Talking consequences

What might have happened if we'd said that thing we didn't? Matthew Sumpter considers the butterfly effect.

Matthew (left) with Schools Secretary Ed Balls at BSA's Downing St reception. Photo: Zoe Norfolk.

I stood there at the bar. She stood next to me. Suddenly all the excuses evaporated. Geometry was on my side; she was no longer sat against a wall behind a table of her friends. The gaggle of her swarming male friends was gone. The band had stopped playing and the normal music was back on. Stephen was ordering the drinks, me and the girl stood side by side at the bar, I thought up my opening line, I took a deep breath...and I turned to talk to Stephen. I had given up before I had started. I began to justify this to myself: the music was too loud, she probably had a boyfriend, she probably was not as interesting as she looked, so on and so forth. But I knew I was lying to myself, these were not the reasons I did not speak to her. It was not that I was afraid to talk to her; the real reason was that I was afraid I would stammer and would not have had the chance to explain my facial contortions and speech before she made her escape and I might as well just save myself the bother.

It is for this reason that I hate trying to meet people in bars. The music is too loud, the atmosphere is all wrong, the people are not always in the mood to be sociable with those outside the group they came with, and I find myself held back by my stammer. In a house party situation, surrounded by friends of friends, or even strangers, I have no such troubles. Then I am relaxed, able to bring up the topic of my stammer, perhaps even tell a funny anecdote relating to it, or engage in a bit of playful self-deprecation. In these situations my stammer can even be a help, an ice breaker, but this is not a story about these times. This is not a story about the 99% of my life when my stammer is inconsequential. This is a story about when my stammer holds me back, and how my life could have been different if I had not let it

Did I miss out?

You have all heard of the butterfly effect, I am sure. Well how do you think talking to that girl could have changed my life? What would have been different? Would I be writing this article? Maybe. Would she still be a part of my life? It's doubtful at best. Would I simply have ended up asking her what she thought of the band, her name, what she did, and then she would have gone back to her table and I back to mine? Most likely. But that is not really the point is it. I am not trying to say that I have missed out on some great experience by not talking to her, I am not even trying to say that I should have spoken to her, I am just trying to say that not speaking to her because I did not want to stammer was the wrong thing to do. I wonder how many people who stammer have delayed saying "I love you", neglected to introduce themselves to someone or not offered an opinion because they did not want the inconvenience or embarrassment of stammering. If we are to take the butterfly effect seriously then we must concede that at some point or another, we have neglected to say something potentially life altering due to our desire not to stammer.

"at some point or another, we have neglected to say something potentially life altering due to our desire not to stammer"

Who knows, in any one of those occasions when I have given up before even trying, perhaps saying what I wanted to say would have changed my life. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse, who knows? The point is that I wanted to say something and then did not. Admittedly this happens to all people all the time. You are embarrassed; it would be too rude to say it; you only really half wanted to say it anyway. There are a million different reasons why occasionally we do not say the things we want to, and perhaps they are valid reasons. But not saying something because we do not want to stammer seems to me to be much harder to justify.

Shaped by stammering

I know many who stammer like to say that stammering is not who they are, just something they have, but I disagree. Stammering has fundamentally shaped and moulded who I am, and I feel safe in assuming that I am most likely not alone in this regard. Of course, easier, freer speech is the goal I seek, but I must accept my stammer and the effects that it has on my life. As I have said, these effects do not always have to be detrimental; at least they have not been for me. My involvement in the production of BSA's resources for teachers has been a great privilege and something from which I have received far more than I have given, and I honestly believe that in the vast majority of social situations if you are comfortable with your stammer, everyone else will be too. When I did not talk to that girl because I simply was not in the mood to stammer and then have to explain myself over the din of the crowded bar, I did something I should not have done. I was not afraid I would stammer, I stammer all the time without embarrassment or compulsion (though I appreciate not everyone feels like this about stammering). I was not afraid of talking to her: I simply did not want the hassle and that was wrong of me.

This may just be something only I have experienced, or it may be something many of you can relate to. Either way I think we need to remember not to be ashamed of our stammers, not to try and hide them, and most importantly to speak up and say what we have to say. Because who knows, maybe a butterfly can cause a hurricane, and maybe a sentence uttered can change a life.

From the Spring 2010 issue of Speaking Out, page 18.