October 2015.
I've never been a good speaker. In fact, it's been something I've struggled with for as long as I can remember. Words are incredibly important to me, partially because I've focused so much of my life trying to figure out how to have my words be heard without having my stutter or my awkwardness in social situations distract the person listening. It's been hard, at times I think about a conversation I'm going to have with someone before it begins that by the time I'm in the moment, I'm speaking as though I'm continuing the conversation in my mind.
I've never been a good speaker. In fact, it's been something I've struggled with for as long as I can remember. Words are incredibly important to me, partially because I've focused so much of my life trying to figure out how to have my words be heard without having my stutter or my awkwardness in social situations distract the person listening. It's been hard, at times I think about a conversation I'm going to have with someone before it begins that by the time I'm in the moment, I'm speaking as though I'm continuing the conversation in my mind.
There isn't a moment I can remember where I haven't thought about what I wanted to say and how people will perceive what comes out of my mouth, in the back of my mind knowing that there's a chance I will stutter. If it's a situation where I'm bound to be nervous, I try to think of things to say that I will less likely to have problems.
My mother once told me I stopped stuttering in first grade, I have no recollection of this although I wish I did. I remember events more than actual conversations when I was younger. In second grade, my teacher had us play the game "telephone" while lining up to leave at the end of the day. It's a game where you start out with one message, it gets past down to a lot of people them by the end the message is completely different. I hate that game. It's one of the few games where my stutter and awkwardness combine to mess up everything, plus on top of that, I'm a terrible whisperer. All I remember is that by the next day after playing that game, I was very angry at my teacher. Have no idea what happened, more than likely I was angry at myself. Angry to not be like my peers, angry I couldn't speak like everyone else.
That same feeling came back with the same game years later, only this time I was in high school health class. I remember trying to pass the message along and couldn't get out a word. I took twice as long to pass the message along and the student I "whispered" it to heard me incorrectly, as I could hear them whispering something completely differently to the next one, leaving me in tears while a sinking feeling washed over me. After the game was over, the teacher talked about how important communication is and how one dink in the message can change everything. It was obvious to me in that moment that I was the dink.
I found my love of writing by chance. I was taking a literature class and we were asked to do a project on a poet. Me, not knowing or caring about anything poetry, picked my favorite singer/songwriter Lana Del Rey. Looking at her lyrics from a different angle changed my perspective on lyrics and poetry. That project opened up my eyes to artists and poets. One of the parts of this project, was to analyze a poem or song and present it to the class. That same day, my stutter came back and it was as though I was a little kid again, struggling to get my words out. I remember getting in front of the class and stumbling my way through my presentation, trying my best not to burst into tears. I felt I was being betrayed by my own body and there was nothing I could do but fight back or be silent.
After that week, my stutter leveled out and life went on. Months went by, I took a writing class throughout the summer and still didn't care for poetry. I put as little effort as I could into my poems but spent lots of time thinking about the stories I would write. Some comments back from my teacher on my poetry went along the lines of "good but it could be better" or "add some more ______ to it" or "spend some more time on this, get creative!" Reading those comments had no effect on how I planned to write poetry because I didn't plan to write any after the class was over.
I started this blog in July 2014, thinking I could share my voice and opinions on things in the world as well as encourage people any way I could. But it wasn't until the next month that I realized how much writing really meant to me. The day before I left on my trip to Maine, I went to Target to get the usual travel supplies. Randomly I passed by the notebook section. Something told me it may be a good idea to buy a notebook to help pass the time, not thinking anything of it but feeling the possibilities of what I could fill this notebook with was what sold me as I put it in my cart. That feeling was the turning point and the excitement grew as I began to fill the pages of that notebook with anything and everything I saw or felt. It was as though for the first time, I could say my words without having to use my voice.
