Being told to “slow down” led me to not wanting to speak.

This one has some complications to it - sometimes I did speak faster while mumbling, making it near impossible to understand me. But a lot of the time, stuttering at all led people to tell me to slow down. Just take a breath.

Here’s a story: I attended a Catholic K-8, and I always volunteered to read and was rarely picked. But FINALLY it was my time. Mass was every Friday morning with the entire school. I’m not sure how old I was - perhaps around 7-10 years old?

My teacher skipped me during practice - she said we’d do mine last. Strange, I thought. When the other kids were done, she sent them back to class. Now I thought I understood - she didn’t want to waste their time with my stutter. Then she had me go up to the podium.

The Bibles used to read passages from during Mass aren’t normal Bibles. They’re huge and heavy, for one. They also remove the passages for the context of their Mass reading. Based on the date, you flip to the passage you’ll be reading if it’s not already there. (Sometimes you take a sheet of paper with you instead though. Depends.)

Knowing the teacher seemed to think my stutter wasn’t something she wanted the other kids to have to listen to, I was unbelievably on edge. I wanted to please this teacher so she’d let me read again. Before I ever opened my mouth, I was scared. Not to speak publicly, but to stutter.

When you believe your stutter is wasting people’s time, is it any surprise you talk faster? You’re not just trying to get it over with for you. You’re trying to make sure they’re comfortable. That they’re not annoyed you’re wasting their time.

Surprise of all surprises, I stuttered more than usual. Every part of my body was tense. I’d rush during my fluent spells because I anticipated the stutter so much. The stutter was all I could think about- I didn’t have time to even think about the rest.

So the teacher told me to slow down. Ashamed, I tried again. I still stuttered, of course. We practiced it a few more times - more than the other kids. She asked if I was sure I wanted to do this. I nodded, but I doubted I’d ever volunteer again.

I have countless other stories of being told to slow down. I picked this one because I think the actual telling of me to slow down had some merit. I was speaking FAST. But look at the context. It was implied that listening to me was a burden.

Every time I heard the words “slow down”, I associated it with the way my stutter burdened people. The way people didn’t want to listen to my stutter. Even if the person was trying to be helpful, it stung.

In college, I’d watch my peers present. They spoke fast. But they were fluent. It wasn’t fair, I thought. Why did they get to use more inflections, use dramatic pauses intentionally, and have more character? Why didn’t I get to do this?

A few years ago, I had a phone call with a grad student aiming to be an SLP. I was excited and chatting quickly. Stuttering. I told her how much I hated being told to “slow down” and she said “of course you do. look how excited you are. talking fast, being excited and animated- it’s a part of who you are. being told to slow down was telling you to stop being yourself.”

The insight hit me. Being told to slow down daily for my entire life? From my volunteering to read at Mass to telling my gramma about my day. No matter the context, the message I received was clear: the way talk and your feelings are a burden. Be someone else, and maybe I’ll listen to you.

So sure, maybe sometimes I really did need to ‘slow down’ in order to be understood. But could it have been said more accurately? Maybe instead of “slow down”, we can say “hey, you’re flying through some of these words and I’d really like to hear what you have to say. I have time.”

Make sure it’s clear that if you do need someone to ‘slow down’ or repeat their message (and sometimes you do - though maybe don’t say “slow down”!!), let them know it’s because you want to hear what they have to say. That their words matter to you. You want to know.