The Woman Who Heard My Future Before I Did

Being born hard of hearing must have been difficult for my mother. I think about it more now that I am older. Back then there were fewer answers, less information, and technology had not quite caught up yet. Hearing aids were not the sleek, intelligent tools they are today. Parents like my mum were navigating unfamiliar territory with very little guidance.

To make things even more interesting, I was not the first child. I was number six of six children from my mum, and five of us were born hard of hearing. By the time I arrived she had already been walking this path with my older siblings. Still, every child brings their own personality and surprises.

I simply arrived with my own version of the story. Whatever she may have felt at the time, she never made me feel like something was missing. Instead she made me feel like I could do anything. My mother celebrated my wins with an enthusiasm that could make the neighbours curious. I remember the early 2000s when I took the high school entry exam with about a thousand other students. When the results came back, I had placed 29th. In my teenage brain, that was basically a participation trophy. I did not come first, second, or third. Who even celebrates 29th place? My mother, that's who. She told every single person who would listen. "My daughter came 29th out of a thousand! Top 50! And she is hard of hearing!" I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. But not my mum. She was my loudest cheerleader. Emphasis on loudest.

Ironic, isn't it?

At the time I did not understand why she was so excited. Now I do. She was not celebrating a number. She was celebrating resilience. She was celebrating possibility. She believed I was capable of more than I believed myself.

My mother showed up for me in quiet but powerful ways. She accompanied me to my ENT appointments. She asked questions and paid attention to every detail so she could understand how to support her child. Interestingly, I did not start wearing hearing aids until my late teens, even though doctors suggested I begin much earlier. Because my mother had built my confidence so carefully, I convinced myself I was managing just fine. But one thing remained constant. My mother never treated my hearing as something that limited my future.

There were days I doubted myself. Days I cried and felt like I was not enough. Those were the days she would remind me what she believed I could become. For years she was convinced I would grow up to be a medical doctor. I tried to imagine it, but somewhere along the way I realised that blood and I were not going to have a successful relationship. Even though I did not become the doctor she imagined, her belief in my ability to achieve something meaningful never changed. Whenever I tried to use my hearing as an excuse to avoid a challenge, she refused to accept it. According to her it was never a reason to give up. It was simply a reason to work harder.

Thank you for never letting me feel small, Mum.

Epilouge: The Woman who heard my future before I did

Today, hearing technology has advanced in ways my younger self could never have imagined. Hearing aids now help people connect, communicate, and experience life more fully. And whenever I think about that progress, I also think about the woman who stood beside me long before these advances existed, and about the many mothers navigating different challenges just to help their children thrive.

This Mother’s Day I want to celebrate her and mothers everywhere. And to all the mothers navigating hearing loss with your children: you are seen and appreciated. And to those considering hearing aids, the technology today is remarkable. Thank you to the Woman who heard my future, I am most grateful. Happy Mother’s Day.