Make Room For The Stuttering

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.

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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.

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!