The Art of Speaking – a cooking pot and twisted tales

I like to think that words hold each other’s hands like best friends, this might have explained the spasms that came when I opened my mouth to speak; the uncontrollable repetition of words joined side-by-side not unlike Siamese twins.

For the most part, save for its reluctant shadow, my terrible stutter has left me but I don’t miss it as much as it misses me. Surprisingly, our destinies weren’t as intertwined as they seemed after all. It had a field day when I was younger when the thought of addressing unfamiliar people would make my blood freeze even before my vocal cords froze.

There were meaningful words dancing in my head, I just couldn’t contain their struggle when they arrived inside my chest. Carefully, I’d strung them together neatly but like children without home-training, I couldn’t control their unruly behaviour when they were let out to play in the open.

Now, I have learned to calm the whirlwind of words that get caught in my throat when I am nervous, excited, even at ease or simply tired. I have managed to suppress my stutter with the habit of speaking quickly. The outcome is a smooth rush of words that board a rocket ship and shoot past my lips.

Yes, I’ve conquered but there’s a price to pay. I haven’t mastered the art of listening; that engaged silence that lets the person speaking know that they have my undivided attention, assuring them that I am hanging onto their every word.

The thing is this because I speak quickly, the words form just as quickly in my head and need to be released exactly as I’ve arranged them. And because I am stirring my pot of alphabets rapidly, I place the hat of presumption atop my head, positioning it at a jaunty angle, thinking that I know what the speaker is going to say even before it comes out of their own mouth.

So, I have my response ready, albeit prematurely and it keeps getting in the way until it becomes a confused symphony of voices, the speaker’s and mine, each trying to overpower the other. A battle of words armed with swords of tongues.

Sometimes, when I lose control of my word-children, I apologise for my now mild stutter. I am mostly sorry that the person that I am speaking with has to go through the pain of plucking out the sense swimming in the sea of jumbled up words.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so sorry, it is who I am, simply another silk thread specially woven into the fabric that is me.

I suppose we all have the various facets that interlock perfectly to produce who we are; that person that no-one else can be.

Still, I must learn to trust myself more and believe without a doubt that the ropes I have used to harness my words will not slip from my fingers. Then, be still and listen.

Nedoux can be found at her blog Nedoux where she talks about life, tailoring and so much more with brilliance and humour that leaves a reader chuckling. I doubt if I’ve missed any of her articles since I started following her 🙂

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Jacqueline writes from her heart on passion, pain, suffering, loss and LIFE. I have been incredibly moved by her poetry and I know I will return to “Out of the Silent Breath” again and again.

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