About the Author: James Hayden lives in the New Orleans area with his fiancée and works in the medical field. He is the author of Dear World, I Stutter: A Series of Open Letters from a Person Who Stutters.

Acceptance. I know that is a loaded word within the stuttering community. If you were to ask all seven to eight million people who stutter what that word means to them, then you would hear seven to eight million different and valid definitions. Over the last fifteen years, my definition of acceptance has changed drastically. Allow me to explain.

In my late teens and into my early 20s, acceptance wasn’t in my vocabulary. Stuttering sucked and I wanted nothing to do with it. There were countless times when being silent was better than stuttering. Looking back, I can’t even fathom the number of conversations I missed, class discussions I didn’t partake in, and opportunities I missed out on because of my outlook. Yet, I give my grace because I did the best I could with where I was at the point on my journey with stuttering. 

Around 22, acceptance entered my vocabulary. I had just finished two years of speech therapy and was about to graduate from college. At that time, I defined acceptance as “I can’t change the fact that I stutter, but I would if I could. Since I can’t, I might as well make the best of it.” I originally kept this new definition to myself, and it took me a few months to share it with others. Once I met other people who stutter, I developed a community in the city I moved to for my job. Over the next couple of years, the new community helped me realize that stuttering might not be the worst thing in the world. That job ultimately didn’t work out and to figure out what my next move was, I got more involved in the stuttering advocacy space. With that came in all new definitions of the word acceptance.  

The rest of my twenties were filled with a definition of acceptance rooted in toxic positivity. I viewed stuttering as this massively positive thing in my life and made it my entire personality. As a result, acceptance was now defined as “Stuttering is really great. I don’t see how people say it’s exhausting or not like it.” When my mid 20s turned into my late 20s, I began to doubt that definition. However, I felt that I couldn’t share it with others. My public image was one of “Yeah stuttering! It’s the best!” And I felt that if I shared my true feelings, I’d be considered a failure. I couldn’t or wouldn’t allow myself to see the not-so-great parts of stuttering because I was worried others would think less of me. 

Eventually, I allowed myself to see the not-so-great parts of stuttering. As my 20s turned into my 30s, I took a hiatus from the advocacy world. I focused on myself and how stuttering fits into my outlook on life. I rediscovered other passions I had and used that time to redefine acceptance. I also had to unlearn my previous definition and drop any expectations that the stuttering world would see me as a failure because of my change in definition.

At 32, I define acceptance as “seeing all parts of something and still choosing to be ok with it.” Stuttering sucks 24/7/365 and I’m now at a place where I can publicly (and privately) say that and not feel like a failure. I now allow myself to recognize how exhausting the act of stuttering is. How it can be so embarrassing and uncomfortable for all parties involved. When I feel this way I know I can freely talk with my fiancée or friends about this and know I won’t be judged for feeling this way. Yet, most days I wouldn’t wish this part of myself away. I’ve had so many incredible opportunities and met so many incredible people I wouldn’t have met if I didn’t stutter.

 So yes, I accept my stutter. In fact, this is the healthiest my relationship with my stutter has ever been. More importantly, I accept and love all the definitions and phases of my life that brought me to where I am today with acceptance. I wouldn’t be me without them.