How did I get here?

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Heidi

Clinical Psychologist Heidi King writes about her journey with stammering and the barriers she faced when entering the mental health profession.

When my toddler started to stumble and trip over her words, I thought I'd be prepared. I thought I'd be calm and 'okay with it'. After all, as a stammerer myself, I thought I'd be ready. But, all of a sudden, I was just like every other parent who phones the STAMMA Helpline, anxious and worried about my daughter's future. Would she be bullied? Would she be rejected? Would she be able to reach her potential? Tears pricked my eyes. Thoughts of (mis-assigned) failure and self-blame loomed large.

In that moment, what I had forgotten was the richness of my life with a stammer. The joy, as well as the pain. The successes, as well as the struggles. And the almost indescribable connection I seem able to forge with others who are suffering. I'm a Clinical Psychologist with over fifteen years' experience in the NHS, and private practice. And yes, I still stammer, and not just a little.  

Insidious messages

I took what I could from speech & language therapy during my childhood, adolescence and twenties. It didn't increase my fluency for long, and at times, left me feeling I'd failed once again.

I'm not going to lie, it's been a tempestuous journey. The man in the local corner shop never waited long enough for me to make my request; I was often ushered onto the bus before paying, as the driver never had enough time to wait for me to say my destination; I waited every morning during school registration to 'hold up' the whole class whilst I answered "Yes, Sir"; I was banished from my first art class by the secondary school's strictest teacher for 'messing around' when I was asked a direct question (my word just didn't want to come out). The list goes on. 

In that moment, what I had forgotten was the richness of my life with a stammer. The joy, as well as the pain. The successes, as well as the struggles.

Looking back, I had multiple experiences of relational trauma*: the little, but ongoing instances of others not waiting long enough for me to speak, 'predicting' what I was about to say or just leaving me out. Minor, but mounting, daily events, eroding my self esteem. Feelings of inadequacy mushrooming. It was not only frustrating, but also gave me the insidious messages that I didn't quite 'fit', that I was different or even not good enough and was powerless to change this. 

Not realising it at the time, I probably chose the career of Clinical Psychology as I wanted to understand people better, understand myself better and help others who may have experienced pain in their lives too.

Professional barriers

My career path into Clinical Psychology started smoothly. I was accepted perhaps unusually quickly for my professional doctorate training. To my disbelief, I formed many allies in the profession who, perhaps seeing my potential, spurred me along the gruelling training. However, it didn't take long for the systemic barriers to arise. The oral presentations I 'couldn't complete' in the assigned time or the clinical placement supervisors who turned me down for clinical placements, fearing I would be "too much", "too slow" or "too incompetent" for their patients. I seemed to be dividing the profession. Raising those awkward questions that perhaps nobody wants to face. 

The stuff that can't be taught to Clinical Psychologists, I have in droves.

Are those in helping professions allowed to have struggles? And if so, how much, and can they be openly expressed? What's the agent of change in the job: connecting to others, feeling, experiencing together, human to human? Or delivering techniques in a time-sensitive manner? Undoubtedly it's a complex interplay, but it's hard to effectively measure 'connection'. 

I survived those early years.

Resilience hard won.

Clinical outcomes on par with my peers. 

And the ability to work with people, particularly the excluded, those who have endured rejection: repeated relational trauma somehow became my speciality.

The stuff that can't be taught to Clinical Psychologists, I have in droves.

Now, I'm the lead for psychology in my little team, and in spite of my dysfluency I'm invited back to lecture at two universities year after year. I'm proud of myself. And confused how I survived this.

Saying what I feel

I know it's not always comfortable being with me. I say what I feel. I've been told I say what others are too scared to say. I quickly put people at ease, then inadvertently they tell me what they hadn't really planned to disclose. I ask the difficult questions during the posh meetings. I can't really do the social propriety thing. 

You see, after I've been rejected or made to feel embarrassed too many times, these things no longer worry me.   

I dance in the rain. I feel my feelings strongly and express them openly. I connect easily and wholeheartedly with others. I live today. Still stammering. And stammering well.

My daughter stopped stammering over time. Her brain, undoubtedly with a genetic vulnerability to stammering, perhaps rewired itself naturally. A dream that I gave up on for myself a long time ago. And whilst I'm relieved, in the sense of hoping she will have an easier and more care-free life compared to mine, a little part of me wonders what assets and strengths she would have developed if she had continued to live in the world as a stammerer.

Heidi is a Chartered Clinical Psychologist, Principal Clinical Psychologist (NHS), Cognitive Analytic Therapist & Eye Movement Desensitisation & Reprocessing (EDMR) Therapist. She also wrote our page on getting mental health support if you stammer.  If you would like to contact her, email us at editor@stamma.org and we will pass your message on to Heidi.

If you would like to write an article, see Submit Something For The Site or email editor@stamma.org for details.

*Relational traumas may include relationship loss, feeling rejected by others, or indeed any event that threatens a persons' sense of belonging, safety or security (Anders, Shallcross & Frazier 2012).

Relational traumas, particularly those involving meaningful or ongoing relationships for the trauma survivor, may be particularly distressing because they threaten the fundamental human need to belong (Baumeister & Leary, 1995). 

The experience of relational trauma/s are associated with a risk of developing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and other kinds of negative mental health outcomes such as depression and helplessness and difficulties in relationships (Anders, Shallcross & Frazier 2012).

Read Stammering & Mental Health to find out how you can get support.