Hearing Is a Full Body Sport

May is Better Hearing and Speech Month. And honestly? I had to look that up. Did you know the observance dates back to 1927, when ASHA (the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association) began promoting a hearing and speech awareness campaign? Nearly a 100 years of awareness and somehow I still have to explain why I need you to face me when you talk. Well, we keep going.

I was not always living somewhere that made space for conversations like this one. Moving to a place with real accessibility infrastructure like ramps, captions and audiologists on every corner, was genuinely eye-opening. Not because I didn't know these things could exist, but because experiencing them as a daily reality rather than an exception felt like a different kind of freedom. Hearing loss here gets acknowledged in rooms beyond just the doctor's office. That matters more than people realise.

The numbers tell a story. Across many parts of the world, hearing loss remains significantly under-addressed, with access to audiological care scarce and unevenly distributed. Globally, the WHO estimates that over 80% of people who need hearing aids do not have them and the vast majority of that gap exists in lower-income communities and countries. Awareness months exist because that gap is real.

So yes, I love Hearing Awareness Month. We need all the PR we can get.

Now let me tell you what "better hearing" actually looks like in practice, because it is not what most people picture. It is not flipping a switch and suddenly hearing everything at full clarity. For many of us who are hard of hearing, it is the difference between catching 20% of a conversation and catching 55%. That gap is everything. That gap is confidence, connection, dignity. That is what "better" means in our world.

While we're being honest, hearing is a full body sport and key exercise for me. I use my eyes, my brain, the lighting in the room, the angle of your face, and yes, my ears, all simultaneously, just to follow ONE conversation. Lip reading igs not a party trick, It's how I survive meetings, social events, and gatherings that are somehow always happening in three rooms at once.

Cover your mouth while talking to me? I've lost you. Turn away mid-sentence? Gone.

Say something from the bathroom while I'm in the living room? Bold. Truly bold. A friend did exactly this: shouting something important to me from behind a closed bathroom door. I shouted back: "Bold of you to think I can actually hear you right now." She laughed. She came out. She repeated herself. We moved on. That is the friendship contract.

Then there are bars. Oh, bars. Someone thought it would be a lovely idea to have a conversation in a place where the music is loud, the lighting is low, and everyone is talking at once. I am nodding along, piecing together fragments, doing my best. Half the time I am laughing at things I did not hear because the timing felt right. The other half I am leaning in so close the person probably thinks I have very strong feelings about what they are saying. I am just trying to hear. It is fine.

Whispering. People love to whisper things to me as though lowering the volume was ever going to help. I appreciate the intention. Truly. But whispering is just speaking with the evidence removed.

Dark places are their own chapter entirely. In the cinema, someone will wait until the lights go all the way down, the screen dims for the opening scene, and that is the moment they choose to share something with me. I smile. I nod. I have no idea what was said. I have never had any idea what was said. Especially from the cinema screen.

Or an evening walk, perfectly lovely until the sun dips and I suddenly cannot read anyone's face anymore. Either we walk in silence, or someone starts speaking at a volume that concerns the neighbours. There is very little in between. But here is where I want to shift gears, because May deserves more than just the funny stories.

There is a real mental cost to hearing loss that nobody talks about. The constant focus. The exhaustion of performing comprehension when you only caught half the sentence. The quiet nod and the silent prayer that it wasn't a question. I got through a lot of that because I had people around me who supported me financially, emotionally...in every way that mattered. I had access. I had tools. Not everyone does.

Hearing aids change lives. I know this personally. But they are not cheap, and for millions of people, they remain out of reach, not because the technology doesn't exist, but because the systems to deliver it haven't caught up yet.

Related reading: Do you need Hearing Aids for mild hearing loss?

So this May, if awareness means anything, let it mean this: see the people around you who are navigating this quietly. Advocate for better access. Fund the gap where you can. And if someone near you goes a little quiet in a noisy room; please, just turn to face them.

It helps more than you know. If you know anyone showing signs of hearing loss or feel like your own hearing is starting to slip, Regain can help with a test.

To the audiologists and ENTs whose work often shapes lives in ways people do not fully see… Thank you. Their care goes beyond tests, charts, and appointments. They help people reconnect with conversation, confidence, and everyday life. For many of us, they are not just specialists. They are part of the reason the world feels more reachable.