Finding paradise at STAMMAFest

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Clara (left) with a new friend she met at STAMMAFest 2024

Are you unsure or feeling nervous about coming to STAMMAFest on the 20^th-23^rd August? Clara Burn certainly was before attending our last one. But, she tells us here, it was one of the best things she's ever done.

Before I went to the last STAMMAFest, in August 2024, I was terrified. 

I'd spent most of my life feeling alone with my stammer. Like many people who stammer, I'd become used to conversations being a place of caution rather than freedom. I planned what I was going to say. I rehearsed. I searched for easier words. I always had an escape route prepared in case things ‘went wrong'. 

Social situations felt particularly difficult. Being around lots of people was overwhelming enough without adding the uncertainty of speaking. 

When I signed up for STAMMAFest, I did what felt safest: I volunteered. If I were busy helping, I'd always have something to do, something to focus on and something to hide behind if I needed to. 

What I didn't realise was that I was about to step into a completely different world. The closest comparison I can make is Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Not because there were chocolate rivers or fizzy lifting drinks, but because it felt like stepping into a place where the ordinary rules of life no longer applied. 

For one extraordinary weekend, I found myself surrounded by people who understood.

There's a line from the (original) film that says: "If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it." That was STAMMAFest: A place that somehow felt impossible and completely real all at the same time. 

For one extraordinary weekend, I found myself surrounded by people who understood. Nobody talked over me. Nobody finished my sentences. Nobody looked uncomfortable when I stammered. Nobody rushed me along. Everyone just listened. 

At first, that was surprisingly unnerving. I had become so accustomed to fighting for space in conversations that I didn't quite know what to do (or say) when space was simply given to me. But slowly, something magical happened — talking became joyful. 

I found myself approaching people and saying whatever I wanted to say without first running it through my mind a hundred times. I wasn't constantly planning. I wasn't searching for alternatives. I wasn't carrying an emergency exit strategy for every conversation. 

That weekend was also the first time I truly felt seen and heard. Not as someone with a stammer, just as me. The ordinary can be extraordinary when you have spent your life without it. 

I left with friendships, confidence, and hope. I left knowing I wasn't alone. 

When people ask what STAMMAFest is like, I could tell them about the workshops, talks and social events, which are all wonderful, but what stayed with me is far less tangible: a feeling. A feeling that anything might be possible. A feeling that the world may be kinder than I believed. A feeling that perhaps I didn't need to spend my life hiding parts of myself after all. 

The hardest part of STAMMAFest wasn't arriving; it was leaving. 

Once you've experienced a place where people genuinely listen, where pauses aren't feared or filled, where your words are welcomed exactly as they arrive, it's difficult to return to everyday life. 

The magic doesn't stay within the walls of the venue, though; you carry some of it home with you. I know I did. I left with friendships, confidence, and hope. I left knowing I wasn't alone. 

So, if you're thinking about coming to STAMMAFest but feeling nervous, know that you're not the only one. I almost didn't go in 2024, and I can't imagine the person I'd be if I hadn't. You never know what you'll find when you walk through a door. Sometimes, if you're very lucky, you'll find paradise. 

I hope to meet you there.