Recently I attended the virtual Heart Centred Biz Conference run by Tash Corbin. It was a fantastic conference and because it was online, I had complete control over my accessibility and how I engaged with the presentations and other attendees.
On my computer, I stream sound directly to my cochlear implant processors using my mini mic. It means the sound comes through clearly and blocks out much of the background noise around me. As the conference was run on Zoom, I could also turn on captions and adjust their size and position on the screen – a feature I love. Captions mean I don’t have to strain to catch every word and I can follow along without using all my energy just to keep up.
The presentations were recorded and the slides were shared afterwards which makes a huge difference. It means I don’t have to frantically write down or screenshot what’s on the screen and miss what’s being said. If you ever saw my notes from an event, you’d notice they often include sentences written out word-for-word. That’s because my brain is working so hard to listen that there isn’t always space to process and summarise at the same time. Sometimes I even mute the presenter briefly so I can think or write, knowing I can catch up through captions.
There were also breakout rooms where we could chat with other attendees. It was lovely to connect – although there’s always the internal negotiation: do I keep listening, or do I take my processors off and take a proper sound break? By the end of the second day, I knew I needed a listening break.
What surprised me most was how energised I felt by the end of the conference. I told my husband how good I felt, even after two full days of listening and connection. I put it down to the accessibility supports and having the freedom to choose how I engaged.
Then, later that evening, listening fatigue hit.
Around 10pm I was on the couch when I felt that familiar wave of exhaustion. There’s a particular kind of tiredness that comes after sustained listening, and my body knows it well. I thought I’d just close my eyes for a few minutes … I woke up forty minutes later. Whoops!
Even with excellent accessibility.
Even with control.
Even with breaks.
Listening is still hard work.
Often, the fatigue doesn’t show up in the moment. It comes later, when the environment quietens and the body finally has space to respond. This is something worth keeping in mind with our deaf kids.
They might hold it together all day at school. They might seem fine during appointments. And then later – at home, in the car, at bedtime – something shifts. The tears come. The behaviour changes. The energy crashes.
Accessibility matters deeply. It reduces strain and increases participation. But it doesn’t remove the cognitive effort of listening entirely.
Sometimes what looks like behaviour is simply fatigue. And sometimes the crash comes later. However, sometimes simply understanding what’s happening beneath the surface is enough to shift everything.