I never thought I’d like my stutter. That’s never been my goal.

When I was 22, I decided to accept the reality that I would stutter… that it was not going to just go away one day. I was religious then, and my viewpoint was, “I might hate my stutter, but I will choose to thank God for it. Even when I hate it.”

This admission of hatred felt different than the hatred I had for my stutter thus far. My hatred always came with a wishing-it-away fantasy. “I hate it, I hate it, I wish I didn’t have it, it’s not fair.”

The new hatred forced me to sit with it… to say, “Ok, you’re here. You’re not going anywhere. What do I do now?”

With the help of a lot of things, I began feeling more and more neutral about my stuttering over the years.

Meeting and getting to know other people who stutter made stuttering feel less like some kind of personal attack on me. Giggling in library conference rooms and around the dinner table with these people helped to flip the script.

Doing a ton of self-work helped. I read a ton of Brené Brown. Did mental health therapy. Realized that my stutter wasn’t the excuse for all of my issues - I had just made it as such. I unpacked a lot of religious guilt, being raised female, and being such a loud person with big emotions in that space. I remember reading “Yes Please” by Amy Poehler, “I love making people laugh. And I love attention.” You can say that? That’s allowed? People can still like you if you’re a woman who says you love attention? It’s okay to be loud? And then I read Glennon Doyle and WOW, my insides out.

I talked more. I made jokes. I told people about stuttering. I spoke up more and more. As a note, that’s always been ‘me’. But I had suppressed that person due to my fear of stuttering. Those closest to me saw it, but I had yet to allow it to be what I did in public.

I still remember sitting at a casual Greek eatery alone. I was reading “The Flinch” by Julien Smith on my phone - a short book about getting us to move past ourselves, in a way.

At the end of each chapter, it had something to do. The first step was to hop in a cold shower. The second step was to break a mug. The third step… was to go up to a stranger and start a conversation.

I texted the friend who recommended the book to me. WTF. He said, “I was wondering when you’d get to that part.” I felt so broken - I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even imagine myself doing it. I sat there, trying to imagine myself going up to someone at this food spot. The terror overwhelmed me. I could not imagine doing it without panicking and making a fool of myself (in my estimation).

That was about 9 years ago.

To be clear, I don’t love talking to strangers and often still avoid it. Mostly because it seems exhausting though. Self-checkout line? Yeaaa, baby. On walks, I say hi to dogs but not to people. But that’s not really about stuttering avoidance.

But the mere thought of making conversation with strangers doesn’t send me into a complete panic shutdown. Sometimes, I feel excited about it. Perhaps a quick thrill of excitement runs down my spine - it is said excitement and fear are 2 sides of the same coin.

And I recently realized, with help, that I’m… pretty good at starting conversations with strangers.

I was in therapy a few months back and expressed how I’m an awkward person and struggle with the initial piece of a conversation. My therapist smiled at me and said, “From what you’ve told me, though, it sounds like you’re good at that. Like it’s a skill.”

I blinked at them. “No. Well. I mean. Once we have something to talk about… but I’m super awkward until then.”

“It sounds like you’re pretty good at finding something to talk about too.”

“Well… I mean. I guess.”

“It sounds to me like you’re good at initiating conversation with people and making them feel comfortable. But you’ve been holding onto this old view of yourself that doesn’t exist.”

“…”

“…”

“Not with everyone?”

“Oh, you mean you don’t have things in common with 100% of people? How awful! You’re right then. What a horrible conversationalist,” they replied sarcastically.

So that same night, I went to a work event and decided to try it out. It was… easy now. I felt that shoot of excitement go up my spine, and for the first time, I realized it was excitement and not nervousness, not this time. Some conversations fell flat. Some went well. But sometimes you just don’t click with people.

This didn’t happen in a bubble. I had changed over the course of years. I just hadn’t realized how much I had grown.

All in all, a lot of what I’ve learned about myself is that I like the way I speak. Like my therapist said, I seem to be naturally good at making people comfortable. I see it as built into my speaking voice. Not necessarily because of the stutter, though maybe, but definitely not ‘despite’ it.

I like the way my pitch goes up and down. I like how obvious my emotions are by my tone (and my face). And honestly, I like when I get really worked up and excited about something, and then get hit by a BIG BLOCK. I burst out laughing these days, and let the moment ground me back to the present moment. I can get a little lost in my ideas and passions, and my stutter can serve to bring me back to where I’m at.

Here’s a video I made this week - it’s only 4 minutes long, but I address the variability of stuttering as well as this notion of ‘fluency’. My only issue with it is that I possibly make it sound a little too much like stuttering is an absolute hardship at the beginning? I think that morphs as it goes, and it does capture a real reason why a stutter can be so frustrating in a way I don’t think people understand.