Training to be a counsellor as someone who stammers

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Paul

Paul Butlin tells us how deciding to train as a counsellor and psychotherapist forced him to face his fears around stammering, but also made him see what his stammer has given him.

When I first decided to train as a counsellor and psychotherapist, my stammer wasn't at the forefront of my mind. What drew me to this path was much more personal: my own experience of counselling. Growing up gay, I had absorbed a lot of society's negative attitudes and internalised them as shame. Counselling helped me begin to untangle those feelings, develop compassion for myself, and discover practices like mindfulness and meditation. It was transformative and I wanted to offer the same support to others.

At the same time, as counselling training loomed, doubts crept in — shaped by old feelings of shame and the fear that my stammer would make others question my abilities. Would peers or tutors see me as capable? Would clients take me seriously?

Challenges in training

Those doubts grew louder once training began. I realised I had never really confronted my feelings about my stammer or its impact on my life. Suddenly, in group roleplays and assessments, it was impossible to avoid.

Would my speech mark me out as unfit for this profession?

One exercise stands out in my memory: the 'fishbowl'. Two students would simulate a counselling session in front of the group — one as therapist, one as client — while everyone else watched, took notes and gave feedback. These sessions were daunting for everyone, but for me, they amplified fears of being judged, of being seen as less capable. Would my peers wonder if I could handle real clients? Would my speech mark me out as unfit for this profession? Beneath it all was the same old sense of shame.

When I started a placement at an LGBTQ+ charity, my dream role, a new challenge emerged. I wanted my focus to be entirely on my clients, and it was — yet in the background there was sometimes a quiet awareness of my stammer and a wondering about how they might be experiencing it.

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Support, supervision & self-compassion

With support from tutors, I applied for reasonable adjustments for my stammer in assessments and received extra time for presentations and role plays. At school and during my undergraduate degree, I never sought support, I just battled through. But here the response was supportive, matter-of-fact and without a hint of judgement. I gained a confidence in speaking up for myself and advocating for my needs. For them, it wasn't a big deal — in fact, it was welcome. That was a revelation. Maybe my stammer wasn't the insurmountable problem I believed it to be.

Living with a stammer has made me a listener. It has given me empathy, because I know what it feels like to wear vulnerability on the surface.

Part of my growth came through supervision. My individual supervisor suggested I 'name' my stammer, and for a while I did — first mentioning it in emails, then at the start of sessions. Eventually, though, I realised this was more about protecting myself than helping clients. Over time, I stopped drawing attention to it. And interestingly, clients rarely mentioned it. It reminded me: the therapy space belongs to the client, not my preoccupations. Clients deserve to be fully heard, understood and accepted. 

My own therapy was equally important. I explored where my shame came from, began to soften my relationship with my stammer, and saw it with more clarity. I now try to approach it with the same self-compassion I would encourage my clients to develop.

New perspectives

What I once saw as a barrier now feels like a strength. Living with a stammer has made me a listener. It has given me empathy, because I know what it feels like to wear vulnerability on the surface. I can't fake confidence — my stammer won't let me — so I've learned to embrace congruence, being fully myself in the room. And that can be powerful for clients, who may then feel safer to show their own vulnerabilities.

As one of my therapists once said: everyone has their version of your stammer. It might be neurodiversity, trauma, anxiety, or something else. My stammer just happens to be visible.

Looking back & moving forward

Training as a counsellor was intense. I juggled full-time work, five client hours each week, weekly classes and everything else life threw at me, but the pay-off is worth it. The chance to sit with clients, to support them and to keep learning from them is a privilege. Along the way, I've not only developed as a therapist, but also taken big steps toward accepting my stammer. I'm not fully there yet, but I'm further along.

Today, I'm a qualified counsellor. I still volunteer with the LGBTQ+ charity where I trained, I've started my own private practice, and I'm continuing my studies, working towards a master's in counselling and psychotherapy. Training wasn't only about becoming a counsellor, it was also about reclaiming the parts of myself I once saw as weaknesses and learning to recognise them as strengths.

If you'd like to contact Paul, email us at editor@stamma.org and we'll pass your message on.

Read about you can get reasonable adjustments at work to accommodate your stammering.

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