It’s International Stuttering Awareness Day, and I am a person who stutters. If you feel like reading this blog about my experience with stuttering, I ask that you don’t mention it when you talk to me in real life. I have a lot of shame and embarrassment about my stutter, and I really don’t like talking about it (ha). If you feel inclined, a simple <3 in the comments would be nice.
For those who know me personally, you might have never noticed my stutter, or only heard it infrequently. It was mostly dormant when I was in college. It goes away when I read out loud and when I sing. I speak more fluently in person than on the phone. No one really knows what causes stuttering, though there are plenty of theories. It’s estimated that one percent of the population stutters, with “males five times as likely to stutter as females.” I have only met one person in real life who stutters to the same extent that I do.
Sure, a stutter—so what? It sounds inconsequential, but when it’s really bad I feel miserable.
During COVID it’s gotten worse, especially when I use the phone. As a freelance writer and journalist, phone interviews are central to most of the articles I write. My stutter gets worse when I’m cold-calling people I don’t know. Sometimes I stutter so bad during the interview, I imagine them thinking Jeez, who is this guy who doesn’t know anything? Did this guy get some special charity position?
Maybe that’s not true, but I think I can sense the irritation in their voice, a tone of disapproval or exasperation. If I’m talking to someone in person, I notice the way their eyes scan my face when I talk as if they’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.
When I start stuttering it usually gets worse throughout the conversation. Similar to anxiety, if I struggle against it, it coils tighter. I use a lot of filler words like and um as ramps to help me get over vowel sounds, which are like too-tall hurdles. I have to stop, lift one leg high over it, and then the other leg. Sometimes I don’t make it over, and have to crawl my way through repetitions of um and like to a substitute word that isn’t exactly what I meant. For example, I struck up a conversation with a stranger at a writer’s conference last year. They told me what university they went to, and I was about to ask them about it, but after stalling at the u sound, I hurriedly rushed to say “your classes.” They looked at me a little annoyed and said, ‘You mean, University?” I nodded. Sometimes I rush or push out words that I know I’ll have a hard time with before my stutter gets to them, making my tone sound harsh or aggressive.
I couldn’t tell you how many interactions I’ve had like that. In the course of a conversation, I end up using words that I don’t really mean, they’re just easier to say. Maybe they spare me some embarrassment of stuttering, but mostly I feel misunderstood, frustrated and ashamed. I’ve felt so defeated after certain interviews that I could’t do anything else for the rest of the day. Then I have to listen to the taped recordings and transcribe the interviews, witnessing in painful, meticulous detail, exactly how I sound. Over and over again. This might sound dramatic, but dreading the interview, experiencing the physical, mental, and emotional embarrassment and shame of a worsening stutter, then transcribing the whole thing is really another level of anguish.
I have daydreamed about moving someplace far away with my partner and working at an animal sanctuary. A place where I would only be in the company of animals who would never care if I stuttered or not. In fact, there wouldn’t be much verbal communication at all.
The thing is, I really love what I do. I love that I get to write for a living. I’m excited about the topics I cover and opportunities for reporting I get. And, like the many others who stutter, I really have so much to say.
If you made it this far, I appreciate you.