It is often thought that someone with a speech or communication disorder must be fixed. They’re broken. The identified disorder is viewed as pathological and treated as such. I know this, I have one. From the age of 2 years old to 15 years old, I spent many a day in the speech therapist’s office focused on pronunciation, how to place my tongue, how to move my lips, how to move my jaw, how to breathe as I speak. So do a multitude of others who visit those very offices.

However, when you think of speech disorders, have you ever thought of understanding that individual? Instead of the passed down language, we inherited our own language and are merely struggling to learn yours?

I bring this up, because this is an important concept to take in consideration when it comes to therapy. When you have someone sitting across from you who speaks a different language, you find ways to communicate with them: a translator or someone who speaks their language. However, with an individual with a speech disorder, that bridge of understanding is rarely crossed. Yes, there is circumlocution in regards to what we’re trying to communicate. Yes, eventually an understanding is meet. Usually through frustration and anxiety. Embarrassment. Irritation. Shame. D) all of the above. All this frustration can be seen in memes posted about speech disorders (either from those living with one or those making fun of it). So why not try to find other ways to support that person sitting across from you?

Language, speech, and communication do not come to fruition until the neocortex, while emotions occur within the midbrain; Way before conscious thought sees the light of day (for more information on this, you can look up the triune brain). Typically, with speech therapy, you’ll see various types of art or games to help bridge this gap. I remember multiple times in sessions, we’d be blowing bubbles, doing artwork while working on pronunciations, learning how to breathe, and what not. This helped the other kids and me tremendously.

Therapy is where all the emotions are meant to be greeted and dealt with. This is where I’ve fallen in love with Expressive Arts Therapy and Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), because they don’t necessarily require that much language. The understanding comes from within and the art. If an individual is having difficulty expressing themselves, they can use art to get it across. This is true for the main populace in general, however, has so much meaning for an individual who struggles with speech on a day to day basis. Trying to fight oneself to pronounce shit isn’t an issue when art is involved. This subtracts a good amount of embarrassment and shame from communication, because the focal point is on the piece or with EMDR, they can motion to keep going. No speech necessary.

While this is only a small insight into the world of speech and communication disorders, I encourage you to take a step back and reflect on how you communicate. To reflect on how difficult it would be to have your own body and mind fighting you against communication. Take this reflection a step further and consider how would you bridge a gap of understanding between yourself and another, to support them. How would you redefine you approach to see the individual and meet them where they are?    

We try to fit into these names. Take into account the name lists that float around Facebook. Being able to find our names on Coke bottles. Our names mean something to us. However, what if we don’t identify with our birthname? It becomes this scratching walls that is suffocating.

You see, I have a speech impediment from childhood trauma and it impacts my processing (mental stutters) and my ability to pronounce anything with a “R.” “R’s” can go to Hell for all I care. And of all the “R” sounds that could possibly exist, my birthname has one of the hardest configurations of that godforsaken sound.

There have been many speech therapy sessions spent on pronouncing my name. Many. Over time, I developed a sense of shame and embarrassment. My number one label, my number one identifier, and I can’t say it. When out and about with friends and family, it intuitively became a thing that they’d pronounce my name for me. I don’t know if they perceived my shoulders dropping in, my split-second hesitation, whenever anyone asked, “What’s your name?” My voice would get caught in my throat and I’d shrink into myself. “Just call me, M.”

It got worse when people asked where my accent was from. From as far back as I can remember to when I was 26, every day I was asked where my accent was from. When I was younger, I would tell people I moved around a lot. It wasn’t until I was 23 that the internalized shame branched off into anger and I dreaded every interaction with new people.
 
“Where’s your accent from?”
“It’s a speech impediment.”

Whenever I dropped that bombshell, people would begin to squirm. How does one come back from that? This moment is the opportunity I take to remove myself from the conversation. I remember a couple of times when people would learn about my speech impediment and the fact I couldn’t say my name, they kept trying to pressure me into speaking. Into saying my name.