“This is the reality many families face. Not because their child is broken, but because the system is.”

 “This is the reality many families face. Not because their child is broken, but because the system is.”


A father messaged me recently.
His 9-year-old deaf son received a cochlear implant.
But the school refused to provide the services he needed to access sound, language, and learning.

No direct support.
No auditory-verbal therapy.
No teacher of the deaf.
Even the FM system wasn’t working. Expert recommendations were ignored.

They tried to resolve it quietly.
They were forced to take legal action.
Not once, but twice.

“I thought the hardest part would be the surgery.
But no one tells you the real fight starts after that. Just to give your child a chance to learn.”

This isn’t rare.
This is what happens when systems stop listening.
When cochlear implants are seen as solutions and not as tools that still need support.
When parents are treated as problems instead of allies.

Let this be a reminder.
Inclusion is not a favor.
Access is not optional.
Listening should never have to be demanded in court.

To Raffaele Mirarchi MAOM,MBA,CCP,LP, the father who shared this story with me, thank you for your trust, your courage, and your voice.
You are not alone in this fight. I stand with you, and so do many others who believe no deaf child should ever be denied access to their education.

If any journalists or advocates are covering the challenges families face in securing proper support for deaf students, please feel free to message me. I can connect you with Raffaele, who is bravely sharing his family’s story in the hope of driving change.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Couldn’t Explain Then, But I Understand Now: What My Parents Didn’t Know About My Life as a CI User

Image
I Couldn’t Explain Then, But I Understand Now: What My Parents Didn’t Know About My Life as a CI User As a cochlear implant user who grew up navigating an often misunderstood world of sound, I wrote this to help parents and others see the parts we often can’t explain as children. When I was a little girl, I couldn’t explain what I was feeling. I didn't have the words then. I couldn’t explain why I kept saying “huh?” or “I didn’t hear you.” I couldn’t explain why I looked blank, why I didn’t respond, or why I got tired so easily in noisy places. My parents, concerned, suddenly took me to an audiologist to check if there were any problems. I could hear, but I didn't know how to explain my struggles and the barriers I faced, because I didn't know what natural hearing was like. But as I grew up, through countless conversations with friends and dedicated research into the science behind my experiences, I finally began to understand. And I wish my parents knew these things earlie...
Read more

I Act Like I Hear You: The Hidden Toll of Trying

Image
 I Act Like I Hear You: The Hidden Toll of Trying Sometimes, I nod when I didn’t really understand. I laugh when others laugh, even if I didn’t catch the joke. I rehearse responses in my head because I’m not sure if I really heard you right. I act like I’m hearing more than I am. This isn’t lying. It’s survival . In psychology, it’s called auditory-verbal masking or effortful socialization-  a term used to describe what many deaf and hard-of-hearing people do to fit into the hearing world, especially those of us with cochlear implants or hearing aids. It means mimicking behaviors of hearing individuals responding quickly, maintaining eye contact, laughing at the right times even when you’re exhausted, even when you’re lost. We do it to pass. To avoid being left out. To not be the “inconvenient” one in the group. But there’s a cost. 💢 The Psychology Behind the Mask In social and cognitive psychology, this behavior mirrors autistic masking and code-switching in margina...
Read more

When Listening Drains Me: The Side of Deafness No One Sees

Image
 When Listening Drains Me: The Side of Deafness No One Sees People often assume listening is easy. That if you have ears or even a cochlear implant you can just hear, respond, and move on. But for me, listening is work. It takes energy, focus, and emotional strength especially in noisy or social situations. In group conversations , it’s the hardest. If I miss a word, I turn to someone next to me for help. But even that feels risky. They may think I’m disturbing them, interrupting, or not paying attention. But the truth is I’m trying harder than anyone realizes. And when I can’t keep up, it hits me like a storm. A flood of frustration, helplessness, sadness… sometimes all at once. My brain feels like it’s on overload , and I lose control over how I feel. The world becomes too loud outside , and too heavy inside. What I’ve come to realize is this isn’t just personal. It’s actually something psychologists call listening fatigue . People who use hearing aids or cochlear implants have...
Read more