**Stuttering Without Apology: Rewriting the Story of Speech and Inclusion**
“I don’t believe that stuttering makes someone not okay.” That truth, I’ve come to see, is more than a professional axiom; it’s a north star for what it means to make room for human difference—without shame, without apology. And it’s the ground from which my entire approach as a speech language pathologist has evolved.
Too often, we talk about inclusion as if it’s merely a corporate compliance function or a checklist at HR. But real inclusion—deep, systemic, society-changing inclusion—shows up most powerfully in the way we respond to difference. Speech is perhaps our most primal mode of self-expression, yet for millions who stutter, it serves as a daily reminder of society’s impatience, ignorance, and misplaced shame.
This is why conversations about stuttering, and about speech differences more broadly, matter so deeply to me. We’re not just talking about “fixing” something that’s broken; we’re talking about reimagining whose voices get heard, and whose stories are told—without the pressure to mask, to apologise, or to disappear.
Recently, I had the privilege of stepping into a rich, probing dialogue with Joanne Lockwood on the Inclusion Bites Podcast—a conversation that stretched from linguistics and psychology to shame, belonging, and leadership. Joanne, the founder of SEE Change Happen, is a fierce advocate for workplace equity who doesn’t allow surface-level answers or platitudes to slip by. Her own journey, from early anxieties about public speaking to the helm of one of the UK’s most respected inclusion podcasts, has equipped her with a unique blend of empathy and candour.
More than [INSERT_VIEW_COUNT] people have already watched our interview on YouTube, with many more tuning in via Spotify and Apple Podcasts. If the themes here resonate—or even challenge you—I invite you to drop your thoughts in the comments. I read every one.
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**The Myth of Perfection: Why We Need to Let Go**
For years, I saw transformations in my clients that were nothing short of miraculous—individuals arriving with what appeared as “severe” stutters walking out fluent, sometimes within a handful of sessions of intensive speech work. But very quickly, I recognised that the real work—the lasting work—doesn’t live in fluency drills or clever hacks. It lies in building spaces where stuttering ceases to be something one must apologise for at all.
Joanne put it directly: “Removing the shame and the stigma and the awkwardness, taking away the pressure to be perfect.” Perfection, it turns out, is a cultural myth. Everyone stumbles over their words sometimes—yet society has constructed a hierarchy of speech, policing what’s deemed “fluent” or “acceptable”. What matters most is not whether you stutter, but whether you internalise those moments as evidence that you’re broken or unworthy.
Joanne’s willingness to draw from her own journey with public expression—her early self-consciousness, her dread of reading aloud in school, her eventual realisation that no one was really watching—was a mirror for so many of the stories I’ve heard from clients. “Once I stopped being hung up about being word perfect on every sentence, I realised that nobody cares or nobody notices. That pressure comes off, doesn’t it?” she shared. That ability to rewrite your internal narrative about speech is liberation—not just for stutterers, but for anyone held hostage by their inner critic.
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**Stuttering as Neurodivergence: Moving Beyond Root-Cause Mentality**
It’s remarkable how much energy, research funding, and collective anxiety have focused on the question: What causes stuttering? For decades, we’ve chased the hope of a root cause, as if stuttering were a disease, a trauma response, a defect waiting for diagnosis and cure. But here’s the truth: we still don’t know. What we do know, however, is that stuttering displays every hallmark of neurodivergence—a different way of processing, not a disorder to be eradicated.
This is not a cop-out; it’s liberation through acceptance. The most esteemed thought leaders in the field, from Barry Guitar to Mark Onslow, now converge on the belief that stuttering is simply part of human diversity—no less “normal” than left-handedness or the full spectrum of neurotypes. It appears in all cultures at roughly the same rate, and yes, it shows a higher prevalence in men (about four to one), though issues of social conditioning and masking certainly muddy those waters.
Joanne’s curiosity led us deeper: is it the same letters or sounds that trip people up in every language? The answer is more psychological than structural—a classic case of self-fulfilling prophecy. “Usually, it’s not always this way, but a very common letter for someone to stutter on is the first letter of their name,” I explained. Negative experiences—being laughed at, embarrassed after a failed introduction, or told “Did you forget your name?”—can cement lifelong patterns of expectation and tension. It’s not the sound itself, but the weight we assign to it.
What’s the real risk? Not the presence of stuttering, but the way it’s policed. When young people get the message—explicitly or implicitly—that stuttering makes them unacceptable, they stop raising their hands, avoid job interviews, steer clear of leadership, or simply keep their mouths shut. That’s not just a loss for the individual; it’s a loss for the world.
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**Inclusion in Action: How to Listen—and Why It Matters**
So how do we build genuinely inclusive environments for people who stutter? The answer, again, is much simpler—and far deeper—than a checklist.
Let’s start with listening. Joanne posed the question many well-meaning listeners ask themselves: Should I help, fill the silence, or try to reassure? What’s the proper etiquette? The first rule is simple: don’t interrupt, don’t complete their sentence, and don’t make a spectacle out of your patience. “The best thing to do is simply wait and listen and just be patient and keep looking at the person,” I told her. Adopt the mindset that stuttering is simply a way some people speak—neither a flaw nor a performance—and you’ll react more naturally.
But what about the urge to empathise or “help”? Joanne described that swirl of feelings: “Do I feel sorry for that person? Maybe I am. Maybe I’m feeling a bit of empathy… I want to help them and reassure them, but I also… don’t draw attention to it.” The answer is in the paradox: be fully present, without overcompensating or becoming self-conscious yourself. If you simply hold space for whatever comes, the power shifts—from problem-fixing to shared human presence.
