Make Room For The Stuttering

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

Last night, my brother called and we talked, which is a rare occurence for us. He filled me in on things going on with him, and likewise with me. We talked a little about how neither of us made any effort to see our father over the recent holidays. It seems past hurts, no matter how old, are still so easy to hold onto. I was surprised with this discussion, as my brother and I rarely talk about anything too deep.

He mentioned that he had read a recent article that I wrote for my Toastmasters newsletter and that I sent to him to read. I never thouoght he would. He did, and commented on it to me. He told me he thinks its so cool that I have the courage to talk about stuttering so openly and put it out there for all the world to see. That was huge for my brother – we had never talked about it. It was definitley taboo for us. That’s why I sent him the article. I figured his wife would cajole him into reading it. Luckily, she did.

He also shared with me that he always felt it wasn’t fair that so much was heaped on my plate as a kid. He knew I was care giver and baby-sitter for so many years, and was robbed of childhood. For him to acknowledge that after so many years is pretty awesome. Maybe we are on the verge of a break through and will venture into new uncharted territory for us. Or maybe he just wanted to talk about things that are on his mind.

It is often most difficult to talk to those closest to us. Siblings have a bond, but it is often that same bond that keeps us at arm’s length. He has a birthday coming up – maybe he is becoming introspective in his old age, much like myself, with all this writing.

I never thought I would have a discussion about stuttering, however remote, with my brother.
Here’s hoping it happens again!

This is a piece I wrote almost a year ago. Its about change, and my fear that no one like the me I am becoming. This was one of those pieces that wrote itself. I didn’t think about it as the pen moved – the words just flowed, and I was left with this powerful piece that really spoke to me.

What if I don’t like the person I become?
What if I don’t like what’s left after all the layers are gone?
What if other people don’t like what is left of me?
Will I be even lonelier then?
Will I cry as much?
Will anyone else cry for me?
Will it hurt to peel the layers off?
What if there is nothing left of me that I have become used to?
What then? Will it be too late for me?

I want to be real, but what will that do to me?
I ask myself, how can it possibly get any worse.

The layers protect me. Can I protect myself?
Can I really do this?
I want to, but I am scared.
How will it feel? Will I feel?

Who will look back at me in the glass?
Will I be happy with my true self?
What will she sound like?
Will my true self have a soothing voice that others want to hear?
What will she look like?
Will she smile more?
Will I want to be with my true self?
Will I be happy being with my true self?
Because sometimes I am not happy being with myself now.
I find lots of things to do to avoid being with myself.

I don’t belief in my Self.
Will Self believe in me?
I want to press on and find out, but I am scared.
Why am I so scared?
Is it fear of what I will find?
What if there is no richness?
What if there is no one?
Will I find a kind soul, or is it too late?
Will I know what to do?
Will I know when I get there?
Will there be a “we”?
Who will I share my true self with?
I want to share her with someone.
Will anybody be there when I arrive?
Who will be waiting for her?

This is another one of my poems. It speaks to my struggles.

When it rises up, I try fiercely to push it down.
Sometimes it comes with no warning, and washes over me like the tide crashing against jagged rocks, much like the jagged edges of my heart.
Other times, I feel the slightest trickle of warning, and I can quell it before it grips and takes hold.
When it surprises me like that and rises up, it overpowers me, bit-by-bit,, until I gasp under its weight.
It is then I fight the hardest; willing every part of me to stand guard, not succumb.
But it does not hold back, starts in my stomach, and rises, causing me to writhe, wincing, squeezing my eyes tight, willing, pushing, an inner battle ensues, sometimes in my head, mostly in my heart.
For I can’t hide when it happens. My eyes well, my face flames, my heart races, my voice fails, I cannot put into words what swirls in my head.
It has no name, no identity, but it has life. A life of it own. I tried to name it, but failed.
When it comes, it mocks me.
I cannot fight back. It saps me. It ties my tongue, locks my throat, leaves me breathless, fearful, for I do not know from where it comes or why it chooses the moments it does to show up, to weaken me. I am left vulnerable, keening, afraid of its strength.
Even in my dreams, it has power, reduces me, lessens me. Sometimes I feel I don’t belong anywhere, like caught in-between worlds.
Sometimes I think about how strange it is that the smallest moments give it life, its power.
When I am moved by someone else, my eyes well right away, and a piece of me is pushed down, and it moves in on me, and my memories.
I dream about being chased, and I remember nothing but broke off words.
I give up like I often do.
When the hot tears come, my cheek burns and a momentary stain is left, which when asked I deny with ease.
It can come even when I think I am happy and pulls me back, and I remember. Sometimes when I am alone, reflecting, the heat of the tears comes first, before the wet, surprising me, no warning. Just there. Sometimes I feel as if I am nowhere, with the road leading to a place I cannot see, cannot name, cannot voice.
Being numb is good, for I am safe, but not for long. Oddly, I almost seem willing to let it in, because it brings human-ness. But that scares me; it is a nowhere place, for it has no name. It is far, far away.
At least when it creeps in, I feel. And sometimes all I really want is to be felt, and held, and told “you are good”, and have someone be proud of me. Is that so hard?
It is then it comes pouring over me, awash with vengeance, reminding me it is not so.
And the fight ensues again, until I give in, and it takes over, the tide crashing again and again over my weakest parts, pulling on my heart, laughing, mocking, reminding me of what I only know.
It has such power.

