‘Being deaf isn’t just about what someone can or can’t hear, but about how they belong’

In 2021, at 47, I took a leap and decided to retrain as a psychologist. The catalyst? Covid-19. Suddenly, I was at home full-time, caring for my two younger children, and unable to continue my work as a self-employed yoga teacher and bodyworker. 

I had started my career as a solicitor but left after my third child was born. She has a genetic condition called Williams Syndrome and needs extra care. Initially, I trained in yoga to help her walk and engage with the world. Over time, I developed a thriving holistic well-being business, supporting adults and children, including those with emotional distress and Special Educational Needs and disabilities. Through this work, my fascination with the mind-body connection grew. 

When the world started reopening after Covid, I was ready for something new and applied for the MSc Psychology conversion at the University of Westminster. Two years later, I was taking an MSc in Health Psychology, exploring which career pathway would be possible for me. As someone who is deaf and lipreads, navigating academia comes with challenges. But for deaf aspiring psychologists, the barriers may go beyond accessibility, especially when complicated by intersectionality, in my case, age, gender, and caregiving responsibilities.

My disability  

I was diagnosed with progressive high-frequency hearing loss as a child and have spent years adapting. Hearing aids have never worked for me, and I rely on lipreading, contextual cues, and body language. The pandemic made me realise just how much I rely on these – when everyone started wearing masks, I felt cut off and isolated. Starting at the University of Westminster during mandatory mask-wearing was disorienting, making lectures a challenge. I had no choice but to advocate for myself, securing adjustments through the Disabled Student's Allowance, including a notetaker who now attends all my lectures.

Returning to university has helped me understand more about what it is to be D/deaf or hard of hearing. The distinction between Deaf (capital D) and deaf (lowercase d) reflects the variation in identity, culture, and communication among people with hearing loss. Deaf individuals belong to a rich linguistic community, using British Sign Language (BSL) as their primary language, while deaf or hard of hearing individuals like me may experience hearing loss but navigate the world differently, often relying on speech, lipreading, or hearing aids. 

This isn't a rigid divide though, it's a spectrum and every D/deaf person's experience is unique. To create truly inclusive spaces, we need to move beyond labels and assumptions. Accessibility for Deaf/deaf people isn't just about sign language and subtitles; it's about recognising individual differences and offering choice. That means offering flexible communication options, improving D/deaf awareness, and asking individuals what actually works for them. Small shifts, like ensuring clear lighting for lipreaders, learning basic BSL, or challenging the idea that all D/deaf people sign and don't speak, can make a world of difference. True inclusion starts with understanding that being D/deaf is not just about what someone can or can't hear, but about how they connect, communicate, and belong.

As psychologists, it's important to understand the impact of hearing loss in the workplace, not just in terms of accessibility but also mental well-being. The 2019 Working for Change report highlights that many Deaf/deaf employees struggle with employer attitudes, a lack of awareness, and limited access to workplace adjustments. Many feel unsupported, leading some to retire early, while others experience heightened stress and anxiety, particularly in workplace interactions and social settings. For me, this resonates deeply. I often feel anxious in new environments, unsure of what to expect, whether I'll be able to hear, or how easily I'll be able to communicate. These uncertainties can be overwhelming, but with greater awareness and empathy, workplaces can become far more inclusive.

The South London and Maudsley NHS Work Experience Scheme 

In 2024, I was accepted into the South London and Maudsley NHS Trust Work Experience Scheme for Psychological Professions (SLAM). This scheme promotes diversity within the NHS and provides clinical work experience for underrepresented psychology graduates, offering supervision, mentoring, and training. As a mother and mature student, balancing work experience with caregiving responsibilities has been challenging, so the one-day-a-week placement format offered by the scheme was ideal. 

I was thrilled to be placed in the National and Specialist CAMHS Trauma, Anxiety, and Depression Clinic (TAD), where I gained experience in child and adolescent mental health. This placement was an incredible opportunity, but it was the stark reminder of the challenges I face as a deaf person in a clinical setting. My hearing loss became an unexpected hurdle as I adapted to the new environment.

Before starting my placement, I shared some tips on communicating with a lip-reader with my supervisor, but neither of us expected just how tricky things would be in an NHS environment. Every new setting came with a fresh communication hurdle, and as a new starter, constantly asking for adjustments felt awkward. If this had been a paid role, I could have applied for an Access to Work assessment, a government scheme that helps disabled employees get the right support at work. An assessor would have flagged potential issues early on and provided a formal list of adjustments for the team. But because voluntary placements don't qualify, I was left figuring things out as I went. A similar system for work experience placements could make a huge difference, easing the uncertainty of those first few weeks and making accessibility a priority from day one.

