Passing on the best things: mothering with a disability

Estimated read time: 5-6 minutes

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SALT LAKE CITY — I don't really know when I began stuttering. However, I know that I became aware of my speech disorder when I started school, and that awareness quickly spread into every aspect of my life.

As a child, I would lose sleep over oral reports, and I would be driven to distraction in class when the teacher would have us read out loud. As a teenager, I worried constantly about being judged by others. I was lucky to be insulated from the harshest criticism by wonderful friends, but my stuttering weighed on my mind every time I considered moving away, going to college, picking a career and seriously dating.

I was lucky enough to marry an amazing man who has become the greatest cheerleader and defender of my speech. I relished in having someone to order for me in restaurants and call people on the phone (two of my most anxiety-producing tasks). But when I married, it suddenly hit me that I could pass my disability onto my children — and the thought haunted me.

Stuttering, like many neurological disorders, is highly heritable. In fact, my own father was a childhood stutterer. As I had children, I realized that the chance of passing on my disorder was extremely high, and I wrestled with the implications.

My disability is far from life-threatening, and most stutterers lead full, productive lives. But these lives are often filled with teasing, discrimination, negative stereotyping and self-esteem issues. I was hyper-vigilant as my oldest started talking, and then, right around the time he turned 3, he began stuttering.

Assuming the worst — as I am prone to do — I lost sleep, envisioning him turning into a recluse, never moving out, never moving on, never doing much of anything. I was relieved when his doctor said his speech is progressing well, and his stutter seems to be both mild and temporary.

But then I had an epiphany and realized it didn't really matter whether or not he stuttered. Finally, I found the clarity I so desperately needed.

So what if I pass on my disorder? At least my children have a mother who knows how to help them navigate the world with a communicative disability.

So what if my children speak a little differently? The world will learn to love them for who they are and all the amazing things they are capable of.

So what if my children face harsh and unfair stereotyping? They will spend their lives educating others with grace and dignity, just as I have done.

Every day I come to realize more and more that my job as a mother is not to prevent anything bad from happening to my children. ... My job as a mother is to teach them to be courageous in the face of uncertainty and strong throughout affliction.

Every day I come to realize more and more that my job as a mother is not to prevent anything bad from happening to my children. It doesn't matter if my kids stutter or not; they will have trials, regardless of what I pass on to them. My job as a mother is to teach them to be courageous in the face of uncertainty and strong throughout affliction.

Luckily for me, my own stuttering has given me ample experience to draw on. I can teach them that a disability is simply a state of mind, and does not determine what you can accomplish. While I don't wish difficulty on anyone, especially my children, living a life without struggle leads to a lack of empathy, and I wouldn't wish that on my children either.

In accepting the possibility that my children may be less than perfect, I am slowly coming to terms with my own imperfections. I had seen my disability, and the possibility of passing it on, as preventing me from being a good mother. I felt selfish for propagating my less-than-stellar genes on another generation, and I worried that my children would be embarrassed by my speech. I also worried that my disorder would impede my ability to advocate for my children, and that my kids would feel like they got the short end of the mother stick.

Basically, I worried. A lot. But what mother doesn't worry? We all fear that our faults will be the downfall of our children, even though that's rarely the case. Kids don't need perfect mothers; kids need mothers who love them fiercely. I can love my kids fiercely, regardless of how I speak.

I have no idea what the future hold for my children's speech, or even for my own speech. I used to hope for a miracle cure, some new therapy that would make us all better in an instant. Now I just hope for the courage to accept myself and my children, no matter what difficulties we face.

A part of me still hopes I don't pass on the genes for stuttering, but a larger part of me is too tired of worrying about it to really care. My kids will have their own struggles and make their own mistakes, whether or not they end up with my bad genes.

My biggest hope is that everyone in my family can face whatever comes our way with courage, perseverance, and a sense of humor. And, hopefully, I can be the one to teach all that.

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Main image: Stock photo (Photo: Shutterstock)

Heather Hale is a fourth-generation Montanan, mom to two crazy boys, and wife to one amazing husband. You can learn more about her eco-conscious lifestyle at moderatelycrunchy.blogspot.com.