Standing up to stuttering

By Cheryl Chiu

"I have come to believe over and over again, that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. The fact that we are here and that I speak these words is an attempt to break that silence and bridge some of those differences between us, for it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken."

­--Audre Lorde

The above quotation is a more than adequate introduction to this first piece from a new opinion writer. The use of the word "silence" rings particularly deafening in my ear, the reason being I have lived most of my 18 years completely silent.

I have been silent because of the fear of speaking about my disability, but also of speaking, as the process itself was the very thing I had long been unable to do properly. I am what you would call a stutterer. However, now I call myself a "recovering stutterer." I adopted this new, slightly upgraded title by pushing myself far out of my comfort zone this summer and attending a speech recovery course called the McGuire Program.

Before the McGuire Program, I was doing all I could to appear normal. Yet, with my inordinate amount of hidden insecurities, all leading inevitably back to my stutter, I knew that I had to do something drastic not only to better myself, but also to keep my sanity.

On bad days, when I could barely say my own name, pick up a phone or start a conversation with a friend, life felt like it was far much more work than it was worth.

The McGuire Program is exceptional because it focuses on the entire person and not just on the person's speech. The course introduced a special breathing technique to help stutterers get past speech blocks (silent periods where no sound is produced) and involuntary repetitions.

A big part of the McGuire Program was desensitization, where we went to the local mall and did "contacts," verbal interaction with strangers. During this activity we used "voluntary stuttering," which is purposely repeating sounds and mimicking the act of stuttering in order to feel what it is like to stutter with control, as most of us were out-of-control stutterers.

We also did a lot of "disclosing," which is revealing oneself as a stutterer and explaining a little about the speech recovery process. One of the proudest speaking moments of my entire life was when I spoke into a microphone to an audience sitting at a cafe, introducing myself and doing a full disclosure.

Since graduating from the course, my days have been quite a bit brighter than before, not without some effort on my part. Though the course did teach me to speak with increased fluency, I also took from it one of the greatest lessons, in my opinion, a person can ever learn: gaining self-acceptance.

This is something everybody struggles with, but with a disability, the idea of accepting myself often seemed preposterous to me. Why would I ever accept, let alone embrace, my stutter? But the McGuire Program taught me to do just that -- before you can let go of something, you must embrace it.

The McGuire Program essentially forced me to face my worst fear, admit I had a debilitating problem and take an earnest whack at defeating the stuttering monster (as I so endearingly call it).

My stuttering had been something I thought I would never overcome and that I would have to live with the rest of my life. Now, it is something that I have a palpable amount of control over, something that will not conquer me unless I allow it to. And I most definitely will not.

Cheryl Chiu is a sophomore psychology major.