Miss-Delectable
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- Joined
- Apr 18, 2004
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Teen Ink: Pride
As a child, there was nothing I loved more than tiptoeing through the house, arms over my head like a ballerina. I can still remember the thrill of trying on my tutu and tiara for my first dance recital. During my entire life, even during my transition from a noisy world to a quiet one, dancing has always been my escape.
I was first diagnosed with hearing loss in kindergarten after I failed a routine screening. As I got older, my hearing worsened with each checkup. Until high school, I worked tirelessly to be “normal.” Though I had hearing aids, I chose not to wear them. Instead, I laughed at jokes when I didn’t hear the punch lines. I developed a skill for lip-reading, “watching” conversations rather than hearing them. I refused to tell anyone about my hearing problem, not even close friends or teachers.
As my hearing deteriorated, it began to affect my dancing. It became difficult to hear the music. My dance teacher often scolded me for “not listening,” when in reality I couldn’t hear her instructions. I grew frustrated with my disability and saw it as a barrier between me and my love: dance.
Then a few years ago, I stumbled on the webpage of Miss America 1995, Heather Whitestone. As I read her biography, I felt as if I were reading my own life story. Whitestone was diagnosed with hearing loss at the age of 18 months. Like me, she encountered hardship and embarrassment growing up, and like me, she was a dancer. Whitestone inspired me to continue doing what I loved, no matter what. She made me realize that my deafness should never be an excuse not to achieve my goals.
From then on I resolved to change. I worked up enough courage to tell my dance instructor about my hearing loss. I told her I would need a visual cue in order to keep track of the music. She agreed to stand a few feet in front of me, clapping her hands to the song’s rhythm. This method has helped me through countless dance classes and performances.
This experience had a profound impact, inspiring me to change other paths of my life. I began advocating for myself by discussing my hearing loss with teachers and friends. I started sitting in the front row in class and working with teachers to make sure I understood. I no longer shy away from situations that require me to interact with others; instead, I have become a “people person” because I can empathize with others’ situations.
Henry David Thoreau once said, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.” Five years ago, I never would have imagined I’d one day be so successful. I have broken through the glass ceiling for deaf people. I have done well in honors and AP classes and been elected to leadership positions at school. I work hard to conquer my hearing loss while still maintaining a positive attitude. I have spoken to groups of deaf teenagers, always giving the same message: With courage and confidence, all barriers can be overcome. I am deaf, but never doubt, I am a dancer.
As a child, there was nothing I loved more than tiptoeing through the house, arms over my head like a ballerina. I can still remember the thrill of trying on my tutu and tiara for my first dance recital. During my entire life, even during my transition from a noisy world to a quiet one, dancing has always been my escape.
I was first diagnosed with hearing loss in kindergarten after I failed a routine screening. As I got older, my hearing worsened with each checkup. Until high school, I worked tirelessly to be “normal.” Though I had hearing aids, I chose not to wear them. Instead, I laughed at jokes when I didn’t hear the punch lines. I developed a skill for lip-reading, “watching” conversations rather than hearing them. I refused to tell anyone about my hearing problem, not even close friends or teachers.
As my hearing deteriorated, it began to affect my dancing. It became difficult to hear the music. My dance teacher often scolded me for “not listening,” when in reality I couldn’t hear her instructions. I grew frustrated with my disability and saw it as a barrier between me and my love: dance.
Then a few years ago, I stumbled on the webpage of Miss America 1995, Heather Whitestone. As I read her biography, I felt as if I were reading my own life story. Whitestone was diagnosed with hearing loss at the age of 18 months. Like me, she encountered hardship and embarrassment growing up, and like me, she was a dancer. Whitestone inspired me to continue doing what I loved, no matter what. She made me realize that my deafness should never be an excuse not to achieve my goals.
From then on I resolved to change. I worked up enough courage to tell my dance instructor about my hearing loss. I told her I would need a visual cue in order to keep track of the music. She agreed to stand a few feet in front of me, clapping her hands to the song’s rhythm. This method has helped me through countless dance classes and performances.
This experience had a profound impact, inspiring me to change other paths of my life. I began advocating for myself by discussing my hearing loss with teachers and friends. I started sitting in the front row in class and working with teachers to make sure I understood. I no longer shy away from situations that require me to interact with others; instead, I have become a “people person” because I can empathize with others’ situations.
Henry David Thoreau once said, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.” Five years ago, I never would have imagined I’d one day be so successful. I have broken through the glass ceiling for deaf people. I have done well in honors and AP classes and been elected to leadership positions at school. I work hard to conquer my hearing loss while still maintaining a positive attitude. I have spoken to groups of deaf teenagers, always giving the same message: With courage and confidence, all barriers can be overcome. I am deaf, but never doubt, I am a dancer.