Key challenges and how I worked through them 

Communication in group meetings 

Navigating group meetings was particularly challenging. Online meetings using Teams' captions worked well when participants logged in individually, but when people shared a device, the transcriptions became a mess, making it impossible to keep up. Face-to-face meetings weren't much easier. I had to find the perfect spot to see everyone's faces, but even then, keeping up with fast-paced conversations was exhausting. Then, a Deaf colleague introduced me to Caption-Ed transcription software which has been invaluable, helping me follow discussions. Thanks to university disability funding, I was able to access it, and suddenly, group meetings felt so much more manageable.

Hot desking  

Hot desking added another layer of stress. Not knowing where I'd be sitting each day ramped up my anxiety, especially when most desks faced the wall, making lip-reading nearly impossible. A simple fix, like having a dedicated desk facing the room, would have made a world of difference. Looking back, I know I could have asked for it, and I'm sure it would have been fine. But when you're already requesting adjustments, adding one more can feel like too much. The reality is, self-advocacy isn't always easy, especially when you're new and trying to fit in.

Eye fatigue 

Eye fatigue is also a challenge for me. Processing speech requires significant effort for deaf individuals, which quickly leads to fatigue (Hornsby et al., 2013). After about an hour, I find it harder to concentrate and follow conversations. While transcription software helps in online meetings, face-to-face interactions are still tiring, especially in group settings. Regular breaks could help reduce this fatigue and likely benefit everyone.

Promoting inclusion for Deaf/deaf people in psychological professions 

Looking ahead, I believe that connecting with other deaf professionals in the NHS is key to building a strong support network. Joining the UK Deaf Healthcare Professionals Facebook group opened my eyes to just how many of us are navigating similar challenges. It's where I first came across Dr Hannah Sharp's guidelines, 'Supporting Deaf and Hard of Hearing People in the Workplace', a brilliant resource packed with practical advice. The National Deaf and Hard of Hearing NHS Staff Network has also been invaluable, offering a space to share experiences and find support. Beyond connections, Caption-Ed has been a game-changer for group meetings and lectures, and I also found out I was eligible for Personal Independence Payment, a government benefit that helps disabled people with daily living costs. These resources don't just improve accessibility, they give me confidence and empower me to keep pushing forward in my career. 

Moving forward

Despite the challenges, my NHS work experience has been incredibly rewarding. I've been lucky to work with a truly supportive team – my mentor, supervisor, and placement lead have all made a genuine effort to ensure I feel included. The NHS has given me invaluable opportunities, from contributing to research and observing clinical assessments to assisting with PPIE and attending CPD courses to boost my employability. I was especially impressed by the flexibility, being able to take time off or work remotely during family emergencies showed me that the NHS values work-life balance. 

But as I look ahead, I have real concerns about the pathway to becoming a psychologist. While I've gained great experience, I'm unsure whether a clinical psychology doctorate is even an option for me. The combined challenges of age, disability, and caregiving create significant barriers, making it hard to see how I could manage both the necessary clinical experience and the demands of full-time study.

Even with initiatives aimed at underrepresented groups, is psychology's training pathway truly inclusive? Doctoral programs are demanding, requiring full-time attendance, an obstacle for disabled students, parents, and mature applicants balancing work and caregiving (Peterson & Saia, 2022). Voluntary placements and low-paid assistant roles disproportionately disadvantage those already facing financial pressures (Briegel et al., 2023). Advocates are pushing for change, calling for greater recognition of life experience, fewer outdated academic barriers, and financial support for caregivers.

My reality

At nearly 50, I'm trying to build a new career while juggling parenting, caregiving, and financial constraints. My child with special educational needs can't manage 12-hour childcare days, and my elderly parents who live overseas need increasing support. What would make a difference? Greater flexibility, recognition of transferable skills, and options for part-time or remote study. 

This realisation has forced me to think outside the box. While the clinical psychology doctorate may suit others, its structure doesn't align with my life. Instead, I have chosen to expand my health and well-being business and apply for the part-time Health Psychology Doctorate at the University of the West of England. This way, I can shape my own work-life balance, one that actually works for me and my family. It's competitive, but I'll give it my best shot. 

My situation is just one example of why psychology needs a structural overhaul. True inclusivity isn't just about making small adjustments, it's about redesigning pathways so they work for a more diverse range of people.

And finally...

Accessibility for Deaf/deaf psychologists is about flexible, person-centered solutions that acknowledge the unique barriers they face. The key takeaway? Empathy matters. Employers should seek to understand the intersecting challenges that shape an individual's experience and build inclusivity into every stage of employment. 

One way to make this happen – actively involving the Deaf professional network in shaping disability policies and creating inclusive pathways within psychology careers. When policies are co-produced with the Deaf community rather than just for them, they become truly meaningful. By sharing my story, I hope to play a small part in shifting the conversation and pushing for a more inclusive NHS.