Braving the Staircase

The first time I ever stuttered was in fifth grade. Mrs. Anderson asked for someone to read out loud and, as usual, I volunteered.

I was such a talker in elementary school that I collected time-outs and reprimands. Teachers thought moving my desk away from my friends would shut me up, but I’d go on whispering to the new person beside me. At parent-teacher conferences, it was always: “Autumn is a great student, but she will not stop talking during class.”

But that day, the words simply would not come out of my mouth.

My throat was stuck. The words were right in front of me, but I kept repeating certain sounds or waited several seconds for them to get out.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. I don’t think I knew what was going on, but Mrs. Anderson certainly did.

A few days later, I sat in a tiny classroom for my first speech therapy appointment.

Roughly three million Americans stutter, and it most often occurs in those ages two to six. Boys are two to three times more likely to stutter than girls. As age increases, the number of boys who stutter becomes three to four times larger than the number of girls, for reasons that are unclear.

This disorder interrupts speech production through repeating or prolonging consonants, words, or syllables and blocks, which are long pauses in speech when the person reaches a problematic sound.

I like to tell people to imagine that they’re walking up a staircase. You lift your leg to the next step, but your movement’s halted. Your leg shakes attempting to walk, or it completely stops. Even though the step is right there, and you can see it and you know how to walk, you physically cannot. You’re stuck, and have no choice but to wait until your leg decides to move.

That’s what stuttering is like, and that’s why it’s important to note that those who stutter know exactly what they want to say. They just can’t speak at the rate they’d like.

One of the most annoying parts? Stuttering varies day-by-day, and throughout each day. There are good days and there are bad days. The only predictable things about stutters are their unpredictability. It’s a confusing concept to grasp, and its why many people misunderstand stuttering.

Studies have shown that those who stutter are viewed as less desirable to have as romantic partners and friends, as well as decreasing likelihood for employability and promotion. Many people equate stuttering with a lack of intelligence, and other negative stereotypes. Physical disabilities elicit sympathy because they’re viewed as uncontrollable. People believe mental and behavioral ones, like stuttering, are controllable. Hence, they’re received with anger and judgment.

This culminates in mental side effects of increased anxiety, low-self-esteem, and even depression. At the end of the day, the person who stutters has no choice but to endure.

But the good thing is that, since stuttering manifests in childhood, most are able to outgrow their speech impediment.

Most.

75% of children recover from stuttering. The other 25% will have it for the rest of their

life.

I am part of the 25%.

I had to attend speech therapy twice a week, for roughly half an hour. There was one speech pathologist, and a few other kids. One had a lisp, and others couldn’t say their R’s or L’s. We sat in a tiny classroom at the end of the hall, and all had different exercises. Sometimes our practices overlapped, but not often. Stutters and speech production are so complex that speech pathologists have to tailor treatment to each person. A speech pathologist will use a mix of speech therapy and electronic devices. They’ll also make sure that parents know the importance of a supportive and calm home environment. I relearned to talk and, importantly, to talk slowly. I practiced breathing and reading out loud. The speech pathologist gave my parents informational videos and at-home exercises. My parents would ask me about my day and tell me to slow down if I sped up. They told me of celebrities who stutter, like James Earl Jones and King George VI. We watched The King’s Speech. They consulted my fourth grade teacher, Mr. Upickson, who had a stutter that he outgrew.

All signs indicated my stutter would eventually go away. It happened with my fellow patients. I’d go to my weekly appointments and over time, one-by-one, I saw them graduate. They succeeded, and their speech was okay. Soon mine would be too.

And it was! After nearly a year in speech therapy, my stutter went away. One day, my mom pointed out that I was speaking well. I was finally free, and I hadn’t even realized.

Until it came back in sixth grade.

Luckily, my teacher was patient and understanding. She’d call on me and let me take my time to speak through prolongations, repetitions, or blocks. After I finished presenting, my classmates would clap and cheer. It was the best environment. I was stuttering but it wasn’t a big deal.

That all changed when I moved from Alaska to New Hampshire.

My elder sister’s acceptance to Boston University and my father’s job opportunity in New Hampshire prompted us to move to New England. My parent’s settled on Bedford, after spending weeks researching the best school district in the state.

My newest school district was the polar opposite of my previous. Despite moving in sixth grade, I wasn’t tested for stuttering until eighth. After testing, the speech pathologist didn’t admit me into therapy. Instead, I received a list of tips and tricks to help me. These tips, however, only applied to stuttering when presenting. Not when reading out loud or in conversation.

On top of that, my classmates and teachers weren’t particularly understanding either.

Middle school and high school took a huge mental toll on me. The worst part of stuttering is how other people react and, in turn, the psychological impact that has. The ridicule, embarrassment, frustration, and/or pity from the listener result in fear, anxiety, and/or frustration in the stutterer. The more the stutterer has these mental reactions, the worse their stutter will get. This is exacerbated and made worse in work and school settings.

My survival tactic after I moved? Simply not speaking. If I didn’t speak, I wouldn’t stutter. If I didn’t stutter, the nasty twelve-year-olds couldn’t make fun of me. Avoidance was my favorite tool, and is the tool of many who stutter.

