Make Room For The Stuttering

Today I gave a speech to a room full of job developers. These are people who have the daunting task of finding or creating jobs for persons in need of some type of supports. The typical person who works with a job developer has some type of disability – be it cognitive, emotional, learning, or physical. I followed the guy from the department of labor who gave a rather dreary overview of labor market trends (maybe dreary is a strong word, but it was – what else could it be?)

My topic was to talk about resume writing, applications and interview skills, and offer some good news that with the proper tools, jobs can be found. Not the most exciting of topics, but I was going to share how to help people make winning first impressions. No matter what the job market looks like, that is always current.

There were more people there than I had expected- about 75. And I recognized several people in the audience. A couple came up to me before hand, and said they were so excited to see me on the agenda, that they had chosen this break-out session to attend rather than another one. Oh boy, no pressure to perform, huh?

Of course, I wanted to do well. I wanted to do much better than the guy who went first, whose graphs and charts were really . . . . . . well, you know how well graphs and charts go over!

I knew my material and felt comfortable. What was I worried about? Guess? I worried about how much I might stutter, and should I say a quick little something before I launched into the wonderful world of resumes.

Well, here’s what I did. After being introduced, I said I wanted to start with two quick things. One, that I had no statistics or charts, and that the guy before me would be a hard act to follow. (There were some chuckles – good, I had broken the ice!) Then I said, I also want you to know that I stutter, and you might hear it during my talk. Don’t get alarmed. I’m OK with it, and I hope you will be too. Then I took a breath, smiled, and started talking about resumes and marketing yourself.

I was fine. No one batted an eyelash. My stuttering did not interfere at all with my message.

As a matter of fact, someone came up to me after and said “That was a perfect introduction. You told us you stutter, and you looked relaxed and at ease, and so were we. That shows self confidence and your depth of character. Good for you. Good for us.”

Good for us when we can do that and get on with the issue at hand. Good for me. I felt great!

OK, I just have to give a shout out to my friend Richard tonight. I hope he reads this, and realizes how much someone can make someones day, with seemingly little effort. No one has ever, ever said this to me, and it made me think about stuttering in a whole different way.

I recorded a video clip and had it posted it on one of the stuttering sites that I visit often. I let Richard know the clip was posted, as he had seen some of my other ones. (As a matter of fact, he once posted that he knew someone famous – Me – because he had stumbled on my video on YouTube. I definitely am not famous, but will admit that I rather liked that).

Anyway, Richard let me know that he watched my video and provided me some feedback. He commented “I appreciate the points you make in relation to your negative self-image and your fear of criticism but the irony is that you actually have an exceptionally nice speaking voice (which I hope you now fully realise). Richard then went on to say, “Your stutter is really easy to listen to and constitutes, what I would term, ‘an attractive stutter’.”

Wow – an attractive stutter!! I said it to myself a couple of times, in disbelief. What an incredible boost to my ego, to my self-image, to the overall blah day I had today. No one has ever said that to me, and I can’t tell you how meaningful those two little words were. (Not that everything he said wasn’t meaningful, but the word attractive used with stutter in the same sentence – that floored me).

I have never heard stuttering described like that. I have always thought of my stuttering as negative, something I wished I didn’t have, something I wished would go away. I spent years trying to hide it, deny it, ignore it, or disguise it. I never thought I would come to terms with stuttering and actually find some peace with it, and make room for it.

And then Richard comes along and tells me that I have an attractive stutter.

Never under-estimate the power your words can have on another person. Richard’s words will stay with me for a long time. The next time I find myself giving in to negative self-talk or being too hard on myself, I will remember. And let it in again and again, and summon the courage to always be honest with someone else and say what I feel. You never know who you will impact or how powerful your words can be.

(I am trusting that Richard will not take offense to my quoting him – I did not divulge his last name, although I should and let everyone know how terrific he really is.)

A really interesting question caught my eye today in one of the newspapers I read on Sundays. Real ink on real paper -the kind that makes your hands black- not the on-line versions. I savor the pleasure of buying and reading two newspapers from cover to cover on Sundays. The thicker, the better.

So, here’s the question I saw today. It stopped me cold for a few minutes.

“Are you comfortable being in the flame or do you want to be the fire?” It got me thinking about am I a leader or a follower. I concluded that its good to be a little of both. You can’t have flame without fire. Leaders can’t lead without followers.

