Stutter Me

The disclosure that former VP Joe Biden has dealt with a stutter is all over the news, most recently in an op-ed in the New York Times by Capt. ‘Sully’ Sullenberg reminded me of “stutter me,” the kid who began stammering and stuttering in 3rd grade and was sent to a speech therapist in 4th grade.

The big thought running through my kid brain?

Something is wrong with me.

I lived with that thought until I was 40, when my well-hidden stutter surfaced at the Listening Centre in Toronto, which is founded on the work of Alfred Tomatis—the Einstein of the Ear.

Honestly, my stutter was the furthest thing from my mind at that point: I sought to address minor genetic hearing loss, which was affecting my voice, and was completely taken aback when I started stuttering up a storm. The phenomena peaked at a party on Lake Ontario—where I was surrounded by academics and teachers. I thought it funny and rather wonderful, words tumbling out my mouth quite differently, accompanied by the physical sensation that I was being uncorked and all the gunk holding me back was being flushed out. (Curiously, I dreamt of gum coming out of my left nostril.) The torrent lasted about three days and then dissipated and never returned.

Ok—that’s not entirely true.

I worked with a left-handed student recently, and right in the middle of her lesson, I heard myself repeat part of a word she had said—and laughed—knowing full well that the rhythm of her speech and body language was providing the trigger.

Like my student, I am also left-handed and have had my own issues with laterality, or what is known as mixed-dominance, which is what the training at the Listening Centre sorted out, leading to my experience on Lake Ontario.

The genesis of that experience?

Alfred Tomatis observed that right ear laterality, or the leading of the right ear, is essential for executive singing, language, and learning.

At age 40, I was a left-handed professional singer with minor hearing loss, curious about the effect Tomatis’ method would have on my voice. I didn’t think for a moment about my carefully hidden stutter—and believe me, I worked really hard on not showing it.

Singing helped. When I sang, I was free from the fear of words being caught in my throat. But one can’t exactly sing through life, can one?

If I remember correctly, my 4th-grade speech therapist taught me to take a deep breath and then proceed slowly, more slowly than my brain wanted to go, which gave my young brain the impression that something was wrong with me. That this impression also coincided with my attraction to my homeroom teacher, Mr. Casper, was, if anything, very unfortunate. “Stutter me” would never talk about that, much less get the words out.

As it is, I didn’t “come out” until I was forced into it by my parents—my father saying things he later regretted while my mother sat in a chair sobbing.

Oh, that was hard.

I was in my late 20s, already finding my way forward as a singer, and soon to be a member of New York City Opera. Lucky me. I went to audition on the fly and ended up with a career, even though “stutter me” didn’t feel quite comfortable in his skin.

If singing saved my life, my experience at the Listening Centre enabled me to find my voice.

There is nothing wrong with me.

I encourage you to find the Resource page on this website and learn more about Tomatis and the healing power of sound.