Aug 04 2009

An Open Letter to My *Hearing* Friends

Published by at 12:09 am under Post your stories, articles, or blog links

I am passing along this letter written by Shanna Groves. She sent the letter to me so I could share with my readers. I found it very interesting because it relates to some of the experiences I have been through.  I’d like to hear your feedback.


Dear Friend,

I want to discuss an important difference we have—something that can impact our entire communication from this point forward.

When you were born, your hearing was normal. So was mine. For years, I took the ability to hear for granted. I listened to my car stereo several notches too loud and sat in concert arenas filled with the shrill sounds of guitars, drums and vocalists belting out tunes. As a college student, I worked in a noisy printing press environment without wearing earplugs. All the while, my hearing gradually suffered.

For the past eight years, my life has differed from yours. It’s all because of a diagnosis I received two months after my oldest child was born: I have progressive hearing loss.

What does that mean? Imagine losing the sensitive hairs that line the back of your neck, one by one. You wait and wait for them to grow back, but they never do. For some unknown reason, the hairs are gone forever. That has happened to my inner ears. The nerve hairs in the deepest part of each ear have been destroyed permanently. Cause unknown. Without these hairs, my ears are not as sensitive to sound as yours.

The first part of my hearing that disappeared was with high-frequency pitches—birds singing, kids screaming, phones ringing, and all soft consonant sounds (f, s, t, v). Gone. Permanently. I am deaf to these noises.

The inability to hear high-frequency pitches affects all of my conversations with you.

You: “Is the baby sleeping?”
What I hear: “Ha! Baby leaping.”

You: “What time is it?”
What I hear: “Whoa, I’m in.”

I have worn hearing aids for six years to help with hearing better. But please repeat after me:


With my hearing aids, I can hear the phone ring and the kids scream and soft consonant sounds—most of the time. Yet even with the aids, I still can’t hear robins chirping over me as I sit on my backyard swing. Do I miss that sound? Yes. Every day.

I want to ask that the two of us find a way to bridge the gap between our hearing differences, to understand each other. So, here are my suggestions…

~ Please face me when you speak. My eyes have become my ears. I watch your lips move and interpret your facial and body gestures. That is impossible to do when I am in the driver’s seat and you are talking to me from the passenger’s side of the car. Let me stop the car or come to a stoplight so I can give you my full attention.

~ Quiet rooms are always the best place for me to hear you well. When this isn’t possible, I hear better in a private booth rather than at a table in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Better yet, pull me aside, look me in the eye, and speak slowly and with good articulation. Doing this will decrease the chances of you having to repeat yourself three times before I get it.

~ I don’t expect you to walk on eggshells if you are unsure whether I have heard something you said. It is much better to tell me that I didn’t respond to your question, than to assume I am rude, dumb or zoned out for not answering.

~ If any of my suggestions seem too radical, I’d like you to try an experiment. Wedge two cotton balls in both of your ears, then try to carry on a conversation in a noisy room with your eyes closed. Difficult, isn’t it? Welcome to my world!

By writing to you, I hope to provide insight that will help when we have our next conversation. You are a good friend for taking the time to read this letter. You’ve shown support in my hearing journey by taking an interest in what I write. Thank you for that.

As your friend, here is my commitment to you…

~ I promise to give you my full attention when you speak to me.

~ I promise to politely ask you to repeat yourself if I have missed something you said.

~ I promise to care about what you have to say because I care about you.

Shanna Groves is the author of Lip Reader, a novel about a family dealing with hearing loss during the early 1980s. She blogs and speaks frequently about hearing loss issues and is actively involved with the Hearing Loss Association of America. For information about her books, blogs and speaking dates, visit:

2 responses so far

2 Responses to “An Open Letter to My *Hearing* Friends”

  1. Jenon 05 Aug 2009 at 8:18 pm
    this is a great website for hearing people to try to understand what hearing loss sounds like

  2. Danny (Richards) Griffithon 29 Oct 2010 at 10:57 pm

    I for one, understand this problem. You see I was born hearing. Lost 75% of my hearing at age 5. Wore hearing aids from age 8 until age 45 when I lost hearing left in one ear. 5 years later I become completely deaf. Am now 69 years of age. Still deaf. However very quiet now in my world. Peaceful. I would like to work with Shannon if possible to find ways of dealing with the hearing world to accept us, the Deaf Nation, as their equals in our society. Not as someone to be shunned. And that is most scary feeling..Now I am alone in world, tho married and with adult childrenand grandchildren. And they are hearing, but do not sign. This is not a pity note. Am only expressing myself that others understand we too have thoughts and feelings same as hearing society. Thanks for listening. Now lets get some help. We have work to do.

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