Make Room For The Stuttering

I remember attending a support group meeting for people who stutter, almost 3 years ago. It was one of the first ones I had attended. I was nervous and unsure of myself, and afraid. I was afraid to talk, to stutter, to admit I stutter, to share anything that might make my tenuous emotions spill over.

Yet, I wanted to be there. I had finally found a place where people understood what stuttering was all about, and what went on inside my head. You see, I spent a ton of time rehearsing what I was going to say, practicing it, saying it over and over, worrying about how it would come out, worrying about how it would sound. I tried to sound perfect when I spoke, or I just didn’t speak. Other people who stutter would understand that, get that, get me, and I would have a place. I had never been part of a group where I would totally fit in.

I did not actively participate in the group. I introduced myself and answered one question, but mostly just listened. I was trying to take it all in. Here was a group of about 15 people, all different ages, men and women, talking like me. Some were more severe, and some stuttered differently, but nonetheless, they talked like me. I was rejoicing in this -wow-there are other people, this will be OK, I will come back, I will let them in, and I will gradually share about me.

After the group, a woman came up to me. She asked me, “Why are you here?” I remember being somewhat shocked, not being sure exactly what she meant. She went on to say, “you don’t stutter – you don’t belong here”. She turned around and left, leaving me just standing there, not sure what to do or how to react. My eyes welled up and I felt the familiar sting of once again, not fitting in. Why had she said that? She stuttered differently than me -she had a pronounced hesitation before most words and some tension was evident. When I talked that night, I had substituted words and sounded very fluent, very smooth.

Maybe this woman felt I didn’t fit in because I didn’t outwardly stutter. I didn’t allow myself to stutter. But she burst my bubble. I left feeling I didn’t belong there, and that I had invaded their turf. I sensed she didn’t want me to come back.

When I went out to my car, I cried. I was so disappointed: in myself, for being afraid, for letting this woman get to me, for letting my tears almost show. I was also disappointed that something so close was still so far away. I didn’t think I was going to be able to go back. Maybe I didn’t belong there.

I obsessed over this for a while, and did not go back for two weeks. And I never told anyone that this had happened. But I did go back two weeks later, and I never saw that woman again. I eventually joined this group, and let my stutter out, and began working on stuttering openly. I felt accepted. One time a group member actually congratulated me when he heard me stutter openly for the first time.

I have since learned that people who try and hide their stutter sometimes feel caught between two worlds, not stuttering enough to fit in with the stutterers and stuttering too much to be considered “normal” (whatever normal is of course).

I don’t worry much about fitting in anymore. I belong where I am happy.

When I stutter, sometimes it is repetitions, or prolongations, or a pause or silence. I hear it, and sometimes still get momentarily embarrassed. I might squeeze one eye shut, or break eye contact, which I know I shouldn’t do, but that is my “shame habit” coming out to play.

I can tell how a listener hears it – reactions vary. A look of surprise flashes quickly, raised eye brow, silent question forming, silent struggle to remain patient and composed. Sometimes it is more blatant – a look away, or a smirk, or a full blown giggle. Then sometimes the incredulous voiced question – Are you OK? Are you just playing? Whats going on?

Does the world ever look inside me, to see the real me, past the stuttered moments, past the quick embarrassment, but to just see me. Pam, who is real, with feelings, aware of a different speech pattern, full of emotion – empathy, compassion, shame, fear – does the world see inside or does the world get stuck at what they heard or saw?

We should get into the habit of looking inside -that is where beauty and hope live. Being stuck is “outside stuck”, like your head being stuck in the circular cut-out of a big wooden fence, a fence meant to keep people out. We had one like that around our yard, to keep people out. Thing was, I always wanted them to come in, and look inside. They would have seen so much.

Once, I tried to fit my head in that circle and imagined getting stuck, much like I got stuck with words. I imagined that’s how it must look to the world, who only seeks to look at the outside, which is not the true picture. If you look inside, you see what I see – words swirling, ready to leap out and take their place outside, but kind of being processed first, in my inside place, where I double check if it is safe, much like I double checked that my head wouldn’t really get stuck in the fence opening. I guess lots of kids try that – it is irresistible to see if you can defy stuckness.

