I am 16 and have a stutter. Here’s what most people don’t understand

Stuttering is not what most people think it is. It’s not just getting stuck on words or having a hard time saying a sentence. There is a hidden part to it. A good analogy is an iceberg. The top part sticking out of the water is me stumbling on words, and what’s underneath is the turbulent emotions I feel while stuttering.

In my family, there are three stutterers: My dad, my maternal aunt and me. I am 16.

To really understand what it means to stutter, I will describe my experience.

I am standing at the front of an eighth-grade classroom full of people I have known my entire life. They know I stutter, but that does not make this debate in history class any easier. I am presenting the final part of what I have learned this year about the Supreme Court. The facts are simple, and I know them well, but I do not feel calm because just knowing the facts cannot help me here.

I start speaking, and everyone quiets. The eyes of 20 people I know so well are on me, and I feel a tightness in my throat. My heart beats faster, and I feel my chest heating up. I say my line with great difficulty. The rate of my speech is very fast, but because I’m stuttering so much, the actual words are coming out painfully slowly. The one or two minutes it takes feels like an eternity. I am filled with fear, anger and guilt.

As I am speaking, my mind is elsewhere. I should be focusing on what I am saying, but I can’t. My mind is thinking that my classmates will think less of me after this.

The only voice I hear inside is the one yelling, “YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOUR STUTTERING” and “NO ONE STUTTERS BUT YOU.”

In reality, I should feel proud because this debate is no easy feat, but I don’t. As the debate progresses and my turn ends, I am left thinking about what just happened. I’m left wondering whether anyone else realizes how much courage it takes to do what I just did - to speak, to defy a stutter. But I know they don’t. They can’t. And that’s the worst part.

A year later, my parents enrolled me in a speech therapy program at Boston’s Emerson College. I relearned how to speak. This was a difficult process that required patience and discipline. One activity I did in this program was to walk up to a stranger in a park and survey them about stuttering. To a non-stutterer, this might seem a bit nerve-racking, but for me it was terrifying. I walked over to the person while my mind was thinking of all the bad things this stranger could say: Maybe they will tell me to go away, or they don’t want to talk to a stutterer, or maybe they will make fun of me.

I walk up and say, “Hello, my name is Andrew Flint, and I stutter. I’ve been working on my speech in speech therapy. Can I ask you four questions about stuttering?” To my relief, they told me that I could. I asked them what they thought was the cause of stuttering, whether they felt uncomfortable or embarrassed talking to a stutterer, whether they knew anyone who stuttered and what they thought someone should do to overcome their stutter. This interaction went perfectly. It was not at all like what I feared.

Still, I was very afraid of the next one. The fear never fully disappears.

Every day is either a good day or a bad day for my speech. On some days, I just stutter more. This is beyond my control.

The cause of stuttering is not known, but most researchers agree that there is a neurological component to it, as well as a genetic component because it tends to run in families.

When someone is stuttering, you might feel like avoiding eye contact or saying words for them. Don’t do those things. It may be tempting to move the conversation along by saying the word they are stuttering on, but doing that will only reinforce the belief that what they’re doing is abnormal, which they don’t need.

Last year when I walked into my 10th-grade history class, I could tell my speech was not going to be good. My history class involved frequent discussions, and I knew that I would stutter severely in this one. When reading aloud, I always choose the shortest paragraph and am mindful of the initial sound. The letter “s” is particularly challenging for me.

As I read the paragraph, I got stuck on words here and there, but I was able to say them and continue speaking. Until I came across a word that I could not say fluently: Massachusetts. I stuttered a lot; I stopped saying it, then started again, but that didn’t help. After what felt like minutes, but was probably only around 20 seconds, a classmate whispered the word.

I thought, “Do they think I don’t know how to pronounce this word?” I realised that people don’t know that much about stuttering, even classmates I’ve known for years. Eventually, I got unstuck and finished the paragraph. I was angry and annoyed at the classmate - until I realized they were just trying to help.

I’m now in 11th grade, and I came across a recording from my speech therapy of me reading a passage. Two years ago, it took me 2 minutes, 34 seconds to read 129 words. I was stuttering severely. When I reread the passage recently, it took me just 43 seconds. That is a major improvement, and I feel good about my growth.

I have learned that stuttering is a part of who I am. My friends and family have accepted me, regardless of my speech. They have helped me face my fear, and I have come a long way in my stuttering journey.

Special to The Washington Post