Advocating For A More Inclusive World

I was three years old when I was diagnosed with severe bilateral hearing loss and fitted with my first pair of hearing aids. Life wasn’t easy as a child with severe hearing loss-- I was constantly picked on and bullied for my hearing aids, and was left out of social situations because I couldn’t follow conversations or classroom gossip. I felt isolated, different, disconnected, and incredibly alone.

In an effort of self-preservation, I kept my hearing loss to myself once I entered the workforce at age seventeen. My first job was at a consumer electronics company, where I’d spend hours on the phone making cold-calls, providing technical support, collaborating with colleagues, and managing relationships with external organizations. I never disclosed my hearing loss to my peers because I didn’t want to be treated differently, and because I didn’t want my hearing loss to define me. I grew my hair long to cover my hearing aids, and I relied on lip reading and context to carry a conversation.

After a long day of work and lip-reading, the last thing I’d want to do was join my colleagues at a dimly lit bar with excessive noise. I often missed out on social functions as a result, and the opportunity to connect with my colleagues in a more casual setting.

I reached my breaking point almost a decade after I started that first job in technical support. At age 26, I was about to lead a career-defining meeting with clients out in NYC. I was in charge of national sales for my company, and knew that this was a huge opportunity to show senior leadership what I was capable of.

The day before the meeting, my hearing aid broke. I scrambled to get a last-minute appointment that afternoon with my audiologist. To my horror, I learned that my hearing aid had been broken beyond repair, and that it would cost $3,500 to replace. I had to choose between paying rent or being able to hear. My only option was to purchase an older, discontinued, but cheaper model on the market. My audiologist warned that I wouldn’t be able to repair if it stopped working, but there was no other route for me to take. 

I came back to work that afternoon visibly upset. I headed to the bathroom to freshen up when the CEO of the company pulled me into her office and asked me what was wrong. I was completely exhausted and fed up, and broke down.

For the first time in my life, I shared my story. To my surprise, the CEO listened. She listened carefully as I shared my story, my struggles, and my fears. She told me that they’d do everything in their power to make sure I got the help I needed. It was a turning point not only in being able to be free of hiding, but to start to bring my true self to work. From that moment on, my career would only thrive.

I think about that meeting often.

I slowly became more comfortable talking about my hearing loss with others, and tirelessly pushed for the necessity of accessibility, disability education, and inclusivity efforts in the workplace as I progressed in my career.

In 2013, as the Head of Sales for Pebble Technology, I presented the opportunity to work with a hearing aid manufacturer to demonstrate the potential power of integrated technology and smart devices in an effort to destigmatize hearing loss. Two years later, as the VP of Advocacy and Accessibility at Doppler Labs and board member of the Hearing Loss Association of America, I spoke on behalf of the hard of hearing community at the White House, the U.N, and lobbied with Congress to successfully pass the Over-The-Counter Hearing Aid Act of 2017, increasing competition, promoting innovation, and reducing costs in the hearing aid industry.

Looking back on these milestones on my career, I’ve realized something funny: it wasn’t my hearing aids that empowered me to bring forth change in this world. As I further explored my own vulnerability and personal experience as a disability advocate, an LGBTQ advocate, and gender equality advocate in the technology sector, my new community of lifelong friends and respected colleagues began to grow in unexpected and excited ways.

Initiatives like the Disability Collection, a collaboration between Oath, the National Disability Leadership Alliance, and Getty Images to maximize representation of the disability community in media, remind me that individuals with disabilities come in all shapes and sizes, and how important it is to change how the world sees disability. It’s an honor to be a Champion of Disability Inclusion in this campaign.

Other initiatives that inspire me and give me such hope for the future include Sylvie Dobrota and Justin Lai’s Hearing Accessibility Project, a movement to elevate and connect the underrepresented voices in the hard of hearing community, remind me that we have the potential to make the most impact in marginalized communities when we work together to uncover human experiences and opportunities for innovation.

I also think about my colleague and friend Liz Jackson’s WITH Initiative, building sustainable pathways into design for the disability community, reminding me that the disability community is working hard to unlock their full creative potential, while the design community needs to define stronger pathways for disabled people to work in their studios and consultancies.

Our work is only just beginning, and we must continue to work together to cultivate an environment that genuine celebrates and practices diversity, inclusivity, and accessibility. I promise that I will continue to devote my career to be a voice for those who feel like they don’t belong, and I hope you’ll join me along the way.

KR Liu

www.krliu.com