I am not saying that I am some great leader, but I have had people tell me I have leadership skills. I have also had people say that I am a role model. I think what that means is that I take risks, say what I mean and mean what I say. That is really important to me. I don’t think enough people do that today, and I would venture to say that a lack of integrity is behind many of the problems we are faced with today. A melting economy, a divide between the have and have-nots, discrimination that touches all of the “isms”, and a dismal educational system.

People just don’t honor one of the most basic core values – speak the truth and back it up.

I try to do that every day. I don’t feel I have any choice. I work with young people. Like it or not, they look to me, and most adults, to help them figure out their pathways, their flame or fire.

I have been much more aware of this lately with both my stuttering and my emotions. They are both a part of who I am. I can’t hide them. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. Most of the time, its all right. It makes me real to those around me.

Sometimes I want to be the fire that makes change and leaves an impact. Other times I am perfectly content being in the flame. I think every time I am honest with myself and others about how I feel about stuttering, that I am lighting a small fire. One that warms us with the knowledge that we are all unique beings with diverse talents and strengths.

Sometimes I recognize that I am in the flames, getting licked, and that’s ok too. Life is about getting licked by flames and telling someone else about that experience, so they won’t get burned. Passing it on, speaking the truth, meaning it, backing it up. Fire and Flame. Its all good.

Yesterday, I ran into a stuttering friend at an unlikely place -the hospital waiting room. We had not seen each other for a while, but he recognized me immediately, even though I was half asleep in a twisted position on this very uncomfortable chair. He came right up to me, startled me out of my stupor, and we began catching up.

He had been attending the same support group as I do, but we haven’t seen him lately. He’s a medical student, and has been busy interviewing for residencies for next year. He tells me he couldn’t swing both at same time, as he is traveling for the interviews. He had some difficulties with his speech as we chatted – he has major blocks and gets very frustrated, kind of rolls his eyes while waiting for the block to pass, but keeps a great big smile at same time too. Pretty cool.

We both stuttered while chatting – in a crowded waiting room. I didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to either. He seemed really annoyed with blocking for so long, but I, on the other hand, maintained eye contact for what seemed an eternity. I was sort of gazing up at him, expectantly, just patiently waiting. Not when I say gazing, that is correct. He was standing and is tall. I was still sitting in the cramped little chair, and my foot had fallen asleep. So no way was I getting up. Plus, I didn’t want to risk losing my seat.

It was really nice catching up with him. He is a young man, full of potential, going into a demanding career field, and believes in him self. He knows he is going to hit bumps along the way(he used to share that in group), but he’s going for what he wants. He has switched specialities – will now go into pediatrics. How awesome is that. His young patients will have a super role model in their doctor. Whether he chooses to be a role model or not, he will be one for sure. He will be a friendly, competent, compassionate doctor of little people who also happens to stutter.

I am glad we ran into each other. We had a real conversation, and neither of us held back with our stuttering. I found it particularly cute when I asked him, “Wh–wh wh–wh-when will you be back to group”, and he had this mischievous twinkle in his eye, as he patiently waited for me. It was like he was saying, “Ah good, your turn now”.

Its good to be ourselves when we meet by chance out and about. In a crowded waiting room, years ago, I might have not had this conversation with the future doctor. I might have pretended to be asleep, or tried to avoid certain words and wouldn’t have said what I wanted. I don’t do that anymore. That’s a good feeling.

I also want to comment on some new friends I am meeting on Twitter. One has introduced me to some of his friends as Rock Star PWS. Now, is that cool or what? I rather like it. Its like I am being referred to as being cool. Never in my wildest dreams during my covert years would I have thought that someone would hang that moniker on me and I would like it. Maybe one day they’ll let me have one of those “over 40” guest audition spots on American Idol!

Yay for young doctors who stutter. Yay for us who are not afraid to stutter publicly. Yay for rock stars. Yay for friends.

It was fun last weekend getting people together to watch a viewing of Rocket Science. My NSA Chapter co-sponsored this with our local college. That was a good thing, because the college allowed us to use their facilities to watch the movie on the big screen.

I had worked with someone from HBO Pictures to get permission to screen a public viewing of the movie. In case you are not aware, you can’t just show a copyrighted movie publicly without first getting permission – in this case in writing – from the copyright holder. Its illegal. Studios make movies for two main reasons: to have a vehicle to express their story, and to make money.
It was a good lesson for me to find out how to track down the right people, explain what we wanted to do, ask questions over the phone – stutter and all – and ultimately get the HBO folks in Los Angeles and New York to agree that this was for a good cause.

