My wedding was coming up. The choice of making a speech or not had been presented to me. I had decided to make a speech. I wanted to make a speech. I had little over a year to prepare and the first thing I had to deal with was what happened to me when I first entered the school classroom at the age of four.
When I stood on the classroom threshold with a new unfamiliar environment in front of me, a feeling equally unfamiliar to me struck. It felt like my hair turned into needles and prodded inwards, my feet like I was standing on nails, my body like it was caught in a vice grips, like a 10 tonne weight landed on my head, my blood turned sweet, what was in front of me seemed a thousand miles away, my heart hammered; quietly, thank God. I knew if I spoke or moved then a terrible thing would happen. I froze.
I eventually made it through the door, to my desk and sat.
The feeling followed me and re-struck every time there was an expectation to speak.
There was always an expectation to speak in school so I became on guard all the time, in a state of constant vigilance, ever watchful for that strike.
For my thirteen years of school I was paralysed of all expression. I could not even raise my hand, even the tip of my finger to ask to go to the toilet, I could not speak to anyone in class, I was glued to the wall in the playground and when I did break away I circled to nowhere. I sat in class everyday with what felt like a big cold stone in my gut which when an expectation to speak or anything involving movement arose would expand and petrify me whole.
I was called ‘The Zombie’ because of my stiff, tension filled movements, complete lack of speaking and staring into space.
Every night I would pray to be able to speak the next day. The next day would come and I would try but trying seemed to make the feeling more intense and inevitably I would fail, crushingly and humiliatingly so.
I had an escape, a safe area, home. Here I ran, spoke, shouted, had friends, everything a boy could want. Gradually how I was outside of this space permeated into my safe space. When anyone from the safe place met anyone from the other place then I could not speak to them anymore. That’s the way it had to be, the only way that made sense. Eventually my safe space was no more.
Over the years my thoughts became more and more negative and I became ashamed at how utterly weak and feeble and timid I was not to be able to speak. I mean could I give that much care about what other people thought about what I was going to say that I’d remain silent for most of my life?
In college I was exactly the same as in school until I was invited out for some drinks one day. The alcohol seemed to get rid of the feeling and I could speak, mostly to strangers. It was a great relief. I managed to make a few pals even though I was still practically silent. Alcohol became my new safe place and it was mobile too. I could endure anything so long as I had this place to run to.
During my time in college I was picked out as an easy target on the street and was mugged. In fear of my life in this situation I actually spoke and shouted. I have since learned that this was because the fear of not speaking out weighed the fear of speaking.
I’ve had a few part time jobs to make money to get through college. All of them I had trouble speaking and saying what I needed. I could ask direct questions but speaking when not spoken to or without someone’s direct attention was impossible.
Then I started my professional life. I was in an office and could not ask questions, could not speak to my workmates in the same room, could not curse if something went wrong. I dreaded breaks and dreaded meetings. The freeze feeling was there at every opportunity for progression. I couldn’t get away with not speaking in the professional world. I went from job to job, hoping that when I left one job I’d never meet the people from the previous job who knew I didn’t speak again.
Somewhere along this line, on a work night out, I met a girl who I started dating. She thought I was quiet! We lasted. After a few years of going out we decided to get married.
I had often searched for a reason for that sudden stop sign in my life. If there was just a pinpoint of a bad thing that had happened then I could put my finger on it and deal with it but there was nothing out of the ordinary that I could think of.
I entered the term ‘shyness’ into an internet search engine. It threw up Selective Mutism. This was a revelation for me.
I decided that for me to make that speech I would have to deal with the Selective Mutism issue in some way.
I decided to write a book about my experiences. I called it ‘Persona Medusa’ a combination of the greek word Persona meaning that through which sound passes and Medusa to represent the anxiety that turns the would be speaker to stone.
Through my writing I got in touch with a speech and language therapist in the UK, Maggie Johnson, a specialist in Selective Mutism and who co-wrote the SM Resource Manual. She explained to me that the feeling I was experiencing was a phobic reaction and the thoughts were the cognitive results of that phobia.
I found the pinpoint of a bad thing which wasn’t really a bad thing at all. At the age of three I spent two weeks in hospital with croup and because the hospital was so far away my parents could only visit at weekends. It was this time without my parent’s presence that caused a psychological happening called transference, where the real reason for fear is transferred onto something else, in my case, my voice. I learned that the phobic reaction operates from the automatic part of the brain which sends signals 20 times faster than the rational thinking part.
I remember I used to think I had a phobia of snakes. I used to imagine how I’d react if a pet handler brought a snake into the classroom. I’d imagine turning white with fright and freezing to the spot. I’d imagine classmates looking concerned and saying get that snake out of here and the teacher ushering the pet handler out. And then the relief. I’ve since learnt that I must have seen someone having a phobic reaction to snakes on TV programme and transposed it to my situation. I had no idea. But how a child’s mind works!
I made that speech at my wedding.
And more recently I read this very piece of writing (that you are now reading) at an SM training day run by SNAP in Monaghan with Maggie Johnson.
Between my writing, my marriage, my Son, I am now in a better place.
Help information
For more information about selective mutism see
- SMIRA (The Selective Mutism Information Research Association) or SMIRA’s Facebook group.
- Finding Our Voices
- ISPEAK
- NHS Choices
Below is a document devised by adults who experience SM which has proved extremely useful for approaching potential employers/tutors/health professionals, etc. It is a template which individuals can use to explain their difficulty talking and ensure that their needs are recognised and supported.
If you need help please talk to friends, family, a GP, therapist or one of the free confidential helpline services. For a full list of national mental health services see yourmentalhealth.ie.
- Samaritans 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org
- Pieta House National Suicide Helpline 1800 247 247 or email mary@pieta.ie – (suicide prevention, self-harm, bereavement) or text HELP to 51444 (standard message rates apply)
- Aware 1800 80 48 48 (depression, anxiety)
If living in Ireland you can find accredited therapists in your area here:
Support Our Campaign
We rely on the generosity of the public to fund our work and so far together we have achieved great things! Please do continue to support us so we can provide future generations in Ireland with the resources to recognise and talk about their emotions, and equip them to navigate the ever-changing world around them as they grow
