Imagine living in a world where no one understands you. For those of you who read my past work or know me personally, then you probably know my story. At eighteen months, I was diagnosed with a processing disorder and a speech impediment, today known as CAS (Childhood Apraxia of Speech.) Apraxia is an oral speech disorder affecting the way children speak and communicate with others.
For many children, they struggle with putting sounds together, fine motor skills, delayed speech, and some are even completely nonverbal. Since children with CAS struggle with speaking, skills like learning how to read, write and spell are often additional challenges; all problems I dealt with. I did not start speaking until I was three years old, and my parents couldn’t understand me until I was ten. My teachers literally could not understand me, leaving me feeling incredibly isolated.
I vividly remember the first time I was bullied for my speech impediment, in the fifth-grade after moving to a new school. I had given a speech in front of half the school, clearly pointing out something was wrong with my speaking skills. A little fun fact for you: often children with speech impediments can’t tell there is anything different in their speech. I thought I was hot shit. Bullies clearly proved me wrong. Part of my impediment made it challenging to say the “r” sound, a problem when your name is Charlotte. I was teased endlessly for a year and a half until the bullying got so bad I had to move schools.
From ages three to twelve, I was enrolled in speech therapy, determined to shed whatever limitations I could. Therapy left me exhausted, sometimes even hopeless. At times, I wanted to give up and surrender to my lisp. Instead, I continued to face my challenges head-on. During middle school, I started public speaking and theater. Although it may seem ironic for a girl who can’t speak in these clubs, it was some of the greatest practice I could have gotten.
My speech and debate class encouraged me to enter The Optimist Oratorical Competition, which I competed in for three consecutive years. In my final year, I won the entire competition and received a small college scholarship. My love for theater grew and I was accepted into a performing arts high school. By then, there were no more signs of ever struggling with a speech impediment.
The summer before entering high school I decided to share my story, founding my own community service program Just Like Me 2, where I talk to children struggling with similar impediments and disabilities. When I was going through therapy, there wasn’t anyone for me to look up to who experienced the challenges I was facing. By creating my organization and working with children, I can ensure they don’t feel as alone as I did.
I have come a long way from the lisping girl nobody understood, however, Apraxia is a continuum disorder, meaning it never fully goes away. Every day, I must be conscious of my speech, making sure not to fall back into lazy speech patterns. Despite the challenges and tears shed over my impediment, I am forever grateful for my experience since I would not be the person I am today without them.
