You know one thing I used to be genuinely terrified of when meeting someone new?
It wasn’t the usual worries like “What if they don’t like me?” or “What if I spill food on my top?” Although both have happened.
My deepest fear was this: what if they’re…… softspoken?
Yes, softspoken.
Now, that might sound silly to most people, but if you’re like me born hard of hearing — you get it. A whisper is not cute when you can’t catch 80% of it. And trust me, there’s nothing more frustrating than sitting across from someone attractive, charming, funny… and inaudible. Arghhh!
I’ve always been someone who could hold a great conversation. But even so, I often found myself saying, “Sorry, what did you say?” even when someone was speaking normally. Now imagine that person speaks at a whisper. Or worse, mumbles. Tragedy.
When I was younger and trying to navigate the world of dating, especially around Valentine’s Day, this fear followed me everywhere. God forbid I picked a noisy restaurant. My anxiety would shoot through the roof. I’d walk in, see how loud it was, and think, “Welp. I’m not hearing anything tonight.”
So I started to overcompensate. I’d lean in way too close. I’d stare at the person’s lips with intense focus, like I was about to perform a dental exam. Or I’d become the designated talker of the date because if I was talking, I didn’t have to listen. Strategy. Sometimes, I’d nod along and laugh at what I hoped was a joke, praying they weren’t telling me something serious like, “My dog died last week.” Or a quick yes or no answer here and there.
It wasn’t just restaurants either. Concerts, parties, family gatherings, all potential hearing disasters. I developed an internal checklist. Where are we going? How loud is it? Is there lighting so I can lip-read? Are there corners I can hide in to hear better?
But here’s the thing. Time moved on, and thankfully, so did hearing aid technology.
The hearing aids I wear today are nothing like the clunky, stiff devices I wore in childhood. Now they’re sleek, smart and adaptive. They come with features that actually help, like background noise reduction in restaurants. Bless whoever invented that seriously. Suddenly, dates at buzzy spots became less about survival and more about connection. It’s not perfect but we are honestly grateful.
But I also changed. I stopped pretending I could hear everything. I learned to say, “Hey, just a heads-up: I’m hard of hearing. Mind speaking up a little?”
I also had to accept my own quirks. For example, I sometimes speak too loud, especially when I’m passionate or excited. I’ve had moments on dates where I’m telling a story and the entire restaurant hears the punchline. Not ideal, but that’s part of the experience too.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I still get nervous before dates. I still worry about whether my hearing aids will squeal if someone gets too close. And I definitely still worry about missing something important, especially in more intimate settings.
Let’s not even get into how confusing things get in the bedroom when someone tries to whisper sweet nothings. I’m just there like, “Huh?”
Despite all that, I’ve had and still having wonderful relationships. People who made the effort. People who laughed with me when things got awkward. People who asked questions about my hearing aids and were genuinely curious, not judgmental.
And you know what’s funny? Those moments turned into conversations. And those conversations turned into teaching moments. I found myself gently educating my dates on hearing loss and accessibility. I became an ambassador without even trying, just by showing up authentically.
So this Valentine’s Day, I want to celebrate something beyond flowers and chocolate. I want to celebrate love that listens, in all its forms. Because love doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. But it does have to be kind. It has to be curious. It has to make space for people like me who experience the world a little differently.
Whether you’re single, coupled, dating or somewhere in between, here’s my love note to you: Enjoy whatever season you’re in good or bad, it doesn’t last forever. If you’re learning to communicate better, to listen deeper, to understand someone who hears differently than you, that’s love. If you’re learning to be honest about what you need, even if it’s just asking someone to repeat themselves, that’s love too. And if you’re out there embracing your story — hearing aids and all — that’s the loudest love of all.
So go on. Be bold. Be a little awkward. Be heard.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Written by Ranti Tejuoso.
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