Looking back now, I remember the moment when I realized my love of writing can help me overcome my struggles with speaking. It was a around a campfire, by the lake after roasting marshmallows. There was maybe four of us talking about random topics in the dark. I knew I wanted to say something about the topic being discussed and waiting for a break in the flow of the conversation to speak what was on my mind. My stutter was back at that time, so I was sitting there waiting for my chance to speak, repeating the words over and over again, hoping my stutter wouldn't break the flow of the conversation too much. The topic had changed by the time there was a tiny break, so I took the opportunity anyway and spoke what was on my mind. Unfortunately, I stuttered through my words and my sister called me out about going back to the topic that was no longer being discussed. Being frustrated at her, but mainly myself for not being able to keep up with the flow of the conversation, I burst into tears and yelled at her for calling me out. It ended with me running up the hill away from the campfire, tears falling down my puffy cheeks, silent for the rest of the night. At least, my voice was..
December 2015.
I began writing this essay a little over two months ago. The words above were hard for me to write and lots of tears were shed in the process. I remember going to a dark place and feeling like I did when I was younger, when I didn't want to accept something I ultimately couldn't keep on denying. All of the situations I described above happened years ago now, with the most recent one being the summer of 2014. After I ran up the hill crying, I wrote many pages in my notebook about how wrong my sister was. I still have that notebook and look at the words written differently now than I did in that moment.
But what I learned from that situation profoundly changed my life. Realizing I could put my thoughts down into words on a piece of paper with a pen in a notebook with messy handwriting was a revelation I never saw coming. Writing poetry without any limits or expectations from anyone gave me the confidence and challenge I needed to create something I never imagined I could. Turning my happy, angry, confused, emotionally charged feelings into words on paper gave me a new perspective to see what I could not comprehend otherwise.
Over the past two months, I've avoided opening this document. I feared feeling what I've ignored all these years. When I started writing this, I cried with every word, pained by hiding my feelings for so long. I stopped writing this because I wasn't ready to accept it, going back to avoidance was taking the easy way out.
That doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. There's not a day that goes by where my stutter doesn't cross my mind at least once. I have had many discussions about my stuttering, with every one of them leading to tears. But crying isn't a bad thing, I wasn't sad when I talked about it. I was confused by the emotions I was experiencing, not sure how to handle feelings I've ignored for as long as I could remember.
Lately, I've been in a very good place with my speech. Rarely have had any problems getting across what I'm trying to say these past few months. I know it won't last though. My stutter will more than likely reappear eventually, bringing with it emotions I'm never prepared for. But, my hope with writing about it and discussing with the people close to me, I can mentally prepare myself as best as I can for what's to come.
That same feeling came back with the same game years later, only this time I was in high school health class. I remember trying to pass the message along and couldn't get out a word. I took twice as long to pass the message along and the student I "whispered" it to heard me incorrectly, as I could hear them whispering something completely differently to the next one, leaving me in tears while a sinking feeling washed over me. After the game was over, the teacher talked about how important communication is and how one dink in the message can change everything. It was obvious to me in that moment that I was the dink.
I found my love of writing by chance. I was taking a literature class and we were asked to do a project on a poet. Me, not knowing or caring about anything poetry, picked my favorite singer/songwriter Lana Del Rey. Looking at her lyrics from a different angle changed my perspective on lyrics and poetry. That project opened up my eyes to artists and poets. One of the parts of this project, was to analyze a poem or song and present it to the class. That same day, my stutter came back and it was as though I was a little kid again, struggling to get my words out. I remember getting in front of the class and stumbling my way through my presentation, trying my best not to burst into tears. I felt I was being betrayed by my own body and there was nothing I could do but fight back or be silent.
After that week, my stutter leveled out and life went on. Months went by, I took a writing class throughout the summer and still didn't care for poetry. I put as little effort as I could into my poems but spent lots of time thinking about the stories I would write. Some comments back from my teacher on my poetry went along the lines of "good but it could be better" or "add some more ______ to it" or "spend some more time on this, get creative!" Reading those comments had no effect on how I planned to write poetry because I didn't plan to write any after the class was over.
I started this blog in July 2014, thinking I could share my voice and opinions on things in the world as well as encourage people any way I could. But it wasn't until the next month that I realized how much writing really meant to me. The day before I left on my trip to Maine, I went to Target to get the usual travel supplies. Randomly I passed by the notebook section. Something told me it may be a good idea to buy a notebook to help pass the time, not thinking anything of it but feeling the possibilities of what I could fill this notebook with was what sold me as I put it in my cart. That feeling was the turning point and the excitement grew as I began to fill the pages of that notebook with anything and everything I saw or felt. It was as though for the first time, I could say my words without having to use my voice.