When you stutter, you experience stuckness from the inside, and only you can see that. By the time I’m unstuck, the world has gone on to something else outside and I am left with the fence.

I have always been afraid of my emotions. I used to keep them well buried, for when they spilled out, they were met with negative reactions. My father yelled when I cried, I wasn’t supposed to cry. As the oldest, it was my job to be strong, to keep everything together, even at 9 years old. My mother couldn’t do that, so I tried to most of the time.

I felt like crying a lot, and remember being slapped across the face by my father. Crying became associated with something bad. Crying became another thing I tried to hide, along with my stuttering. Being slapped like that was stunning sometimes, embarassing sometimes, hurt most of the time. Being a fair skinned child, my face would remain red for a while, and sometimes you could see the hand print on my face long after I had stopped crying.

I took to going downstairs in the basement under the stairs when I felt like I was going to cry. It was a muffled safe area, and the heater right there always made me feel warm. I never felt warm around my parents, especially my father. I felt afraid most of the time, and tense and on edge. It was like I never knew what was coming next.

Sadness and anger are the other emotions that I have always been afraid of. It seemed that even at 9 or 10 years old, I knew enough to pretend everything was ok, and not let my sadness or anger show. I had to keep up this pretense for the other kids, at school, around my father. He was in a much better mood when I never said anything, just took care of things, made sure he had his dinner and the kids weren’t making too much noise. I remember constantly “shushing” everyone, to keep quiet, so we wouldn’t wake up my mother who was always asleep on the couch. My father would eat his dinner in the living room on a tray table. I don’t remember what we did. When my mom was functional, she would heat up spaghettios from a can, and we would all eat out of the same pot. Sometimes it was ravioli, never was it what my father was eating in the other room.

As I grew older, the habit of stuffing emotions was long ingrained. I was a master stuffer, and as stiff and robotic as they came. No wonder emotions remained so feared – I had never learned how to deal with them, they stayed hidden, deep down. I had also never learned how to identify what they were when they did finally start seeping out later on as an adult, when I no longer had the nook under the stairs to run to, or the little heater that I could press up against and feel the warmth I had always been looking for.

Lots of things have been said about journeys. “Focus on the journey, not the destination”.
“In the end, it is the journey that matters “. “A journey to no where still starts with a single step”. All insightful, meaningful thoughts. Each of them could actually apply to aspects of our lives, my life, and my journey.

I recently read a powerful new book, “The Hour I First Believed”, by Wally Lamb. One of the characters makes this comment about journeys: “The seeker embarks on a journey to find what he wants and discovers, along the way, what he needs”.

That really resonated with me. Made me think, helped me put into words things I have recently been feeling about my own journey through life. We all seek meaning; try to make sense of the things that happen to us – both the big things and the little things. Perhaps I take things too seriously. I am a thinker; always have been. I think about things like karma, hope, destiny, purpose. I have often wondered what it is I seek, and how will I know when I have found it. I have been waiting for this mysterious insight to come crashing down and magically let me know that I have found the answer.

I had been doing that – trying to discover what it is that will make “everything all right with my world”, and haven’t really even paid attention to the fact, that along the way, I have already found what I need. Reading that statement in the book caused me to do what I have done a lot over the last several years –stop what I was doing, grab my journal, and write down my thoughts at that very moment. Sometimes I even do that in the middle of the night. I no longer think it’s crazy. It’s just my way to put voice to my thoughts.

What I have needed is to become myself. My true self, that which is emotional and sensitive, and vulnerable and imperfect. There is nothing wrong with that. For so many years, I was trying to pretend to be something that everyone else wanted me to be. That person kept parts of herself hidden because she didn’t feel they were good enough, or that she would be laughed at, or not liked. She kept her distance, didn’t let people in, and was always on guard in case her emotions seeped out. She never dared to reveal her true emotions. Fear held her back.

