Overcoming my stutter

(Reposted from December 2019.)

The teacher stood over me like an angry giant. Looking back now I’m guessing that he couldn’t have been more than 5’8 or 5’9 tall and probably just graduated from college, but to my eyes, he held a position of authority, seemed pleased to catch his prey out of the classroom, and looked like he might enjoy crushing a little kid like a beer can.

He looked down at me stern-faced and asked: “Why are you in the hall?”

My voice eluded me. The words seemed to fly overhead, all around me, like little keys and I needed to grab the right ones. If I picked the correct ones, the lock blocking my way would click open and I would be free to go. Pick the wrong one and I would soon have a meeting with the principal and no one wanted to be called to the principal’s office. I didn’t know if it was true or not, but it was rumored that he kept a huge paddle in his desk drawer.

The teacher was upset that I wasn’t responding and asked again, “Why are you wandering the halls. Where are you supposed to be?”

I tried to answer, but words eluded me. I was getting flustered even though I was doing exactly what my teacher had asked to do, to take a folder to a school secretary. When I opened my mouth again, my stutter came out. “I’m s – s – s – supposed t – t – t – t – to take this t – t – t – t – to the o – o – office. Mmmy – my – my teacher asked me. Sh – sh – sh – she said I could stop off at the water fount – fount – fountain on my way.”

The substitute looked down at me coldly. I assumed he was considering my response. After a minute or so, though, he stepped aside and let me pass. I had apparently picked the right combination of words.

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Not like the other kids

As a kid and a few years after college, I stuttered. My stutter was never a full-blown stutter like King George VI, famously depicted in the movie, The King’s Speech, but it was just as deadly. I used to describe it as a stammer with my brain working faster than I could physically process words coming out of my mouth.

Medical professionals describe stuttering as a speech disorder characterized by repetition of sounds, syllables, or words; prolongation of sounds; and interruptions in speech known as blocks. An individual who stutters knows exactly what he or she would like to say, but has trouble producing a normal flow of speech.

Most times my speech was fine, especially around friends and people I trusted and liked, but when my stammer came, it came at the most inopportune times, usually when I was intimidated or under stress. I seemed to have the most problems sounding words that started with s-, t-, ch-, sh-, and th- and I tried to avoid them as much as possible, speaking in short, quick bursts. For example, “I have to go to the bathroom” came out in one loooooong, energetic burst, as in “Ihavetogotothebbbbathroom.” When I came across a troubling word, I would often try to switch to another one on the fly. I would often back track or start again, getting myself tongue-tied and making the jumble of words coming out of my mouth sound even more confusing.

I cringed every time I stumbled over a word, appalled at my brain for betraying me. And that’s how it felt, every stinking time: “a betrayal.” I would watch it happen like I was a third party to the conversation, hovering over everyone present, and would want to shrivel up and cry. Most times I would try to start again, hoping that anyone who saw me make a fool of myself would forget about the moment.

Of course, they never did, but that’s what I wanted to happen.

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You’re one of the lucky ones

More than 80 million people worldwide, about 1 percent of the population, and roughly 3 million Americans stutter. It affects people of all ages, but can be especially traumatic for kids. Boys are 2 to 3 times as likely to stutter as girls. Fortunately, most children outgrow stuttering, but for many others, it can persist as a lifelong communication disorder. It’s never really cured, it’s always there.

I was fortunate. Few people came right out and made fun of me to my face, but I could still see the look of confusion and disappointment in their eyes.

I worked with a speech therapist in school from third to sixth grade constantly sounding out troubling sounds and working on pronunciation. In time my speaking got better, but that’s not to say I haven’t had my challenges. In fact, I spoke with someone several months ago who attempted to poke fun of me by saying “just say it” in a not so nice way when I was trying to convey something important. Of course, I’m much better prepared now as an adult to put rude people like that in their place or to simply walk away.

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The cringing feeling inside

I overcame my stutter to a significant degree a couple years after college when I met my wife. For me, the confidence I got from getting my bachelor’s degree and later a master’s, and that my wife instilled in me, naturally helped me become a better speaker and to believe that what I had to say was important.

A bad day, a bad moment, though, can still bring back the feelings of frustration and worry about my stutter. Several years ago, I was serving as a lector in my church. I looked down at the small section that I was supposed to read and then back up at the 300 to 400 people in the church and a deep dread came over me.

I felt convinced in that split second of time that I was going to mess-up and embarrass myself with the next line out of my mouth. I feared that the priest was going to have to get up from his seat and give his best impersonation of a baseball manager, pointing to the bullpen to send in a reliever to “relieve” me of my reading duties.

I could see it play out in my head. Fortunately for me, I was able to pause at the end of the sentence I was reading. I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds to calm my nerves, and when I reopened them, I flawlessly read the rest of the reading. I chalked it up to another life experience and moved on.

Let it go

I sought a career in communications as a young man because I believed that even if I couldn’t get the words out the way I wanted, I had something to say. It’s been quite some time since I’ve faced a noticeable stammering issue in public. I suspect that I’ll be wary of my stammer for the rest of my life. Saying all that, I’m certain of this: stuttering didn’t define me as a kid, and, it most certainly, doesn’t define me now.

Thank goodness.