Revd Jim Craig reflects on his experience as a university chaplain with hearing loss, neurodivergence and chronic fatigue. Jim is a chaplain at Kings College, covering the Guys campus at London Bridge.
Would you like to introduce yourself?
My name is Jim Craig, and for the last 10 years I have been working as a university chaplain at King’s College London. I cover the Guy’s Campus at London Bridge, which is home to the dental and medical schools and a myriad of other health-related degree programmes. I do not have a medical background myself, but as someone who has a plethora of minor health conditions, I am proud to offer pastoral support to a number of medical students as their personal tutor.
What disabilities do you have, and what does this mean for your ministry?
I have a mild-to-moderate hearing impairment, and despite the word ‘mild’ in that description, it can still be exhausting trying to hear conversations in a room where multiple people are speaking at the same time. I have learned that a ‘mild’ disability’ is still technically a disability. I’m also neurodivergent and have an audio processing disorder. This means that, in addition to struggling to hear clearly, I can misunderstand nuance and need extra time to respond to questions and fast speech. It also means I struggle with accents, which can be a little bit embarrassing when you’re trying to make international students feel welcome! These issues can very quickly contribute to auditory fatigue – a condition which causes exhaustion and anxiety from constantly straining to understand words in meetings and social situations. After a late diagnosis of ADHD, this has led to another condition to add to my list – Chronic Fatigue (previously known as ME).
How would you describe your hearing impairment to someone without hearing loss? How does your disability impact your pastoral ministry as a university chaplain?
In practical terms, this means that speech often sounds like a rather confusing stream of consciousness. Imagine losing the consonant sounds at the beginning of words, and you are left with something that requires a lot of deciphering. Not only do the words run together, but the absence of hard consonants renders the spaces between the words hard to hear, and the ensuing fountain of words leaves you feeling excluded and frustrated.
The first trick that you learn as a hearing-impaired person is lip-reading. The shape of the mouth can give you a bit of a hint as to which consonant sound is being communicated. Personally, I can only keep up this trick for a short period of time before it becomes exhausting. You are attempting a dual translation of the available evidence of both the ears and the eyes, and your brain is trying to detangle something that isn’t easily separated.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with asking someone to repeat themselves, but when you are trying to offer substantive pastoral care, it can feel a little distracting to keep asking that someone repeat something they imagine they have said very clearly. And if someone is trying to share a particularly difficult story, it isn’t exactly fair to expect them to repeat elements that might be particularly traumatic or triggering. I often find myself so intent on giving my full attention to the conversation that I forget smaller details, such as the student’s name. This feels like a rather shameful thing to confess, but it is a perfect example of the constant plate-spinning of the ADHD brain as it tries to process multiple pieces of information at once!
Do you find that being open about your disability helps the student community?
There is a common myth amongst the academic community that life is linear, and there is no room for failure. Students who are often at the top of their class can experience severe culture shock when they arrive at uni and realise that they are suddenly surrounded by high achievers. As Christians, we bear witness to life in all its fullness, a life which regularly veers from our own goals and expectations. I have spent a lot of time judging myself harshly for my lack of educational achievement, but God’s grace has always called me back to minister in a university setting. It’s a gift to begin to normalise these issues by sharing my struggles with my disabilities, especially ADHD. Neurodivergent people can spend a huge portion of their time processing feelings of inadequacy, and it feels like a very powerful witness to stand alongside them in their lived experience.
What is your hope for any colleagues who also struggle with disabilities in their ministry?
We need to be more confident in reaching out for support. We can be so eager to support our colleagues, parishioners and students that we often struggle to find the motivation to support ourselves. The biggest struggle of my last few years has been accepting that the combination of relatively minor disabilities and impairments still qualifies me to seek the appropriate help I need to flourish. I am on a journey to proudly accept my identity as a disabled priest – even if those disabilities are not always obvious to those we work with.
This article was written for the Summer 2026 edition of the Disability Ministry newsletter from the Diocese of London.
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