When Social Anxiety Is a Trauma Response: Tough Speech Days vs Anxiety

Eldon Solomon, Mandy Rodstorm, Doug Harris

Every person who stutters knows that no two speaking days are the same. Some days, speech flows easily. Other days, words feel heavier, tension builds quickly, and even a short sentence can feel like a ton of work.

What’s often missing from conversations about stuttering is this truth: not every difficult speaking moment comes from the same place. What looks like a “bad speech day” may stem from one of three experiences:

• Natural variability in stuttering

• Social anxiety shaped by fear of judgment

• Trauma responses, where the body recalls past unsafe speaking experiences

Understanding the difference helps you recognize your experience and respond with care rather than self-blame.

Stuttering: A Neurological Foundation

Stuttering is a neurodevelopmental communication difference, not the result of fear or nervousness. It reflects how the brain plans and coordinates speech. Neuroimaging shows variations in speech-motor regions that naturally affect fluency.

Because stuttering involves complex brain processes, fluency fluctuates. Fatigue, stress, excitement, or emotion can influence speech on any given day—shifts like that are normal and expected.

What Defines a Tough Speech Day?

A tough speech day occurs when speaking feels more effortful than usual, without an underlying sense of fear or danger. It might include:

• More frequent or intense blocks or repetitions

• Increased physical effort or tension

• Feeling tired or frustrated after speaking

• Emotional steadiness despite heavy speech

• Anxious about certain speaking situations, more so than usual

It’s important to remember that these days are temporary—they are not regression.

When It Might Be Social Anxiety

Social anxiety arises when fear of judgment colors how you feel about speaking. The mind focuses less on mechanics and more on others’ reactions. Common signs include:

• Worrying before a conversation or event

• Avoiding introductions, calls, or meetings

• Physical symptoms like a racing heart or sweating

• Replaying interactions with self-criticism

• Lingering fear after the moment has passed

For people who stutter, these situations can feel disabling or traumatic, raising the question: “Is this social anxiety, or a survival response to trauma?”

Eldon’s story

Trauma-induced behaviors arise when individuals perceive a lack of escape from acute or distressing situations, compelling them to internally manage responses to avoid painful experiences. I overheard a mother telling her child, “High emotions slow down our thinking, so be careful about the decisions you are making and the perceptions you are forming.” 

This is an excellent lesson for a parent to teach. This advice applies to all emotionally charged situations. Many people who stutter (PWS) often struggle with social situations due to high emotions, so it’s easy to feel broken or disabled in our abilities, losing sight of the bigger picture amidst our own reality. Below are three versions of a similar story, each focusing more on the emotional and behavioral responses to trauma rather than an emphasis on social anxiety. 

The poem “I Woke Up,” authored by Eldon Solomon, tells the story of a PWS experiencing the impact of trauma with his stuttering:

I am 2 and very happy. My siblings take care of me and think I’m cute.

I Woke Up

I am 4. I’m napping when an uncle touches me. I am confused. He tells me to go back to sleep.

I Woke Up

I am angry. I’m a very obnoxious little boy. My siblings don’t think I’m cute anymore and they avoid me. I cannot speak. I stutter. I hurt. I don’t like being me.

I Woke Up

I don’t want to go to school. People are mean to me; they tease, they make fun, and they bully. They say I am a freak. I stutter! I want to hide. Please, don’t see me.

I Woke Up

I am in middle school. I still can’t speak. There is no one like me. I am a freak. It’s a living hell. I want to be free of being me.

I Woke Up

I am in high school. My friends are good to me, but I’m not yet free of being me. Why can’t I speak?

I Woke Up

I am a father. My son stutters. No. Dear God, NO! Please help me. My son must not be like me.

I Woke Up

I am 30. Praise God! I found my fluency. I can speak! I am now like you, and free of being me!

I Woke Up

My son is a young man. He still can’t speak! He is not yet free of being me.

I Woke Up

I am an old man. My son still stutters, but he likes that part of me. I stutter! No Wait! Wait! I have fluency! Am I me or am I you?

I Woke Up

I looked in the mirror. I see all of me! Not just my stuttering me or my fluency me, or the little boy who was abused and bullied me. 

I see strength and tenacity. I see a person who never gives up. 

I see a father who loves his sons and who wants to protect and to prevent what I know will be pain. 

I feel intelligence. I see courage and bravery. 

