I stutter, and have been misjudged as a result
My speech disability doesn’t mean that I’m lying, and neither does anyone else’s
I was waiting in line at my bank’s drive-up service, hoping to make a quick withdrawal. I debated my options: two vacant service lines and one busy one for the ATM.
The decision was easy: Wait in the line and deal with a machine.
I have a speech disability — a stutter — and interactions with strangers have the potential to be, at the very least, extremely awkward; at worst, I have been mocked, insulted, misjudged or refused service.
But the ATM, I soon discovered, was going down for maintenance. I could either leave, returning on a day when the machine was back in service, or speak with a bank teller.
I quickly rehearsed all acceptable variations of what I had to say: I need to withdraw some money from my checking account. Or maybe, to use fewer words: Could I have a withdrawal slip? Or straight to the point: Withdraw, please.
I pulled my car forward. Glancing at the teller, I took a deep breath and managed to blurt out: “Can I ppppplease make a wi-wi-with-withwithdrawal?”
The teller smiled on the other side of the glass. “Sure,” she said.
I wasn’t sure if she had noticed my stutter or simply believed my repetitions (rep-rep-repetitions) and prolongations (ppppprolongations) were just indications of being tongue-tied rather than manifestations of a persistent stutter. I eased back in my seat, trying to relax.
“What’s your name?” she asked, holding a withdrawal slip. I felt sweat form on my forehead. Nearly every person who stutters has difficulty saying their own name. No definite reason for this obstacle has been found, though most assume it’s because names don’t have substitutions you can reach for.
I balled my hands into fists, ready to face the challenge: “Rachel Hoge,” I told myself. Just say, “Rachel Hoge.” “RRRRRRRRRR . . . RRRRR . . . RRRRRR . . . ” I began, hoping I could power through, could force myself to make the word come out of my mouth.
I felt my cheeks, my neck, grow red with shame. The teller crossed her arms. She looked at me suspiciously.
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, “but before any transaction can occur, you’ll need to come inside and provide a legal ID and Social Security number.”
Breathless and surprised, I managed to ask her why.
“For security purposes,” she said dismissively, straightening her back, still eyeing me. Slowly I pulled my car through. I didn’t go inside. Halfway home, I pulled into an empty parking lot and cried.
I’ve stuttered most of my life. At the age of 4 or 5, my mother brought me to the pediatrician and was told not to worry, I would outgrow the stutter. In hindsight, that advice might seem careless, but the pediatrician was right to make that assumption: Only 5 per cent of children acquire a stutter, and three-quarters of those recover by late childhood.
I have an idea where this mistrust toward me and my disability comes from: There’s a myth that stuttering is a reflection of poor personal integrity. A writer in Psychology Today claimed that you can detect a liar by identifying variations in “tone, cadence and sentence structure.” According to a listicle by the online site Thought Catalog, primary signs of lying include “stuttering and inconsistencies,” “not answering right away” and “repeating sentences.”
What these generalizations fail to recognize is that a variety of disabilities — stuttering among them — can affect a person’s vocalizations and physical movements. And although stuttering affects only 1 per cent of the U.S. population, 19 per cent of Americans are considered disabled and might have speech patterns or physical movements that others could consider odd. This means that if you judge a person’s personal integrity based on their spoken or physical language alone, you might be misjudging dramatically.
Thankfully, not all strangers are quick to judge. Sometimes I’ll meet someone who regards me with patience and not pity, with respect and not condemnation. I have found that this is a small group and usually the person knows someone else who stutters — an uncle, a cousin, a husband, a friend. These strangers are kind and uplifting to me, but ultimately they are too few and far between.
For those of us living with speech disabilities, stuttering is not an indication of dishonesty. It’s an incurable disorder, and we have little power to control it.