At 48, My Hearing's Not What It Used To Be. Here’s Why

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If you’d asked me a few years ago if there was a chance I’d need hearing aids soon, I’d have laughed. “Hearing loss is for old people,” 45-year-old me would have said, even though teenage grocery baggers had already transitioned from calling me “Miss” to “Ma’am,” and I swore by pee-absorbent thongs for high-impact workouts.

At 47, I smiled when the Golden Bachelor bonded with a contestant (also named Leslie!) over their hearing aids. “Hearing loss is for old people,” I still thought, even as I feverishly punched up the volume to hear what bachelorettes Sandra, Susan and Theresa were saying.

But by 48, I finally acknowledged my ears were not the auditory spring chickens they used to be. Nowhere was this more evident than in the kitchen at 6 p.m. when, between the sizzling of sautéing veggies and the din of the stove exhaust fan, I realized I couldn’t understand a damn thing anyone said. “Do we have green grapes?” a child would call from the other room. “WHAT ABOUT SPRING BREAK?” I’d shout back, even though it was June.

“Can I ask you something?” my husband would ask from behind me. “WHERE’S THE ANTI-ITCH CREAM?!” I’d scream.

As a health writer, I know that close to 50 million Americans live with some degree of hearing loss, making it the third most common chronic physical condition in the U.S. — twice as prevalent as cancer or diabetes.

I also know that besides annoying everyone with incessant “Huh?”s, hearing trouble is terrible for the brain, tied with high LDL cholesterol for the “most modifiable risk factor for dementia.” We don’t know exactly why, but one theory is that hearing loss forces the brain to work harder to decipher and fill in gaps, stealing precious resources from other cognitive systems. The reduction in sensory input may cause the brain to literally shrink — a sort of “use it or lose it" phenomenon, according to the lead author of a major 2024 Lancet report on dementia. Loneliness factors in, too: When you can’t understand friends and family or feel embarrassed over your frequent misinterpretations, you’re more likely to withdraw, and social isolation is an influential dementia risk factor.

Age-related hearing loss is also tied to depression and anxiety. In fact, 83 percent of Gen Xers with some degree of diagnosed hearing loss feel it’s taken at least a small negative toll on their mental health. It’s even associated with increased fall risk and medication mistakes. I experienced a relatively benign version of this last one when driving to a breast ultrasound at 50 East So-and-So Street in Manhattan and ended up at a pizza joint. I quickly realized my mistake — I’d misheard the appointment coordinator, who said “250 East So-and-So Street” on the phone. So no, Mikey the Fry Cook didn’t assess my dense breasts. But if my hearing slip-up had led me to take an excess dose of medication, I wouldn’t be joking right now.

This is how I found myself tucked into a soundproof booth in the office of Chicago audiologist Jaclyn Riel, AuD, CCC-A, signaling every time I heard a series of progressively quieter beeps. I emerged prepared for a diagnosis of mild hearing loss. I’d grown comfortable with the possibility of hearing aids — perhaps even a bit excited. Thanks to the FDA’s 2022 approval of over-the-counter (OTC) hearing aids for adults with perceived mild to moderate hearing loss, you can now pick up a pair at the drugstore for the cost of 10 mani/pedis. All the new technology means they’re barely visible and can stream music, phone calls and podcasts. I was ready to have my reproductive years ears back.

Dr. Riel sat me down and told me, in no uncertain terms, that my hearing was (*loud, thunderous drumroll*) ... perfect.

Come again?

“Your hearing is perfect,” she repeated.

“We don’t actually hear with our ears,” Dr. Riel explained when I called a few months later for this follow-up interview. “We hear with our brain.” Starting as early as our 40s and 50s, “the brain starts to slow down how quickly and accurately it can process speech. In loud, crowded places, it’s going to take you longer to process information ... and filter out background noise.”

In other words, the 20-something girl who could easily carry on a flirty convo while dancing in a club has been replaced by a distracted, befuddled 48-year-old who can’t understand the Kristin Hannah audiobook playing directly inside her ear canals if so much as a babbling toddler passes by.

“So,” I asked, “when my 10-year-old says, ‘I just saw a squirrel, or maybe it was a cat or a raccoon,’ and I interpret it as ‘You just saw a squirrel with cataracts?!’, it’s not my hearing, but my processing?”

Bingo.

“It’s not that you can’t hear,” she said. “You heard that she said something. You can’t understand what she’s saying.” Twisting the knife, she suggested that perhaps I hadn’t been 100 percent focused on my daughter when she spotted the squirrel-cat-coon. (Right again.) Gen-X women like me must remain laser-focused on our conversational partner if we don’t want to appear totally clueless.

Could hearing aids help? Specifically, OTC ones, which, according to studies, provide the same benefits as audiologist-fitted aids for those with mild to moderate hearing loss? (A brand called Lexie was used in both studies.)

The answer, Dr. Riel admits, is complicated.

Imagine meeting a girlfriend for coffee. I’d want to hear her voice over the espresso grinder and the din of nearby conversation. Some OTC hearing products amplify all sounds. For someone like me, who (allegedly) has no hearing loss but struggles to filter out background noise, that might not help.

Luckily, many brands offer background noise reduction technology, like the pair Lexie recently sent me. Brian Maguire, Senior Vice President and Head of North America for Lexie Hearing, told me that their Bose-powered aids “don’t amplify all sounds, just the softer sounds that have become more difficult to hear, like consonants or birds.” Consonants and birds come up a lot in talks about age-related hearing loss. Both typify the high-frequency sounds that are usually the first to go.

It’s too soon to tell if they’re making a meaningful difference. I’ve started wearing them during the bustling weeknight dinner rush but am admittedly inconsistent. Still, I remain optimistic that they’ll make it easier to understand why, exactly, my kids are shrieking. Perhaps I’ll burn fewer meals. (The timer’s high-pitched ding has been, er, missed on occasion.) Or maybe, just maybe, they won’t work, and, as I asked Dr. Riel, “That means I’ll need to quit cooking for good, correct?”

“Exactly,” she laughed.

I hear that.


Do any of you wear hearing aids? Let us know in the comments below.