"I have to concentrate more intently when people speak. I always have to position myself on their right side so that I can hear out of my left ear. I sometimes get a crick in my neck from listening. But I don't there's too much else"
About this Quote
Beacham’s candor lands because it’s so physically specific: the “right side,” the “left ear,” the literal “crick in my neck.” She’s not offering an inspirational sound bite about disability; she’s mapping the choreography of getting through an ordinary conversation. That’s the point. Hearing loss, in her telling, isn’t an abstract condition, it’s a constant micro-management of space, posture, attention. The intimacy of that detail pulls you closer than any grand declaration could.
The subtext is a quiet critique of how the world is built for effortless listeners. “I have to concentrate more intently” reframes listening as labor, a job that never clocks out. It also hints at the social tax: positioning yourself so you can hear means constantly negotiating your body in relation to other people, risking awkwardness or seeming aloof when you’re actually working harder than everyone else to keep up.
Then there’s the last line, stumbling into “But I don’t there’s too much else,” a verbal shrug that feels almost more revealing than the neat anecdotes before it. It reads like deflection: minimize the impact so you don’t invite pity, don’t become “the deaf actress,” don’t let the impairment eclipse the person. Coming from a performer whose craft depends on cues, timing, and connection, the line carries extra bite. She’s describing adaptation as routine, and the routine as slightly painful, without asking for applause. That restraint is exactly why it sticks.
The subtext is a quiet critique of how the world is built for effortless listeners. “I have to concentrate more intently” reframes listening as labor, a job that never clocks out. It also hints at the social tax: positioning yourself so you can hear means constantly negotiating your body in relation to other people, risking awkwardness or seeming aloof when you’re actually working harder than everyone else to keep up.
Then there’s the last line, stumbling into “But I don’t there’s too much else,” a verbal shrug that feels almost more revealing than the neat anecdotes before it. It reads like deflection: minimize the impact so you don’t invite pity, don’t become “the deaf actress,” don’t let the impairment eclipse the person. Coming from a performer whose craft depends on cues, timing, and connection, the line carries extra bite. She’s describing adaptation as routine, and the routine as slightly painful, without asking for applause. That restraint is exactly why it sticks.
Quote Details
| Topic | Health |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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