See Me Hear Me

Finding My Voice: A Disabled Woman’s Fight to Be Heard

Having a disability and a job is an achievement — one thousands of people share. Finding well‑paid work is difficult enough for able‑bodied people, so the challenge is ten times harder for those of us who are disabled. And yet, many try. Then there are the outstanding Paralympians who amaze us with skills and abilities many able‑bodied people envy.

But there is another group — the disabled people who cannot work, never could, or who once worked but are no longer fit to. Some try to involve themselves in activities to gain that much‑needed sense of self‑worth. Others aren’t even able to do that. I call them the voiceless, because they depend on able‑bodied people to speak out on their behalf.

There is a section of society that still doesn’t grasp that disability isn’t a choice. It’s not a choice to feel redundant, worthless, or left behind. It’s not a choice to lose the ability to do the things others take for granted — or the things we once did with ease. It’s not a choice to depend on others, including family members who sometimes don’t deliver the help needed.

The hopelessness and enforced helplessness can be soul‑destroying. Heartbreaking. Demoralising. It can mean days and nights without end, wracked with pain, sleeplessness, depression, and sometimes suicidal thoughts. There are similarities to long‑term unemployment, but with one crucial difference: an unemployed person can hope things will improve. Most disabled people cannot have that dream.

For me, being without a proper voice was a near‑lifetime problem. Low confidence held me back long before disability did. I let chances pass me by because I lacked self‑belief.

The day I woke without hearing and most of my vision was the day I hit rock bottom — though I’d been close to it for years. I wallowed in self‑pity, hiding from the world, not daring to step past the doorstep. I hated myself for what I’d become, and for never speaking out about what I needed.

Then one day it hit me: The only person who truly understood what I needed was me — and the only way others could know was if I told them.

I'd wasted years of silence, and it haunted me. That same day, I decided to change my life. Yes, I am dependent — I can’t change that. But even without hearing and with little vision, I could still speak. And what a wonderful thing that is. I could still type, even if imperfectly. I could still communicate.

So I went out into the silent, blurred world — full of people I cannot hear, with faces I cannot see clearly, with lips I cannot read — and I said:

“SEE ME. HEAR ME. I COUNT TOO.”

I have feelings, rights, and needs. I’m going to fight for them, and I’m not going away until someone pays attention.

On Saturday 22nd March 2014, My voice was heard. A few amazing people recognised my right to speak — not just for myself, but for those who cannot speak at all.

Mike Dailly, a Scottish barrister whom I’d come to know through Facebook, encouraged me to use my voice. Jackie Baillie MSP listened to me. When I asked to speak at the Scottish Labour Party Conference, she agreed almost instantly.

Did I mess up? Probably. The odds of delivering a perfect speech when you can’t hear anything and can barely see are remote. But did I say what I wanted to say? Yes. I spoke for myself and for every disabled person.

And then came the backlash.... Instead of seeing it as a disabled woman achieving something extraordinary, the opposing political party — the SNP — used my appearance as a political weapon. They circulated a picture of me with the caption:

“Shocking — using a deafblind woman to talk about bedroom tax.” Where was the humanity?

Where was even the smallest hint of congratulations for doing something no one with my condition had done before? They will never know how difficult it was — nor how thrilled I was to have done it, even imperfectly.

I challenged any of those critics to stand on a public platform with earplugs in and layers of mesh over their eyes dulling hearing and distorting vision and give a meaningful speech rather than empty political point scoring.

As far as I’m concerned, I found my voice that day. And I used it. And I have continued to use it for a multitude of causes and organisations; in doing so have enabled myself to reach out to people who never imagined they could use THEIR VOICES and BE HEARD and SEEN/. I will continue to use my voice for as long as possible — NO ONE should feel VOICELESS and UNHEARD or UNSEEN. Over the years, I have met with and challenged politicians in Scotland and Westminster ... Thankfully, a fair number of changes have been implemented, Sensory loss or not. There are always dozens of causes to stand up and fight for,