r/stutter inspired me to write a book, a combination memoir/self-help book about having a stutter. Here's one chapter of it

r/stutter inspired me to write a book, a combination memoir/self-help book about having a stutter. Here's one chapter of it Hi r/stutter! Eight months ago you all inspired me to write a book. I'd been lurking for more than a year, reading dozens of posts from people suffering under their stutter. The posts that affected me the most were young people who weren't living up to their potential because of their stutter; they knew they weren't everything they could be, it was killing them, and they were worried their whole life would be that way. I had plenty of personal experience to share about how to live well despite your stutter, but I never sat down and wrote it all out. I had so much to say; it was more than would fit in any one comment. Eventually the tension in my personal life snapped and I decided to share all the wisdom/experience I could. I wanted to show that a stutter is an obstacle and not a death sentence. I've felt like the existing stuttering literature addresses fluency in the moment, but not the psychological impact of having a stutter for life. I also think self-management and mindfulness are an X-factor when it comes to fluency, but aren't really addressed in the existing literature. I've been working on this project since January but this is the first time I've shared it publicly. When it's done I'll try to get the book published with a major publishing house so I can share it as widely as possible. Here is a section called "What Success Looks Like." I hope you enjoy it, please leave any feedback/reactions you have. I'd love to hear it. **What Success Looks Like* I'm five months into a job hunt. It's not going very well. Being a software developer, I expected the job hunt to take a month, two tops. The rejection and financial strain has been a major strain on my mental health; I'd say I'm clinically depressed. There's nothing to do everyday except apply for more jobs and hope one of them works out. So it's not like I'm in great shape. I have a phone interview in twenty minutes. My call is with Walter, the directory of engineering at ePartners (fictitious). ePartners is building an innovative new platform to connect patients with primary care physicians. I'm very excited about ePartners. I check my watch for the tenth time. I know my nerves could spin out of control before the call even starts. I know a good conversation with Walter brings me one step closer to the best job I've ever had. As much as I try to calm myself, I'm emotionally invested in the outcome, so there's going to be some level of nerves. I focus on keeping the nervousness at a manageable level. I practice my talking points aloud, speaking to no one in particular. It warms up my voice and gets my brain ready for the call. Earlier in my career I was vague and meandering during phone screens. Hiring managers would ask straightforward questions like "What are you looking for in your next role?" and I'd answer off the cuff, not thinking more than a sentence ahead: I'd like a supervisor I can trust and ask for help when needed, but I don't ask for help that often, only when I need it, but the team dynamic is important to me, too; sometimes the team itself has a bigger impact, since after all the boss is only one person; but I guess both at the same place would be best, that's the holy grail. I could almost hear the bewilderment on the other end after an answer like that. There was a conference room next to my workspace at my previous company; the sound bled through the wall and I could hear conversations as clearly as if they were in the room with me. I eavesdropped on enough of those calls to notice our sales team didn't improvise; they had a set of talking points they could recite and adapt to each client. I realized I could do the same in my job hunt: work out a few rough stories about myself, my work history, and what I'm looking for. Then I could pick and choose as needed. Rehearsing these talking points keeps me calm in the lead-up to the call. I worry about performing well on the call and I worry about my stutter disrupting my speech. So I lay on my back in bed, answering questions I ask myself. I'm speaking at a conversational volume, loud enough for my roommates to hear if they're around - "I'm looking for a more democratic work environment. I'm not saying we always have to go the direction I want to go, but everyone should be able to voice their opinion." I'm giving my mind something else to focus on, getting myself in the proper frame for a business call, warming up my speaking voice. It's a few warm-up laps around the track so I don't have to take the engine from dead-stop to full-speed in one go. My phone buzzes at 1:03pm. I don't recognize the number, so it's almost certainly Walter. Answering a phone call seems like a simple act, but it's a major decision point if you have a stutter. I know when I will my thumb to press "Receive" that it will follow through every time; my thumb will touch the screen, slide right and my phone will connect to the call. But I don't know if my voice will cooperate when I will myself to say "Hello?" For me, answering a phone call is like diving into cold water before swim practice. It's unpleasant, but also necessary if I'm to get anywhere. And there's no external impetus, it's not something that happens to me; it's something I decide to do. I have to stare it in the face, hope for the best, and take the plunge. I breathe out sharply, steel myself. I search for that perfect execution; the best timing, best pace, best channel for my voice. It's entirely mental, works entirely by feel. It's unpredictable, it's not an exact science. I tap the screen. "Hi, this is Tom Lovett" comes out in perfect rhythm. I used to answer phone calls with "Hello" but I often blocked on the "H." I'd push with my mouth open, then fall into fluency only after I got the first syllable out. The person on