As a person who stutters, I once believed no one would want to listen to me talk for any length of time. I had gotten “the look” too many times. You know the one I mean. When the listener first realizes something is different, and the look of surprise appears.

Their eyebrows arch, eyes widen, and then they quickly glance away. Then, maybe thinking that to be rude, they look back for a second, and quickly break eye contact again. Then they look distracted, looking at their watch, or a clock, or suddenly seem fascinated with the cracks in the ceiling tiles. They look everywhere but at me, the person talking and stuttering. Amazing how this can be read in seconds.

This week, I am pushing outside of my comfort zone in a new way. I have been a member of the Inter-Faith Story Circle of the Tri-City Area for just less than a year. I will facilitate the December circle and talk about my stuttering journey, to people who don’t stutter. Some of them may have never heard a real stutterer stutter.

I have a theme, “Stories of Trust, Leaps of Faith and Courage”.  I plan to open with a reflection and tell three stories. Then, circle members will be invited to share a story of their own, if they wish. It becomes a story swap. We do not process, offer feedback or applaud. We just listen and let the stories in. As a gesture of acknowledgment, members gently rub our hands together after a story is told.

In preparation for the circle, one of the seasoned tellers offered to “listen out my stories”. We met last week in a coffee shop, and over tea, I told my stories and she listened, really listened. She had a notepad with her and shared that she might jot some thoughts for feedback after. I was a little worried about that. But I didn’t need to be. She was a seasoned listener.

As I told, I “watched her listen”. She never took her eyes away from me. She was entirely present. Her facial expressions matched my tone. She took notes without ever looking down at her pad. Her eyes showed emotion, sometimes a smile, or look of surprise, or sadness, or wonder. Mostly presence though.

I stopped “watching her listen”, and just relaxed and told. I did not gaze directly at her, as suddenly I felt so free that someone was listening with intent, that I found more passion in my voice, used more imagery to describe a memory and used my hands to gesture. When I glanced at this woman, she was totally with me, listening, feeling the emotion of my story. As I neared the end, I felt overwhelmed with what I had shared to a near stranger. I choked up and my eyes brimmed over. I looked down for a second and back up. Her eyes were also watery and it was OK.

I had never had someone listen so intently, even as I openly stuttered. We paused and smiled at each other and then she said she wanted to share with me what she had heard. She offered me “appreciations” – told me all the things that had moved her and that helped create images in her mind as she listened.

I had expected to get “feedback” such as things I should change in my stories. Nope. This woman who I did not know very well just listened, appreciated, and told me that.

What an intimate experience to have had. I felt that what we had done had mattered a great deal that evening in the little coffee shop. I felt valued and alive. When we said good night and hugged, my eyes welled up again. We weren’t strangers anymore.