Embracing all of the “pieces of me” that make me “ME” – my feelings, my values, my stuttering, and my real desire to connect with others – is what I have needed all along. That is what I have discovered. I was looking for things that were already there. I just couldn’t see them, because I had buried them so deeply.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I still have secrets, and I still have fears. We all do. That’s what makes us human. But I can admit that, and that’s OK. Life is still a journey, and there will continue to be those insightful quotes to remind us of that. It is so much more joyful to embrace these discoveries, rather than discard them and keep searching for something better.

Could it be there really is such a thing as buried treasure?

I received a great thank you letter today from the International Association of Administrative Professionals. I scanned it in, and was going to post it as a jpg, but it has addresses on it, so I will just summarize it. This was a pretty cool way to raise awareness about stuttering, and that was not even my intention. I was asked to speak as a Toastmaster.

It also reminds me of something someone told me almost 3 years ago, that has stayed with me. I have repeated it often, to myself, and to anyone who will listen. “When a person finds their voice, they take on grace”. I have found my voice. I am graceful.

This is the gist of the letter:

Dear Pam,

Thank you again for the informative, interesting and interactive presentation on February 17th.

Your topic, “Communicating Beyond Words: Public Speaking Tips for the Business World” was both timely and relevant.

As you noted, the audience was attentive, responsive and engaged. We admired how you turned a liability into an asset and have continously utilized that experience to raise public awareness about the perception and stigma associated with stuttering.

We appreciate you sharing your time, knowledge, story and “grace” with our group.

Best wishes for your continued confident speaking success.

“It Is What It Is”
I have said these five words to myself many times, both silently and out loud. “It Is What It Is.” Sometimes, I have said it out loud just to hear how it sounds. Sometimes, I have said it aloud to someone else, thinking I was reassuring or comforting them. I have said it to remind myself that, try as I might, I cannot control everything. Some things are out of my control, and I have to recognize that and just let it go. It is not healthy to hold on to things not in my control. Sort of like the serenity prayer. It’s important to know the difference. I am certainly guilty of holding on too long.

Letting go is a process – it takes time. Just like change takes time – and is also a process.

Funny thing about change – it doesn’t just happen to one person. The other person is affected as well, even if it’s only a byproduct. And when one person grows and changes and the other doesn’t, another change happens. The relationship itself changes, and not always for the better. Thus, my use of the expression “it is what it is”.

When I kept my stuttering hidden for so long, I “was” a certain way. I fell into a pattern, holding on to habits, some of them bad. I didn’t realize it at the time. Some of those habits protected me, or so I thought. People got used to quiet Pam, who avoided certain situations, deferring to others to make choices for me. I was almost invisible sometimes.

But as circumstances in my life changed, I was confronted with an inevitable choice. Stay the same and stay stuck, or venture out of my little box, take risks and see what life had to offer. I chose to see what life offered when I was in charge. I began to make decisions that were good for Pam, without feeling guilt. (Well, in most areas anyway- I have many thoughts to share on guilt as well).

I began to trust that it was in my best interest to engage with the world, offer my gifts and have some control over my evolution as a person. I discovered I had always let life just happen and then found myself picking up the pieces when things went bad. I never put myself first. It was more fulfilling to be part of a world that I was contributing to. I had more control, and felt ownership over both the good and bad. I was becoming strong, confident, and on my way.

But as I grew and changed, it became noticeable that my partner was not at all rejoicing. Rather, it appeared he resented this “new me”. He started criticizing my involvement in new activities, and would say negative things when I talked about my involvement in those things and how excited I was to be experiencing this stuff for the first time.

He asked me to stay home and skip things I wanted to do, and would try to guilt me. When I tried to tell him how I felt, he told me he didn’t want to hear it, made it seem like my feelings weren’t important. He clearly did not like the idea of “Pam putting Pam first”. I could tell. He yelled a lot, or gave me the silent treatment. Tension became more commonplace, as change happened. Trouble was, I was relishing the change, feeling it warmly envelope me. I recognized that it was a needed change, a change for the better. My betterment.

