The Gift and the Curse of Stuttering

The Gift and the Curse of Stuttering

Why I write The Deep Dive—and why speaking doesn’t always tell the whole story.

One of the reasons I write The Deep Dive is because I’m a person who stutters.

That probably isn’t the first connection most people would make.

But when speaking is physically and mentally difficult, you naturally learn to listen more, observe more, and think more deeply before you speak.

You pay attention to how people communicate. You notice things other people might overlook. You think about different ways to explain the same idea. You learn to read a room.

And you become very aware of words.

Because sometimes, the word in your head isn’t the word that will come out of your mouth.

That is one of the most frustrating parts of stuttering.

The words I say aren't always the words I wanted to say.

When you don't stutter, you may assume that the person standing in front of you is choosing their words deliberately.

For someone who stutters, that isn't always the case.

Sometimes I have an entire thought in my head, but the word I actually want to use is completely blocked.

So I have to find another way to say it.

Sometimes I have to change the sentence halfway through.

Sometimes I have to find a different word.

Sometimes I have to take a completely different route to get to the same point.

And sometimes the only word I can get out isn't the word I would have chosen.

To me, it can feel a little like comedy improv or freestyle rapping.

You have to be quick on your feet.

You are constantly looking for another word, another phrase, another route.

And because my brain is moving so quickly, I sometimes forget that not everyone has to operate this way.

I have multiple ways to say almost everything.

That's not something I consciously decided to learn.

It's something I've developed because I've had to.

Speaking can be a physical chore.

People who don't stutter may understand intellectually that stuttering is difficult, but they may not fully understand what it feels like to actually fight through a block.

Sometimes my face, jaw, chest, or other muscles tighten.

Sometimes I know exactly what I want to say and simply can't get the word out.

And when you're working that hard just to produce speech, you don't necessarily have a lot of energy left over for everything else.

That's why I may give a short answer.

That's why I might text something instead of explaining it verbally.

That's why I may not want to repeat an entire explanation because someone wasn't paying attention the first time.

It's not necessarily that I don't want to talk.

Sometimes I'm simply trying to conserve the energy required to talk.

And when I'm sick—especially with a cold, flu, or seasonal allergies—it can be even harder.

Stuttering and breathing are closely connected to the physical act of speaking, so when breathing itself isn't working normally, talking can become that much more difficult.

When you're already fighting to get the words out, you don't necessarily want to spend your remaining breath arguing a point, repeating yourself, or over-explaining what you meant.

And sometimes my face or tone doesn't tell the real story.

This is another thing people can misunderstand.

A block can create a tremendous amount of physical tension.

My face may tighten.

My expression may change.

My voice may sound different.

My tone may come across as irritated.

I may look annoyed.

But that doesn't necessarily mean I'm annoyed with you.

Most of the time, I'm dealing with the physical and mental effort of getting the words out.

That's an important distinction.

You can't always determine what a person who stutters is thinking or feeling simply by watching how they look while they're speaking.

The same goes for assuming what we do or don't know based on one interaction.

A difficult conversation doesn't mean I don't understand something.

A short answer doesn't mean I don't have an opinion.

A strange choice of words doesn't mean I don't know the better word.

And struggling to communicate an idea doesn't mean I don't understand the idea.

Please don't finish my sentences.

This one is simple.

Let me get through the block.

I know it can be uncomfortable to sit there while someone is struggling to get a word out.

You may think you're helping.

But unless I specifically ask for help, please don't finish the sentence for me.

Give me a few extra seconds.

Maintain normal eye contact.

Let me work through it.

The word will usually come.

And if it doesn't, I'll find another way to say it.

That's something I've been doing my entire life.

My name is one of the hardest words I have.

There is an interesting irony to stuttering.

You can change a lot of words.

You can't change someone's name.

My name is Rayshaun.

And because names are essentially unchangeable words, saying my own name can be one of the hardest parts of an introduction.

So I've learned to be flexible.

Some days I'm Rayshaun.

Some days I'm Ray.

Some days I'm Shaun.

I'll use whichever one I can get out.

That's not me being indecisive about my identity.

It's me being practical about speech.

If you meet me and I introduce myself as Ray one day and Shaun another day, now you know why.

There are good speech days and bad speech days.

My stuttering has changed over time.

In some ways, it's gotten better.

In other ways, I've simply gotten better at handling it.

I've learned strategies.

I've learned when to push through a word and when to find another one.

I've learned to recognize when my speech battery is running low.

I've learned that sometimes the smartest thing I can do is stop talking and send a text.

But none of that means I've "overcome" stuttering.

I still have good speech days.

I still have bad speech days.

And sometimes I don't know which one I'm going to have when I wake up.

So now I try to learn something from every interaction.

The conversation with the cashier.

The interaction with a salesperson.

The restaurant.

The business meeting.

The stranger I meet.

The person who misunderstands me.

The person who gives me the extra few seconds I need.

All of those interactions teach me something about communication.

And that observation has become part of how I think.

Stuttering is a gift and a curse.

The curse is obvious.

It can be frustrating.

It can be physically exhausting.

It can make you angry.

It can make you sad.

It can make you want to avoid talking altogether.

It can make a simple introduction feel like a major event.

It can make you wonder whether someone understood what you actually meant.

And it can make you feel misunderstood even when you're standing right in front of someone.

But there is another side to it.

I've become an observer.

I've become a listener.

I've become someone who thinks about multiple ways to communicate the same idea.

I've become very aware of words, tone, timing, body language, and context.

My brain is constantly processing.

Sometimes it feels like my mind is moving much faster than my mouth can keep up with.

So yes, I sometimes jokingly think of it as a superpower.

Not because stuttering itself is a superpower.

But because I've had to develop skills that came from living with it.

I've learned to think around obstacles.

I've learned to improvise.

I've learned to adapt.

I've learned that there is almost always another way to say something.

And maybe that's part of why I write.

Because writing gives my thoughts the time and space that speaking doesn't always give them.

I don't have to fight for the word.

I don't have to substitute one word for another.

I don't have to worry about whether I can get my own name out.

I can take the thought in my head and actually put it on the page the way I intended it.

That's what The Deep Dive is for me.

It's a place where I can slow everything down.

Think.

Observe.

Process.

And say what I actually mean.

Because sometimes the person who struggles the most to get the words out is the person who has spent the most time thinking about what those words should be.

Thanks for reading The Deep Dive!

What do you think?

Have a thought about this Deep Dive? I'd love to hear it.

Email me at thedeepdive@touchesoftech.com and let me know what you think—or send along an idea for something you'd like to see explored in a future Deep Dive.

I can't promise I'll write about every suggestion, but I'm always interested in hearing what you're curious about.

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