I see there has been a higher power that has always walked this journey with me. I see friends, and I see family, who have also walked with me! 

I can see! I’m not alone.

I’ve Woken Up

This time, I choose to stay awake. This time, I choose to be all of “me.”

This poem tells a story, a story of recurring trauma that couldn’t be escaped. It’s not hard to feel the pain of this author and see the impact of trauma in his journey to embrace his stutter. There are also victories that came from his experiences. There are more stories like this that relate more to the experiences of trauma rather than to social anxiety.

The National Stuttering Association (NSA) thanks Eldon for his courage and vulnerability in sharing his story with us.

Mandy’s story

Mandy, a speech-language pathologist (SLP) and a PWS, shares her journey of managing internal struggles against external expectations.

Early in her life, she felt safe at home with her parents, but her speech was fragmented. One of her parents said, ”Stop! Say it again without stuttering. I cured myself.”  

“We can’t talk that way,” a voice inside whispered, “we have to do what they say.” 

On her first day of school, introducing herself felt daunting. When she attempted to say “Mandy,” it came out as “Andy,” eliciting giggles from her classmates. Her cheeks burned, but she mustered the courage to try again, declaring, “My name is Amanda.” 

“YES!” The Whisper reassured her. “We are Amanda now.” 

Are these reactions signs of social anxiety or survival instincts? 

During Language Arts, the teacher announced a read-aloud exercise, prompting her to calculate which words she could safely say. “Can I go to the bathroom?” felt like a refuge, though it isolated her further. When an SLP called her name, she hesitated but eventually complied, thinking, “I hate being singled out.” 

As the therapist encouraged her with slow, elongated speech patterns, exclaiming, “Good job! You were so fluent!” 

She couldn’t help but resist, questioning, “Why am I talking like this?” The Whisper returned, demanding compliance:

“We have to do what they tell us.” 

Years later, in college, she came across a video of a girl speaking just like her. Tears filled her eyes as a voice inside her declared, "That is me!" Inspired, she pursued a career as an SLP. Yet, in graduate school, professors advised her to enhance her fluency strategies, eliciting yet another wave of resistance.

“Why can't they hear ME?” 

“We have to do what they tell us,” whe Whisper reminded her. 

As a school-based SLP, she found joy in working with students who stutter. When she celebrated their achievements with the familiar words: “Good job! You were so fluent!” 

She also shared a secret with them—that those strategies “don’t always work, do they?”

After 41 years, the internal conflict became unbearable. 

“You’re a fraud,” her inner critic sneered. But this time, the Whisper turned supportive: 

“You are enough.” 

In a pivotal moment, she confronted her stutter. 

“I’m Mandy,” the Whisper boldly announced. “I get to choose… I choose to stutter.” 

The stories shared here are as diverse as the individuals telling them, yet they resonate with common themes of trauma responses with social anxiety. 

Doug’s story

Doug, a man nearing 70, revisited his stuttering journey after years of ignoring the metaphorical 800-pound gorilla—his stutter. Ignoring the gorilla was never completely possible; its constant presence demanded acknowledgment on its own schedule. Avoidance came at a cost that could not always be ignored.

As a child, he felt like an outsider, not sure why he couldn’t talk like everyone else. Peers’ laughter landed like daggers, and the discomfort of the waitstaff as he struggled to order a grilled cheese left him longing for silence. 

“Never mind,” he would say, opting for soup instead.

In eighth grade, fear gripped him at the prospect of presenting his poem. The silence stretched painfully, and when it was his turn to share a short story, his teacher offered him an out: “You don’t have to go.” 

His relief was tainted by shame—what hurt more: stuttering in front of classmates or receiving special treatment that highlighted his differences?

He chose a college path without foreign language requirements to sidestep anxiety. In graduate school, his peers’ reluctance to make the group’s presentation baffled him. “Why are you afraid? I’m the one who stutters!” 

Stuttering became part of his identity; he passively accepted it, refusing to let it fully define him. This cycle of stuttering and avoidance dominated his life until he made one last attempt at therapy. Three weeks of intense fluency shaping worked, but like before, not for very long. The hard-earned goal of fluency quickly disappeared. 

Decades later, when asked, “How has being a person who stutters improved your life?” he reflected on the intersection of struggle and growth, realizing he was not broken; he was not alone.

