Listening beyond the ear

Sometimes it is not a straight road.

Sometimes we move… in circles.

Each time a layer deeper.

Three encounters that stick with you

Introduction

Sometimes you think you are “disconnected” from your work for a moment.

But the work won't let you go.

Not because it has to be done.

But because there are people who come in… and leave something behind.

There were three meetings last week.

Three totally different people.

Three stories that have nothing in common at first glance.

And yet… show exactly the same thing.

That hearing is never just about the ear.

1. The lady who had everything in order - except that one sound

She enters the way you hope to grow old.

Almost eighty.

Upright. Elegant. Clear.

An aura of someone who understands her life.

And that is correct as well.

“My life is good,” she says.

Really good.

Beautiful apartment. Peace. Structure.

Everything in its place.

Except for one thing.

A humming sound.

Low frequency.

Present.

Inevitable.

It is not just her who hears it; the neighbors hear it too.

So her search is logical. Understandable.

She has written. Written a lot.

Letters. Emails.

Carefully formulated.

Sharp. Almost legal.

“My words can be razor-sharp,” she says with a smile.

And somewhere… I recognize that.

We are sitting opposite each other.

She is convinced that the solution lies “out there”.

I knowing that the story often begins “inside”.

We cautiously open that conversation.

Not by persuading.

But by exploring.

What happens when the sound is there?

What does it do to your body?

With your attention?

With your thoughts?

Slowly, I see something happening.

No straight line…

but a movement.

As if we are going a little deeper together, step by step.

Curiosity.

And then… something unexpected happens.

We laugh.

Carefully at first.

Then harder.

Then we roar with laughter.

With tears in our eyes.

For the recognition.

Because of how she writes.

About how I write.

About how we both try to get a grip on something that cannot be captured.

A moment of lightness… in the midst of something heavy.

At the end of the day, she doesn't say that the sound is gone.

But something else:

I am beginning to understand… that this is not just about that sound.

And maybe - just maybe -

is that the moment when real change begins.

2. The man who didn't want a hearing aid, but still wanted to remain who he is

He walks in with an energy you feel immediately.

Early fifties.

Fit. Powerful.

Someone who knows his place in the world.

Life is in order.

Until that one moment.

An explosion.

Sound.

Injury.

Hearing loss.

And tinnitus that has been impossible to get rid of since then.

He tells it matter-of-factly.

Almost businesslike.

But beneath those words lies something else.

Loss.

Not only by hearing.

But of self-evidence.

We look at the measurements.

The hearing loss is evident.

A hearing aid would help.

And that is where it happens.

He leans back slightly.

Doubt.

“Yes… but…”

“Isn’t that for old people?”

And there he sits.

The man who can handle anything.

But stumbles over a statue.

A stigma.

Not about technology.

But about identity.

Who am I… if I need this?

We are not just talking about devices.

We are talking about seeing and being seen.

About how technology changes.

How earbuds, headsets, noise cancellation, and wearables are slowly entering the same domain.

How the boundary blurs.

And I tell him honestly:

There will come a time when it is normal.

That everyone has something in their ear.

Not because it has to be done… but because it helps.”

He nods.

Not yet convinced.

But no longer dismissive either.

Sometimes that is enough.

No decision.

But a shift.

From resistance… to consideration.

3. The mistake I made that taught me something important

She comes in with a friend.

The one speaks only Arabic.

The other person is also fluent in Dutch.

I know someone is coming along to translate.

And yet…

Am I making an assumption?

Subconscious.

Quickly.

Automatic.

My look. My first question.

I am turning to the wrong person.

Not out of unwillingness.

But from something deeper.

A pattern.

An expectation.

A prejudice.

And immediately I feel it.

This is incorrect.

We are correcting it.

We laugh it off.

We continue.

But it sticks with me.

Not because it was “bad”.

But because it was real.

This is how subtle it is.

Microdiscrimination.

Not big.

Not screaming.

But present.

And that is precisely why it is important.

The rest of the conversation is beautiful.

She has normal hearing.

But tinnitus after noise trauma.

We work through language.

Through her friend.

Via gestures.

Through being human.

And it works.

But what lingers…

is not just her story.

It is my moment.

The realization that listening is not just about sound.

But also about how you look at things.

And how quickly you think you know who is sitting across from you.

End

Three people.

Three stories.

Three mirrors.

A lady who learns that a sound is not only outside of her.

A man who struggles with what a device says about him.

And a caregiver… who confronts themselves.

This is the reality.

Not nice.

Non-linear.

But really.

And exactly there… it happens.

Not in the decibels.

Not in the measurements.

But in the encounter.

Hearing is more than just the ears.

It is sound.

It is the brain.

It is being human.

A triptych.

(Scheijen, 2026 - The Hearing Triptych)

If this resonates, feel free to share it.

Maybe someone recognizes themselves in it.

Maybe it will help someone… just at the right moment.

Note

The stories I share are based on real encounters from my practice.

Details have been adjusted and incorporated where necessary to fully safeguard the privacy of those involved.

I don't share them to talk about people,

but to show something of what makes us human.

For identification.

For your information.

And hopefully… for a little bit of exercise.