Today, I’m on my way to the hospital for what feels like my first proper hearing test. Not because I haven’t done it before — I’ve had so many hearing tests over the years that I’ve lost count. But this is the first time I’ll be walking into that soundproof booth without feeling like I need to perform or please anyone.
I’ve had hearing loss all my life, a result of being born prematurely at just 28 weeks and five days. I started wearing hearing aids from the age of nine, and I’ve been through various types and setups ever since.
For a long time, I had hearing aids in both ears. But when I was later fitted with a bone-anchored cochlear hearing aid on my left side, the medical team decided not to replace the right one at the time. I was regularly passing out, and they felt that another aid — or surgery — might be too much for me. At that stage, they were still trying to work out what was causing it, and the working diagnosis was migraine-associated vertigo.
Fast forward to now: we’ve since discovered that it was actually POTS syndrome, and I’m finally on the right medication. I’m no longer passing out as often, and I feel much more stable — which is why I’m planning to ask today about getting a second hearing aid fitted for my right ear. I know I can cope with it now.
But this time, I’ll be honest.
In the past, I’ve walked into those tests and tried so hard to “get it right”. I’d push the headphones closer, clench my jaw to hear better, focus until I was exhausted. Not because I wanted to manipulate the results — but because I was people pleasing. I didn’t want to be seen as needy or awkward or difficult.
During the pandemic, I finally began to understand that I’m autistic and have ADHD. And suddenly, it all made sense — the masking, the exhaustion, the desire to make life easier for others, even if it made things harder for me.
Now that I’ve unmasked, I can see how much I was trying to pass in medical settings, too. I didn’t want to ask people to repeat themselves, even though I often miss entire words. I hear the sound, but not the meaning. It’s one of the many reasons I also plan to ask if they can test for Auditory Processing Disorder (APD) today.
This time, I’m not pretending.
I’m showing up as me — a woman who’s lived with hearing loss her whole life, who’s masked and people-pleased for far too long, and who’s finally advocating for her full needs.
💬 Call to Action
Have you ever masked in medical appointments or felt afraid to speak up about your needs? If so, you’re not alone. I’d love to hear from you — comment below, share your experience, and if this post resonates, please like and subscribe to follow more of my journey. Let’s keep breaking the silence together.
The bad and your parenting journey 