In my last blog post I confided in you, Dear Reader, that I have a mild stutter, and that I would write more about it in a future blog entry. Well … no time like the present.
Why is this coming up now, and what does it have to do with Fabulous Shoe Night? It all has to do with the timing and wisdom of the Universe that I've referred to many, many times before, right here in this blog. And, as always, the Universe never, ever ceases to amaze me.
A little background. Apparently, stuttering can be hereditary, for both my parents had an uncle who stuttered, and I, in turn, passed it along to the middle of my three sons. I always joke (with an accompanying ache in my heart) that my son is a carbon copy of my husband in both looks and temperament, and that the only two things he inherited from me were his stutter, and a single, tiny stripe of brown in one of his beautiful blue eyes.
I like to think that, throughout the years, I've dealt with my stutter. It was a lot more pronounced when I was younger, and I feel that age and confidence have helped me conquer perhaps 90% of it. Now, having a child that stutters is almost like reliving some of my worst moments as a stutterer growing up. What "fluent people" may not be aware of is that a stutterer has an intimate, entwined, and yes … strangling relationship with the demons I'll call "Mortification" and "Humiliation." They make appearances on a daily basis. Multiple appearances. More times that anyone would ever care to count.
My son's stutter is not mild, and it became clear that it was time to deal with it. Traditional speech therapy, both in school and with private therapists, had no effect. Stuttering is a nasty, insidious S.O.B., not only immensely difficult to treat, but able to cripple both a child's self-confidence and self-worth. Well … not in my house. My son is just too damn awesome.
Through chance and serendipity (there's that word again!), we learned of an intensive 12 day program at Hollins Communications Research Institute in Roanoke, Virginia, with a 93% success rate. Because our son is 13, and there are no dormitories on campus, he'd have to stay at a nearby hotel and be accompanied by a parent or guardian. Due to my husband's job, there was never any question that I would be the one to take him.
It was in January, while we were on a conference call with the program's director going over our son's medical history, speech history, etc., that she suggested I, too, participate in the program. I'd be there anyway, she said … why not take advantage of the time I was there and do the program with my son?
Wait … WHAT???
Out of politeness, I resisted the urge to scoff. I mean … I was fine. I've dealt with it. I don't let my stutter hold me back, not anymore. The whole idea was, well … preposterous to me. Again, out of politeness, I pretended that I would consider it.
Humph.
But … I couldn't get away from it. I could feel the hand of the Universe in the perfect timing of this "random" opportunity. There really are no coincidences. Fabulous Shoe Night continues to grow and expand. We're opening chapters near and far, and I've already been asked to do a bit of public speaking. But those occasions were with smaller groups, of about 100 or so people, and I felt I adequately dealt with the nervousness that I might, verbally, fall apart in front of the audience. Thankfully, I didn't, although in the back of my mind, there was always the looming fear of how I would react to larger audiences.
Yet, I felt I had come up with a creative way to address it. The acclaim and popularity of the movie, "The King's Speech" provided a natural segway . To face the monster head-on and take on it's real, or imagined, power, I thought that at my next public speaking event, if I felt the need to, I could simply start by asking if anyone in the audience saw the movie. Then, deadpan, announce, "I am the King."
In referencing the movie, I thought it would be a succinct, yet somewhat humorous, one-line way to address it. Addressing it head-on would not only be a way to take control and tackle that initial nervousness, literally, by the monster's horns, but to open my heart and the very essence of who I am, vulnerabilities and all, to the audience ... with a gentle humor.
Ah, but the Universe obviously had other plans. Now, seemingly out of the blue, I was presented with an opportunity to close what was likely the most defining chapter of my life, perhaps in preparation of a new, bolder chapter. The question was … was I up for the challenge this tremendous change would present, especially when it was so intimately tied with my sense of self? There is no doubt that my stutter "shaped" who I am, and I feel, because of it, I was a better nurse, and now, I hope, a more caring and empathetic mother, and a better person overall.
True to form, with it's characteristic eloquence and impeccable timing, the Universe is presenting me with this next task. I see it as an opportunity, certainly, but also as another important milestone on my Fabulous Shoe Night journey. There will likely be more public speaking in my future, so I might as well be prepared. Yet I also see my participation in the program as a way to show the Universe just how committed and serious I am about Fabulous Shoe Night. It's my way of saying, "See … ? This is immeasurably important to me. I'm ready. Bring it."
So, for two weeks this month, my son and I will be away, in Roanoke, dealing with … the demon. I am far more excited for my son than myself. He is the funniest, sweetest, most open-hearted child. I can't wait to see him blossom.
As for me, I knew I'd be fine, either way, whether I participated in the program or not, since my stutter is mild. But I look forward to dealing with the demon, taking control of it, and basically, showing just who is boss. Once and for all.
I know that while I'm gone, I'll have new, different adventures that will perhaps relate to Fabulous Shoe Night in some way. And you know I'll share them with you, Reader. As I think you can tell, this is by far my most intensely personal blog post to date, but … I knew I could trust you to understand. We're simpatico like that.
Going forward, however, I may need some new humor to "warm up the audience," since the "I am the King" line will hopefully be obsolete the next time I need to address a crowd. But, at least in my own mind, in my house full of all boys, and certainly in my shoe closet … I'll always be the Queen.
All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. ~~ Anatole France
Follow us on Twitter @FabShoeNight
