She Was Always There by Katherine Stinson (Texas, 34)

At age 5, the MRI machine was my personal tree house, the stickers on the ceiling were my safe
space. It felt cold; heated blankets are now a distant memory. It seemed like I spent an eternity
inside that Magnetic Resonance Imaging Scanner. Maybe I just had one scan, but it felt as if it
defined my entire childhood.

I was already a member of the Pirates of the Caribbean with my eye patch, and now I was also
the world's worst Telephone player. My left ear's ability to understand speech reduced with time,
declining from 68% to 48% by age 34. In the past I needed hearing aids, just as I do now, but
back then I did not love myself enough to accept the help they would give me.
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Growing up, my friends remained unaware of my hearing loss. As I aged, I'd jokingly tell them
to sit on my right side. I'd nickname my left ear my "bad ear," attempting to make light of
something that was crippling. But beneath the humor, the truth was harsh: I spent my life
guessing what people were saying.

I relied on reading lips, facial cues, others' responses, and TV captions. At an Ed Sheeran concert
this year, before I wore hearing aids, the revelation struck: I only knew songs based on their
music, not their lyrics. Ed Sheeran, stripped down to an acoustic solo, revealed a blind spot in
my music knowledge — I hadn't memorized the lyrics without the music.

Two years ago, I enrolled in an 8 - week Feminine Empowerment Program known as Worthy.
Guided by the energetic, powerhouse Danielle Kettlewell (DK), an Olympic synchronized
swimmer turned Women’s Empowerment Coach, the course sparked a profound shift within me.
Its impact was nothing short of transformative. Motivated by this involvement, I enthusiastically
explored her other programs—Devotion, a 33-day body love meditation, The Clarity Code, for
discovering purpose, and Reclamation, an evolved rendition of her empowering WORTHY
course.

During my third immersive round of Reclamation, we ventured into the depths of our Inner
Child. With each cycle, I revisited feelings of unworthiness, lovelessness, the constant eye patch
pity party, and the continual struggle with my “bad ear.” Just before this time, my mother
embraced her own hearing aids, a subtle transformation that had remarkable power. The recent
clarity in her world was profound—no longer did she utter a puzzled "Huh, what?" Her voice
softened, and the strain in her relationship with my father eased as efficient communication
replaced old, daily struggles. Yet, despite witnessing this awe-inspiring evolution, I remained
hesitant. Her loss of hearing was a consequence of the aftermath of a Foo Fighters concert, while
mine was from a young age. It was a touching week —a call to nurture my inner child and the upcoming weeks that followed. I reached out to my mother's audiologist, setting the wheels in
motion for an appointment that stirred both apprehension and necessity. I had long avoided a
hearing screening since my middle school years. The truth loomed forebodingly; I knew I
struggled with hearing, but the thought of a doctor voicing it made it unsettlingly real.

As I hesitantly tested the waters with the Signia Bi Cros Hearing Aids, tears overflowed then
spilled down my cheeks. A new world unraveled before me. For the first time, my mother's and
the doctor's voices resonated with more clarity than I’d ever experienced. The muffled echoes of
the past were replaced with a resounding revelation— “THIS! This is what has been missing
from my life.” Perhaps now, with the ability to truly hear, I, too, would finally be heard.”
The long-awaited month passed, and I was gifted my new set of “Kool aids.” As I started using
them, learning new sounds became overwhelming. The restaurants were unbearable. Who needs
to hear a baby crying, Creed playing overhead in a restaurant, and people chewing? I now
understand the cringe.

As the months passed, I grew accustomed to my robot ears. I could hear the children singing in
Africa. “Laughter has a sound,” I said when my friend Stephanie asked me how everything
sounded. My own tone changed; my voice lowered, and I could finally enjoy my family of 4 – all
together, all at once.

I have learned that even with hearing aids, my ears still cannot pick up more than one type of
sound at a time. If the TV is on or music is playing in addition to outside conversation my brain
always seems to choose unimportant sounds. With my doctor adjusting my Signia’s, background
sounds have become less overwhelming. It could be her magic or my own brain figuring out the
way it’s supposed to have worked all these years.

Each day, I discover a new sound, but I still can’t decipher where sounds come from unless it’s a
voice. An important voice. The voice of a loved one. That I will never miss again. Those are the
important sounds.

While at Danielle Kettlewell and Luka Reedy’s Retreat in Bali, my hearing aids got clogged. At
the time, I did not know my hearing aids had filters, nor did I know how to change them. DK,
Luka, and Perry sat with me separately and tried to help me figure out what was wrong with
them. I had never felt so cared for.

In the end, we did not figure out how to fix them, so I spent the remainder of the retreat with my
old set of ears. There I was, working on feeling HEARD and LOVED in BALI, on the other side
of the world, and I had to resort back to life before “Kool aids.” On the last day of the retreat
Luka gifted me a See No Evil Monkey statue. He went on to explain that even though I was
missing a sense I was still seen, and I was still heard. That monkey sits on my bedside table,
along with a card from Danielle, and a group photograph of all of us at the retreat.

What I learned throughout this year was that it takes a village. It was not just getting hearing aids
that changed my life for the better or the unconditional love I received in Bali. It was not just Dr.
Rios and science, or the Kindergarten teacher I once disliked. It was everything and everyone
together in my life, never giving up on me. The power was in myself, the whole time. I was
heard by everyone in my life. Not everyone chose to listen, but the important ones did. I finally
realized after 34 years, that all that really matters is that I use my voice and I listen to myself.
Everything else falls into place. I can now say, I, Kate Stinson, an Empowered Woman! Did you
hear that? I certainly did!



Katherine Stinson (She/her) is a 34 year old from Houston, Tx. She is a writer for Girlhood Magazine and her poem Whip It is published in Curio Cabinet's Sweet Treats. She has several other pieces being published in upcoming various magazines. You can find her on Instagram @k8b0ne. She loves to travel, surf and take self development courses.