Make Room For The Stuttering

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.