Deciding to attend the NSA Annual Conference in Denver in 2025 felt monumental. Could facing the gorilla finally set him free? He envisioned embracing it, sharing stories, and wearing a T-shirt that boldly stated, “I stutter.” Connecting with others allowed him to appreciate the power of listening. One woman he met stuttered more severely than anyone he’d encountered, yet her insights and humor were vibrant. 

For the first time, he pondered if social anxiety could be a survival response, leading him to an honest reflection: “YES.”

Each narrative is shaped by individual experiences. The stories shared here reflect a willingness to confront fears and reject suffocating social anxiety responses. Yes, we stutter—but that’s just one piece of the complex puzzle of who we are. The trauma we’ve faced profoundly contributes to our identities and not just as negatives. On this path, we often find more victories than defeats, ultimately arriving at the realization: “I’m pretty terrific.” 

Conclusion

The heaviest burdens often take the longest to lift. Yet, in this journey of self-discovery and acceptance, we uncover our truest selves. The experiences here tell a different story from that of social anxiety. Look a little deeper than what you feel and more at what you have and will overcome. By facing our fears and embracing our stories, we step into a power that liberates us and inspires those around us.

If you stutter, you are not alone! Find your people today at WeStutter.org/join-a-chapter.

About the contributors

Eldon Solomon is a CEO and a lifelong person who stutters, but he will tell you first that he is a husband of 38 years and a proud grandfather.

For more than three decades, Eldon has served as a mental health counselor, dedicating over 33 years to helping individuals move beyond simply surviving and into truly thriving. His work has included leading veteran outreach initiatives, directing mental health clinics, and guiding people through some of their most vulnerable moments with compassion and clarity.

After attending his first NSA Conference in 2023, Eldon felt something shift. He experienced firsthand the power of community and connection, and he knew he wanted to give back. Drawing on both his professional expertise and lived experience as a person who stutters, Eldon is passionate about supporting others as they navigate what he calls the “survival hijack” — those moments when fear takes the wheel and our authentic selves feel distant.

He believes that every person who stutters has a powerful voice. Sometimes it just needs space, safety, and support to be fully heard.

Based in Indiana, Eldon embodies a simple but powerful truth: it is never too late to build new bridges, deepen connection, and create meaningful change.

Mandy Rodstrom is a person who stutters and a former school-based speech-language therapist with 20 years of experience supporting children and families. She is a passionate advocate for client- and family-centered, neurodiversity-affirming, and trauma-informed care, with a specialization in developmental stuttering.

After more than 30 years as a covert stutterer, Mandy made the courageous decision to embrace her stutter openly. That shift not only transformed her personal journey, but also deepened her professional mission. Today, she runs her own private practice and teaches graduate-level courses on stuttering at several universities, equipping the next generation of clinicians with evidence-based knowledge and affirming approaches.

Beyond her clinical and academic work, Mandy is deeply engaged in community advocacy. She serves as a Family Chapter Co-Leader in Washington DC with the National Stuttering Association and volunteers with Friends Who Stutter, SPACE Community and Arts, and The Stuttering Association for the Young. Through these spaces, she helps create connection, visibility, and belonging for people who stutter and their families.

Outside of her professional life, Mandy finds joy in music, traveling, cooking, and spending time with her husband and three children.

Her journey reflects a powerful truth: when we embrace our voices fully, we not only change our own lives, we help change the field itself.

Doug Harris is a lifelong person who stutters, a husband, a father, and a retired architect living in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

For many years, Doug simply lived with his stutter, navigating both its challenges and its quiet strengths without actively engaging in the broader stuttering community. In 2024, that began to change. He intentionally reengaged in his journey, joining the Greenville, South Carolina chapter of the National Stuttering Association and stepping into deeper connection with others who share his experience.

In 2025, Doug attended his first NSA Annual Conference in Denver. The promise of a “life-changing experience” often shared by longtime attendees did not disappoint. The sense of belonging, understanding, and shared growth met every expectation and then some.

Shortly before the conference, Doug relocated from Western North Carolina to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where he began attending the Philadelphia NSA Chapter and continuing his adventure within the stuttering community.

Now, Doug is helping organize an intergenerational discussion panel for the upcoming Charlotte conference, creating space for meaningful conversations across ages and experiences. His journey reflects something many people discover: it is never too late to lean in, reconnect, and find new depth in your voice and your community.