What I Really Grieved When I Went Deaf
The silence I accepted. The stereotypes? Not so much.
When I went deaf in my 30s, suddenly, violently, and without warning, I thought I was grieving silence.
Turns out, I was grieving being seen.
Before the diagnosis, people just saw me: a guy who worked in marketing, did theatre, talked too loud, danced to bad pop music, and never met a spotlight he didn’t like.
After?
They saw “the deaf guy.”
And I don’t mean Deaf with a capital D, the cultural identity I’ve since embraced and claimed as power. I mean lowercase “deaf,” said with the hushed pity of a Hallmark movie.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just Waymon anymore.
I was brave.
Inspiring.
Overcoming so much.
Which is basically the polite way of saying, “We don’t know what to do with you now.”
The “Inspiration” Phase I Never Signed Up For
Nobody warns you that one of the hardest parts of going deaf isn’t the quiet... it’s the commentary.
The “you’re so brave” pat on the shoulder.
The “what an inspiration you are” comments when you are literally just going about your day.
The awkward pauses after you say you didn’t hear something.
The unsolicited sermons about “what a blessing” hearing aids are.
The way people start speaking louder, slower, and with that tone reserved for tourists and toddlers.
It’s exhausting.
You want to scream, I’m deaf, not dying. I just can’t hear your nonsense anymore.
I didn’t feel broken. But the world suddenly treated me like I was.
And that, not the silence, is what cracked me open.
I grieved the ease of moving through the world without being turned into a walking PSA for perseverance.
The Art of Reclaiming the Noise
Eventually, I stopped grieving other people’s comfort.
Because grief, like silence, shifts shape over time.
It started as anger, then exhaustion, and finally… clarity.
I realized that what people called “loss” had become my loudest new beginning.
That the same brain that used to hear music could feel it.
That rhythm still pulsed through me, just differently.
That vibration, touch, breath, and connection became my new sound system.
So I started creating again: writing, singing, composing.
Not because I needed to prove anything, but because creation is how I remind myself I still vibrate with the world.
I still live in rhythm… just one most people can’t hear.
And they are missing out. Not me.
The Real Reinvention
I won’t pretend I reached Zen acceptance overnight.
There were tantrums.
There were tears.
There were moments when I wanted to smash every “You’re such an inspiration” card into dust.
But reinvention isn’t pretty. It’s messy. It’s defiant. It’s born out of saying, “Okay, fine… if you’re going to label me, I’ll redefine what the label means.”
Now, I’m deaf and dramatic and still entirely too loud... just in new ways.
I write musicals I’ll never hear but can feel in my bones.
I record pop songs where the bass rattles through my ribs.
I live in a jungle where silence hums louder than expectations ever did.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
People will always project their fear of difference onto you.
But you don’t have to carry their story.
You get to write your own… even if you have to feel every word instead of hearing it.
The Final Note
I used to think the world went quiet when I lost my hearing.
Now I know it was just tuning to a frequency most people never find.
So yes, I grieved.
I still do sometimes.
But what came after the grief was better: resonance.
THE NEXT THING I WANT TO TELL YOU
That was the grief. This is what I refuse to do with it: dress it up as a gift so everyone else feels better. Through, not despite.
YOU FOUND YOUR WAY HERE
Messy Reinvention is for people rebuilding a life that no longer fits, without pretending the demolition was beautiful. New essay most Saturdays. Come get the next one.
Pura Vida Diaries Spotlight
Remote Work in Costa Rica: Jungle Wi-Fi, Time Zones, and the Digital Nomad Life
Ever tried sending an email while howler monkeys scream outside your window? Same.
This week’s Pura Vida Diaries dives into the realities (and ridiculousness) of working remotely in paradise… the good, the bad, and the geckos on the keyboard.
👉 Read it here
New Music Drop Coming Nov 7!
Remember when I said I write pop songs?
Well, this one’s a banger.
💃 Talk With Your Hands drops November 7: a dance-floor anthem from a deaf artist who knows that rhythm doesn’t need ears to hit hard.
Because sometimes, you just need to make a dance bop… deaf or not.
🎧 Listen to the full song and Pre-save today!
🎶 Follow me on Spotify so you don’t miss it