It seemed like each step I took forward, he was trying to pull me back. I tried to reassure him that change and growth is part of life. I wasn’t leaving him behind, but invited him to come forward with me. He doesn’t want to go. He wants things to stay the same. He has made this clear in his words and actions. He has always had a need to be in control and in charge. And I have decided that I don’t want to live like that anymore.

I am no longer in hiding, afraid to show my true self to the world. He can’t control me the way he used to, the way I allowed him to. I am making choices now. That is a big change for him, for both of us, for our relationship. Our relationship is not the same as it was when I was afraid to show my emotions and stuttering. It has changed. I have changed. I have evolved. We have decisions to make – I have decisions to make. We may not agree on the decisions that are ultimately made. We will face even more change. This much I know is true: change doesn’t only happen to one person.

I wrote this letter on March 15, 2008

It seems odd to be addressing you when I spent most of my life trying to deny you even exist. And that’s the key, trying to deny you, because you have always been there. You couldn’t be denied, could you? You always turned up, at the most inopportune times. Every time I thought it was safe, and I had the world fooled, you would come storming in, like a tornado, blowing up my spot, making sure your presence was known.

You made me so angry when you did that. I wanted to fit in with everyone else, and you made it your business to make sure I didn’t. I was different. Everyone knew it. You made sure the only way I could keep you at bay was to stay quiet. So that’s what I did –at school, at home, in college, at work. I did what I needed to do to protect myself. I didn’t want to be made fun of, and you didn’t do anything to help me when the kids did. It became easier and easier for me to hide you.

But funny thing, not only was I angry, I was sad too. Did you know that? I always had so much I wanted to say, but you wouldn’t let me. You made me feel as if I wasn’t worthy, as if I didn’t deserve to speak up, that no one would want to hear what I had to say.

I bet you didn’t realize you had such power, huh? Yeah, you held that amazing power over me, for a very long time. Because of you, I had a hard time making friends and hardly ever went out anywhere. I felt alone most of the time, especially with all of the other stuff going on at home. I think you were very tied up in some of that stuff too; you seemed to show up more when things were really bad.

Stuttering, it was because of you that I really started taking things too seriously. I figured if I couldn’t speak well, that I would have to be perfect at other things in order to be noticed. I wanted people to notice me, to say “Wow”, but it never happened when I was a kid. That was your fault. So as an adult, I started trying harder and harder at everything I did, always trying to find that elusive happiness, always striving to do just that much better than the next guy, but it didn’t work. Trying to be a perfectionist was hard work. The more I denied you, the more you were just there, screaming at me that you would not be denied.

You began to toy with my insides more as an adult, as if always whispering to me, “Hah”, I still control you, what are you going to do now? You were no longer just making me angry and sad, you were making me depressed, and sick and tired of living a lie. I wanted to be true to myself.

You actually started helping me, finally, before the real rock bottom moment, and I suppose I really should thank you, for making me so damn uncomfortable that I had to do something or my insides would bust. You weren’t staying hidden anymore, and I had to make a choice. I think I made the right one.

Don’t get me wrong – some days I wish we had never met, but most of the time, I think we’re doing a pretty good job co-existing. I know you’re here, and I don’t fight with you so much. I let you have your say, right? You’re kind of giving me a different sort of power, and that’s pretty amazing.

I now have the Power of Me, and I am in control.

I never thought I would say this, Stuttering, but there’s room for both of us. Just try not to be so blustery, ok? We don’t have to be the tornado in the room anymore. We can just Be!

I get very angry with myself when someone teases or mocks my stuttering and I don’t do anything about it. Like a couple of weeks ago when I stopped at the deli counter to order some american cheese.

I was stuttering really well that day, and had trouble saying the brand of cheese that I wanted. Both guys behind the counter showed reaction – one guy smirked at me, you know the kind of look I mean. Usually, I can blow that off. The other guy said something like “if I couldn’t say american cheese right, then I would have to buy chicken wings”. I was so stunned by this stupid comment that I felt momentarily brain-locked. I think the stunned look washed across my face, because the other guy looked embarassed for me.