My cause: to bring people who stutter together for an afternoon of fun. No therapy, no support group, no presentation, just socializing and fun. We watched a great movie, enjoyed popcorn and soft drinks, and enjoyed each other’s company. After the movie, I had some questions prepared to spur some discussion (I know, I’m anal like that. I was afraid if I didn’t have questions written up, no one would say anything). Everybody participated. We talked about whether the actor’s stuttering was realistic enough, we discussed the manipulative female character who was only looking out for herself, and we discussed the very dysfunctional family that claimed Hal.

A young man who stutters commented: “This movie was really just about life and and trying to make it everyday. Even people who don’t stutter can relate to the movie”. He was right of course, and that was indeed the method behind my madness. Its just nice every once in a while to get people together who share a common experience to just talk about life. We can all relate to weird parents, dorky siblings and high school snobs.

For me, the movie reminded me that we really do need to put life in perspective. People are always dealing with their own skeletons in the closet. Watching a movie about real people who aren’t perfect and not taking it too seriously reminds us that life shouldn’t be rocket science. We don’t have to over-complicate everything. We should appreciate our friends and family, however imperfect they may be.

Its funny when people say things like, “in the real world, people don’t do that” or “I would never act like that in the real world”. Like the world you and I live in is not real.

I work with high school students and they say stuff like this every day. They assure me that they would never wear their jeans down to their knees, or color their hair green, or use profanity in the real world. They convince us, and themselves, that they can turn their feelings and behaviors on and off to suit the situation. That they will become someone else when its time for the employment or college interview.

Now with high school students, I can accept this, to some degree. They’re young, haven’t had too much experience yet, and don’t have too much perspective on what “real” really is.

But those of us who have been around for a while know what real is, or at least have a pretty good idea. Its not what we see on TV, or at the movies. Its what happens as we live our life. It’s our experiences and our interactions with the world. I am not very good at turning things on and off. With me, its pretty much “what you see is what you get”. Even with my very variable and situational stuttering.

Someone commented on a post that I made recently on another forum and indicated that the “real world” doesn’t accept stuttering. That no matter how real we are and with how we present ourselves, that the world is uncomfortable with overt stuttering. That it makes sense for people who stutter, who are in the public eye, to keep it hidden. That stuttering is a social stigma.

I suppose it is. There are always people who need to be educated on stuttering, because after all, there is only 1% of the population that stutters. The other 99% can’t be bothered with us, don’t have time, feel uncomfortable around us. Shun us, would prefer that we email or text message.

I live in the real world. I talk to school personnel, parents, students and community members every day. Sometimes, you wouldn’t know I stutter. Other times it is very obvious. But, as the kids say, “I do me”. That’s all I can do. I think the kids I work with respect the fact that I am very honest. I will mention that I stutter, and that I’m OK with it. I think kids instinctively know when we are “bull-sh*tting” them. They can see right through adults who are lying. Need an example? Just open any newspaper and see who is making news and for what.

I am not on an “acceptance pedestal”. I just think that in this world full of discontent, disconnect and just plain dissing, that being “Real” is not such a bad thing.

Welcome to the real world, kids.

I have done some reading and reflecting on acceptance, which is ultimately what we all want and strive for. A recent post by another blogger talks about the difference between accepting ourselves – stuttering and all – and being accepted for who we are – stuttering and all.

That has been one of my biggest struggles -truly accepting all of me. I have never truly felt I fit anywhere. I have always found myself trying to re-make myself into the image I thought others wanted me to be. First it was my father. He saw me as flawed and was embarrassed by me. Not just the stuttering, but other things. I was sensitive, shy and awkward. I was self-conscious about the stuttering, and because it was not talked about, I felt very alone.

I remember wanting what the things other kids had, so I could fit in. Not unlike most kids. But I didn’t want to just “fit in”, I wanted to blend in, so I wouldn’t stick out. It was not to be. With six kids, my mom had no interest in keeping up with fashion, nor did she have the emotional stength or desire to be concerned if her kid was a social misfit. I horribly remember awful blue shoes and thrift store dungarees. And I was not blessed with good looks as a child, which really made everything worse. I tried and failed to blend in with the other kids.

