Stuttering - Finding the Gifts in the Battle between Body and Mind

I want you to tighten every muscle in your body. Curl your toes, suck in your stomach, hunch your shoulders. Tighten your neck and jaw. Now introduce yourself to someone.

How did that feel? Constrained? Frustrating? Like you didn’t introduce yourself as successfully or authentically as you wanted?

You now know what it can feel like to talk when you have a stutter. Like your voice is wrapped in chains trying desperately to break free.

If you’ve seen the movie The King’s Speech you’ve seen an excellent portrayal of stuttering (thank you, Colin Firth). Like King George VI of England, my stutter appeared when I was a young child. And like his stutter, mine isn’t a repetition, like M-M-M-M-Mary, but rather a block. A complete tightening so the desired word can’t be uttered.

Having this kind of stutter is like your brain waging an epic battle with your body when you want to speak. You know what you want to say and how and when you want to say it. And your lungs, throat, and larynx join forces to say “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

These battles are so incredibly frustrating because they feel so pointless. They make you feel terrible about yourself and angry at a Creator that would inflict such an impediment on anyone, let alone a small child.

Getting back to my story, I could tell you about how I became a compulsive student of vocabulary and a voracious reader so I would have a dozen synonyms ready for the words in my head that my body battled against.

I could tell you about how waiting my turn to read aloud in class from the same book – which means no substitution of a synonym or else you’d look pretty darn strange – produced anxiety and terror right up there with the best Hitchcock films.

I could tell you about the humiliation of sneaking out of regular classes for years of speech therapy, about the first sound prolongation exercises (“Mmmmary”) and the strategically placed pauses and the breathing drills.

I could tell you about how I tried muscle relaxants to prepare for an oral presentation in Spanish (because like the masochist I am I minored in a language that forced me to speak and speak and speak). The meds just made me look and sound drunk without the pleasure of the imbibing.

I could tell you that over time, with obsessive determination, tons of practice, and big doses of humility, I forged a successful identity as a corporate executive, consultant, trainer, and sought-after public speaker, praised for my inspiring storytelling. My confidence grew as the periods of fluency became longer and longer...

…to the point where very few people suspected my dark little secret. I am blessed with enough fluency to coach one on one, give keynote addresses, and teach students and adults alike.

Except when I have to say my name.

So here’s what I WILL tell you. I envy your fluency. I envy a gift you don’t even know you have. When asked your name you can just say it without worrying about a block or frantically thinking of words to ease the transition into the daunting first letter.

You have the gift of communicating your identity, of staking your claim and holding your space. You have a mighty, powerful gift that goes under-recognized and under-treasured until someone like me, with a stutter, wishes she had it.

Which brings me to three suggestions for all of us to become better storytellers, to share our truths, to proclaim our beautiful identities, and to honor the gifts that have been bestowed upon us.

#1. Identify your gifts. Whatever they are. Be generous. Small and subtle, bold and obvious. Is your speech fluent? Are you funny? Can you walk?

#2. Use these gifts for good. You’ve heard this before. “Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them.” (Romans 12:6-8) If you have the gift of fluency, get out there and tell your story. If you have the gift of humor, make someone laugh. If you have the gift of mobility, walk towards others, meet them where they are.

#3. Be grateful. Thank whomever or whatever you want for your gift of fluency, of humor, of physical strength. Think it, say it, journal it.

I am grateful to those with stutters (including Joe Biden, Emily Blunt, James Earl Jones, Marilyn Monroe, Nicole Kidman, and Bruce Willis) who not only identified their gifts but had the courage to bring them to a global stage to educate, entertain, and inspire us.

And I am grateful to my personal and professional communities for believing in my voice, giving me the opportunity to do work I love. We each have a voice. Use yours.