The guy who commented then had the nerve to say, “Come on – stop playing. Whoever heard of someone not being able to say what kind of cheese they wanted”.

The smirk guy, looking contrite, asked me politely to confirm my order, and I got it out, and he quickly got my order for me. I did not set either of these guys straight – I just walked away.
I was so upset with myself for acting like a hypocrite and just letting this guy humiliate me the way he did. But I did not want to make a scene. There were a couple of people behind me in line, and I just did not have the energy to draw more attention to the moment.

After all, it was just a moment, a stuttering moment, one of many I have had. Why did it bother me so much? Because it caught me off guard, because you don’t just don’t expect adults to make fun of someone, because I hope for better.

The truth of the matter is that stuttering sometimes hi-jacks us emotionally, leaves us feeling paralyzed and unable to react in the moment. And the further truth is that I don’t always want to have to educate or correct somebody about my stuttering.

This is one of the reasons stuttering is as complex as it is – the emotions under the surface that sometimes come out of nowhere and blindside us. I am not superwoman – it can’t be about stuttering all of the time. Sometimes it just has to be about Land-O-Lakes American Cheese.

I am one of those people who read obituaries. I have always been interested in learning how people are described and remembered after their death. Some obituary notices are so short you have to wonder, did that person do anything note-worthy in their life. Or did that person just not have anyone who cared enough to write a brief history of their life? I wonder who will know me well enough to write my obituary.

I remember once facilitating an obituary exercise with young people when I was doing group counseling. I asked the young women to think about their lives and what they would want between the “hash marks” of their birth date and death date. It was a tough exercise! The young girls had never thought of how they would want to be remembered by friends and family. It gave us a reason to talk about some of the things they wouldn’t want to be remembered for. That was easy! They didn’t want to be remembered for causing trouble, fighting, gang activity and stealing, using drugs. But they couldn’t think that far into the future to imagine other possibilities.

To me that was very sad. Maybe that was the reason some people’s obituaries were so short. They had spent so much time doing things they would regret, that they never got around to doing the things that would make them and their families proud. I made the girls stick with this exercise, and soon they were coming up with things that they would like to accomplish in their lives, which then they could be proud of. And then they would have good memories. The girls came up with things like going to college, having children, helping others, saving animals, donating money to charities.

This exercise in writing an obituary actually helped us to focus on the good things we wanted out of life. It also helped the girls focus on the need to make things happen, instead of just waiting for things to happen to them. For many of these girls, it was the first time they had thought of life in these terms. They realized they had some control over how their lives could be lived and how they would be remembered by loved ones.

This exercise also helped me think of my life and my legacy. I remember sharing with the girls that I would want to be remembered for making a difference, for helping others, to have made positive change in my community.

Now, almost 10 years later, I wonder how those girls are doing and if they have made strides towards their life’s legacy. And I reflect on my own life, and feel pretty good about what I am doing. Part of my legacy is having the courage to think outside the box and ask people to explore ideas that they might not ordinarily do on their own. How many 16 year old girls would have engaged in an exercise to write their obituary while they are still living? What kid thinks about that? I hope something in their life triggers them to think back on that time where we explored how we want to be remembered.

I shared this with teachers I now work with, and one of my colleagues tried this same exercise with her students. She had amazingly good results, and came to share that with me. Maybe that’s how I will be remembered! That wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Last night, I had the opportunity to talk to a group of business professionals about public speaking tips for the business world. I had an hour long talk planned, and was eager to do well and make a good impression. But mostly, I wanted to communicate effectively and present myself as someone simply sharing information from my truest self.

I remember when I was asked to give this presentation thinking, when they realize I stutter, will they still want me to talk about communication and speaking opportunties? My worry was unfounded. I was direct and upfront about my stuttering being part of me during our initial phone meeting, and the fact that I stutter seemed really to emphasize the whole point of what communication is really all about.