In high school, I continued to try and make myself like the other girls. I saved every penny I had to buy monogrammed sweaters and the “it” pocketbook all the other girls had. But it didn’t work. The “in crowd” never really accepted me. Neither did the other crowd. I was miserable and retreated into books and trying to keep things together at home as things fell apart there as well. I remember lying about my parents, and even who I was sometimes, in an effort to create an image of myself that I thought others would like. I fantasized about being born into the wrong person , and that I was really smart, pretty, social and could talk beautifully.

It was hard work pretending to be someone else. Around people at college, I tried to re-make myself into someone who partied, drank too much and hung out with a rough crowd. I hated it, but thought it was the way to fit in and make friends.

In the workplace, hiding my stuttering became a full time job. I tried to fit in with the fluent world, and was never comfortable. I never dared to reveal my true self, out of desperate fear that I would be rejected and abandoned. The one guy I really ever loved did not know that, as I was afraid to tell him, and afraid of being hurt. I played it safe, and fell into a relationship that never felt right, because I was afraid of being alone and hurt.

Fast forward, twenty years later. I still feel I haven’t found the right fit for me. I am who I am. I write better than I talk, I get embarrassed easily, and sometimes I still try to pass myself off as a non-stutterer. I don’t practice what I preach. I don’t always walk the walk. I still struggle with my demons. I come from a dysfunctional, abusive background, and to this day, I try to keep some of that buried. I am definitely on a journey and I don’t know where I will quite end up . But I trust that I am on the right path. I am letting stuff out, and letting stuff in, that I never have before.

I used to be afraid of my stuttering, emotional self. I am finally trying to make friends with myself, and find my fit.

Sometimes people get very impatient. Have you noticed? It doesn’t just happen with people who stutter. It happens to everyone. We live in such a busy world, everything happens so fast, and the rise of ever changing technology just makes things faster.

I love email and Facebook and writing in general, but also recognize that for many years, it was a crutch. I always felt I could express myself better in writing. I can string words together, make them work, have the words almost dance off the page, and if it doesn’t please me, I can just erase them. It used to be with an eraser, now its with the backspace or delete button.

There are so many things I want to say. I want to let my partner know that it annoys me when he always has to get the last word in. I want to let my mom know that sometimes I just want her to listen. I want to let my dad know that I am living my life the way I think I need to.

I want to let the boss who fired me know that I did not let it get the best of me – that it actually opened up a whole new chapter in my life that I wouldn’t have read if I had stayed stuck. I want to let my best friend know that I miss him, and that we need to spend sometime together.

I want to let kids know that it is OK to speak up and say whats on your mind. I want to say thank you to my mentor in high school who helped me through the tough times and who probably has no idea how much she really impacted me.

I want to shout it from the mountaintops and to anyone who cares to listen. I have a voice. We have a voice. Take time to talk to the people you care about. Do it in person. It has more impact.

Listen. Open your heart. Don’t be too embarrassed to tell someone how you really feel.

I have always felt I couldn’t say what I really wanted to say. Don’t waste time. Just do it.

If you are reading this blog and really like it, please help me grow my readership by deciding to “follow this blog”. It’s easy. Just go to the sidebar on the right, and click on the link that says “Follow”. It will only take a second, is easy, and you won’t miss anything. A lot times, a reader will visit a blog and like it, but not come back. Usually not intentional, but because they have not set up a system. Following will help you to be sure you don’t miss any posts, and will help spread the word and get more readers.

I keep saying that I want to be published some day. You can help me determine if that is a realistic goal. We all have to follow our dreams.

I’d appreciate it if you did that, especially if you like reading and sharing about life and stuttering experiences.

For a long time, I hated to hear myself speaking. I would refuse to leave messages on answering machines and hated to even record my own greeting messages on voicemail boxes. When I have to do it, I sometimes will re-record my message over and over until it is perfect. I thought I sounded bad, and no one would want to hear me if I let loose and allowed any stuttering out.

I have had to record greetings on my voicemail at work, several times, when we have got a new system. I have done it at home, and of course on my cell phone. The last time I did it at work, it took over a half hour, because I recorded it over about 10 times. Every time I stuttered, I would stop and start over. I do stutter when alone and talking to myself. I was nervous that someone would come to the door, and hear me saying the same thing over and over again.

Now, its pretty ridiculous when you think about it, because I sound how I sound. Why should I go to such great lengths to make my recorded voice sound different than how I sound in everyday life, talking in real time? Because I was worried about what other people would think. I was worried about negative reactions. When I think about it, anyone who knows me would probably never have the nerve to say, “Wow, I heard your voice mail message, and you sounded horrible with that little bit of stuttering”.

