My 10 Year Hearing Loss Anniversary

I had never given my hearing much consideration until half of it was gone. My understanding of hearing loss and deafness was limited. I assumed I’d lose my hearing over time, as I aged, and it never occurred to me that I might be living without full sound much earlier than anticipated. 10 years ago, the day in the auditorium when I suddenly lost all the hearing in my left ear changed everything.

Over the years, I’ve thrown myself into the hearing loss community, where I have been embraced by some of the most inspirational and supportive people I have ever connected with. We understand each other’s daily challenges. We know when listening has become too much. We listen compassionately and thoughtfully to each other, perhaps because we understand what it’s like to struggle to hear. Words and connection mean so much now. I grasp at all the information I can to get as much meaning as possible. Lips, body language, facial expressions, context.

Learning to live with hearing loss took time. There was the shock of the loss, which came first. The practicality of living without full access to sound took trial and error to figure out. How to carry on doing the things I love when hearing was difficult, and at some times, sound was just painful. Then there was the emotional impact. The what ifs, why me, the grief for my lost sound and the future I assumed I’d have that didn’t feature a hearing loss early on. The nostalgia for a time when I didn’t have to think about whether my ears and brain would be able to cope with an activity or a situation.

My hearing loss gave me a reason to write. In fact, it forced me into writing. Living away from home and in a country where my mother tongue was not the main language meant that in the early days after my loss, I struggled to work through my feelings. There was nobody in my immediate life who had hearing loss and, even if I could find a local hearing loss community, the shared language would have been one that I was still in the early stages of learning. Writing my blog, this blog, became my therapy. From the very first post, it just felt right. I started emptying my days and thoughts onto the virtual page, and with every word, my brain felt a little lighter. I stopped holding onto my worries. I shared my story and, in doing so, found so much peace. But also, my creativity was given somewhere to go.

With time, through my blog, I began hearing from other people, like me, dealing with suddenly losing sound, or maybe their partners or friends and family. It felt so wonderful to support others through this, and it still does to this day. From my blog emerged a Facebook community, a support website, coaching support and continued connection.

My writing stretched the page to hearing loss associations, charities and organisations, leading to me speaking with hearing care specialists and people involved in developing exciting new technologies across the world. I feel so privileged to have picked the brains of so many people dedicated to helping people with hearing challenges improve their quality of life. 

And there was the book I co-authored; a collection of real-life stories from people who have experienced sudden hearing loss, alongside research-based information offering hope, practical guidance and reassurance to others navigating life after this little-understood condition.

I became a passionate advocate with a clear direction. Becoming a hearing loss advocate led me to do some things I never would have thought dreamed I was capable of. Standing on stages and sharing my story is something I’d never have dreamt of doing pre-hearing loss, and something that, as an introvert, still amazes me with how natural it feels. I’ve had the opportunity to speak on various podcasts (and start my own podcast!) and even represent people with tinnitus at the House of Commons for a round-table discussion about tinnitus research, and how we can move forward to find a cure for tinnitus. 

Then there was The National. One of the most amazing experiences of my life so far came from my hearing loss, and more specifically from an emotional reaction to my hearing loss. After featuring on a podcast for the BBC World Service, I revisited one of the nightclubs I had been to before my hearing loss. While there, I listened to my favourite band, The National, through my headphones. The reality of my hearing loss hit me. With a sensitivity to noise, I realised that I probably would never get to see them play live. One of my dreams. But I was wrong. The National heard about the podcast and arranged for me to see them at one of their concerts, live from backstage, where the music was quieter. Beforehand, they played an acoustic version of one of their new songs. My heart is fluttering even as I write this and remember this moment. Sitting in their dressing room with my boyfriend, chatting with Matt, the lead singer, having hugs with everyone, before they began to sing. Backstage during their performance, the feeling of live music pulsing through my body and the feeling of returning to myself, or as my sis puts it, “getting my Carly back”, was something I can still feel just as strongly to this day as the day I danced backstage with my boyfriend.

My cochlear implant (CI) has been the most recent chapter of my hearing loss story, and it in itself has been such a detailed experience with many parts. I got my CI 8 years following my hearing loss and had lived with unaided single-sided deafness during this time. Life went on. I got used to having no sense of where sound was coming from and struggling to hear in background noise and learned coping strategies. When I got my CI and the sound was switched on, quite literally, the left side of my world came alive. Now, I needed to learn how to hear again, which was tiring, challenging, and simply amazing, having a little robot ear, figuring out the sonic landscape around me. It will never be perfect, but having access to sound on this side is so special. I am more confident in my surroundings and appreciate every bit of meaning I can grasp from this amazing tech. Every morning when I put on my processor, I feel a pang of happiness. It’s hard to describe the feeling of having access to sound after 8 years of my ear and brain sleeping on that side. My brain feels happier with my implant.

My hearing loss has brought me so much. A love of writing, greater compassion, creativity, and a new passion for supporting others with hearing loss that has impacted so much of my life for the better. But it does not and will never define me. Above all, my hearing loss has brought me connection, which, in a way, is quite ironic, as hearing loss can be incredibly isolating at times.

I do sometimes wonder how my life would be if this hadn’t happened to me. But 10 years after the day in the auditorium, if I could have a magic pill to take in the moment the world to the left of me fell into silence, I wouldn’t take it.

Life before my hearing loss was good, but this life-changing event has become a part of my story. It’s not always easy and I don’t always like my hearing loss, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it has brought so much vibrancy, variety, and meaning to everything I do.