My mother told me that the only speech therapist she consulted told her I'd grow out of it and recommended no treatment. She was probably in denial and wanted to hear that. You need to get a good speech therapist and keep trying if you're not confident in the current one. Be aware also of the distinction between speech pathologists and speech therapists. My other advice is to: -- never, *ever*, underestimate how debilitating this may be for your son and the life that potentially awaits him. This is often underestimated by fluent observers in terms of how debilitating, demoralizing and frustrating it can be. In my own case, as you'll see further below, it caused or aggregated mental illness and set in motion a self reinforcing vicious cycle aggravating my helplessness and loneliness. -- Get your son used to and accepting of talking about it directly with you. As a bewildered child I felt I was facing the impact of my stutter on my own. You need to check in with your son regularly and at a minimum satisfy yourself that his concerns are not developing into pathology. In my case, my parents never talked to me *about* my stutter, not even to acknowledge it, leave alone encourage me to tell them what was happening in my life and how my life and my dreams were being affected by my stutter. Although, off topic, I'll end with the following information about me and my stutter. As a teenager, just about everyone reassured me I'd grow out of it, maybe because with adulthood you're supposed to get more self confidence. I didn't. I became reclusive, pensive, fearful of people and constantly anxious outside the home. At school I was invisible to my peers and teachers. Sometimes I was ridiculed by boys and the A team girls. Monday mornings in the quadrangle I'd listen to my classmates talk about their weekend partying, losing their virginity and winning boys' hearts. I felt isolated - like a Martian might - I had internalized their view of me as irrevocably 'other'. The stutter got worse progressively through my life. I always wanted to be a barrister like my dad. I wasted 3 lonely years as an undergrad studying law, waiting to grow out of it - until I worked out I would never grow out of it. I switched to archaeology. This was the only field I could think of (besides IT, for which I had little aptitude) that would allow me to lead a hermit life and be paid for it. I had so much to give the world OP, but this affliction took away all my dreams. This was until a psychiatrist treating my depression and anxiety put me on a class of drugs known as SSRIs. Within six weeks the antidepressants had cured my depression and my anxiety. My confidence soared. And, to my young psychiatrist's surprise and to my joyful astonishment, my stutter vanished. I came out. I met the love of my life. I joined Toastmasters and became a speech writer on the staff of a Federal Cabinet Minister. I occasionally volunteer as a speaker to groups of stutterers about my experience. I campaign actively for women's rights, palliative care and trade unionism. The three good things stuttering gave me were: -- Well developed writing skills (as compensation, I guess, for my inability to speak); -- A good EQ, by forcing me to listen rather than speak. (I guess hearing others in my silence, I couldn't help but develop a 'theory of mind' and an ability to 'read the room' to understand potential threats and opportunities); and -- An appreciation for my current stutter-free life, as I shudder to contemplate what might have been had that sliding door moment in my psychiatrist's office not occurred.