Looking back now, I remember the moment when I realized my love of writing can help me overcome my struggles with speaking. It was a around a campfire, by the lake after roasting marshmallows. There was maybe four of us talking about random topics in the dark. I knew I wanted to say something about the topic being discussed and waiting for a break in the flow of the conversation to speak what was on my mind. My stutter was back at that time, so I was sitting there waiting for my chance to speak, repeating the words over and over again, hoping my stutter wouldn't break the flow of the conversation too much. The topic had changed by the time there was a tiny break, so I took the opportunity anyway and spoke what was on my mind. Unfortunately, I stuttered through my words and my sister called me out about going back to the topic that was no longer being discussed. Being frustrated at her, but mainly myself for not being able to keep up with the flow of the conversation, I burst into tears and yelled at her for calling me out. It ended with me running up the hill away from the campfire, tears falling down my puffy cheeks, silent for the rest of the night. At least, my voice was..
December 2015.
I began writing this essay a little over two months ago. The words above were hard for me to write and lots of tears were shed in the process. I remember going to a dark place and feeling like I did when I was younger, when I didn't want to accept something I ultimately couldn't keep on denying. All of the situations I described above happened years ago now, with the most recent one being the summer of 2014. After I ran up the hill crying, I wrote many pages in my notebook about how wrong my sister was. I still have that notebook and look at the words written differently now than I did in that moment.
But what I learned from that situation profoundly changed my life. Realizing I could put my thoughts down into words on a piece of paper with a pen in a notebook with messy handwriting was a revelation I never saw coming. Writing poetry without any limits or expectations from anyone gave me the confidence and challenge I needed to create something I never imagined I could. Turning my happy, angry, confused, emotionally charged feelings into words on paper gave me a new perspective to see what I could not comprehend otherwise.
Over the past two months, I've avoided opening this document. I feared feeling what I've ignored all these years. When I started writing this, I cried with every word, pained by hiding my feelings for so long. I stopped writing this because I wasn't ready to accept it, going back to avoidance was taking the easy way out.
That doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. There's not a day that goes by where my stutter doesn't cross my mind at least once. I have had many discussions about my stuttering, with every one of them leading to tears. But crying isn't a bad thing, I wasn't sad when I talked about it. I was confused by the emotions I was experiencing, not sure how to handle feelings I've ignored for as long as I could remember.
Lately, I've been in a very good place with my speech. Rarely have had any problems getting across what I'm trying to say these past few months. I know it won't last though. My stutter will more than likely reappear eventually, bringing with it emotions I'm never prepared for. But, my hope with writing about it and discussing with the people close to me, I can mentally prepare myself as best as I can for what's to come.
Beginning this essay, the only promise I made to myself was that when I was finished, I would be done crying about this. I would speak differently about my stuttering. That through writing these words, I would stare what I had been avoiding straight in the eye and take power over my fears once and for all. I will not let my voice be silent when my speech stumbles.
My words have always meant something to me. Being able to speak my voice with my writing and poems has been the biggest blessing I have ever known. Creating beautiful poems and pieces with a voice I never knew existed makes me the happiest. My voice may stutter and stumble at times but no one will ever be able to stop me from speaking my mind and writing my words.
My words have always meant something to me. Being able to speak my voice with my writing and poems has been the biggest blessing I have ever known. Creating beautiful poems and pieces with a voice I never knew existed makes me the happiest. My voice may stutter and stumble at times but no one will ever be able to stop me from speaking my mind and writing my words.
What an inspiring essay. I've stuttered all my life, and although it's lessened as I've gotten older it'll never truly leave me. Our voice, in the form of the written word, will always be strong. Keep doing what makes you happy.
ReplyDeleteIt's never about what you say, or how you say it, it's about who you are that counts. Thanks for sharing your blog post, Kelly. Have a wonderful week.