How I Ended My stutter

People ask me often how I did it. How did I stop stuttering and start speaking.
Well...

I may not be typical, but then again I might just be.
I have a theory, that stutterers are "Golden Children".
We come into the world and are - from the start - different to most people.
We detect, early on, that the world is crazy.
We can make no sense of it.
We see adults as completely nuts. And other children as spiteful creatures that would do us harm.
We do not understand it at all, because we are not like that.

But what we are, as a group, is more sensitive, more vulnerable, than others.
Stress sets in. It builds up. We want to talk about this, but nobody understands. Nobody listens.
The need to communicate builds and builds, and we use more and more effort to try to be heard.
And to be understood.
And at some point the effort we put into trying to vocalize our needs causes our vocal cords to close.
Like a tin whistle will not whistle when blown too hard, our vocal cords are blown too hard and they stop vocalizing.

I may be wrong. Or at least only right about myself.
But consider the possibility that this may have happened to you.
You have learned, over a lifetime, that you stutter.
How in the world are you going to unlearn that?

How I did it is probably not possible for most people, but for those who are serious enough about speaking fluently, it may work for you.

You must discover yourself all over again.
Put yourself in an environment where you can do this. A seething city will not do.
Silence and solitude are necessary. A desert is ideal. Or a sunny, empty beach.
Teach yourself to meditate. This is easy. Do it alone. There is no such thing as meditating in a group, at least not for me. You must be alone.
Empty your mind and breathe.
Really breathe.
Become conscious of every breath. Do not force anything.
Sink into nothingness.

I recommend reading what must be one of the world's shortest books:
Tao Te Ching: the Stephen Mitchell translation.
Absorb it. Read it over and over. Live it. Become it.
And realize that effort used is effort wasted.
Give your vocal cords, and your entire mind and body a break.

Just stop.

After a week - or a month - of this, you will be very different from when you started.
And you will be able to speak.
It may not last, but you will know it can be done, and how it can be done, and you will be able to build on that.
A time will come when you simply forget about your desire to speak fluently, and that will be the moment that you can.

We want it too much. and that is the very thing that prevents us from getting it.
Until you understand that last sentence, you will not be fluent.

No guarantees on this: but understand: what you get out of it is directly proportional to what you put into it. Put everything you have into it, but do it without effort, or the desire for any result.

Just do it.

Someone asked me if I felt afraid that my fluency might disappear again at some point.
This was my answer:

I may well stutter again, and probably will, from time to time.
But I have no fear of this. My life is my life.
Its very imperfections power my willingness to improve myself.
But fluency, whenever and for however long, is like an unexpected gift
from a clear blue sky.
I love it, but know it is not mine to possess.
Like enlightenment: knowing what it is, is good enough.

Speech Therapy experiences.

I have often wondered if there are any success stories out there concerning experiences with speech therapists.
I have had negligible results from my own experiences.
To wit...

Miss Metherall.
I was about ten years old. She gained my confidence and then asked me what was the absolute worst thing about being a stutterer. I told her: when kids at the children's home, where I lived, called me a "stutter-baby".
She then started calling me a "stutter-baby".
Which really didn't do a lot for my ability to trust people.

Then a rather plain old bat, when I was about twelve:
The only thing I remember about her was that she made me lie down on the floor in front of the desk where she sat and told me to relax.
I don't know whether or not she realized I could see all the way up her skirt to her stocking tops and panties.
I enjoyed that, but it did nothing for my stutter.

Long break - I was in my late 20's - when I met Jan Karlberg.
She was nice: I really liked her. But the only thing she was able to achieve was to teach me to speak like a frozen retard, freshly dug up from a glacier.
Long drawn out sounds at a rate of about three words a minute.
I decided that - as bad as my stutter was - I would rather have that, than sound retarded.

And that is about it for my adventures with therapy.
Very few stutterers seem to have had much luck with therapists.
Does anyone have any more positive outcomes to share?

The Thing You Like Most...

Many stutterers seem to share something in common:
The way they see themselves.

Self-respect - for a stutterer - is as elusive, as hard to grasp and hold, as a wet mackerel.
So I tried an experiment on my wife.
She does not stutter, but even she had trouble with this:

"What is the thing you like most about yourself?"

She was unable to answer. She got more and more uncomfortable.
I answered for her, what I thought was her best point:
"You are kind".