Its not about being perfectly fluent. Its about the message we convey, with our words, our body language, our voice, our tone and our presence. Everybody can benefit from learning about that, whether they happen to stutter or not. My Toastmasters training and experience gave me the confidence and competence to deliver a sound message to an interested group. The group was diverse – some were retired, some were just starting out their careers, some were comfortable speakers, some were non-native English speakers. Three people came up to me after the talk to inquire about additional information on how to visit a Toastmasters club.

This was a really positive experience for me. I acknowledged my stuttering, but did not make it the focal point of the talk. Rather, I drew examples where I allowed my fear and worries to limit my engagement with the world. Once past that, I see a whole new world and that is what I shared with this group.

Sure, I stuttered some during the 52 minutes I spoke. It did not detract from my message. It did not distract the audience. Most importantly, it did not bother me. I did not get flustered or stop. I simply allowed for the stuttering, comfortably, and moved on. And left the audince with something to think about and talk about.

You see a lot of the human condition while spending time at a hospital. There are always people milling around, at all hours of the day and night. It is a place where you can see the whole gamut of human emotion, just by observing people. You see sorrow, grief, anger, happiness, joy and fear. You see novices to the hospital scene and you see sadly familiar faces, those who have been there and done that.

I have spent a lot of time in emergency rooms and hospitals, accompanying my partner, who is chronically ill. Hospital visits are becoming an unfortunate routine, as his health declines. The emotional part doesn’t get any easier, despite being almost regulars.

Last weekend, we went to the Emergency Room, for what became the start of another 10 day hospital admission. The ER was typically hectic for a Friday night. Hospital people are easily identifiable. Even if they are not clinical staff, most employees wear scrubs and ID tags, and soft soled shoes. You don’t always hear them coming up from behind with their soft shoes, particularly if you are lost in thought. That has happened to me more than once. I have been startled by someone seemingly just appearing out of thin air.

Family members are easy to identify as well. Spouses and parents have haunted expressions. You can see the weight of the world on the shoulders of people worrying about loved ones. Sometimes you see fear and resignation, particularly in the eyes. I have often found myself thinking I am intruding in another’s emotional landscape when we find ourselves sharing waiting space.

I remember sitting in the ER last weekend and seeing a woman sitting with a man, who I assumed was her husband. This woman looked so sad. It was in her eyes. She was knitting and murmuring to herself and to the man. I could not hear what she was saying, but I imagined they were gentle, comforting words. When nurses came to talk with her, she stopped knitting momentarily and her eyes filled with hope, as if good news was possible. Then she would go back to her knitting and self-talk.

She learned a lot about me that evening too, though we did not share a conversation. Hospital camaraderie seems a universal force. I was reading a book, for I have learned that it can be a very long wait in the ER until a bed opens up somewhere in the hospital. I have done this many times- read, gaze, wonder, hope, and breathe. I remember to breathe.

This night I seemed more composed than usual. However, when a financial counselor came to talk to me, my dam burst and the tears came. The counselor took one look at me and apologized profusely, and gave me a hug. I could tell it was genuine, and as she pulled away from me, as I still sobbed, she had such a patient, understanding look. I knew I had as much time as I needed to collect myself to finish the difficult conversation we needed to have.

She discreetly steered me behind a curtain and we finished our talk in relative privacy. Other people walked by, looking curiously respectful and discrete, again, signs of that universal hospital language.

When I stepped back over to the curtained area where my partner was, it was time to go upstairs. He was sick enough this time that we didn’t have the usual hours-long wait. As I followed his gurney to the elevator, I noticed the woman across the way gazing over at me, with such a look of compassion and empathy. In that split second, our eyes locked, and we spoke volumes to each other, without saying a word. Then she mouthed “good luck” as I walked away and she went back to her knitting.

You can learn a lot about other human beings just by paying attention to what is not said.

This is an article I had published in Advance Magazine, as a guest editorial, on 9.8.08.

Having lived most of my adult life as a covert stutterer, I finally came out of the stuttering closet two years ago. I am now working on acceptance and living an authentic life as a person who stutters.

