Welcome to The Buzz
A space for real stories, honest reflections, and small victories from life with tinnitus and hearing loss.
Here you’ll find comfort, perspective, and maybe even a laugh or two as we learn to live a little more peacefully with that damn noise.
My Tinnitus and I — A Long-Term Relationship
By Marie
I sometimes wonder what it would be like to wake up in total silence. Without my tinnitus. No hum. No hiss. No cosmic symphony filling the space between my thoughts. Just… nothing.
The idea should sound amazing, right? But honestly? It feels kind of weird. Like missing an acquaintance who’s always been there. You know the one you didn’t exactly choose, but somehow can’t imagine life without.
Gosh, we’ve been together for a lifetime. Would I even be me without tinnitus anymore?
When the Uninvited Becomes Background
I’ve had tinnitus for so long now that it’s woven into who I am. It’s not something I notice every day, not in the way I did in the beginning when it was all-consuming, unpredictable and scary.
Now it’s like wallpaper: still there, but part of the room.
And yet, I sometimes catch myself listening for it. I’m not checking to see if it’s gone, but to make sure it’s still there. Strange, isn’t it? I mean, who misses the thing that once drove them mad? Some it rises, some it softens, but it’s always mine.
Maybe it’s familiarity. Maybe it’s the brain adapting. Or maybe it’s some kind of emotional truce. Like we’ve both agreed to stop fighting and just share the same space peacefully.
Stockholm Syndrome… or Self-Compassion?
Stockholm syndrome is when someone starts to form emotional bonds or loyalty towards something (or someone) that once frightened or harmed them. It’s a psychological coping mechanism that helps the mind feel safer in a distressing situation.
I mean no disrespect to people who have actually experienced Stockholm syndrome.
Sometimes I joke that I’ve developed a kind of tinnitus version of it. It used to be the captor, holding my sanity hostage. But somewhere along the way, I stopped resisting. I got used to its rhythm, its presence, its moods.
Now it’s not the enemy. It’s the ever-present companion who never shuts up but means no harm. At first, I was a victim of a heinous noise. I remember lying there in the dark, panicked, convinced I’d never sleep again. Every second felt sharp, intrusive and wrong. That version of me didn’t understand how anything good could come out of this.
But now…? Now I need tinnitus to be there. I need it to remind me I’m in familiar company. My tinnitus and me, together, negotiating life’s ups and downs. It’s been with me through sad times and good times. How will I know how to feel if it’s no longer there to guide me?
Has my brain reprogrammed itself to see this as normal? Probably.
Has my heart found a weird kind of peace in the constant? Definitely.
I never chose tinnitus, but I did choose how I react to it. Somewhere along the way, the ringing stopped being the villain and became… well, something else. Familiar. Predictable. Even comforting in its own bizarre way.
And honestly? That shift didn’t just help my mental health, it helped my whole life.
I've tried hard to put this into words. I wanted to create a method that others could follow. I'm excited to offer you this ebook. A guide that takes you through a 6-stage transformation. You'll go from "I can't handle this anymore" to "whatever".
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Your Life Is Bigger Than the Noise
A free, practical self-coaching guide for anyone living with tinnitus.
If you’ve been feeling overwhelmed, stuck, or just tired of the noise taking up too much space in your life, this little book might help you breathe again. It’s simple, calm, and created to give you tiny shifts that add up to real change.
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Or read the full series on my site
When Silence Feels Strange
It’s funny, people often talk about wanting silence. But after years of living with these noises, which for me is like a constant crash of a wave in one ear and a high-pitched rushing sound in the other, I think real silence might feel… unnerving.
Would my thoughts echo too loudly? Would the world feel empty?
Maybe my brain would go searching for the sound like a lost pet. “Where’d you go, you little git?”
I don’t know. But I suspect I’d miss it. That annoying, relentless, high-pitched twat that’s been with me through everything. The good, the bad, the sleepless and the not-so-peaceful.
A Thought That Brings Me Peace
If you told me years ago that I’d one day feel grateful for my tinnitus, I would’ve laughed (maybe even loud enough to drown it out). But now it’s part of my story. Like a teacher in disguise.
- It’s shown me how adaptable the mind is.
Peace isn’t the absence of noise, but the presence of acceptance
(Oh, I outdid myself with that quote.)
And how sometimes, the things that stay with us the longest aren’t meant to be fought, but befriended.
So no, I can’t imagine life without tinnitus. And that’s okay. Because it’s not just a sound anymore. It’s a sign that I’m still here, still listening, still buzzing my way through this beautiful, noisy life.
And one last thing: up yours, tinnitus. You’ll never truly control me. I call the shots in this head, baby.
Living with tinnitus is strange, isn’t it? It sneaks into your life, settles in, and before you know it, it’s part of your internal landscape. I don’t love it, but I’m no longer fighting it either. And maybe that’s where some of the peace comes from. In that space between resistance and acceptance.
If you’d told me years ago that I’d feel weird without the ringing, I’d have laughed… yet here we are.
Closing Thoughts
Tinnitus was never something I wanted, but it became something I learned to live with.
Over the years it shifted from an enemy to a familiar presence.
It's not lovable, but not terrifying either.
Just… part of me.
And honestly, the fact that silence now feels stranger says a lot about how far I’ve come.
Our minds are brilliant at adapting, healing, reshaping the things we thought would break us.
If my ringing can turn into something I can sleep to, smile at, and occasionally roll my eyes at…
then maybe there’s more peace in this journey than we realise.
Take care,
Marie
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I do not offer medical advice. I am not a doctor or a medical professional.
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