A letter to stutterers, from another stutterer

A letter to stutterers, from another stutterer This is going to be a bit long and a lot cheesy but I wanted to share a few things with anyone who stutters and this is as good a place as any. I’ve been a lurker in this sub for a little while now. Hopefully it gives a couple of you some hope. Also remember that this is just my experience, and many of you will have different perspectives or opinions on it. I’m also not a speech therapist, so can't claim to know what a stutter is or how to treat it. :) *Content warning: a couple descriptions about the calls police go on.* I had a stutter when I was very young, maybe till I was 8 or 9. At this point I outgrew it. I was self-conscious about it, sure, but it wasn’t a big part of me and I lived my life the way I wanted to without much thought; I played hockey, had many friends, participated in school and in class, all the while stuttering here and there but without the self-judgement and self-criticism that seeps into our psyche as we age. I lived my adolescence stutter free, not identifying as someone with a stutter and believing it was in my past and no longer a part of who I was. I used to tell friends about it (with a tone of derision that I now realize was largely because of shame), like it was a fun fact; an interesting piece of trivia about the person they knew, a part of who I used to be, not who I am now and how glad I was that it was over. A few months ago, it came back. It sucked. I think it was stress. I was in the middle of my first real heartbreak, had suffered multiple losses in one day, was struggling to maintain contact with the only parent I have, was on the verge of financial crisis… the list goes on. It was pure overwhelm and my brain and nervous system had had enough. The moment it hit, I was sitting in the chair at my hairdressers. I was feeling inexplicably and inescapably anxious, and was in the midst of trying to tell her about a documentary I’d seen on Netflix. “It’s about this guy who pushed his wife down the stairs and killed her. Or that’s the theory, lots of people don’t buy it and there’s a lot of —“. Silence. I couldn’t get the word “debate” out. My heart started pounding, my cheeks went flush; I wanted to escape my body and that moment and that room and the new reality that I was being confronted with. What the hell was that? Why did that happen? Was that a stutter? Oh god, is it back? Will it happen AGAIN!? I cleared my throat, squeezed the word out, and to an outside observer, carried on the conversation normally. In reality, I could feel my eyes well up with tears and my stomach tighten with the sadness and dread at what I feared this might all mean. Wondering if this would be another addition to my already-overwhelming list. The next few weeks sucked. I withdrew. I stumbled around conversations at work and with friends. I work at Starbucks, so “not talking” is not an option. My heartbreak felt worse. Who could ever love this? I was filled with doubt and regret. It impacted everything; I was afraid to go to the grocery store and order meat at the deli counter, I didn’t want to talk to the bus driver, I was terrified to be approached on the street. I felt trapped in my job because there’s no way I could ever face a job interview. My world felt smaller and smaller with every interaction and every day. It was intolerable. I grew up in and out of homelessness and abuse as a child, and in my mid-twenties I am now just starting to gain a sense of normalcy and stability. At the time, it felt like this stutter was robbing me of all the hard work I’d put in to get myself to where I am today; it was eating away at the sense of freedom and empowerment that I had fought tooth and nail to win back. Then I got a new job. I’d interviewed for it months before but never heard anything more. I was scared senseless. It was at the police department. I live in a big city in western Canada, and it’s quite a well-respected place to work. My first big-kid job. I was going to be the assistant to one of the high ranking officers in one of the busiest and most intense sections in the building, which means: lots of answering phones, lots of introducing myself, lots of talking to other high ranking officers, lots of explaining what I do—in other words, lots of situations where I can’t substitute words out for other ones and lots of moments where I’d feel the gaze of new, judging eyes (and ears) weighing down upon me. Basically, I’d be stepping into—what at the time I would have described to be—your average stutterer's nightmare. And it did suck. I did stumble. I had some bad blocks. I blushed. I censored myself. Every time the phone rang, I wanted to vomit. But I didn’t stop. I let myself stumble. I let myself block. And I stopped censoring myself; I kept talking, I kept engaging in conversations, I kept volunteering thoughts and ideas at meetings with the big bosses, knowing full well the risk that it all entailed. The potential for embarrassment, for seeming stupid or nervous or incompetent (hint: very often we are only one of those things!). And you start to realize how small it is. How unimportant it is in the big picture. Part of my job is reviewing all of the calls that each district receives overnight: stabbings, brutal sex assaults, people committing suicide by creatively rigged decapitations, kids getting taken from their parents because of repeated rapes and beatings. The whole lot. And let me tell you: it gives you perspective. It makes you realize just how much of a shame it would be to change your life’s path because of a difference in the way you communicate; something that, if you choose to see it as such, really does not have nearly as much bearing over you as you think it does. One thing that always seems to pop into my head is, “Then what?” Let’s pretend you’re nervous to go on a date. You’ll probably have some blocks and some repetitions. Okay, but then what? You stay single for your whole life? Miss out on someone wonderful? Someone who, had they been allowed the chance to get to know you, would have loved you anyway? Say you want to go back to school but are afraid to present in class. Okay, but then what? You stay working at a coffee shop or feeling stagnant in a job you don’t like? Often--and bear with me while I try to word this--the reality you ensure for yourself by avoiding that which scares you is far worse than the reality you fear will happen by attempting and potentially failing the task which you dread. Nine times out of ten, it's better to just try it anyway and figure it out as you go. Fear and embarrassment truly are just sensations, and the way you perceive a moment can often be wildly different from how those around you perceive it. Of course, I don’t pretend to know what everyone’s life is like. We all have complicating factors. For me, it’s the abuse and poverty from my early years and all the thoughts and memories that linger from that. You could definitely slap some DSM-V labels onto my forehead if you so pleased. For others, it’s something else. I also know that there are varying degrees of stutters and in the grand scheme of things, mine isn’t terribly severe. But I do know what it’s like to not be able to say your name in front of a group of people for several seconds. And to have people laugh and ask you if you’ve forgotten who you are. I know the pain and embarrassment and I won't forget it. I will probably encounter it again many more times in my life. But life goes on. Time does not stop. And while my stutter isn’t gone, the choice to work with it and not against it has given me full days of being almost stutter free. Those days aren’t permanent, and sometimes I’ll have several bad days of stumbles and repetitions and blocks in a row (like today, ugh), but that’s the beauty of it all: it comes and then it goes. And then it comes back, and then it goes again. So next time you sense yourself being pulled in to the false sense of security of staying silent, remember this: There’s an entire, beautiful world in you, and there’s an entire beautiful world around you. Even if it sometimes takes an extra second or three or five for it to happen, the two need to meet. Don’t make the mistake of depriving one of the other.