15 Ways Hearing People Accidentally Make DeafBlind Life Harder (Bless Their Hearts)

Being DeafBlind means every day is an adventure, and not the fun, “found a $20 in my pocket” kind. More like the “why is a stranger suddenly grabbing my arm like I’m a misbehaving shopping cart” kind.

Most hearing people don’t mean to make life harder; they just… accidentally do it with the confidence of someone who thinks yelling is a universal accessibility feature.

So here’s a lovingly chaotic list of the tiny, ridiculous, and occasionally feral things hearing people do that turn my day into a full‑body eye roll.

1. Talking to my husband instead of me

Crime: I ask a question. They answer… to the person next to me. Sir. Ma’am. Friend. I am not a decorative houseplant. I am not a side quest. I am the main character of this conversation.

Fix: Talk to the DeafBlind person. We promise we won’t explode.

2. Yelling. At. A. DeafBlind. Person.

Crime: Someone sees my cane and thinks the solution is to crank their volume to “airport announcement.” I’m DeafBlind, not a malfunctioning Alexa.

Fix: Use tactile sign, print-on-palm, or literally any communication method that isn’t “scream and pray.”

3. Grabbing my arm like I’m a Roomba with legs

Crime: A stranger decides to “help” by physically redirecting me like I’m a vacuum stuck under a couch. Congratulations, you have activated Fight‑or‑Flight Mode on Expert Difficulty.

Fix: Ask first. Always. Consent is not optional.

4. Saying “Never mind” when I ask for clarification

Crime: I miss a detail, ask for a repeat, and they respond with the emotional equivalent of uninstalling the conversation. Oh okay, I’ll just ascend into the astral plane and guess what you meant.

Fix: Repeat the thing. That’s it. That’s the whole fix.

5. Assuming I can’t do something before I even try

Crime: “Do you need help?” Me: “No.” Them: Helps anyway.

Fix: Respect the answer. DeafBlind ≠ incapable.

6. Treating accessibility like a luxury item

Crime: “Do you really need captions?” No, I just enjoy reading my entertainment like a Victorian novel.

Fix: Accessibility is a basic human thing. Not a spa upgrade.

7. Talking fast, then getting annoyed when I ask for clarity

Crime: They speak at 200 mph, then act shocked when I need a repeat. I’m DeafBlind, not a NASCAR commentator.

Fix: Slow down. Or at least pretend you’re not auditioning for a podcast speedrun.

8. Acting like my tech is magic instead of a tool

Crime: “How does it work?” Me: “Bluetooth.” Them: “No but like… how?”

Fix: It’s not sorcery. It’s assistive tech. And no, you cannot “try it on.”

9. Touching me without warning because ‘I was helping’

Crime: Someone grabs my shoulder, arm, or back like they’re hitting the “reset” button on a human.

Fix: Use your words. Or your hands. Or literally anything besides surprise physical contact.

10. Treating my DeafBlindness like it erased my personality

Crime: People talk to me like I’m fragile, tragic, or made of glass. Meanwhile I’m over here causing chaos, eating snacks, and roasting my friends like a normal person.

Fix: Treat DeafBlind people like… people. Wild concept, I know.

11. The Person Who Thinks “You’re So Inspiring” Is a Compliment

Crime: I exist. They cry. I’m literally just buying cereal, not climbing Everest with my teeth.

Fix: Save the inspiration speeches for TED Talks.

12. The Waiter Who Hands the Menu to the Wrong Person

Crime: They hand the menu to my husband, friend, or the nearest houseplant. Meanwhile I’m sitting there like, “Cool, I’ll just telepathically order.”

Fix: Hand the menu to the person who’s actually ordering.

13. The Stranger Who Narrates What I’m Doing

Crime: “She’s walking forward now… she’s turning… she’s showing me a finger...” Thank you, National Geographic, but I am not a migrating elk.

Fix: Narration is for audiobooks, not my daily life.

14. The Person Who Thinks My Cane Is a Conversation Starter

Crime: “Wow, what’s wrong with you?” Bold opener. Zero stars.

Fix: Try “Hi.” It’s free.

15. The One Who Says ‘But You Don’t LOOK DeafBlind’

Crime: They say it like it’s a compliment. What exactly were you expecting — a superhero costume? A glowing aura?

Fix: Disabilities don’t come with a dress code.

Final Thought

Most of these aren’t malicious — they’re just things hearing people do without thinking. But small actions add up. And when you’re DeafBlind, those “small” things can turn a normal day into a full‑blown obstacle course.

If you want to help?

Start with respect. Add communication. Mix in consent.

And maybe don’t grab me like I’m a runaway shopping cart.