the other end would that the call connected, but my voice wouldn't come through for another half a beat. They'd ask if I could hear them, if the audio was working; I'd tell them I could hear them fine, write off the awkward moment to a poor connection and get on with the call. "Hi Tom, this is Walter from ePartners. How are you?" "Doing well, Walter, how are you?" This is routine to me by now, the small talk in the opening section of the call. I've been on enough phone screens by now to know the script. I calm my nerves by relaxing into the routine. Everyone says practically the same thing every time: "I'm doing well, thank you. So I came across your resume and it looks like you could be a good fit for our engineering team. So I'd like to talk with you about your background, what you're looking for in your next position, and then tell you a little bit about what we're doing at ePartners. How does that sound?" "Sounds good." They always ask "How does that sound?" and I always answer "Sounds good" with the same cadence and delivery. Just executing the routine. "Great. So why don't you tell me a little more about your background." "Sure." I start nearly every response in the phone call with "Sure," even when it doesn't make complete sense. "Sure" comes out easily for me; it reliably bridges the gap from not speaking to going on a minutes-long monologue. I pace around the room as I talk, looping back and forth in a U-shape around my bed. I fidget with my pen in the hand that isn't holding the phone, spinning it one way and then the other. I make broad, sweeping gestures with my arms. Anything to divert the nervous energy away from my throat and into the rest of my body. My voice isn't fully cooperating but it's going alright. A few times I feel half a block coming and have to squeeze my way through. "...That team wasn't -exactly what I was looking for, but it was a good experience." I'm trying to sound natural but I'm short of breath the whole time. This call is pushing me to the edge of my speech. So much of my brainpower is going into hitting talking points and speaking fluently that my breathing becomes shallow and erratic. I finish sentences with the last bits of oxygen in my lungs. I imagine I sound nervous to Walter; but a little nervous is alright, it is a phone interview after all. I'd sound a lot worse if I was stuttering or having hard blocks. I finish my monologue. "...And now I'm looking for a team with a good work-life balance, something more sustainable, a better long-term fit." "That sounds great, Tom, thank you for catching me up on that. And now I'd like to tell you a little more about ePartners and what we're working on. We're rolling out a new product so the engineering team is spending a lot of time..." I relax as I listen to Walter's spiel; it's my chance to regroup. I did well in my section. My speech wasn't perfect but it was serviceable; I hit the major talking points, represented myself well. That was ostensibly the most difficult section and I got over the hurdle. I can relax a little. I busy myself while Walter talks about the role, the company, and the engineering team. I jot down notes on things that aren't important to me; just siphoning off the nervous energy. Walter finishes and asks me what I think. I used to that question with a simple "Sounds good to me." As a middle-child, I can be a little too comfortable being passive. Also, I preferred to say less and stutter less rather than overextend myself and risk blocking. But I learned to be more proactive. I found if I didn't ask follow-up questions the person on the other end of the line would think I hadn't been paying attention. I force myself to speak at greater length than I otherwise would; I respond to the things Walter said, I ask follow-up questions. "I really like what you said about having monthly planning meetings. I felt like my previous employer didn't spend enough time planning out major projects." Walter replies, I sense he's engaged and pleased with our conversation so far. My confidence rise, I get more comfortable. I'm doing well. Walter asks if I ever suggested a new idea that had a big impact on the business. "Sure." I tell him how I changed the task-prioritization process at my last job. As I talk I feel a "cl-" word coming up in my thoughts. I know this is a problem phoneme, I sense that bit of anxiety, but I go anyway. "We were able to take on more work and as a result we *closed* three new contracts..." I give myself a pat on the back; for trying and for succeeding. I stay in the moment but allow myself to enjoy that minor victory. "Well Tom, thank you for taking the time to talk with me today. It's been great speaking with you. I'll talk this over with the team. If we decide to move forward I'll reach out about next steps later this week." I could get away with a simple "Thank you" but again I push myself forward. "Thank you for your time, Walter. It's been great talking to you, too. I really like what you're doing at eHealth, it sounds great; I'd love to go next steps if the team is interested." "Alright. Have a great rest of your day." Now, just execute the script. "You too. Take care. Bye." "Bye." I look my phone for confirmation. Call ended. Twenty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds. I breathe out slowly through my nose. The call's over. My nervous system is still agitated. I can feel hot blood flowing through the arteries in my armpits. I can feel the thoughts racing through my mind faster than normal. But it's over, I can relax. That went well. I hit my talking points, my stories represented me well. There were no long rambles or off-topic tangents. My voice was smooth as well. I sounded a little nervous, but well within the acceptable bounds of a phone interview. Walter may have thought I was nervous but I highly doubt he could tell I have a stutter. Time for lunch. I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. A full stomach should help calm my physiology. Then on with the rest of my day.