How my stutter is teaching me humility—in science and beyond

From ScienceMag:

“My name is …” The words stick in my throat, obstinately refusing to yield. The silence stretches on as I shake a stranger’s hand. Consciously relaxing my jaw, I breathe in and manage to release my name in a breathy tone, “Pppeeeettterr.” Typical responses range from awkward pauses to the joking “Are you sure?” or, in the worst case, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” As a child, I would imagine I just made myself look stupid. Now, I see it differently. My stutter is an invitation to humility.

I have been a stutterer since I was about 7 years old. It had no obvious cause; even the most current literature on the topic will admit the pathology of stuttering is “enigmatic.” When I was young, I avoided speaking. I learned speech therapy techniques, methods of breathing and forming my words, but I was comfortable in my own mind and didn’t really need to share my thoughts. When I couldn’t avoid speaking, my go-to strategy was to replace words with synonyms when I felt a block coming. Then I fell in love with science, where precision mattered not only in benchwork, but also in terminology. So, while in graduate school, I restarted speech therapy, worked on new strategies, and began to gain confidence in my own voice. I thought I had my stutter under control.

One postdoc and many job interviews later, I became an assistant professor, facing the standard challenges of starting a research group—and my speech was regressing. Using speech strategies is taxing: To avoid stammering on tricky words I must be aware of how I breathe, form words on my lips, and move my mouth. But between grants, papers, project management, paperwork, other principal investigator stresses, and being a father of four (soon to be five) young children, I had too little intellectual space left to devote to preparing to speak. In addition, the transition from the few planned and prepared speaking opportunities I had as a postdoc to endless obligatory communication overwhelmed my coping strategies. I have been so preoccupied with what I am saying that I cannot focus on how I say it.

The regression was gradual, and I didn’t notice it until one day, a few months ago, I was teaching my thermodynamics class and found myself unable to say “equilibrium.” Later that day I struggled to tell a colleague the name of my newborn daughter. The students seemed to shrug off my difficulty, and my colleague changed the subject after a brief awkward moment. Still, a feeling of humiliation remained, clashing with my self-image as a capable scientist. I began to wonder how anyone could respect me or my work if I was unable to communicate clearly.

A few weeks later, I found myself nervously ruminating on a commitment I had made to introduce a speaker at an upcoming conference. I began dwelling on worst-case scenarios in which I humiliated myself in front of my peers. This anxiety over 30 seconds of public speaking months in the future was not healthy. I began to wonder whether I had subconsciously begun to avoid speaking roles again, as in my childhood. I thought back to a conference opportunity I had passed up, telling myself I was too busy to apply. Maybe I just didn’t want to give a talk.

Eventually I came to a realization: I will probably never be free of my stutter. I will always face the burden of coaxing my body to do what comes naturally and effortlessly for most. The thought was both depressing and exhausting. At the same time, I began to wonder whether I can gain some good from this burden. If radiation can be used to cure cancer, why can’t my stutter make me better, too?

I have decided to reject feelings of humiliation and instead embrace humility; to accept my vulnerabilities and my limitations and welcome the new perspectives they provide. When my voice sticks and refuses to cooperate, I can’t force it. And I can’t control how others perceive me. Instead, I can choose to relax, breathe, and coax each syllable, gently yet diligently. This mindset can help my work as well. I can employ similar strategies when I receive grant rejections or belittling paper reviews. I am not in control, but I can, with proper effort, participate in the conversation.

Read More