I'm 15. Diagnosed with otosclerosis. Two surgeries that don't go as planned. I lose hearing in one ear completely.
The world sounds different now. I start pulling away from people so I don't have to deal with the frustration of not hearing. I quit basketball because I can't hear the coach or figure out who's calling for the ball. At school, I do group projects on my own.
I get used to not understanding — and smiling anyway.Four years like this. A tiny hearing aid that barely helps. My most-used word is "What?". Life keeps going, but my hearing doesn't. The effort doubles, the exhaustion triples. Misunderstandings pile up. I choose to withdraw more and more.
This video says it all:
In December I start writing a blog. I can't put into words what I'm going through and I don't know who to talk to. I feel alone and lost. I don't want to worry my family or friends.
Lockdown feels like relief — it keeps me away from people and from my hearing loss. But when things go back to normal, I crash hard. I find a hearing implant online that might work for me. It gives me hope again.
I have surgery. A hearing implant. After 6 years, I start getting my left side back.
The first sound I discover is autumn leaves crunching under my feet. I didn't know ice clinking in a glass made a sound. Or a drip coffee maker. Or breathing.
Life had sound again. I could finally relax and smile.I start sharing my story on social media. Doctors begin recommending my videos to their patients. One day I go viral. I also start studying Computer Engineering at UTN.
Messages start pouring in. They turn into coffee meetings with people who are losing their hearing, or with families whose kids are born deaf. Three to six hour conversations.
Every conversation proved the same thing: I wasn't alone.I can't keep up with one-on-one meetings anymore. I invite people to a park. 20 show up. Then 36, 45, 69. By 2023 I reach 5,000 followers on Instagram.
Organizations start reaching out, wanting to bring disability training to their teams. But I realize training isn't what I want to do — I want to bring reflection. I want to change how people see disability, not keep teaching the same old perspective. That's when it clicks: disability can be subjective.
I start leading reflection spaces in organizations. Disability as the example, not the topic. Conferences, workshops, hosting — where people actually reflect, not just listen.
84% never touched their phone
Read a testimonial
In June we launch the podcast Sordo pero no mudo (Deaf but not mute) — to give other people a voice and interview professionals, building a knowledge base about hearing loss in Spanish. 67 episodes, 148,000 listens, 61 countries.
3 minutes. 70 stories.
Listen on Spotify →Over the first months of meetups, 473 people showed up in person to share their story. From that, the CASACUSIA Foundation is born — a home for people with hearing loss, so nobody goes through disability alone.
people at meetups. That's where a foundation was born.
CASACUSIA works to transform how people relate to their hearing loss — connecting families and individuals, building community around hearing loss. We provide tools and work toward a more aware and supportive society through different programs and projects.
casacusia.org →
I graduate as an Ontological Coach. New tools to better support the people and teams I work with.
Infobae, La Nación, elnueve. What started as a blog reaches national media. I win the Premios Obrar (purpose-driven advertising award).
What started with 5,000 followers in 2023 is now 110,000 on Instagram and over 190,000 across all platforms. Content about hearing loss and disability keeps reaching further.
Disability is not the silence. It's the loneliness.
To change that, we bring the lonely together. And we leave loneliness behind.
The first step is sitting down together and figuring out what we can do.
If you're interested, book a 30-minute call with me and let's talk about how we can transform the way your organization thinks about disability.
Let's connect: follow me on Instagram or connect on LinkedIn.
