I’ve been studying American Sign Language (ASL) for nearly four years now. It started with genuine interest—a fascination with nonverbal communication and a deep respect for the Deaf community. I’ve taken classes, joined Deaf events, watched hours of videos, and even made a few Deaf friends. I love the language. It’s beautiful, expressive, and has completely changed the way I understand communication.

But I have to confess something that’s been weighing on me: sometimes, I pretend to be Deaf.

Not in class, and definitely not around my Deaf peers. But out in public, when I feel overwhelmed or unsafe—especially in situations where someone’s trying to get my attention and I want to be left alone—I’ll start signing and using what people call a “Deaf voice.” I know exactly what I’m doing. It’s calculated. I’ll look around, avoid eye contact, and just start signing as if I’m deeply engaged in a conversation. Sometimes I even pretend to answer a text in sign. Every single time, people back off. Whether it’s someone trying to sell me something, someone asking for money, or even someone just being too persistent—it works.

And the truth is… that’s part of the problem. It works. Too well.

I never set out with bad intentions. At first, it felt harmless—like a survival tool in an overstimulating world. But the more I’ve immersed myself in ASL and Deaf culture, the more I’ve started to feel the sting of what I’m really doing. It’s not a costume, not a shield I get to use when it’s convenient for me. It’s someone’s lived experience. Someone who doesn’t get the choice to “opt in” or “opt out” when things get uncomfortable.

Sometimes I try to justify it to myself. “It’s not like I’m mocking anyone. I’m using a skill I’ve worked hard to learn.” But deep down, I know I’m crossing a line. Pretending to be something you’re not—especially something as sacred and identity-driven as Deafness—isn’t harmless. It’s appropriation. It’s deception. And it chips away at the respect I claim to have for the very community I say I support.

I haven’t done it in a while, and I’m trying not to ever again. But I still think about the times I did. The guilt doesn’t go away, even if no one ever called me out. Maybe this confession is a start—a way to hold myself accountable, to admit I knew better but did it anyway.

I love ASL. I still want to be involved in the community, to advocate, to grow. But from here on out, I need to do it with more integrity. No shortcuts. No pretending. No more hiding behind a language that doesn’t belong to me.