When “The King’s Speech” won an Oscar for Best Picture in 2011, I sat in my living room and cheered. From the opening scene onward, it accurately depicted the discomfort, humiliation and sheer frustration of living with a speech impediment. The film was more than an excellent cinematic production based on true events. As a lifelong stutterer, it was a very personal film.

I recently realized I’ve been mostly fluent for 15 years, and take a few moments to reflect on the journey and the gift of speech.

The Agony of School Days

In fourth grade we read Roald Dahl’s “The BFG” aloud as a class. My parents asked the teacher to not call on me for that exercise because of my speech troubles, which the teacher honored. A perceptive classmate kept looking at me quizzically when she realized she had to read out loud twice before I did even once. Although I’d struggled for years at that point, it was among the first times I realized peers noticed something was amiss and that I wasn’t on equal footing with my classmates, at least in regards to verbal skills.

In eighth grade, my pre-algebra teacher intentionally maintained prolonged eye contact with me before calling on me to answer questions. Although I appreciated his kindness and silent heads up, it did nothing to positively prepare me for speaking out loud. At some point I learned the “team” of teachers I had that year discussed me in some of their meetings and what the best way might be to encourage participation. I had that same teacher for 12th grade math and he employed the same eye contact tactic. It didn’t work then either, but he remains one of my favorite teachers from high school.

In the required tenth grade public speaking class, I struggled through the first speech, a three-minute presentation about pet peeves. My teacher grabbed me after class and asked me how long I’d “had this problem.” That class was sheer torture and I don’t think I bolted out of any classroom as quickly as I did that room.

That same year a boy in the back of my English classroom audibly made fun of me as I struggled to answer the teacher’s question. I saw there red-faced and humiliated as the teacher either didn’t hear it or pretended not to.

In twelfth grade CHS Argumentation and Rhetoric class I completely froze during the mock trial, where my role was a witness. My classmate in the role of the questioning attorney was a kind girl who did her best to continue with the interrogation despite my complete inability to get a word out. I wanted nothing more than to melt into my chair or bolt out of the library. Instead, I wordlessly sat there waiting for it to be over. One of the guest teachers critiquing the trial approached me afterward and said, “You’ve got some real guts there, girl.” I was convinced I’d failed the assignment, and caused my classmate to fail hers, but I walked away with a B as my teacher recognized the extensive preparation I put into the project and that my speech struggles were not a reflection of my preparedness and intelligence. (One myth about stuttering is that we aren’t as intelligent or cognitively capable as fluent people. This is not true. We’re just as intelligent; it’s just harder to verbalize it sometimes.)

College was better. Although I didn’t speak with more fluency than I did in high school, I was less self conscious about it and surrounded by students who didn’t notice or care.

Speech Therapy

My parents tried years of speech therapy and other treatments through elementary, middle and high school. Some didn’t help at all. Some helped, but only temporarily. So when they approached me after college graduation in 2006 with a totally different speech therapy program, I balked. I was cynical about it at best, was burned out and didn’t believe any program could actually help. Plus, there was no way I was going to spend one more minute in a program, especially one that required me to go to Norfolk, Virginia, for nearly two weeks right before starting my professional career as an editor.

The Eastern Virginia Medical School’s Precision Fluency Shaping Program, led by Ross Barrett, accepted a limited number of students for the intensive 12-day course. Openings often filled up many months in advance, but a little boy originally slotted for the August 2006 group couldn’t obtain a green card, opening up a coveted slot for me.

I was the only woman in our group of about eight; stuttering affects four times as many males as females. The program focused on learning how to breathe properly while speaking with proper tongue, jaw and lip movements. (Ross was a stutterer himself and trained at the Hollins Communications Research Institute and followed HCRI’s approach.) We spent hours speaking one syllable per one breath exhalation and practicing each sound of the alphabet ad nauseum. We were quite literally retraining ourselves how to speak one sound at a time. We worked under the premise that stuttering isn’t about overcoming a mental block, but that it is rooted in physiological components.

We built up from talking amongst each other—and how freeing it was to be in a space free of judgment about our speech!—to “homework” assignments where they’d send us out to a store to talk face-to-face with a stranger and make phone calls to businesses to make general inquiries, all in the name of practicing our verbal skills in some of the scariest environments possible. (Phone calls remain my least favorite form of communication to this day, and I suspect many stutterers feel likewise.) One day, Ross even led us to a giant lecture hall with stadium seating and had us deliver a short speech at the podium.

He sent us home with books, practice CDs and strict instructions to call them several times over the proceeding weeks. The 12 days we spent in-person set the foundation for fluency, but it was up to us to continue to practice our newfound skills to turn them into habit and maintain fluency. Ross was very clear from day one that this program wasn’t an end-all, be-all, but would work if we truly put in the effort and made it a part of our lives.

Ross even invited me to return the following summer to help a new class of students, but I had to decline the opportunity for various reasons.

The Joy of Fluency

As an adult, my fluency is a daily effort. I still need to think before I speak almost every time, but now I have the tools to speak (mostly) fluently. I also have enough self awareness to know if I’m about to have trouble getting a word out and have a large enough vocabulary to quickly find a synonym. My speech has let me experience some truly special moments of my life and fully enjoy them without stuttering through:

• On September 12, 2015, I stood in front of God, Brian, our families and friends and recited my wedding vows.
• Now that I’m a mom, I can read to Landon for hours and hours with no struggle. He’s even started reading to me!
• A few years ago I delivered the thank you speech to our community band director, who was also among my most influential teachers ever, first as my elementary school band teacher and later as high school clarinet lesson teacher.
• Last December, I eulogized my Nana at her memorial service.
• Professionally, I’ve given presentations at trade shows and events, internally to co-workers, and regularly conduct phone and video interviews with sources.

I also realize how my speech problems helped shape my life into what it is today. I started playing the piano in second grade and clarinet in fourth grade. Music gave me an avenue to express myself without needing to speak—an outlet I sorely needed through those high school years especially. I also developed an interest in and aptitude for writing, which led to my career choice of journalism.

A Lifelong Journey

I know it’s too soon to say whether Landon will have inherited my speech problems. Some research suggests stuttering might be genetically influenced, but no one else in my family does so I’m hoping I won’t have passed this on to him. On the flip side, Brian is a terrific orator, as are many in his family. Brian and I marvel at Landon’s ability to speak, recall information and express himself.

There is no finish line in speech problems. Fluency will be a lifelong task. Although I’ve always wanted the ability to open my mouth and have words pour out effortlessly, I know it’ll never be my reality. But having never had that natural fluency, it’s not something I miss either. I am forever grateful to have the tools to maintain my verbal communication.