They Looked at the Interpreter, Not at Me
I still remember the moment clearly.
I was signing, sharing my thoughts, my story, my experience.
And every pair of eyes in the room turned to the interpreter instead.
Not to me.
Not to the person speaking.
Just to the person voicing.
In that instant, something shifted inside me.
I remember continuing to sign.
I remember continuing to contribute.
But I also remember the feeling of disappearing.
As if my words could only exist once someone else had spoken them.
It's strange how moments like that stay with you.
Years pass, but the feeling remains easy to recognise.
Not because it was dramatic.
Because it was familiar.
Looking back, I think it taught me something about being seen.
Not simply being present.
Not simply being included.
Being recognised as the person whose voice belongs in the room.
I still remember that moment.
And I still remember how it felt.