My experience at the Friends Conference in July was eye-opening on many levels.
I had heard about Friends: The National Association of Young People Who Stutter from Joe Klein, PhD, assistant professor in the Communication Sciences and Disorders Department at the College of St. Rose, in Albany, NY, and had met co-founder Lee Caggiano during a weekend workshop for people who stutter. Lee had asked if she could use a poem I had written at the Friends Conference. I decided to read it myself, and thus began my journey to New Orleans.

I wondered if I would fit in with the young people and their parents that I was to meet at the conference. My question was answered right away. Two parents introduced themselves and expressed how happy they were to have adults who stutter join this special weekend. It quickly became apparent to me that parents viewed adults who stutter as hope-hope that their kids would grow up to be successful, have fulfilling lives, and do all the normal things we do, from dating and going to college to having families and maintaining good jobs.

I participated in many workshops with parents, and for the first time I shared things I wish I could have shared with my own parents when growing up. I wish I had told my dad at least once that it really hurt me to think he was ashamed of me. And I really wish my family had talked about stuttering. We never did. It was one of those taboo subjects, like my mom’s alcoholism. We never talked about my mom’s drinking. As the oldest, I basically covered for her most of the time. I’m sure I borrowed those same camouflage tactics when it came to covering up my stuttering.

When I shared these thoughts with the parents, they weren’t shocked as I feared they might be. Rather, they were understanding and grateful that they openly talked about stuttering with their kids. It was strangely freeing for me to be able to do this, almost as if sharing this with some parents was like sharing it with my parents.

I learned how important it was for the parents to have adults who stutter be at the conference. Before finding Friends and self-help, some parents carried the internal fears that their kids would be doomed to difficult lives, having to always settle for less than they deserved. Seeing adults who were happy, content, and working in jobs of their own choosing was like seeing into the crystal ball of their kid’s future, and it was no longer so murky.

The crucial eye-opening moment for me came during the wrap-up session, which was facilitated by Tricia Zebrowski, PhD, CCC-SLP, BRS-FD, associate professor in the Department of Communication Sciences & Disorders at the University of Iowa.

She asked us to reflect and comment on two questions: What do we need to know, and what do we believe?

I raised my hand and said, “I now believe that my stuttering serves a purpose. Finally, after all these years of hiding, shame and fear, I believe that my experience means something, and that I am supposed to share my experience with others.”

As I said this, I felt an amazing sense of peace wash over me. I don’t know where that came from, but it felt right. And judging by the looks and head nods I saw, it was right.

I am a spiritual being. I want to be connected to other people, and feel the warmth and depth of those connections. I experience this warmth and depth most when I freely give of myself, no strings attached. My authentic self expresses what is in my heart and soul to another person. How wonderful it is when the other person feels free to do the same. It is in that moment that the connection is forged. What a joyful experience! It is spiritual!

I have not always been aware of my spiritual identity. For a longtime, I denied it even existed. Like many people, I equated spirituality with religion and going to church. Because I have not gone to church in years, I felt like I was not entitled to the spirituality that surely exists in all of us. Mine was there, trying to reveal itself, and it did when I let down my guard and chose to be genuine with the people in my world. At first, I did not recognize what was happening as spirituality. But as I did, and took it in, my world got bigger. People were more drawn to me, and it dawned on me that it was simply because I was letting them in, and being the real me that sometimes I was afraid to show the world.

I have always been hesitant to show true emotion and allow myself to be vulnerable with others. But as I gradually risked letting my true self emerge, I found that the connections with others that I longed for were right there for the taking. There was no magic involved at all, as I had once thought. Rather, it was just a simple matter of integrity – showing love and concern for another person, being present with them, showing true emotion when they did, instead of closing up out of fear of appearing weak. Haven’t we all done that from time to time?

I am much more aware of how I am feeling when I am with important people in my life. Sometimes just being with them moves me to tears, and I allow it to happen, instead of pushing it back down, fearful that I will be perceived as weak. When the emotions well up, and I can share that with another person, that is special. It is these moments when I recognize that it is the richness of relationships, and intimate moments we share, that draw people together. That to me is spirituality. It is being alive with self and another person. It is being honest and giving, and taking the gifts offered by another.

