My Mini-Me in More Ways Than One

Maddie Nichols, WeStutter@Work

I remember asking my husband before we got married if he cared that our future children might stutter. I reminded him that stuttering has a genetic component and that there was a good chance that she could stutter and that it could follow her into adulthood, as it did with me. With care and fervor, he said that he wasn’t concerned in the least. He reminded me that our child would have the support of her family and a mother who could truly say that she understood. He was right. I had the unique opportunity of giving my future children the support that I so desperately needed growing up, and this eased my worries. In 2023, we were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. 

It was a cold February day, and I was in the kitchen, making dinner. My daughter was watching Blue’s Clues on the couch, shouting at Steve that there was a clue behind him. I remember hearing her little feet sauntering into the kitchen. 

“Muh-muh-muh-mama, can Iiiiiii, have a snack?” 

I stopped, frozen. 

Was that what I thought it was? No….no, it couldn’t be.

“Sure, sweet pea. What would you like?” I said, my voice was shaky. 

“I wwwww-want pretzels.” 

It had happened a second time, surely not a coincidence. I got her the pretzels. She thanked me and toddled off to the couch. I slunk to the floor and took a couple of deep breaths. It happened. She began speaking like me. I had felt so prepared for it, and yet, I felt completely blindsided. But how could this have happened? I had made it a personal undertaking to model smooth speech in front of her. Was my effort not enough? I felt the weight of every time I had been teased, mocked, and disciplined for dysfluency all at once. I felt the heaviness and the discomfort of every speech therapy appointment. It was my fault that she would have to go through this. My genes had done this. 

My husband reminded me again that I was in the best position a mother could be in. I could give my daughter what I desperately needed when I was her age. I could support her in ways that only a person who stutters could. Super mom mode kicked in, and my husband and I sent messages out to all of her care providers asking them to give her the time she needed to speak and not to draw attention to her stutter. They just need to listen–really listen.

Maybe my daughter will grow out of this stutter. Maybe we are just in a phase. Even if she doesn’t, I’m prepared to fight for my daughter on any front she wants me to fight on.

I still feel a sense of guilt from time to time. I still feel the immensity of my childhood sitting on my shoulders. Even with that heaviness, every time she opens her mouth and I hear her beautiful voice, I am reminded to be a parent who listens. I am reminded to continue fighting for a world that listens with intention, not just for her, but for everyone who stutters. Lastly, I am reminded of how strong and stunning and incredible she is inside and out. How lucky am I to give her what I didn’t have?

To my world, my daughter:

From the moment our eyes met, I’ve been in awe of you.

In awe of your courage. In awe of your tenacity. In awe of your strength. 

The hand we were dealt, it’s not an easy one.  Our words we speak don’t have the luxury of flowing freely. But this does not mean that our words are less important, less impactful.  You may walk a road that I have traversed before, but you won’t walk alone.

Every word you say is worth its weight in gold.

I can’t promise you the world will be gentle.

Though I believe people to be kind, people will fall short.

What I can promise you is this: in this house, your words are important. In this house, we will wait for you. In this house, every word you speak will have our attention. In this house, you will always feel heard. In this house, we will hold space for you.

This will always be your refuge. 

When the world won’t listen, we will. When the world isn’t kind, we will be. Always and forever, we will hang on your every word.