Sober Menopause and Tinnitus

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A few years ago, I was watching a movie on the couch, and I noticed it. I was alone, watching a quiet romantic comedy, and I kept hearing something: a low-pitched whining in my ears. It was like an annoying bee was hitting a final note in his own annoying musical, endlessly droning into my eardrums.

I sat up and took a sip of water, thinking it was weird but not… awful. Just weird.

OK, maybe it was a little annoying. I turned up the volume of the movie and carried on.

Four years later, we have surpassed annoying. In fact, there were times that the noise has escalated to what can only be described as a constant screeching.

Tinnitus

I have tinnitus. Numerous audiologists and ENTs have tried to deduce the cause, but since I’ve never been a roadie for a heavy metal band, or helped land airplanes, the only other suggestion is menopause. There has been a recorded link between the two, although more research is needed. The doctors told me there wasn’t much to be done; tinnitus really has no cure.

This is how they torture people. At times, the screeching made me feel like I might lose my mind with the unrelenting sound. Occasionally, I fell into tears and pounded the sides of my head with my hands in frustration.

It affected my work. It made me incapable of hearing soft-talkers, which, in my line of business teaching writing to college kids, is a thing. College kids often don’t understand the merits of annunciation.

As time progressed, and the tinnitus screeched on, I started to avoid groups of people. I could no longer discern individual voices clearly amidst the crowd, and I often felt like I was just nodding along, barely holding onto the basics of communication.

I got sober more than 10 years ago. One of my first lessons in recovery was that I had to meet with other women and men who were walking this path as well. I had to hear their stories if I wanted to get better. I had to talk to them. I could not hole up and try to master the rules of recovery on my own because if my own brain was in charge, I would overthink, underprepare, and probably relapse. We need each other.

Isolation

So, with the hearing issues I came to a crossroads: Do I slide slowly into isolation from all the things? Do I hole up and try to go it alone? Or, do I learn how to adjust and participate alongside the tinnitus?

I have to admit, I didn’t opt for a healthy solution at first. Since I am an alcoholic, I still like to All Or Nothing myself into any situation. I isolated. “This is impossible,” I thought to myself, and I hunkered down in my own little fortress of misery. I stayed home and turned on my subtitles and read a lot of books. But then, even my beloved reading became intolerable because of its quiet nature. I couldn’t concentrate on the words because my ears were pulsing in the stillness, and if I tried a sound machine or music, I couldn’t focus either.

It was tough. My youngest son’s basketball games were painful. Often I would leave at the half due to headaches. My oldest’s wrestling matches were not much better. Why did my children always participate in sports that were so loud? Why not tennis? Or a good game of golf?

And the more life I missed, the more I felt mom-guilt, and the more I slipped into depression. And, thus, the more I stayed home.

I had become an island. An island with really lousy hearing.

Isolation has always been my first response to triggering situations. Back when I was drinking, my answer to anything uncomfortable or difficult was drinking alone. It was just me and a large box of wine against the world. Addiction loves isolation because it keeps you still. It hates change. It hid me away.

Isolation told me I am a queen in my castle; I can do what I want.

Then, it whispered: You’re all alone, you know. No one loves you, and then passed me a drink.

Isolation warped time and muffled sound. I lost track of both and stopped caring.

Isolation can kill you.

And so, when my ears led their coup against my mental health, I started to isolate.

Listening to the Tools of Recovery

But the wonder and miracle of my recovery is that I’ve learned some things along the way, and they stuck with me during all of this. They were tenacious, these “tools of recovery.” They didn’t give up on me. And, amidst all the noise—the endless, endless noise—they kept speaking up.

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Recovery said: You don’t have to do this alone.

And:

You can start right where you are.

I started making appointments with doctors, something I really hate to do. My disease kept telling me to give up, but I kept trying to find a solution, and I kept making phone calls and seeking help.

And, I got humble. I simply had to tell people that I couldn’t hear them. I had to lean in, and clasp my hand behind my ear like an old timer and say things like, “I need you to repeat that. I am having a hard time hearing.” Honestly? I felt embarrassed. My ego didn’t like it. But I did it because I no longer wanted to miss out on the conversations and on life. As time passed, all this became easier.

Through the process of all those doctors’ visits, I was also diagnosed with marked hearing loss, along with the tinnitus, so I said yes to hearing aids. This was an adjustment. But the devices help, and I no longer feel on the outside, leaning in, trying to hear and connect.

I could have stayed in my place of isolation. At times it was tempting. But my recovery had a lot to say in opposition to that, and I finally listened.