Bernadette Griffith

There are currently two versions of me.

Version One is the professional educator who arrives at work each day with database troubleshooting schematics, deadlines, meetings, and the appearance of having her life together.

Version Two is a caffeinated tornado frantically preparing for a book launch while wondering whether she remembered to order enough cupcakes, print enough flyers, or answer the email that has been sitting in her inbox for three days.

The book launch is getting closer. Every day the countdown number gets smaller, while my to-do list somehow grows longer.

As a working mom, time is already a precious commodity. Between work responsibilities, household tasks, family commitments, and appointments, most days feel carefully choreographed. Adding a book launch into the mix has transformed that dance into something that resembles an Olympic obstacle course.

Then there is the hearing loss factor.

People often assume that cochlear implants and hearing aids simply “fix” hearing. The reality is more complicated. My devices help tremendously, but listening still requires effort. A crowded restaurant, a noisy meeting, or even a busy family gathering can leave me mentally exhausted.

Ironically, preparing for a public event about hearing loss requires a tremendous amount of communication.

There are emails to send. Phone calls to return. Interviews to schedule. Community groups to contact. Churches to reach out to. Newspaper pitches to write. Social media posts to create.

Every task seems to involve listening, talking, or processing information.

By the end of some days, my brain feels like a laptop with forty browser tabs open and only three percent battery remaining.

Meanwhile, my family continues to need things.

Dinner still has to appear.

Laundry still has to get folded.

Children still expect rides, snacks, conversations, and occasional evidence that their mother remembers what day of the week it is.

Some evenings I sit down intending to spend twenty minutes working on launch preparations. Three hours later, I am surrounded by stacks of bookmarks, poster board, giveaway items, and half-finished notes while wondering how it became bedtime.

Yet beneath the stress is something else.

Gratitude.

This launch represents much more than a book release. It represents years of challenges that once felt impossible to explain. It represents surgeries, hearing aids, cochlear implants, frustration, adaptation, and resilience. It represents a journey from isolation to connection.

Most importantly, it represents an opportunity.

If one person attends and finally understands what a loved one with hearing loss experiences, that matters.

If one parent realizes they are not alone in navigating hearing challenges, that matters.

If one newly diagnosed person leaves feeling hopeful about the future, that matters.

So I keep checking items off the list.

I keep writing emails.

I keep printing materials.

I keep reminding myself that perfection is not the goal.

Connection is.

The truth is that no book launch is ever flawless. Something will probably go wrong. A sign may fall over. A technology glitch may appear. I may forget to bring something important.

But if people leave feeling informed, encouraged, and understood, then the event will be a success.

Until then, you’ll find me somewhere between educator, author, mother, event planner, and hearing loss advocate, carrying a planner in one hand and a coffee cup in the other while sprinting toward launch day.

Wish me luck.