I can't talk about speech therapy-never had it. I can't rave about electronic devices-they weren't invented yet. I can't say if hypnosis works-never tried it. I can't speak to any of these methods to manage or minimize stuttering. Nevertheless, I can speak-without stuttering. Those who have known me since my childhood would almost label this a miracle, because there was a time when I could not speak without stuttering, and therefore, rarely spoke at all. Yet, today, most speech therapists accept the premise that stuttering is incurable. I am living proof that it is curable, for some, at least.
Stuttering ruined my teen years. My only friends were at-school friends, and I could count those on one hand, with a few fingers left over. For me, there were no football games, no school dances, no proms, no date nights, and no after-school clubs. The only thing that made my school years bearable was the school choir. You can sing without stuttering. Thank God, I inherited musical ability from my mother and sang at every opportunity. Something else I discovered during my high school years is that I could speak French without stuttering. Therefore, I did fairly well in that class, too.
The absolutely worst class of all was Speech and Debate. This was 55 minutes of horrific torture. Fifty minutes of which I spent only halfway hearing every one else's speech while dreading my turn at the podium. Five minutes of which I suffered through gut wrenching horror as I stumbled through my note cards, head spinning, eyes blurring, lips frozen on m's and b's, tongue stuttering on t's and d's, and tonsils gulping on g's. I am sure it was also uncomfortable for the teacher and my classmates, but I would have done anything to change places with any of them.
Now, let us fast-forward about 30 years. I was recently discussing speech impediments with a co-worker, and suddenly recalled that I had once stuttered. That memory caught me off-guard, which proved to me that I had completely cured myself of stuttering. I just don't think about it anymore.
How did I do it? How did I, on my own, cure something that most speech pathologists claim is only manageable, not curable, even with their therapies? It was not easy or quick, but it was something I wanted so badly, that I systematically planned and implemented the cure.
After high school, I sank into a deep depression. It lasted for several years. I locked myself in my bedroom and wrote depressing lyrics, set to morose melodies. Loneliness was my best friend; hopelessness was my bitter enemy. And I played hostess to them both. I hated it. After a few years in self-imposed darkness and despair, I dragged myself kicking and screaming into the light. I was 24 years old, and I had finally gotten a good job. This was the beginning of my recovery from self-induced depression; a cure for stuttering was still a couple years away.
Now that I was out in the real world again, I decided that I would learn how to speak normally. First, I thought about times when I did not stutter. I could sing without stuttering. I could speak French without stuttering. I could even do a pretty good job of reading aloud with little or no stuttering. What was the common thread? How is it, that I could use the very same vocal cords, tongue, and lips that stuttered to a point of torture, yet form stutter-free words when singing, reading or speaking French? I knew this was important.
I also knew that when I spoke on the phone, I still stuttered, but it was easier to recover. When I spoke on the phone, I didn't have to look at someone reacting to my stuttering through facial expressions or body language. On the phone, I could close my eyes, slow down, relax, and think about my next words, without having to look at the person to whom I was speaking.
These observations helped me lay out a plan of attack. Singing slowed down my pace. It gave me time to think about the next word. Reading aloud was possible because I didn't have to think about the next word, it was there in black and white. I learned French through repetition; simple phrases that allowed me to hold up my end of a simple conversation.
So, I created new rules for speaking.
The Singing Rule: I wouldn't exactly sing my words, but I began to think of them as a song. This helped me to slow down my speaking speed, allowing more time to consider how to position my lips and tongue.
The Foreign Language Rule: I began to think of English as a new language that I had to learn. I wrote out common phrases that I could use at work, at the grocery store, or at home. I practiced them until I could say them without stuttering. To the outside world, this might appear to be limiting, but to one who stutters, it's like opening a whole new world of communication. Each time I could speak a practiced phrase without stuttering was a major triumph.
The Reading Aloud Rule: Whenever I used the phone, I had a cheat sheet in front of me. This was especially important on the job. I had to call customers and ask for payments on past due accounts. I wrote out phrases such as "May I speak to your accounts payable department please?" and "I'm calling about a past due account." and "When can we expect payment?" If I knew something about the person to whom I would be speaking I'd write out that person's name, and any small talk I might want to say, such as, "I hope you are feeling better today." or "That was quite a storm we had last night, wasn't it!" The people on the other end never knew they were talking to a stutterer. I was polite, professional, and communicative.
Eventually, I began to rely less on these rules as my confidence rose. I started saying things that I had not practiced new words and phrases with increasing success. I considered it a good day when I could speak two or three unpracticed sentences in succession without stuttering. By this time, I was stuttering so infrequently that I rarely froze from nerves and frustration if I happened to stumble on a word now and then. I could quickly recover and continue speaking. I finally felt normal.
I realized everyone stumbled over a word now and then. The speaker usually laughed it off or ignored it altogether. It was so subtle that most people didn't notice when it happened, neither the speaker nor the listener. That is where I wanted to be.
I made it. It took about two years to get to a level of managing it where I had to think about not stuttering while I spoke. Another five years passed before I didn't need to think about not stuttering anymore. I don't know when I forgot I stuttered altogether, but it did happen. That is what I call a cure. I think anyone would. I have been on the cured side of stuttering for about thirty years.
I empathize with stutterers, but I can't and won't offer up any advice or the possibility of a cure because I probably can't help them, and I know I would embarrass them. Stuttering is a personal affliction the requires personalized treatment, and, to some, it's a private hell that they don't need to be reminded of.
I was lucky. Most stutters don't have all three crucial factors working in their favor. I did. (1) I was highly motivated, (2) I figured out what worked for me, and (3) someone forgot to tell me that stuttering was incurable. If either one of these factors had been missing, I would probably be stuttering today.