wearing hearing aids. Now that I'm older, I’m much braver and feel more freedom. I guess you could say that I’m more confident, or at least I try to come off as that.

There are days when I get frustrated for not hearing a conversation or not hearing questions. But what I lack in hearing I make up for in other senses – touch, sight, smell and my sense of awareness in general – all of which add a unique perspective to the world. It's difficult to explain, but by removing sound, my surroundings become more vivid, and I'm more aware of minor details. I can pick up on the tiniest of people's actions and expressions (even a raised eyebrow).

With time and age, I am more aware of my needs and wants, so much so that I will voice them openly when in the past, I kept quiet. I might not have good hearing, but it’s given me that drive and fire in my belly to go after what I want.