Existing Between Two Worlds as a Person with Hearing Loss

Image of an ear surrounded by geometric multicolored triangles.

When I was growing up, I did not consider myself to be a member of the disability community. I was born with a mild-to-moderate hearing loss that was not diagnosed until I was in kindergarten and I am the only person in my family to have non-age-related hearing loss. After my diagnosis, adults around me told me that I had an impairment, that something was wrong with me. I was not told about Deaf and disability pride, nor was I given the opportunity to learn American Sign Language.

In elementary school, I came to resent being hard of hearing. Some of my classmates called me “weird” and “different,” and though they did not say why, I could tell it was because I wore hearing aids. When I asked someone to repeat what they said, I would sometimes be met with the question, “Are you deaf?” This only cemented in my mind that having a hearing loss was bad. But in third grade, another girl in my year was diagnosed with hearing loss. This was a relief for me. Not only was I picked on less, but also I was no longer the only one who was different.

As an adult, I have found that almost no one makes remarks – at least to my face – about me being hard of hearing. But even though I am not being bullied, I still feel left out because of the ever-so-common issue of inaccessibility. In university, I took advanced French language classes and always struggled with listening portions of exams, which consisted of pre-recorded audio so I could not see the speaker’s face. When I asked for accommodations, I was told that I could get extended time, which was not helpful. No matter how hard I worked, there were barriers to my success. Now, when I am speaking on a group call or interviewing someone for an article, I have a hard time advocating for my own needs. I know that having a video call on a platform like Google Meet (which has decent free automated captions) would help me, but it is difficult explaining this to people who are not hard of hearing.

When I am frustrated by inaccessibility, I seek support. Although my hearing friends always validate my feelings, I am still searching for acceptance from a community of people who understand what it is like to have a hearing disability like mine. It wasn’t until high school that I first started to learn about the Deaf community and Deaf culture. Both Gallaudet University and the National Technical Institute for the Deaf, schools where the primary language is American Sign Language (ASL), reached out to me to apply for their programs. But after researching both schools, I feared I would feel lonely if I went to either of them because I did not know how to communicate in ASL, which meant I would likely not be able to fit in again.

I finally started to identify as being a member of the disability community while in university after developing a rare autoimmune disorder, systemic urticarial vasculitis. While I tried to adjust to being chronically ill, I found support in Facebook groups. As I started to feel like a part of the disability community, I began to examine why I had not felt that way previously, considering how long I have been hard of hearing. And then it hit me: Even when I was undiagnosed, I found that people did not question my place in the chronic illness community. I would introduce myself by sharing some of my symptoms and explaining that I didn’t have a diagnosis, and members of the Facebook groups would validate my experiences and frustrations.

On the other hand, I’ve often felt like there seems to be an invisible set of requirements for hard of hearing people to be welcome in the Deaf community. For example, in the show Deaf U, Daequan described the criticism that he received from others at Gallaudet for not signing all the time. I am also able to “pass” in the hearing community, meaning that it’s easier for me to fit into hearing communities without most people knowing of my disability than it would be for me to fit into the Deaf community.

I used to keep my frustration with being stuck somewhere in between hearing and Deaf worlds to myself, which made me feel more alone. But my challenges in navigating hearing and non-hearing worlds are no longer invisible. And I no longer think that being hard-of-hearing is a sign that there is something wrong with me. When I was little, I wanted my hearing loss to go away to be “like everyone else,” but now I don’t. My hearing loss is a part of who I am.

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Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

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Rooted in Rights Reviews: Come As You Are

Photo of four people in a car about to embark on a roadtrip.

Content note: sexual harassment


Come As You Are is a comedy about three disabled men and their trip to Montréal, Canada to lose their virginity at a brothel. The film, which is coming to theaters on February 14, opens to Scotty, a paraplegic 20-something who lives with his overbearing and intrusive mother Liz, waking up with a boner. Scotty doesn’t start out likable, as he objectifies women at his physical therapy center and is brash towards seemingly everyone he doesn’t sexualize.

Enter Matt, a new patient and wheelchair user who is assigned an attractive physical therapist. Scotty initially attempts to establish dominance over the new kid in town. That is, until he wants to use Matt to his advantage, convincing him to come on a road trip to Come As You Are, a Montréal brothel that specifically caters to disabled people. When Scotty and Matt try to convince their parents to let them go on a road trip, hiding the actual purpose behind it, both their parents shut it down. So instead, two grown men who should be able to make life choices for themselves have to sneak out of their houses early in the morning to escape their overbearing parents.

It’s disappointing that legally consenting adults have to evade their caregivers in order to act on perfectly normal desires. But unlike many films about disabled people, what makes Come As You Are unique is the recognition that disabled people have sexual agency. It’s disheartening, then, that the three main disabled characters are played by able-bodied actors. The film gives me hope for what movies centered on disabled characters could be, so it would have been nice to see disabled actors shine in those roles.

Some of the jokes in the movie feel a bit off considering that the actors are played by non-disabled people. At one point, Matt makes a joke about his limited mobility, but it feels at best awkward and at worst inappropriate for a non-disabled actor to make a quip about disabilities. Casting disabled actors would have made the humor in this film even better. That said, I was concerned that the disabled characters would be the butt of the jokes, but this was not the case. In fact, there were humorous moments that felt like they were written with the disability community in mind, like a scene that revolved around respecting the disability language preferences of the three main characters.

It’s frustrating, though, that the story is very much told through a patriarchal, misogynistic lens. For instance, Scotty’s actions cross an uncomfortable line as he hits on Becky, a physical therapist. At one point, he reveals he had an erection while Becky helped him stretch. Scotty’s sexual harassment made me uncomfortable at times, but maybe this is why a complex character like him is important.

As a feminist, I do not think that people should be sexually objectified. But as someone who is disabled, I believe disabled people should be able to do the same as their able-bodied peers. Scotty’s behavior is enabled by a patriarchal society, but he has to grapple with ableism at the same time. So, while it’s true that disabled men are often desexualized, Scotty shouldn’t be allowed to avoid accountability for his actions.

Women are the target of Scotty’s jokes. He says crudely that it’s not his fault that he constantly stares at women’s chests. His wheelchair puts him at “tit-level.” Blaming misogyny on a mobility aid is just gross, even if it’s supposed to be funny. This behavior is especially distasteful considering that disabled people in particular are more likely to be sexually assaulted than non-disabled people. And having a disability isn’t an excuse to objectify or sexually harass others, so it’s a positive thing that Scotty’s road trip buddies shut him down.

Come As You Are does raise important questions about how disabled men should be treated when they are misogynistic or sexually harass others. But, the film does not offer any clarity as to how disabled men should be held accountable for sexism or misogyny. Ultimately, this is larger societal issue that has no easy answers. On the whole, the actors all give meaningful and realistic performances, despite being non-disabled, which is a nice break from the two-dimensional disabled characters that are often written in television shows and movies, if they are included at all. I believe the power of the film lies in its its complex narrative around disability and sexual desire, inviting non-disabled people to explore the barriers that disabled people face in the realm of sexuality.

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Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.