I was just a shy intern making copies and fetching coffee when I saw an elderly man standing alone in our busy corporate lobby, clearly frustrated as person after person walked past him without a second glance. When I realized he was deaf and trying to communicate, I approached him and signed a simple, “Hello, can I help you?” I had no idea that the CEO of the company was watching from the mezzanine above.
6 months ago, I was the most invisible person at Meridian Communications. At 22, I was a junior marketing intern who spent her days making photo copies, organizing supply closets, and trying to blend into the background of one of Chicago’s most prestigious advertising agencies.
I was the kind of person who ate lunch alone at her desk, who took the stairs instead of the elevator to avoid small talk, and who had never spoken up in a meeting. Not once. I hadn’t always been this way. In high school, I’d been confident, outgoing, even popular. But college had been a series of small failures and rejections that had slowly chipped away at my self-esteem. By the time I graduated with my communications degree, I felt like a shadow of my former self.
The internship at Meridian was supposed to be my fresh start, my chance to prove myself in the real world. Instead, it had become another place where I felt small and insignificant. The only thing that gave my life real meaning was my little brother Danny. He was 8 years old and had been born deaf. While our parents had struggled to learn sign language, I had thrown myself into it with a passion that surprised everyone, including myself. I spent hours practicing, watching videos, taking classes at the community center.
