One day, I wanted to show them a film. My finger trembled a little as I pointed at the screen, where Le Pays des Sourds was playing. This film tells the story of Deaf people’s daily lives at school in 1993. I saw a part of myself in it.

In the end, my mother simply said, “Well, it’s good that children can talk… You talk well too.” But she saw nothing of what I was going through. Nothing of my suffering at the special school. That day, I realized that the message wasn’t getting through. It was a missed moment. And that left its mark on me.

On December 31, 2014, my mother passed away. The following year, in 2015, the DVD of La Famille Bélier was released. Full of hope, I showed it to my brother. I was hoping for a click, a word, an opening. He just smiled and said, “That’s funny.”

And I remained silent. With, once again, what I couldn’t say. I finally understood everything.

Many films are about deafness, but very few show the invisible reality: the real problem of communication in LSF, the incomprehension within families, the silence that we don’t see, but feel. These films, however well-intentioned, don’t really raise awareness. They don’t provide that necessary shock, that moment of truth that would make hearing people say:

“What if it were me? What if I couldn’t talk to my own child?”

Of course, there are books written by deaf people. They’re essential, they tell a true story. But many in the Deaf community are not always comfortable with reading. Some books are complex, not always accessible. And in the end, these books don’t repair broken family ties, nor the deep silences between loved ones.

And that makes me very sad. To see Deaf people living with their silences, their unspoken pains, and this solitude that we don’t always guess at.

A golden key, a silent click:

Even before the confinement, one moment had a profound effect on me.

In 2016, I was an LSF teacher at a special school for deaf children. One day, a 5-year-old boy handed me an object: a golden key with “SOS” written on it.

That gesture alone moved me. That key… I’ve never forgotten it. It opened up a flood of emotions. It took me back to my own past, to my childhood wounds. It made me realize that today’s deaf children are still experiencing things that we have experienced, without always having the words to say so.

It was then that the idea of writing a book became obvious. For three years, I wrote. Slowly. With my heart. But for the first three months, I couldn’t put anything down on paper. Too many emotions. Too much pain. I needed distance, silence, care. Then one day, the words came. And through them, I found my voice again.

A project from the heart, for the community:

As I became aware of the economic crisis and the reduction in subsidies, I realized that it would be difficult to make this book accessible in LSF, with QR codes leading to signed videos.

And traditional publishing houses are not always ready to welcome this type of project. You have to wait, negotiate, and often adapt to formats that don’t respect the richness of Deaf culture.

But I couldn’t stand by and watch. I couldn’t watch deaf children, teenagers and adults go through the same obstacles I had.

So I decided to act. I financed the self-publication of this book myself, with a version enriched with QR codes accessible in LSF.

My aim is simply to help the Deaf, to offer them a book in their own language, which they can understand, experience and share with their loved ones, their families, their companions…

It’s my gesture of love, my commitment, my gift to the deaf public.

Valuable and committed collaboration :

From the bottom of my heart, I’d like to thank you so much for agreeing to work with me on this project for two years. It was a magnificent, high-quality piece of work! I take my hat off to you.

I would like to name two positive and reliable deaf people who have played an important role in this adventure:

• Vivien Fontvieille (LSF translator)
• Michel Gonzalez

Discover them on their websites.