I Couldn’t Explain Then, But I Understand Now: What My Parents Didn’t Know About My Life as a CI User
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 earlier.
Not because they were bad parents. But because even they didn’t know what they didn’t know.
“Love is not just giving a device, it’s understanding how hard it is to use it.”
The Unseen Battles: Real Moments That Still Hurt
Here are the kinds of situations I faced most of them seemed simple to others, but they deeply affected me:
1. Riding on a Two-Wheeler
While riding with my father, he asked me, “Do you want anything? Should we go somewhere?” But all I could hear was wind noise. I didn’t hear his words. I kept saying, “I can’t understand. Please repeat.” He thought I was ignoring him and got angry. But I wasn’t ignoring. I just couldn’t hear.
The challenge here was the pervasive wind noise, which can be a debilitating masker for cochlear implant users, primarily due to high levels of low-frequency energy interacting with the microphone.
microtrauma: a tiny wound I carried without knowing. It seemed small at the time, but it stayed with me.
2. In Street Markets or Shopping Malls
I hear everything at once vendors shouting, traffic, people talking, background music. It’s like standing in the middle of a storm. But I can’t separate words from noise. It drains my energy. It’s not laziness, it’s auditory overload.
Cochlear implants transmit an electrical signal that often lacks crucial information, making interpretation inherently difficult, especially in noisy environments where it's hard to focus on a single sound.
cumulative trauma: stress that builds up over time from repeated sensory overwhelm.
3. From Another Room
If I’m watching TV and my parents call from the kitchen or bedroom, I don’t respond, not because I’m being rude but because I simply don’t hear them. My attention is already focused on one sound source (TV), and I can’t process distant voices clearly.
Talking from another room is a common reason for communication difficulty, as it removes the crucial visual cues that aid understanding.
invalidated feelings: as if my reality wasn’t accepted as true.
4. Talking to New People
When my parents introduced me to strangers, I struggled to follow their fast or unfamiliar voices. I would ask, “Sorry? What did you say?” That annoyed people. They expected me to understand everything on the first try. But I needed patience, not pressure.
There's considerable variability in how well CI users understand speech, and some struggle significantly even in quiet environments.
social anxiety: the fear that I would be judged or dismissed when I ask for clarity.
5. Phone Calls
Talking on the phone is a nightmare. Voices sound distorted. Background noise makes it worse. But parents would hand me the phone and say, “Talk to uncle! Say hello!” I’d panic, unable to understand a single word. They would get irritated, thinking I was being difficult.
Telephone conversations are particularly challenging for CI users due to the limited frequency band of the signal, voice distortion, and the complete absence of visual cues like speech reading.
learned helplessness: I stopped trying after repeated failure and criticism, even if I wanted to try.
6. At Temples or Religious Events
People asked me to listen to chants, mantras, or bhajans. But they sounded like echoes or vibrations, not words. When I said I couldn’t understand, they told me to “just listen with your heart.” But I was trying.
Deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals often face major frustrations and barriers in religious settings due to a lack of linguistic and cultural sensitivity from hearing individuals and institutions.
7. When Everyone Suddenly Laughed
During family gatherings or friends' meetups, someone would say something funny and everyone would laugh. I’d smile too but I didn’t know why. I was always one step behind. Always pretending. Always silently left out.
Hearing loss is often an "invisible disability," because it is not readily apparent to others, leading to misunderstandings where others may misinterpret a CI user's struggles as disinterest or inattentiveness.
invisible exclusion, where you feel present but never fully included.
8. Public Announcements
In school assemblies, train stations, or crowded places, announcements over the loudspeaker are unintelligible to me. My parents or teachers thought I just wasn’t paying attention. But the truth is I was trying. The sound just didn’t make sense to me.
CI recipients have minimal tolerance for reverberation, and even mild amounts can significantly reduce speech intelligibility.
9. Music Confusion
I love music, but sometimes I can't make out the lyrics. It doesn't sound the way others describe it. When I say this, people ask, “What’s the point of listening, then?” They don’t see I’m exploring sound in my own way.
While some Deaf people enjoy music, for others, it's not how they connect to God or experience sound.
emotional invalidation: as if my experience wasn’t worth understanding.
10. Asking People to Repeat
I often say, “Can you repeat that?” Not because I wasn’t listening but because I genuinely didn’t catch the word. But when I ask this, people get irritated. Even my parents sometimes lost patience. That frustration slowly turned into mental pain.
The constant need to ask for repetitions can foster self-consciousness and a debilitating feeling of being a burden on others.
learned helplessness begins.
The Silent Scars: Understanding the Psychology Behind It All
These were not just random events. They formed patterns of confusion, frustration, guilt, and silent suffering. I felt like something was wrong with me, not with the environment around me. I didn’t have the words for it then. But now I know: It was emotional trauma, built slowly over years.
Let me explain what I now understand:
Microtrauma: These are small, repeated emotional or psychological injuries that may go unnoticed or be dismissed as unimportant.
Cumulative Trauma: This refers to the exhaustion and psychological impact that builds up over time from repeated exposure to stressors, even minor ones.
Invalidation: This occurs when others act like your experience isn’t real or important.
Social Anxiety: Individuals with hearing loss face a heightened risk of anxiety, often worrying about miscommunication or being subjected to judgment in social situations.
Learned Helplessness: This psychological condition develops when individuals attribute negative results to internal, stable, and global factors, leading them to believe they have no control over their situation. It manifests as pervasive apathy and a belief that effort makes no difference, preventing individuals from attempting to change their circumstances even when opportunities exist.
These don’t show up in audiograms. But they live inside our minds. And they deserve to be acknowledged.
The Path to Healing: Awareness and Empathy
When I finally grew up and spoke to others, I started putting the pieces together. I spoke to friends. I researched sound perception. I understood that my experience is valid and it has a name. I explained everything to my parents. And finally, they listened. They apologized. They cried. They admitted: “We didn’t know. We misunderstood. We’re sorry.” And that’s where healing started not just for me, but for all of us.
To Parents, Teachers, and the World:
If you’re raising or supporting a child with hearing loss, please remember:
We hear differently. We process slowly. We get tired faster. The process of listening with a CI is an active, highly demanding cognitive process, requiring the brain to work harder to interpret degraded signals and filter noise.
We’re not ignoring you. We’re trying. Misunderstandings often arise because hearing loss is an "invisible disability".
Please be patient, not angry. Cultivate patience and understanding, allowing the CI user ample time to process information and ask for clarification.
Listen, even when we can’t explain. Encourage open communication and actively listen to their experiences, validating their feelings.
If you're a parent reading this, I hope this story helps you see what your child may not yet have words for. And if you're a CI user, know this: you’re not alone, and your experience is real.
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