This is a poem I wrote last year. I posted it on my writing site, Helium, but really haven’t shared it with anyone. It has a double meaning for me. I hope you like it.

The chains were tight for so long
Every time I struggled to loosen them
They got tighter.
I was shackled
Always dreaming how it would feel
To be free
Sometimes the chains would dig so deep
And bruise me
I would cry
Silent tears
Sometimes there were scars
But mostly scars you couldn’t see
The chains tightened
When I spoke, or didn’t
Mostly didn’t – and they choked me
It took a long time to remove the chains
Sometimes I still feel the indent
And see the faint bruises
As my skin, and me, is sensitive
Do you know what they look like?
Have you ever felt the chains?
They aren’t what you think they are
They are heavy, like a weight
I felt them, always
Cutting, digging, biting, causing
My hands and throat to clench tight
I couldn’t use my hands or throat to talk
The chains held me back, pulled me taut
Kept my mind locked
And my heart closed
And kept me from what I wanted
When they finally came off, I felt lighter
Floating, free, unleashed
These were no regular chains
They were chains of shame
And thankfully
They’re gone.
Can you tell?

I an adult who stutters who kept it hidden or covert for years, because I was afraid of how people would respond or react to me. Because of my fears and shame, I missed out on a lot! I finally had enough about 3 years ago, and have slowly worked towards being more open and allowing myself to stutter freely. It has been a wonderful journey, with the usual bumps and turns.

I have been writing on and off for the past several years, and finally decided to organize my stuff and make it available for others to read. This was something I wrote shortly realizing how helpful therapy has been for me as an adult. I had speech therapy for one year as a kid when I was in third grade. I do not recall it being particularly useful.

• Person –centered therapy: the clinician sees me as a person first, and not just a source of data collection.
• Acceptance: the clinician makes it clear that stuttering is OK, and is as comfortable letting me stutter, and listening to me stutter as she is with teaching fluency shaping or stuttering modification techniques.
• My clinician and I work together to come up with goals that are meaningful to my life. The things that we work on have relevance to my life, such as workplace presentations, interpersonal communication, reducing anxiety.
• My clinician will not ask me to do anything she herself is not comfortable doing. For example, when we worked on voluntary stuttering, the best clinician did it with me, even when she felt really weird doing it, so she got a good sense of how it feels to really stutter.
• My clinician and I recognize that life is a work in progress. Sometimes a therapy may change, or something may come up that becomes more of a priority. That is ok. I should be getting out of therapy exactly what I need.
• My clinician looks for opportunities that will help me push outside of my comfort zone.
  I look for innovative ways to engage in therapy and my clinician goes along with it. For example, I have recorded presentations I have done at work and we have reviewed them together to come up with ideas as to what I might want to work on next time. My clinicians have also listened to pod casts I have done and looked at my You Tubes.
• I need to work with a clinician who is comfortable with stuttering and is not afraid of it. That is the most important thing to me—you can get a sense of how the therapeutic relationship will go based on clinician’s comfort level.

Sometimes when you least expect it, someone will say something about your stuttering that has a real impact. And it can have the most impact when it comes from someone who doesn’t stutter.

I had a conversation with a very good friend, someone with whom I feel very comfortable sharing the “real me” and don’t hold anything back. We were talking about communication and I was sharing with him about a big presentation that I have coming up.

He asked me if I set “being fluent” as one of my goals when I speak. I told him. “No, I set out to communicate effectively. ” He went on to say that he really respects the fact that I speak openly with him, and stutter comfortably with him, with no shame.

That really struck me, that one, I do that, and two, that he felt comfortable enough with me to say that. But then he said something that really made an impact. He said, “You make room for the stuttering”. I asked him what he meant, and he went on to say that when I speak, “your stuttering is framed by so much else more, that your whole package is smooth and easy. I don’t hear you stutter, although its there—what I hear is your message”.

I felt so good after that discussion, and proud that we are comfortable enough with each other that we can honestly discuss stuff like this. I asked my friend another question: “What does my stuttering sound like to you?” And he responded that he doesn’t know—he can’t really answer that, as he hears me, not my stuttering.

This conversation between friends really spoke to me. Its not about being fluent, its not about stuttering, its about being a good communicator and being honest with yourself and the people you care about. Its about the “A” word.Being authentic with who you are allows for the authentic relationships with others in your life.