You’re so brave.
You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.AA Milne
I love describing my children as brave. “That was a brave choice.” Or “You were afraid but did it anyway – good job being brave.” But in all the thinking and reading I do about helping my kids be brave (the book, Growing Up Brave, is an excellent and empowering parenting resource), I don’t think of myself as very brave.
I think about my choices as logical, necessary – sometimes they’re fun, sometimes they’re hard. To me, my choices seem essential but not profound. Linear and not courageous. My daily choices aren’t usually that exciting. I have made some uncertain professional choices that have pushed me out of my comfort zone, the kind of choices that make your heart beat a little faster and worry build up in your stomach. But I have been fortunate that they have led me towards good people and work. “Jump and the universe will catch you.” One of my most dear colleagues always said this when it was time to make a decision or try something new. She has always been right.
So when I started to tell people that I made the decision to get a cochlear implant this March and they said things like, “You’re so brave!” and, “What a courageous choice!” it stopped me in my tracks. Could this decision be more than a next step? Don’t get me wrong, my stomach and heart tell me this is a serious matter. I’ve just always thought of a cochlear implant as my next choice. Albeit daunting, it’s necessary, linear, logical.
In 2004, I asked my mom about people’s reactions to her decision to have CI surgery. When rereading my Mom’s words, she focused on this exact same theme.
People remarked, “Wow, you’re looking into that surgery! You’re so brave!” It’s funny because I just can’t see myself as that brave; once I learned about cochlear implants, it just seemed like something I should do. I never considered the surgery an option or a heroic choice. This was my responsibility. I had to have this surgery, as a mother, a wife, and a person who wanted to communicate and be there for all the people in my life. It was my choice to have four children and this was my opportunity to still be the most a mother could be. What was my other option? Learning sign language at 40 years old? Giving up on the way I had always communicated and on my role as a mom? I know parents are wonderful hearing or deaf; I grew up with the love and support of a deaf father. But a mother is different in some ways. You want to talk with your mom and she’s responsible for hearing her children. I always knew if the opportunity arose to better my hearing, it was my job to seize it.
The parallel in our thinking gives me goosebumps. While I know this is not how everyone with profound hearing loss thinks about CI technology, my mom’s words capture my perspective.
I too crave all the hearing I can possibly acquire. My life is loud and messy with three small kids, a job, friends, the world around me and I want to hear every sound. I want to understand every sound. My hearing aids cannot create this clarity for me but a cochlear implant might. So for me, this is the next step in my pursuit of hearing. And I will credit myself with being brave; I am making a choice that makes me afraid, but doing it anyway.