20/03/2026
The other day, someone asked me a simple question:
âWhy are you doing all this for free? The library sessions, the YouTube videos⌠are you getting paid for it?â
It made me pause.
Because the truth isâthis was never just about work for me.
Audiology, for me, is personal.
When I was growing up, one of my closest friendsâalso my neighbourâwas born with profound hearing loss. There were four of us in our little group, always together, always up to something. We shared the kind of friendship that felt easy and full.
As children, we had all the patience in the world. We would sign, repeat ourselves, gestureâwhatever it took to make sure he was part of every conversation. It never felt like effort. It just felt natural.
But as we grew into teenagers, something changed.
We became faster, more distracted, less patient. In the middle of conversations, if something was missed, we would casually wave it offâânevermindâ or âIâll tell you laterââand just move on.
There was no bad intention behind it. It was automatic. Thoughtless, not cruel.
Until one day, he stopped us.
He was upsetâreally upset. And he stood his ground.
He told us to stop doing that. To stop deciding what was important enough for him to hear. He told us his voice mattered. That he wanted to be part of the conversation.
And then he said something Iâve never forgotten.
He said it made him feel invisible. Small.
That moment stayed with me.
I remember feeling a deep sense of guiltânot because I wanted to hurt him, but because I hadnât realised that I already had. I didnât understand the weight of something as simple as ânevermind.â
Over time, things changed. Technology improvedâhe got better digital hearing aids. But more importantly, we changed. We became more aware, more intentional. We listened differently. We included him fully.
And weâre still close friends to this day.
Looking back, that experience shaped me in ways I didnât fully understand at the time.
I saw, up close, how hearing loss isnât just about soundâitâs about connection, identity, and belonging. I saw the barriers, not just physical, but social and emotional. And I also saw the difference the right support can makeâhow his audiologist gave him access, confidence, and independence.
And I saw the power of self-advocacyâhow one honest moment changed the way we all behaved.
I also realised something important about myself:
I wasnât unkind. I wasnât careless.
I was simply unaware.
And thatâs when it clickedâso many of the barriers people with hearing loss face are not because others donât care⌠but because they donât know.
That is why I chose audiology.
And that is why I do what I do now.
The YouTube videos. The library talks. The conversations.
Itâs not about being paid.
Itâs about helping people understand. Itâs about making communication easier. Itâs about creating a world where no one feels left out of a conversation that they deserve to be part of.
If I can help even a few people become more aware, more patient, more inclusiveâthen itâs worth it.
Because no one should ever feel invisible.
And sometimes, all it takes to change that⌠is understanding. đ¤