She seemed happy enough with that, but still, not sure.

What I said I liked most about myself was:
"My Resilience".
No matter what happens and has happened to me along the way, I am still able to be as I am today: someone I genuinely like and respect.
This was not always so!

What is it about you that you like the most?

Birdbrains and Rhythm.

When I was young, a favourite aunt
said "crows can see what most men can't.
Most find it hard to like a crow,
For crows knows things that men don't know".

From high above, crows can look down
on all these self-important clowns.
Crows flap and squawk and know no bounds
While men lash out and wear deep frowns.

Some men set out to wipe out crows,
Why they do this, they don't know.
They call crows names and vent their spleen,
But crows just laugh, when they're so mean.

To a crow it is a full time job,
Sidestepping the lumbering human blob.
Who rants and raves and points and shouts,
so full of rage, so full of doubt.

Crows like to spy on what goes on,
But the day is theirs when men have gone.
To plot and plan and do mischief,
To bring mens' best laid plans to grief.

Men never will dispense with crows,
Why this is so, who really knows?
But conflict is the way of men
The crow flies off, but comes back again.

The seeing-eye, the beating wing,
The bird that laughs at everything.
Misunderstood by everyone
who can not see all things as one.

Oh dear, I just remembered that
this post should be in General Chat,
But what the heck, I am a crow,
How could I know where things should go!

Easy for you to say!

Many years ago, I found myself at a drunken party in the Pulp-Mill town of Ocean Falls, British Columbia, Canada.
I made some kind of announcement, or other, I forget about what…
The other drunks dutifully endured my glacially slow and tortured attempts to get the message out past my lips, and when - at great length - I had finished, one of them said:
"Easy for you to say!"

That was about the funniest thing I've ever found about stuttering. Everybody laughed - even me! But...

Stuttering is no fun.
If you stutter, you already know this.
It is one of the most insidious of handicaps, in that it can not be seen.
The listener is often left with the impression that the stutterer is either stupid, mentally subnormal, or stoned on drugs or drink.
I've often wished for ANY other handicap rather than the one I have: at least people would KNOW I had a handicap!

Stuttering has shaped my life: limiting what I might have achieved, preventing me from having any kind of ordinary existence, and setting me on a dangerous course that has led to mountains of trouble and hurt.

But even so, there has been a good side to this…

I wonder how boring and underdeveloped as a person I would now be, had I not been forced to deal with this affliction.

There once was a crow in a forum

There once was a crow in a forum,
Who never intended to bore 'em.
So he kept to the point, and he shook up the joint,
Every word that he said seemed to floor 'em.

You see one day he got quite offended,
He replied in a manner quite splendid.
His intent was ignored, while his words really scored,
A direct hit, that his welcome ended.

Reviled was the crow from then on.
Every word that he said was frowned on.
He knew not what to do, he did not have a clue,
All his readers just thought him a moron.

Now it's hard for a crow to accept,
That some people could think him inept.
For a crow knows too much, for all those out of touch,
But wisdom is a secret best kept.

The crow did what crows can do best.
He peered down at them from his nest.
From a man with a gun, it is wiser to run,
Than to try to convince him he's blessed.

A crow has his own bright ideas,
Unclouded by other men's fears.
He thinks what he wishes, the man shoots but he misses,
A crow is more than he appears.

From high in the sky he can see,
All those things that a thing can be.
It is hard to expound when you're stuck on the ground,
What things look like to one that is free.

A crow doesn't think such a lot.
A crow knows what thinking does not.
“I know what I know”, really sums up a crow,
And all crows know just what they've got.

If you see a crow up in a tree,
Say a big hello to it from me.
Study it well, listen for it to tell,
How you too might end up so free.

But a forum's no place for a crow.
For most people have no wish to know.
What a crow knows inside, as his life opens wide,
Still he cares for those humans below.

He lives his life Asif it matters.
While most people stay mad as hatters.
Though he hopes things will change, still he stays out of range,
When they close in on him, then he scatters.

Consider that solitary crow.
He's so used to you down there below.
Just because he's above, does not mean he can't love,
Though to some its not easy to show.

A crow doesn't care what you think.
The worst thing merely makes him blink.
As he laughs at his life, he has no time for strife,
But by golly he kicks up a stink!