I first noticed my hearing loss in my mid-20s, when I was in business school and started having trouble hearing in class. When I went to get my hearing tested, the audiologist told me it was too mild to do anything about — and honestly, hearing loss felt so stigmatized to me at the time that I was happy to use that excuse to ignore it.
So I did. For many years.
But my hearing loss journey really started long before business school. It started with my father.
Watching My Father
My father had hearing loss too. He was highly stigmatized by it and would do almost anything to hide it. In fact, it was a completely unmentionable topic in our house. He never asked for help, so we never offered any.
I remember family gatherings where he would sit alone, his back to the festivities. As a child, I didn’t understand why. But when I developed my own hearing loss, I understood perfectly. He was probably struggling to hear in that loud party space and couldn’t bring himself to keep trying. Hiding in the corner also helped keep his hearing loss a secret from those around him for another day.
Or so he thought.
Following in His Footsteps
When I discovered my own hearing loss, I did exactly what he had done. I hid it. I never talked about it. I was embarrassed and ashamed. Even after I eventually got hearing aids, I didn’t always wear them. This went on for years.
And then I had children.
My hearing loss is genetic, so I always worried that I might have passed it on to them. That worry changed everything — because one day I saw them watching me do the same things my father had done. Hiding my hearing aids. Laughing at jokes I hadn’t heard. Pretending.
I realized I was passing the same stigma on to the next generation.
The MindShift
That was the moment of my MindShift. I finally decided to accept my hearing loss so I could set a better example for my children.
Acceptance wasn’t simply deciding that hearing loss was okay. It was deciding that hiding it was costing me more than acknowledging it. I started wearing my hearing aids all the time and taught my family and friends how to communicate with me. I stopped letting my hearing loss isolate me.
It isn’t always easy — but it is always worth it.
Here’s the powerful truth I’ve learned since then: our attitudes about our hearing loss directly shape our behaviors. If we’re embarrassed, we hold back from conversations. If we’re frustrated, it shows. But if we can transform that shame, we can make conversations work.
MindShifts Aren’t Magic
MindShifts aren’t magic, and they aren’t a cure — they don’t make hearing loss disappear. But they can change what we do about it: whether we hide or speak up, withdraw or stay engaged, pretend we heard or ask for clarification. When we pivot away from negative thinking, we communicate better — and life with hearing loss can be different, better, simply by changing how we think about it.
My father never got the chance to make that shift. I think about that often. I wish he had been able to make that shift, too. His struggle became my starting point — and my children became my reason to choose a different path. You can make that shift too.
For more on MindShifts and other tools for living skillfully with hearing loss, read Hear & Beyond: Live Skillfully with Hearing Loss, which I co-authored with Gael Hannan
Readers, what was your MindShift moment?
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