But that tactic was difficult to sustain. Especially since teachers were giving me a hard time.

I hated reading out loud. It was absolutely awful. I hated being randomly called on and having to think of my words on the spot, instead of having time to prepare my speech. Catching me off guard, forcing me to speak, exacerbated my stutter.

That’s why I sat in the back of the classroom and stared at my desk. I thought if I made it apparent that I didn’t want to be called on, the teacher wouldn’t call on me. Why would they force me to participate when I clearly didn’t want to?

Mr. H adored making us read our writing prompt responses out loud. He’d make us sit on a metal chair in front of the class and read what we had written.

My physical response to stuttering was usually fidgeting hands, a clenched jaw, dry throat, and hot face. This only worsened when I looked up and saw other people’s reactions.

Eyes were the worst part-- they tell you everything. When you stutter, you can see the dwindling patience, confusion, annoyance, and pity. Eyes were like a ton of bricks weighing on your chest. It made me want to scream: “I know, trust me, I know. I feel the same way. I want this to be over even more than you do.”

Things got worse in eighth grade, and I had a mental breakdown.

A couple weeks had passed since school began. I was sitting in the back of science class when Mr. C began calling on people to read out loud. He started at the front of the room, and was making his way to the back.

I had a strong physical reaction. My legs were twitching, my heart was beating fast, my chest was tight, and I wanted to throw up. I ran out of the classroom and into the nurse’s office, where I sat and sobbed on the blue couch as the nurse ran to get a guidance counselor.

That was the first time I ever cried over my stutter.

My parents and I met with my guidance counselor, Mrs. Mullen. She said that I had to break out of my bubble. I needed to put myself ‘out there’ more. So, I joined a community service club called the Coalition of Bedford Youth. Student leaders and teachers held weekly meetings with fifteen to twenty other students to organize volunteering events around our community and surrounding ones. I found a safe space there among the other members in grades eighth through twelfth and, eventually, became a student leader my junior year.

I have that club to thank for my current level of fluency. I also have time to thank. People think it’s cliche to say that time makes things better but, in my experience, it really does.

School-based participation scared me through high school (and still continues to). There were many times when I’d speak in class and not stutter, but all that fear and anxiety from middle school lived in me. The voice in my head had switched from “I am going to stutter” to “what if I stutter?”.

Only recently I’ve tried to learn how to work with my stutter and not against it. I’ve made peace with the fact it won’t go away. There’s no cure. I’m part of the 25%-- I remind myself-- I have to learn how to navigate this.

I have difficulty with Ms, Ns, Ps, Ds. There’s a list of things I can’t say: Madrid (the city I used to live in), New Hampshire (the State I live in), Yasmine or Sofia (the name of two of my friends), or Patricia (my sister’s name). I can’t say ‘yourself’ or ‘myself’. Sometimes Gs and Hs give me a run for my money, too. But there are some days I can say words I usually can’t, and some days I can’t say words that I usually can.

The best way to figure it out? Anticipation.

When you stutter, you know when the next word is going to be difficult. You can feel the repetition, prolongation, or block coming. Your body’s sudden tightness and the increased heart rate let you know. Thanks to this, I know what I have to do next. I search for synonyms and different phrases in my head. My thoughts are a constant stream of: okay, I can’t say this, so what else can I say? Most of my time is spent thinking what to say in order to avoid stuttering.

Obviously, this isn’t foolproof. Sometimes I can’t think quickly enough, or I’m in too deep and have to go through with the stutter. If that happens, I try to act like I can’t think of the word. People guess what I say, and I go “yes, that’s what I wanted to say!”. It’s a white lie, but people tend to be more understanding towards a bad memory.

But I still don’t know of anything that can help me read out loud. That makes my stutter worse, and that’s what makes me largely hesitant to say that I’m ‘better’ and have ‘overcome’ it. When I have to read out loud, I feel like that eighth grade girl in science class, seconds away from sobbing.

I did cry after I had to read out loud in a history class during my sophomore year of college. And there have been many, many occasions where I’ve put my head down to avoid being called on, or simply refrained from speaking in class so I wouldn’t risk stuttering.

I have also most definitely skipped class to avoid speaking. I missed a workshop for my fiction writing to avoid reading my piece. And once, I asked my teacher to do it for me. And, another time, my classmates did it for me. At the end of the day, my instincts push me towards avoidance.

It’s been a long, long decade. I’m still on this journey, and I am exhausted. But at least I’m at a better place than I was back in middle school.

And stuttering isn’t all bad, anyway. Studies have shown that those who stutter exhibit greater strength in empathy, compassion, resilience, and creativity! Stuttering has also taught me patience and understanding, and to never judge people’s abilities and disabilities-- you never know what someone is going through.

Of course, the ‘invisible’ disabilities are the most difficult to explain. A lot of people don’t understand things that they can’t see. I barely understand stuttering myself. But I recently read a quote that people who stutter have the unique ability to teach the world how to listen. So, maybe I should stare into people’s eyes when I stutter. Maybe that’s where the power lies, and that’s how I can get people to actually listen.