When your own senses betray you, it’s hard to know what to feel. I was born without my full range of hearing. I can’t hear certain high frequencies and most low frequencies, which makes it difficult to follow everyday conversations. The medical term for this condition is called congenital hearing loss.
Most people assume “bad hearing” just means everything sounds quieter. In reality, it’s more complex. I compare the way people sound without my hearing aids to Charlie Brown’s teacher — muffled sounds that are supposed to be words, but end up sounding like gibberish.
I got my first pair of hearing aids when I was six years old. They were hot pink and dark purple. At the time, I loved them, but as I grew older I became self-conscious. I didn’t want classmates asking what was wrong with me. I hated the buzzing frequency they emitted when I tucked my hair behind my ears and I dreaded going to the nurse’s office whenever the batteries died. By fifth grade, I decided I didn’t need them. I could just read lips, right?
That decision followed me until my junior year of high school — a choice I still regret.
When the Covid-19 pandemic hit, masks suddenly made lip-reading impossible. I lost one of my strongest tools for communication and felt trapped inside my own thoughts. School became a daily struggle. I often wished life had subtitles. Conversations felt risky because I was afraid of mishearing someone and making things awkward, so I stayed withdrawn.
The effort of listening wore me down. Each day, I used so much energy just to keep up that I developed what is known as “listening fatigue.” According to the American Academy of Audiology, when sound signals are incomplete, the brain has to work harder to piece them together. This extra effort places continuous stress on the brain, leading to exhaustion.
Eventually, I realized the small annoyances of wearing hearing aids were nothing compared to the constant exhaustion of not wearing them. I returned to my audiologist and was fit for a new pair.
I’ve always enjoyed my audiology appointments. My doctor has been with me since childhood and she understands my hearing with remarkable depth. She uses advanced devices that map echoes inside my ears, programs that test which frequencies I can hear and word-recall games that, while I’m sure are meant for children, I still love to play.
Now, with my Phonak hearing aids, I can fully participate in life again. College would be nearly impossible without them. Sure, they still come with inconveniences — battery changes, trouble wearing sunglasses and having to take them out to swim — but none of that compares to being able to clearly understand my friends, family and professors.
I spoke with Nick Nussbaum, a fellow DePaul student with hearing loss, “It is challenging to be a hard of hearing student,” Nussbaum said. “Most big classrooms have large acoustics and a lot of other distracting noises which make it hard for people like me to hear the professor. Fortunately, there are tools the school provides like class transcripts and live captioning services which make it easier to stay focused.”
Nussbaum also participated in a California campaign, Let California Kids Hear, to encourage mandated insurance coverage for children’s hearing aids. A pair of children’s hearing aids can cost as much as $5,000, so having full insurance coverage is ideal.
Thankfully, Illinois is one of 22 states where private insurance must cover hearing aids for children both inside and outside the health insurance exchange. In other words, no matter where families get their insurance, in the marketplace or directly from a company, hearing aids for children are required to be covered. Ideally, all states should require hearing aid coverage, so that all hearing-impaired children can grow up with the accommodations they need, free of charge.
Living with hearing loss has been a lifelong challenge shaped by frustration, adaptation and ultimately, resilience. From childhood embarrassment to pandemic isolation, I’ve experienced firsthand the toll hearing loss can take. Not only on communication but also on mental energy and confidence.
Yet, I’ve also learned that hearing aids are more than small devices. They are tools that connect me to the world. They allow me to thrive academically, socially and personally. My story, along with Nussbaum’s, show that hearing loss creates real obstacles, but with access to the right support, technology and insurance coverage, it can make all the difference.
Header Image by Alex Carrasquillo
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