From just looking at me, you'd never know. If you heard me talk, you might have a suspicion. If you followed me up many flights of stairs, you'd wonder.

That's right, boys and girls, I'm an alien from outer space.

No, of course the truth isn't that exotic. I'm deaf, a disability that's almost invisible. I only know a little sign, so it's only when I open my mouth that people might realize something's up. Of course, some people mistake my deaf accent for an English one. Again, I'm not that exotic.

As long as you don't have a beard like Colonel Sanders or have most of your front teeth, I can read your lips. While you might be envious, remember: it's a lot easier to eavesdrop when you don't have to look at the person talking.

Not only am I deaf, I'm also bionic. Wait, maybe I'm exotic after all. Unfortunately, I can't jump over tall buildings in a single bound. The skill I do have is more practical - I can hear the alarm when I forget to turn my car headlights off. This is thanks to the cochlear implant I got almost two years ago. I supplement that with a hearing aid in my other ear, kind of like listening to the same channel on two radios.

As for the stairs, if I climb too many, I'm reminded of another reason why I'm bionic: the titanium rod in my right femur. This is thanks to the moron in a white truck that hit me on my bike eight years ago. The one thing it did give me was more empathy for people who use wheelchairs, since I used one for a couple of months. Having a more visible disability for once was enlightening, the obstacles more tangible, the stares more frequent, the pity more obvious.

My family is no stranger to the world of disability. Aside from my sister – who later developed a mental illness -- and my being deaf, my father is a disability rights attorney. My husband is a human factors engineer with a particular interest in technology and disabilities. His architect father is an expert in universal design and accessibility in the built environment. And my two young children – who are hearing – have celiac disease, which means they can't eat even a trace of gluten. After advocating for myself my whole life, I now find myself having to advocate for them – and of course it's a whole new set of challenges.

Whew.

While my deafness is only a part of me, it has influenced many aspects of my life. What they say about other senses being enhanced is true, at least in my case. I'm a very visual person, a natural result of having to rely on people's lip movements and facial expressions. I'm also a fast reader, most likely from years of reading closed captions on television, or the scrolling text on the now ancient TTY.

I grew up before closed captions existed and before the Relay was regulated. While I missed out on all the Saturday Night Live pop culture references, I discovered a new world in books. Now, instead of my parents interpreting TV shows like Webster for me, I have my husband decipher the bad captions on the Daily Show. When the Relay was only Monday through Friday, 9-5, staffed by volunteer operators, we'd have a third person joining our conversations – literally. Now I have a multitude of options: email, Instant Messenger, Internet Relay or captioned telephone.

Being deaf means that I really like television. What can I say? It's the deaf person's iPod. I'm also addicted to the Internet – it's my main method of communication when not face-to-face. My friends talk to each other on the phone daily; I can only hope they like to check email as often as I do, and can type decently enough.

Being deaf also means having to depend on my children to an extent. My older child would tell me when her brother was crying. Now she's learned – all on her own – how to interpret, and does so voluntarily, amazingly. My husband and children have learned by nature to be good communicators. They actually look at people when they talk (imagine!), enunciate clearly, and okay, sometimes tap a hearing person to get their attention.

I got a Master's in journalism when I realized that my skills and interests were a perfect fit for the profession. I used to write for CanDo.com, a now defunct web site for people with disabilities. Now I'm a freelance journalist who loves to educate people through my writing. I hope to show people – including those with disabilities – why we sometimes feel like that alien from outer space.