“What’s that thing in your ear?” The question I have heard over and over and over again ever since I was little. That thing so many young kids in particular are referring to is a hearing aid. A little background: in first grade after countless MRIs and CT-scans, my parents and I were told I had a condition call the Enlargement of the Vestibular Aqueduct, or EVA syndrome for short.

It all started in kindergarten when I had a really tough time academically, and was very close to being held back. I was very slow to learn things and it turned out it was because I just couldn’t hear the teacher clearly. I also was seriously good at lip reading, and still am to this day. I remember trying to eavesdrop conversations across the room by looking at peoples’ lips to figure out what they were talking about.

Finally, in second grade I got my first hearing aid. I’ll never forget the first time I put it on and with a little click of a button followed 3 beeping sounds that let you know the hearing aid was turning on. As soon as it turned on for the first time it felt like someone was blowing air into my ear. It also squealed a little bit which kind of freaked me out. I was overwhelmed and not sure how to react. So, I did the only thing a 7-year-old knew to do in a situation that was scary and unknown, I began to cry.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I begged my parents to take it off. Imagine going 7 years having only known hearing to be as if you had your ears plugged 24/7.

I remember my audiologist had given me a kit with this little bear who had his own set of hearing aids. I know now that it was an attempt to make me feel more normal and to bring to school to show my friends. And that’s exactly what I did. I even let other kids try my hearing aid on when they asked, which I look back now and I am absolutely befuddled as to why I let a bunch of 7-and-8-year-olds with germs wear something so delicate of mine. But I guess it also made me feel like I wasn’t alone in all of this. The fact that others showed interest in something that at the time was so uniquely mine made me feel special. I felt like I was extraordinary.

As I grew older, however, I began to feel more self-conscious of how others perceived me as most teenagers do. I tried my best to hide my hearing aid behind my hair and made sure to never wear my hair back. I didn’t want kids to see me as weak or some type of freak which is completely absurd, I know.

But it was how I felt.

I eventually decided to stop wearing it to avoid people hearing the squealing sound or to catch a glimpse of it if I failed to hide it. This decision affected me especially in school, whether it be hearing lessons or being a part of the conversation. Background noise with or without the hearing aid made conversations especially difficult.

And so, I felt often like I was in my own little world of silence. Nothing was ever completely silent because I could hear that something was going on and occasionally am able to make out words. But only hearing bits and pieces of conversation don’t always mean you can follow along with the others.

It’s hard, really hard at times. But I know that I could have it so much worse. There are people who don’t have any hearing at all and I am lucky to have at least some. It has been a crazy journey for me and I still struggle today maybe just as much as I ever have. But, I have learned to accept this difference and learn to embrace it. I have a perspective of life that not many people have. Living in a world of (almost) silence has taught me empathy, and has made me notice little details about things that others may have overlooked. At the end of the day, it’s all good.

And hey, if I want to block out the annoying ones who like to blare music in the dorm while I’m trying to sleep, I just turn over and sleep on my good ear and I’m all set!