to order vanilla

 xxx

i grew up eating chocolate ice cream, because i couldn't say vanilla.

-speecheasy video

one day in middle school, mama laid a newspaper clipping on my pillow. a new device had been created. a teeny, in-ear mechanism that would essentially create an echo of one's own voice when speaking. the tool was heralded to greatly reduce stuttering, as many stutterers experience relief when speaking in unison, and the device's choral effect did just that.

so the speecheasy was born. but at fifteen, i was more interested in cheer practice. in that awful algebra class. the boy down the row at the cafeteria who whispered to me during silent lunch. so i tucked the clipping away, lost in the tupperware container under my bed, the one filled with photo albums. movie stubs. printed-out AOL conversations too sweet to delete. forever doomed to be lost among the relics of my youth.

but then i grew up. dated then grew apart from the boy from the cafeteria. graduated and got a job in a city. that algebra class gave way to a master's program. such is the ebb and flow of life.

but last week, it hit me. this realization that while i am special and perfect just the way God made me, there is this technology out there. this special work of man that could give me just a little, a smidgen, of relief. from the tense, locked jaw and squinted eyes i get every time i give a presentation (i actually stopped halfway though my speech last time and apologized to the crowd.)

so i researched the speecheasy. and became discouraged. the sum of money expected for something no bigger than my thumbnail was through the roof. and for this frugal, thrift-store-loving woman, it was enough to send my heart to my knees.

but then, at eleven o'clock last thursday night. with pablo asleep under the lamp and a blanket around my knees, robert came into the den, an envelope of money in his hand.

he had saved all year, hoping to open up a retirement account in december. self-employed, he doesn't have a 401K. so he had squirreled away, week by week, in hopes to start a nest egg for himself and for us.

but that night, he just reached out his arms, and handed me the envelope. i want you to use this, he whispered,  for your speecheasy.

it was the exact amount, to the dollar, i needed. every last penny of my need met, by draining every last penny of his. a God moment so spectacular.

it was entirely selfless, incredibly beautiful, and enough to send me into a gut clenching sob.

my appointment is friday.

and i am nervous. i am anxious and scared and full of questions. but there's this man who sleeps to the left of me, and this morning he left me a love note on my laptop. and finally, nine years later, i'm ready to take that step. with one eye on Him and the other on him. oaring my way through these seas. a beacon of light on the shore.

just fine

 

it's funny how one thing can undo me.

how coffee loses its taste and the sunrise loses its brilliance when clouded.

i've got a presentation today. a short, no-longer-than-three-minutes-please little impromptu speech.

and i've practiced. for robert. for pablo (who provided lots of constructive criticism), and for my co-workers.and i drove to work in the dark this morning, praying for an elusive confidence the whole time.

i was born nervous, to a nervous father. i'm reminded every time i skirt the telephone or think up another word to replace the one not quite out of my mouth.

so i will drive. to the big city two hours away. with my sweet sister in tow and hope against all odds that the fluency fairy will visit at approximately 6:15 p.m.

prayers, happy thoughts, well wishes, good vibes, please?

thank you.

via

thoughts from a bathtub

last night, i lowered myself down into the bathtub. it was late and the hallway was perfectly dark and i left the lights off. and as my feet became wet, i felt them sting and burn. they are blistered, these painted toes of mine. these piggies i shoved into the narrow recesses of my new flats. i sat there and looked at them, peachy against the steel of the faucet.

and i stayed there long after the water cooled and sunk down a bit. sometimes i do that, you know. just sit in the tub and let the cool rush in and think. there's really only so much one can do in there, so after a while it's easy to give in to daydreaming and remembering.

i bought new flats on saturday. at my favorite thrift store on a cloudy morning. they are too small. it's just that simple and just that hard. simple because i love them. hard because i shoved myself into them and wore them to work. hard because i had to take them off just to walk to my car. hard because when i got home at six, all i wanted to do was hurl them across the linoleum floor and watch them slam into the television stand.

and women do this all the time. mold, shove, squeeze, adjust and shift. our bodies. our clothes. our expectations. in an effort to please? perhaps. out of vanity? certainly sometimes. but more often than not, it comes from our overwhelming desire to please. to fit a mold and fill a niche. yesterday, i wanted to be the girl in the cute flats. and today i am limping on bare feet.

so i sat until i shriveled. and let the skin loosen and float. and promised myself tomorrow would be different. that tomorrow i would let myself breathe, from my muddled head to the tips of my beet red toes.

the one without a picture

i thought long and hard about a picture for this post. but what would a picture of stuttering look like? colin firth?

so there is no picture today. but on we shall march.

i had a little presentation to give on tuesday.

it lasted only two minutes, but the amount of stress, anguish and embarrassment it created was enough to wreck me for a day. even sitting outside during lunch at the picnic tables, chicken wrap in hand and a warm breeze at my ankles, i couldn't shake it.

because i did so utterly, completely horrible. enough for my boss to ask what happened. enough for the silence of a million crickets to fill the room. enough for tears to well up and my face to flush. immediately after, i wanted to run to the ladies room, sit in the first stall and just cry. because as much as i love myself, as confident as i am in my ability to write, communicate and interact, my fault is being human.  being crackable and breakable. fragile, i suppose.

but i did something tuesday that i am immeasurably proud of. i didn't run. i didn't even look down, against all my instinct and intuition. i held the tears locked in position, and willed them, with a force not entirely my own, but more of God, to not fall down  my cheeks. and they didn't. they stayed in little half-pools until they faded back to where they came from.

and it may seem small. i suppose, after all, it is small. but it is a victory, nonetheless.

i may never be free of my stutter. for all the therapy, special hearing aids, and reading practice, there will inevitably always be that room full of intimidating people who, with one look, can undo me.

but if i can pull myself together, as i did on tuesday, i know i'll be just fine. because yes, no one can make me feel inferior without my consent. but in that conference room, surrounded by a sea of corporate chaos, i realized something.

no one includes me.