Being challenged by communication has made me a better writer

This writer stuttered through life, and found it somehow *enhanced* communication?

This space has gone quiet for the most part over the last month (sorry!) as I was preparing to instruct another speech course, my fourth in six years as an instructor on the McGuire Programme. It’s an all-consuming job, every spare moment — mornings, lunchtimes, evenings, weekends — agonising over schedules, slides, attendee lists and tweaking the minute-by-minute minutiae. It’s feels like the stuttering equivalent of single-handedly running a conference like WebSummit.

It’s a voluntary role I fulfil, eager to give back and pass on the knowledge I gained when I joined almost 15 years ago when I was desperate for a lifeline facing the daunting milestone of being thrust into the working world after graduating from university.

It’s funny I ended up in journalism and broadcasting as a career because from a very young age — and punctuating my entire life — I have been challenged by a stutter. I have always spoken differently, been tested how others haven’t and shouldered a massive complex about how I communicate, so how on earth did I end up in this very assertive, fast-paced, communication-focused medium?

Maybe subconsciously I flung myself into this field because my own communication felt so broken. I wanted what I couldn’t have; what came so naturally to others was so alien to me. So frustrated by what challenged me but fascinated by how un-phased others were, it must have been pure determination that consumed me. You would think with a speech affliction — which affects 1% of the world’s population, whether you class that as more common or more rare than you thought — becoming a journalist would be the last thing I would want to do, but I never let it deter me.

I am a covert stutterer, which means I’m mostly ‘passable’ as a fluent speaker. A blessing, maybe, because your affliction flies under the radar for the most part (but not always) but a curse to overcome as it still dictates constant psychological arithmetic, all the unseen features fluent speakers will never see or feel, and forces a much bigger transformation than those who are ‘overt’ and very obviously challenged by stuttering.

In my mid-Thirties now with well over 15 years in the industry, I have realised in recent years how many ways having a stammer has actually made me a better journalist, which blows my mind. I’d like to share seven of those ways with you.

A Walking Thesaurus

Having shouldered a complex about how I speak I think about the words I use a lot more, I imagine, than fluent speakers. People who stutter have this in-built predictive text function to their brains, their minds run a mile a minute trying to substitute, replace or swerve feared words or sounds they can feel approaching. Word substitution is a very bad, negative habit that avoids dealing with the root cause, but it has actually funnily enough made me more of a walking thesaurus and my vocabulary is quite broad because of it. I always like expanding my vocabulary but maybe deep down it’s an avoidance mechanism, arming me with alternatives when faced with struggle.

The Weight of Words

For better or worse, people who stammer add a lot of weight to words — I certainly do. My curiosity is piqued by the way fluent people (AKA non-stutterers) choose their words, maybe unconsciously to them but I believe they are chosen on a subconscious level, plus not only what they say but how they say it. This has definitely distilled into my writing, sometimes I agonise over the right synonym that more fittingly conveys a feeling or a thought than a word I’m currently using. I can tend to linger on sentences until they feel right, which - I feel - has made my writing more precise and far more detail-oriented.

“Style means the right word. The rest matters little.”

— Jules Renard

Better Listeners Ask Better Questions

Linked to the habit of agonising over words, I believe having a stutter has made me more picky about the questions I put to people. Some friends a couple of years ago commented on an attribute I have which has stuck with me. They said something like “other people just ask obvious questions and don’t think twice, but you hold back in conversations, observe, listen and then out of nowhere ask a very precise and unexpected question”. They meant this in a very positive way and I took it as that too.

The less time spent talking and the more spent listening the better a writer or journalist can form the right question or more clearly steer a conversation — especially if you only have the opportunity to ask one or two questions. If I have a short opportunity to speak you best believe I consolidate all my thoughts into very precise questions, which is really the essence of journalism — you speak far less than your subject. Less really is more.

Reading Body Language

I believe people who stutter are more shrewd at reading body language. A glance, a glare, the grimace as you struggle. The lost eye contact, the folding of the arms, shock turned to snigger as you stumble through repeating your own name. All these subtle (and not so subtle) physical reactions a stutterer perceives in other people makes you razor-sharp in observation. A lot of my speech work involves desensitisation, undoing years and years of harmful negative mental habits built from the body language, reactions and interactions of others and replacing with self-assurance while learning to care a little less.

A similar awareness plays into my journalism — I notice the way people answer questions a lot more than most would. I read their body language to add weight and context to what’s coming out of their mouths.

The Pursuit of Perfection

The irony of having imperfect speech which has created a total monster obsessed with perfection, but it makes sense: I am always trying to perfect the craft of my communication. That same scrutiny of my own speech and pursuit of perfection trickles over into most aspects of my life. I’m hyper critical of how I (and others) communicate because it has dictated my life like a despot. Every misstep and every bit of struggle has the potential to undo the work of over a decade in tipping the scales back towards control, so I also have learned to expect self-discipline, track my own progress and hold myself accountable.

This feeds into my work, as I can often agonise over a piece other writers might be happy to hand in but my innate perfectionism halts me from letting go and wants every word to earn its keep. This helps and hinders me almost daily, as it means I often overshoot deadlines, which I detest in myself as — again — people pleaser perfectionist wants every job to be perfect with no notes, but it’s something I really contend against.

“Perfect is the enemy of good.”

— Voltaire

Fear of Feedback

Speaking of notes, this is a big one because feedback on how I communicate makes me very uncomfortable and immediately defensive. I’m preconditioned to protect myself when my Achilles heel is exposed and, though it’s never meant as such, my brain receives criticism as an attack on how I communicate. That familiar feeling of defensiveness and discomfort also rears its head when any feedback arrives, even on written work that has nothing to do with speech.

I am constantly working on embracing feedback as a gift, taking more of a growth mindset than a fixed mindset (watch Carol Dweck’s talk more about this transformative mind shift) while I try to separate art from artist and approach my craft more objectively in terms of what I deliver and the feedback it may prompt. This has definitely made me a more resilient writer.

Running from Rejection

Another big one, people who stutter often avoid rejection at all costs. How? By disassociating and not taking part. In writing terms that has meant not pitching, not putting myself forward or out there for speech-heavy roles or projects, not challenging myself, not expanding my comfort zone. All incredibly cosy, comfortable behaviours but so self-limiting (and sometimes self-destructive).

When I lived in London, in particular, I was rejected from so many jobs at late interview stage for the guts of two years. I believe in most occasions this was because of my speech, which is something that has left a lasting wound. I took such pride in the fact I battled a stutter and was winning by gaining control and espoused the benefits of that process in making me so much more precise and particular about how I communicate. Yet hiring managers always seemed to view that as a weakness and a risk. It was so demoralising to be constantly told ‘unfortunately…’ [I take huge exception to “excellent communication” being listed as essential in every job posting on earth because it’s incredibly ableist and subjective, but that’s another story…]

Now, I have had to reinforce within myself that rejection is part of the job — any job — and that disassociating and not participating is far more detrimental than rejection.

I have spent so much of life frustrated by my speech and the unlucky hand I’ve been dealt but I have to constantly remind myself to embrace the good in what uniquely sets you apart through no fault of your own. I cursed this affliction through school, college and for most of my career, but for too long I overlooked just how much better at my job it has made me.