The Good Girl

The Good Girl

Pushed, prodded, poked and praised

Over and over and over and over.

Please, please, please

Pass, fail, pass , fail, pass, fail, fail, fail.

Can you see me. I can’t see me. Too many photos of me sitting, standing, looking, posing, breathing, eating, climbing, walking. No photos of us communicating with joy. Must focus, must pay attention, must lipread, must listen, must talk, must behave, must be good, must be polite, must be submissive, must be what they want. I want to be me.

That’s selfish they say. You must fit in the hearing world. You cannot be deaf. You cannot be you. You must be what we want.

You are not like them. You speak so well. You are a success.

You are so clever. You are a wonderful role model. You are not like them. You don’t need sign language. It is a hearing world. You don’t understand. You should hear. You should speak. You are not really deaf.

Not exactly perfect. Rejected. Discriminated. Becoming smaller and smaller. Disappearing into a void of abyss. In the darkness, sliding hands along the walls. Eyes tightly closed. Feeling the air moving. Shadows dance in the light. Smaller and smaller. Need approval. Anger, angry and furious. Mighty bellows, thunderous chaos. Stormy waters unchartered. Swimming, swimming, swimming against the current. Let me sign.

Let me be me.

Layers, layers, layers peeling off slowly. Born again. Learning to swim gently along the stream. Discovering the child. Discovering the beauty. Water washing over the eyes. Kissing, caressing, stroking, Opening, flowering, blooming. Heart beats brightly. Feeling all at one. At home.

Let go
I am me
I accept me.

Text by Irene Holub @ 2016