I don’t sound that bad. I have gone out of my comfort zone many times over the last year, and recorded myself on pod casts and YouTube videos. And I don’t sound that bad. My voice actually sounds pretty good, even when I stutter. It is strong, varied, I use pitch to my advantage (Can you tell I am in Toastmasters?) and its not unpleasant to listen to. How do I know this? People have told me. At first, I didn’t believe them. But when I started listening to myself, I realized I had wasted a lot of time obsessing about nothing. I sound like pretty much anyone else on a recording. Different than in real-time, but Me.

Even when I stutter. Its pretty easy, relaxed stuttering. Its me. So there, I have admitted something that has always been one of my nonsense worries. Whew, now I won’t waste any more sleepless nights over that one.

Sometimes I am really hard on myself. I have a hard time letting things in, accepting compliments, and accepting that really good things do happen in my life. I think this comes from feeling that I was never good enough, and always feeling pretty insecure. My parents had a lot to do with that. Even when people tell me that I have done something really well, I tend to try and find something wrong. It’s the “Yes, But” syndrome. Do you know it?

Yes, I got a 95 on the test, but I should have had a 98.

Yes, I did well presenting that topic, but I should have added a section about this or that.

Yes, the dinner I cooked tasted good, but I should have added more seasoning.

Yes, its nice when someone pays me a compliment, but it feels weird too. Like I don’t deserve it.

I seem to do this all the time, even when I really want to bask in a moment and feel proud of myself. It might have to do with my tendencies towards perfectionism, it might have to do with my stuttering, or it might have to do with really bad luck. Nah, I don’t buy that one. Its not luck.

A good friend tells me that the universe is conspiring to tell me something, that the universe talks to me more than most people. I get affirming signals every day from the world, but I try to ignore them. I seem to almost want to tarnish the good with bad.

Its hard to break these habits. It helps to have someone to talk things through with, and help me see the me that others see. It’s about developing insight, reflecting on self, and being comfortable with doing that. Sometimes, I really want people to tell me I have done a good job, or way to go, or I am proud of you. I never had that growing up, and I don’t have it with my significant other.

The universe is conspiring to tell me that I need positive affirmation, we all need it, and that it is a healthy and normal part of emotional well being. These are my promises to myself today:

I will not over-analyze a compliment. I will feel it, let it in, and say thank you.

I will accept the fact that I am not perfect. It is too exhausting to try so hard to be perfect.

I will allow myself to cry when I need to and not try so damn hard to hold it back.

I will cut down on the number of times I say, “Yes, but . . . . .”

Have you ever thought you were a failure? Do you ever compare your self to the lofty standards that society seems to adhere to?

It’s all around us, this incredible drive to be the best, look the best, have lots of money, drive a nice car, send our kids to the best schools, and excel at work. We know it’s hard for young people to fit in, to not cave to the demands of peer pressure. What about adults? Do adults feel the same pressures? And what happens when you spend your time striving for perfection?

When I was little, my father demanded perfection from his kids. Being the oldest of six, I always felt that pressure to succeed, excel, to take care of things, to be the perfect little adult. But I wasn’t perfect, and I wasn’t an adult was a kid who stuttered, and that embarrassed my father. He too was driven to seek perfection. He didn’t tolerate flaws, just like his own father had not. He was one of 13 children, and he competed for attention in his family. In his eyes, having a big family, a big house, the biggest swimming pool on the block, complete with this amazing lighted lawn display, meant that he had made it. But maintaining all of that took a lot of work, and meant that we kids were often left to fend for ourselves, and figure out where we fit into that kind of world.

I was taught to make my feelings invisible, to be as self-sufficient as possible, and not to present any problems. I didn’t live up to the trophy standards that my father seemed to feel were most important. When I stuttered, he would yell at me, tell me to be quiet, not say anything unless I could say it right. So I always had this feeling that there was something wrong with whom I really was.

Having been invisible, with regard to feelings especially, has made it a struggle for me to be Real and Authentic as an adult. Sometimes it looks like I “walk the walk”, but that is not without the inner battle that often ensues. Quite honestly, I sometimes wish I did not stutter, and that I consistently had the smooth, fluent speech that I have a lot of the time. I think being real and authentic means to be able to admit this. I accept that I stutter, but still wish there were times when I could turn it off, or at least be able to look into a crystal ball and know when it is going to make an appearance.