We can be spiritual anywhere. I find my spiritual connections with my friends, in the workplace, at home and when I am with myself, at peace with me and what I contribute to the world. This feeling of spiritual peace is warm and true and makes me complete.

This was a post I made to the covert-S email group about six months ago.

I wanted to share a cool experience I had this week. I work in a high school, and we have many different programs. I am officially assigned to work with Career Tech programs and students, but I do what I can with special need students, as needed. One of the special need teachers heard I was making my way around the building to all of the career classes doing workshops on workplace behavior & sexual harassment prevention. She asked me if I would address her class.I arranged to do it Tuesday afternoon.

There were 8 kids in class, and to say they were climbing the walls would have been an understatement. All of them have ADHD, in addition to other learning challenges. One kid – 16 yrs old – was lying across 3 tables, with his head resting on a piece of tree trunk that they were trying to study. He refused to get up. The teacher was noticeably upset, punchy, and downright loopy. I felt really apprehensive about trying to teach sexual harassment to these guys.

I overheard them casually making fun of each other, as if they did it all the time. The teacher was having a hard time trying to reign them in. I started trying to get their attention, and got all but the one lying on the table to come over and sit at the round table. I began casually chatting with them, asking them about their day, what they had been doing in class earlier, etc.

They started warming up to me, when they saw I was just kind of rapping with them.I started to switch gears and talk about harassment, bullying and teasing, and asked if it had ever happened to them. One or two started talking about being teased in this very school. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the teacher was relaxing, and “table boy” was listening while trying to pretend he really wasn’t. After a few minutes, we just started talking about being teased and how it feels. Table boy came over and joined us.

At that moment, I decided to tell them about my stuttering, and how I was teased as a kid, and sometimes still get teased as an adult, They were all paying attention, listening and making eye contact, which, with ADHD kids, is not always easy to do. I told them how it feels to be laughed at, and some of the things I do when someone laughs at me, like telling people to stop, it hurts my feelings. For 10 minutes, you could have heard a pin drop – they were listening. No one asked me any questions about stuttering, but no one laughed or giggled, they just listened. We never got to talk about sexual harassment. I will save that lesson for another day. The teacher was able to get on with her science lesson after I was finished.

She mouthed a thank-you to me as I left. I felt really good about doing this.

These are two responses I got from readers on the covert list!

Congratulations, Pam! Once again you demonstrated how good you are with young people and how you used your stuttering to reach out and connect with them. I, for one, would never have known what to do (I’d be likethat teacher!), but you were able to connect with them and reach them in away that others could not. I think your approach of getting to know them and making them feel comfortable with you will go a long way toward beingable to teach them the information you were supposed to give them on that first visit.I have a friend who teaches high-school students and he uses the scar on his wrist from an attempted suicide a long time ago to show students he understands their struggles (he’s fine now). Anything we can do to connect can help!

Pam, This is really great. People really do listen when we talk about how it feels. You’re brave to bring so much of your personal story into the dialog, but that’s what touches people the most.
As a college teacher, I encourage students to bring their personal life experiences into anthropology by modeling that myself—and one way is to talk about my covert (mostly) stutter and how I feel in social situations. I’ve found I have to be clear about WHY I’m telling my story—not so I can feel heard by somebody, not so I can vent my frustrations, but so that they can understand a very different experience from their own and take lessons from it into their lives. It’s for them, not for me. It sounds like you do that too.
I’ve hardly posted to this listserv, but your account really touched me .

Fear of rejection
Fear of being hurt
Fear of being laughed at

Fear of blocking
Fear of embarassement
Fear of having to stand up for self

Fear of being misunderstood
Fear of being disrespected
Fear of being dismissed

Fear of not keeping up
Fear of tensing up
Fear of being mocked

Fear of the world
Fear of not fitting in
Fear of talking
Fear of being silent

Fear of myself