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We’re escaping a scorching Perth summer evening in the air con at the Moon & Sixpence Irish pub; pints in hand, glasses clinking to shouts of ‘sláinte!’.
I’d been in Perth less than a year and had gotten close with some workmates. Many were migrants and, when you’re away from your family, friends start filling the sibling-sized gaps. A bit of playful teasing was only to be expected.
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Are your friends anchors or sails? | Mamamia Out Loud
Still pondering something overdue for filing under ‘Monday’s problems’, I hadn’t noticed the change in the room. Voices hushed, and I felt eyes on me before hearing, “Earth to BANKSY?!”
“Yeah?”
Big smile. Entirely unaware of what had been said.
Cue a bunch of jerks in suits falling off their chairs laughing — at my expense.
Yes, I should’ve just laughed it off. Instead, I froze.
All I remember is my stomach dropping, heat rushing to my cheeks, and the pub’s white noise hitting fever pitch alongside my racing pulse.
The spiralling thoughts began: ‘Come on! Say something! They’ll think you’re an idiot! WHY AM I LIKE THIS?!’
I was painfully aware of my vacant expression as I desperately searched for an explanation. How on earth could I miss Dave’s loud comment when I was sitting right beside him? To avoid the side-eye I assumed would follow, I made an excuse and left.
There was nothing wrong with my ears. I’d had my hearing tested several times: perfect. No explanation for why everyone else could hold a conversation amidst the noise and I just… couldn’t.
Then I saw someone online describe the exact same thing. Their fix: a tiny pair of hollow silicon earplugs that cut background noise. Had I been $40 and a couple of chunks of plastic away from feeling normal this whole time? I was sceptical, but bought a pair anyway.
Image: Supplied.
I put them in before attending a girls’ brunch, hoping nobody would notice. Everything sounded a bit off. It was like someone was amplifying my insides through a speaker in my ear. I could still hear plates and cutlery clanking, the coffee machine grinding and whooshing away.
I sat down next to softly spoken Lisa, whose voice I’d always struggled to hear… until today! The other sounds seemed to fade away as Lisa asked me, clear as a bell, “How’s your week, Haylz?”
I must’ve looked shocked because she added, “Are you OK?”
With a tight throat, I managed, “Yeah. Great actually!”
Quickly pivoting to some silly story about my husband to make her laugh, I was soon chatting away with others around the table. It wasn’t until I got home and my husband asked how it went that the tears of relief hit.
I was diagnosed with ADHD years later, just before my 42nd birthday, unimpressed my psychology degree didn’t save me from the late-diagnosis wagon! Two years later, studying again, I found myself crying into a cognitive psychology textbook. ‘Auditory processing’ was the source of the trouble — for me and many other neurodivergent folks.
Turns out the part of my brain that’s supposed to filter out unimportant sounds isn’t doing a great job.
Most people walk into a pub and their brain’s little auditory processing assistant throws unhelpful information straight in the bin, leaving brain/desk space for a conversation. My ‘Shazza from Auditory Processing’ puts background noise on the desk, and often bins the conversation I did want to hear.
She gets overwhelmed, or falls asleep on the job. Shazza’s part of me, so I can’t fire her, but these earplugs leave her less information to file incorrectly.
Naming Shazza does more than provide a cute explanation when I miss what someone says. I’m also learning to show myself the patience I’d give anyone else struggling with their own challenges.
When telling myself anything that isn’t ‘normal’ makes me wrong or weird or unlovable, I’m recognising that’s ‘Darren from Internalised Ableism’ or his mate, ‘Richard from Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD Dick)’ speaking. Anyone that unkind is no friend of mine. And it wasn’t Dave who chased me out of the pub that night, but dastardly Darren and Dick!
Dave was one of my first real friends in Perth. A decade later, he doesn’t invite me to the pub very often anymore. At 44, that’s probably for the best…
And Dave now has a gorgeous little girl, who he encourages to call me ‘Aunty Hayley’ when we hang out at the park instead.
Hayley Banks is a former banker, professional weirdo, and founder of We Are Bright, a Perth-based practice helping organisations develop their brilliantly diverse talent. She specialises in developing the neurodivergent leaders of the future, leveraging her studies in business psychology and her personal and professional experience as a late-diagnosed ADHD leader. Follow We Are Bright on Instagram .
Feature Image: Supplied.
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