In our professional lives, oral communication is often taken for granted. When one feels that we don’t “measure up”, even knowing deep inside that this is not the most important thing, you can be left with feelings of doubt and contempt. Feelings of shame and guilt are also common when you think you have fallen short.

I am closer than I have ever been to being ok with acknowledging these feelings. It means that I am not perfect. It means that I, we, all have painful feelings from time to time. It is ownership of those feelings, coupled with presenting yourself to the world, “As Is”, which makes us capable of being authentic in a world that pins so much on being perfect.

Being invisible as a kid played a role in how I turned out as an adult. It was a survival tactic. It made me strong. I now recognize that those feelings I hid for so long would eventually need to swim to the surface. Knowing how to swim and stay afloat is also a survival tactic. It allows me to be vulnerable and authentic, and claim my place.

Like many of us, I have different conversations with different people about stuttering. It seems that talking about stuttering is as situational as the actual stuttering itself. What do I mean?

Last week, when I gave a presentation to a group about communication and public speaking, I briefly mentioned that I stutter at the beginning of my talk and then again towards the end when I was making a point. After finishing the talk, some people came up to me, shared their comments and asked some questions. One woman asked if it was OK to share some feedback with me. I told her I would welcome it, as feedback is a gift. She mentioned that each time I mentioned stuttering, that I seemed to stutter more. Was I aware of this? I wasn’t, and told her that. I also told her that I was impressed that she felt comfortable enough with me to share that. She had just met me that evening. I thought to myself – wow, I must have come off as pretty approachable for her to let me know that. What a great thing. (I also thought – what’s up with that? I say the word stutter and I stutter more. No way . . . . . not gonna let it faze me).

Now, several years ago, no one would have dared make that comment to me, because talking about stuttering was a “no-no”, taboo, the pink elephant in my space. I actually thanked her for the feedback. I have come a long way, baby!

I had a recent conversation with the assistant principal at my school. She is very comfortable when I stutter around her, has told me that. She will mention it matter-of-factly. Its not a big deal. She told me that she thinks I am a role model, because I do what I have to do and participate, and communicate, regardless of whether I am having a stuttering day. At first I was a little embarrassed, but I also felt pretty darn good that she felt it was important enough to let me know that. Not everyone would say that.

I had a conversation with my mom yesterday. Now, we almost never talk about stuttering. Even after I “came out” a couple of years ago, she doesn’t feel comfortable discussing it with me. One of my sibs once told me that mom always felt guilty for not doing more for me when I was stuttering as a kid. She said she felt she should have stood up to my father and insisted that I have speech therapy. It morphed into a taboo subject between us.

Anyway, when we talked last night, she said she wanted to ask my opinion on something and hoped I wouldn’t get offended. She spends a lot of time on the Internet and gets jokes sent to her all the time. She forwards them on to a group of about 20 others. She said a friend had sent her a hilarious joke about someone stuttering, and she wondered if it would be in poor taste to send it out. Would someone who stutters, like myself, take offense to it?

Hmmmm . . . . . . I thought this was weird, but a good opportunity to maybe break the ice a bit. I told her if she thought it might be offensive, then it probably was, and she probably shouldn’t send it. I asked her to tell it to me, but she said she preferred not. So, I surmised that it must have been pretty bad. Especially if she thought she should ask me first. This was the first real conversation we have had, ever, about stuttering and how I might feel about it.

She then went on to share that there is a man in a group that she belongs to who has a severe stutter, and that sometimes it is painful to listen to him. But she said she really admires that he participates, shares his opinions, and doesn’t appear to be bothered or limited by his stuttering. She said that there is another guy who makes fun of him incessantly, mimics how he talks, calls him an idiot and says other mean things. Not to his face, but about him to other group members. Mom said that she feels uncomfortable when she hears this guy make fun of the stutterer. I asked her if she ever said anything, like she didn’t think it was funny or found it offensive. She said no – it wouldn’t do any good, that this guy never listens to anyone and will never change.

I suggested that she might try saying something to him, maybe that she found it offensive and even use me, saying that she has a daughter who stutters and its not something to make fun of. I told her that she would probably make a difference by doing that. She said, Nah, he’ll never listen, and then she changed the subject.

