I had one of those hearing loss cringe-moments last night.
Actually, it was this morning.
OK, it happened last night, but I found out about it this morning, when the Hearing Husband pointed out what I had done last night: repeatedly talked over another person.
Apparently, as they talked, I loudly chimed in, more than once and on a completely different topic.
We were having a glass of wine with a couple with whom we socialize only once per year, when they visit their summer cottage. The woman has a strong voice and I can hear her clearly. Her husband has a soft voice and I struggle.
But I was tired and not on my self-advocacy game when we first sat down. His back was to the window, but a table lamp seemed to make up for it and the social engagement was only going to be an hour, so I decided to wing it.
But winging it didn’t work. According to the Hearing Husband, I kept talking over our friend. My recollection was that when I tried to say something at a perceived break in his words, he just kept on talking so I would stop. (If I noticed someone trying to break into my talking-time, I would finish and then go back to them with, “sorry, you were going to say…?” But perhaps he didn’t hear me talking over him, which adds another layer of confusion to the conversation.)
My husband mentioned the situation 12 hours later, gently, because he wasn’t sure if I was aware of my talking-over, and he knows my reaction to even a whiff of criticism. Still, I felt an after-the-fact sting of embarrassment at what was perceived by others as a social faux pas.
After years of living with hearing loss, speaking and writing about it, and advocating for a more successful hearing journey for everyone, awkward incidents like these still have the power to embarrass me. Not all or even most of the time, but sometimes.
I share this story because it’s a common hallmark of the hearing loss life. It’s how we’re wired. Even the strongest hearing health advocate can do an inner cringe when a conversation grinds to a halt because of our wildly out-of-context comment. Even when we laugh at our own mis-hears, there’s an element of oh damn, I’ve done it again. We may not show it, but we feel it.
Sometimes.
And then we move on.