For children, there’s a slightly different calculus. Not talking about a stutter at all can turn it into an unspeakable “elephant in the room”, signalling to the child that their difference is so bad it cannot even be named. Programmes like the UK’s Palin Parent Child Interaction approach, spearheaded after Michael Palin’s own comic portrayal of stuttering in “A Fish Called Wanda,” offer structured ways for parents to play, connect, and, crucially, talk openly about stuttering without making it the centrepiece of every interaction.
Ultimately, inclusion in this context isn’t grand or performative. It’s built in the micro-moments: a pause, unhurried eye contact, a relaxed presence that says, “There’s space for you here.” If we get that right, the rest follows.
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**Technique Versus Transformation: Why Lasting Change is More Than Fluent Speech**
As a practitioner, I see time and again: it’s not enough to “fix” speech on the surface. Yes, there are evidenced-based methods—the prolonged speech family, including techniques developed in Australia’s Camperdown Programme—that can make a profound difference. It’s a bit like learning a golf swing: slow everything down, isolate the feeling of flow, then gently speed up and reintroduce natural inflection and rhythm.
But technique alone is not the game-changer. Mindset always sits at the heart of transformation. Before fluency comes acceptance—not as resignation, but as freedom. “How to speak more fluently from a place of ‘I’m already enough,’” as I put it, “not ‘I need to work on my speech in order to be enough.’ There’s an important fine distinction there.” Most people who stutter don’t want a pep talk, or another round of therapy focused on “fixing” them. They want to stutter less, certainly. But what they need, in my experience, is the insight that feeling good about yourself is not a reward for fluency—it’s the foundation of it.
We talked of the “stuttering iceberg,” a metaphor borrowed from Joseph Sheehan: the visible stutters and avoidance tricks bobbing above the surface, while underneath swirl self-judgement, shame, myths, and avoidance behaviours. The only way to melt that iceberg is to move it into “warmer waters”—spaces of acceptance, self-compassion, and ultimately, belonging.
That’s why my work with clients often combines refined speech drills with frameworks from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. We start by identifying: What matters more to you—perfect speech, or pursuing your actual goals? Over time, as we untangle the shame and self-policing, priorities start to shift. Perhaps the job interview, the business pitch, the honest conversation with a loved one, becomes more important than protecting yourself from the imagined gaze of others. That’s where measurable progress happens—not from bypassing the stutter, but from redefining what success looks like.
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**Internal Critics and External Expectations: The True Stigma of Stuttering**
If there’s a single villain in the stuttering narrative, it’s not the act of stuttering itself—but the shame that festers in silence. Brene Brown’s research on vulnerability and shame offers a lens here: shame thrives on silence, secrecy, and judgement, all of which are endemic to the stuttering experience.
What does shame look like in this context? It’s the internal monologue that whispers, “I’m broken. I’m not good enough. No one will ever want to hear my voice.” The tragedy is, as Joanne and I agreed, most of the harshest and most persistent criticism comes not from society at large, but from within. People who stutter, burdened by years of micro-traumas—being mocked as children, corrected constantly, or marginalised in classrooms—often become their own worst enemies, avoiding situations not because they stutter, but because they dread the resurfacing pain of judgement.
Joanne’s story amplifies this: the experience of being asked to read aloud in class, feeling her face flush with embarrassment, “all the blood flowing to my cheeks, all that fight-flight fear kicking in…. it did dog me for many years, that stigma and shame of not being able to speak without my face going bright red.” This is the crucible where difference mutates into dread, and where self-expression withers not from lack of skill, but from the expectation of ridicule.
My role, fundamentally, is to break that cycle. “What I do is try to help people with that piece while simultaneously working on the speech. But when we work on the speech, we have to work on it in a way that is not about fixing you… it’s you’re okay and I can help, and by feeling okay, it will help you speak more fluently.”
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**Shifting Narratives: Speech as Strength, Not Silence**
What does it actually look like to rewrite the internal story, to stop apologising, to lean in rather than retreat? It’s not about bravado or never feeling fear; rather, it’s the collection of little acts of defiance—the decision to share your story, not merely despite your difference, but because of it.
Having spent years working with stutterers of all ages and at all stages—executives, entrepreneurs, children, teenagers—I see, over and over, the catalytic power of solidarity and role modelling. When people who stutter witness others navigating the world unapologetically, it chips away at self-judgement. They begin to see stuttering not as evidence of failure, but as evidence of resilience.
Joanne underscored this beautifully when describing her own passage through fear into confidence, especially on stage: “I had to learn that when I’m on that stage and I pause, I smile, I look around the room to create that dramatic effect, that lean in feeling in the audience… I knew that whatever came out of my mouth first was going to make sense… once I started realising that I could trust myself, I then believed in myself and now I don’t get that anxiety.”
That’s exactly what I hope for every person who has ever hidden their voice—that they might see their difference as prelude, not obstacle, to bold contribution.
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**Where We Go From Here**
The irony at the heart of stigma is that its power evaporates when brought into the open. We’re far more forgiving and accepting of others than our internal critics would have us believe. “One of the biggest fears many people have… is public speaking, more than death” I mused, referencing that oft-quoted quip. “But in the end, most people are just thinking about themselves 99% of the time.” The only way to test that premise is through action—by sharing your story, joining the conversation, and allowing yourself to be both seen and heard.
There is no single right way to tackle the challenge of stuttering. But the shift begins when we stop apologising and start occupying our full selves—messy, imperfect, radically human. As I tell every client (and as I’ll remind you here): “People are out there who need to hear your voice. Not a polished version, not a perfect version. The real you.”
So share your story, in whatever way you can—one conversation, one group, one platform at a time. The future belongs to those who trade apology for authenticity, silence for strength.
If you recognise yourself in this narrative, or if you feel compelled to challenge or expand on what I’ve shared, I invite you to leave a comment below. Let’s continue the conversation. The voice you save may turn out to be your own.