So talking about stuttering is pretty complex too. Being open, flexible, and approachable is the way to go. Maybe that tiny little snippet with my mom will open the door to helping her feel more comfortable the next time. Just because I have become really comfortable talking about stuttering, doesn’t mean everyone else in my world is, yet. But there’s time to work on that!

At support group last night , we talked about what were some of the significant memories that we have had of our stuttering, and did they shape who we are today.

Interestingly, several people, (the group was all male except for me) talked about being stymied by stuttering when attempting to ask a girl out on a date, and how the stuttering was remembered as a source of embarrassment. Several other members chimed in, saying that stuttering stood out as embarrassing moments when grade school teachers would make the class participate in reading circles. Two guys explained how that memory has stayed with them, seared into memory, of how peers kept pushing them, reminding them what word they left off on. Some members have also talked about where are all the women. We used to have 3 or 4 women come to this group, now its just me. Its funny participating in a group so heavily out-weighed by males. I guess that speaks to the general stuttering ratio in the general population, as 3 out of 4 people who stutter are male. But me being the only woman is pretty obvious. That’s why they have asked. The guys want to know if they have done something wrong.

Maybe I will write about what its like specifically being a woman who stutters. It does differ I think. It seems I get more introspective and emotional, where as the guys are rather matter-of-fact. One guy even says “that was then, this is now”. Actually, pretty healthy response. Anyway, back to my thoughts on memories from childhood.

I don’t remember specific stuttering experiences from childhood. My childhood was so clouded with other traumatic stuff that stuttering moments were not what I remembered. What I do remember is painful silence. I had learned early on, “If I didn’t talk, I didn’t stutter”. That part I do remember. My father yelled at me when I first started stuttering, helped me realize that stuttering was something bad I was doing. Then the kindergarten teacher yelled at me to “Stop that” when I stuttered in class, again leading my young mind to equate stuttering with bad.

So I hardly ever talked. I was quiet – all the time. That’s what I remember most. Silence. No real friends, no dates, no socializing. I had become covert about my stutter so early and had it so practiced, so rote, to remain silent that it had become second nature.

I do remember years later, in adult hood, I had joined a bowling league. I didn’t know anyone there. People would come up to me and say things like, “you don’t talk much, huh?”. Or, “Do you talk?” I remember whispering something about being shy. No one attempted any more small talk with me. I was pretty much alone for the first year that I bowled there (or tried to bowl, anyway; my captain did talk to me – he yelled when I missed an easy shot, which was a lot).

I do think my years of staying silent, and covert, has shaped who I am today. I felt like I was living in a prison, with shame and guilt hanging as curtains over the windows. Not only couldn’t get out of that prison for so long, I also couldn’t see out the windows. I was trapped, and the only way out was for me to move the curtains aside and step through. It was a little more dramatic then that. Something helped me along the way. Those who know me know that getting fired from my job of 20 years (due to stuttering) certainly was the wake-up call I needed, and was looking for. That became one of the moments you hear people talk about, or read on the inside of a Hallmark card: That ordeal was really a blessing in disguise.

I have become a different person. Still struggling with demons, which I will occasionally write about here. (I think my willingness to write about childhood demons will be of use not just to me, but hopefully will inspire others to also confront the past and finally lay it to rest.) These days, I am much more willing to come out and stay out of the covert prison I stayed in for so long.

Writing is one of my strengths. It helps me give voice to the things I had once feared and kept hidden. The real “aha” moment will come when I can put them both together and write and talk comfortably about who I was, who I am, and who I want to be.

This is one of many of my original writings.
I never knew what to do with all this stuff.
I hope it means as much to you as it does to me.

Is anyone there?
Does anyone hear me?
Why don’t you respond?
Is anybody listening?
Am I talking to myself?
I felt like that for a long time

When I dared to talk
People looked away
Or walked away
That frustrated me
Frightened me
Imagine how that felt
Can you imagine that?
Has it ever happened to you?
You have no idea
You feel alone in the world.
Lonely, wordless, no voice.

I talked to myself a lot
Still do sometimes
I process what I say
Can I trust myself to say it?
When no one responds
You do what you must
You inside your head self-talk
I sometimes hear myself talking
On the outside
Wondering why no one answered.

My voice is rich
Isn’t it?
Not gravelly
Like some I hear
I always imagined people
Like you
Listening to my words and thoughts
What I had to say
The inside talk, the realness
I want to do that

Its not too late, is it?
Is anyone out there?
Do you hear me?
My voice is ready.