How I "got over" my fear of phone calls

I used to have a mild stutter. I started going to speech therapy for it in 5th grade, in fact, and my speech pathologist told me to make phone calls to family members to practice the techniques she called "EZ speech". This involved stuff like taking more pauses and breaths, pacing myself through the syllables of a word, and stretching the first syllable like "Hellllllo" so I didn't get stuck repeating the same sounds like "w-w-w-w-why?" In my tween-age opinion, it sucked (even though in the long term it totally helped and I'm grateful for that).

I couldn't even tell you why it made me so uncomfortable. All I knew was, I did not like phone calls one bit-- not even with aunts or grandparents. Yet somehow, I got to the point where I can call 5 Congressional offices in one sitting with little to no stress. It took time. It was scary, then it was novel, and now it's routine (an empowering habit).

Eleven years old

   It’s morning. The sun streams in through the blinds on the windows, and the blankets are so warm and soft, I’m determined to stay here as long as I possibly can. But no luck. Mom’s here, and she’s gonna want me to get up and get moving.

   “No.” I try to sink even lower into my pillow, and put my best attempt at a frown over my face, but the sleepy blinking ruins it, I can tell. It wouldn’t work anyway. Mom can clearly see me. But to my surprise, she hands me her phone with the bright red case and sits down at my side. I don’t have to get up, then?

   “Let’s call Congress this morning.” What? Nooooooo, that’s worse. I look at my mom in utter dismay, and she can tell I’m asking, “Do I really have to?” because she starts explaining about the bill and where it is in the legislative process. Suddenly, getting dressed and eating breakfast doesn’t sounds so bad if it means I can get out of this.

   “— and this is good practice with your speech therapy, anyway,” Mom concludes. That settles it! If this is all a set-up so I have to practice "EZ speech" then I want no part of this. It’s awkward and makes me feel silly. I don’t want to talk to anybody, much less Congress! I’ll just mess up, and stutter anyway, and it will be embarrassing. No, thanks.

   Mom hands me an index card. I have to jam my lime-green glasses onto my face in order to see what it says. Oh. It’s a script. Word for word.

   “You can just read this when they pick up the phone, and that’s all you have to do,” she explains, “you can even practice a few times, if you want.” Well, there’s no way out, and the assignment just got a little bit easier, so I guess I should get this over with. I read the calling script out loud, planning where I’ll put the pauses and breaths in a block of text just a few sentences long. When I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Mom dials the D.C. office number saved in her contacts list.

   I swallow a lump of nervousness down my throat and clutch the index card. The truth? I’m a tween who's seen my mom do this a thousand times, and sat in so many lobby meetings myself. I’ve even been to Capitol Hill a few times. But I’ve never actually made a phone call to Congress myself before.

   A person picks up, says hello, and I stumble though the script. “Hi, my name is Yara and I am a con-sti-tu-ent,” my voice jumps higher and higher when I’m anxious, and it was already pretty high-pitched: I sound just like the eleven-year-old girl I am.

   When this torture is over, Mom taps the button to hang up and smiles at me.

   “Good job!” Hmph, I think. Here I was, all comfy is my pajamas, when she came in and dropped this weird, scary, unexpected, talk-to-a-person thing on me! Acting like it was no big deal! And now it’s over, and here I still am in purple pajamas, the sun just a little bit higher in the sky outside.

   “That was a big help,” Mom adds. I stare at my feet, lumps under the blanket. Well, I guess if it was actually helpful… At least, now I know how to do it. Maybe if she gives me a script every time— No, that wasn’t fun. I know exactly what she’s doing, my sneaky mother! Trying to make me an advocate. I want to call Congress as little as possible. Only when Mom really, really needs help, I resolve.

Thirteen years old

   “And now, the most important step is to make the call, which I will do right now.”

   I pause to take out my phone while the class watches. I feel their eyes on me, but I’m not super worried. For one thing, 7th grade speech class got moved into a normal classroom instead of the auditorium today, so I don’t have to stand at the podium, which is the worst. Second, there’s a reason I chose this topic for my “how-to speech” assignment. It may be boring to my classmates, but I know how to do this skill. I do it all the time at home nowadays, and I’ve gotten good at explaining it to beginners.

      “Siri,” I say to my phone when the voice assistant is activated, “call Senator Blunt.”

   “Woah, you know him?” one kid gasps. Mr. Battles shushes him. Technically, the demonstration is still part of the speech, so everyone should be quiet. I laugh out loud at the idea that Senator Blunt himself would pick up the phone.

   “No, he’s not my friend. But I saved the number on my phone so I don’t have to Google it every time I need to call,” I explain matter-of-factly as the phone dials. I like seeing the nodding heads in my small audience as they realize what a smart idea this is. Finally, a Senate aide picks up the phone.

   “Hello, you’ve reached Senator Blunt’s office,” the voice rings out through the room because I put my phone on speaker, letting everyone listen in.

   “Hi, I’m a constituent and I’d like to leave a comment for the Senator, please,” I enunciate confidently into my phone.

Fifteen years old

   “Yeah, this bipartisan resolution is really important because—” I keep talking while I nod to a teacher passing by. The air is chilly, so I’m bounding on the balls of my feet. At least it’s quiet out here. The school building is way too loud at this time in the morning, with students yelling and music blaring from phones and Bluetooth speakers.

   “Okay, thank you so much! Have a great day,” I hang up and hurry back inside. In the time that I was on the phone with Congresswoman Wagner’s office, Ria and Bella have arrived. Ria is jumping up and down, her eyes shining, and Bella gives her a puzzled smile from her seat on the floor, next to my backpack where I left it propped against the wall. I have no idea what Ria’s so excited about, and I suspect Bella doesn’t know either. Sofia waves me over.

   “So, how did the call go? What’s new in global health?”

   “Y’know, same old,” I shake my head. To be honest, I’m a little too stressed out about this resolution and its chances of coming to a vote soon. “What’s up with Ria?”

   “What do you think? It's Star Wars again, of course!” The bell rings, and we stand up to move through the hallway.

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Tips for calling Congress when phone calls are difficult:

schedule a time to do it, and find a location where you'll be comfortable, but not distracted

maybe you want some time to recover afterwards

for example: Making calls while you walk home from school, so that as soon as you're done, you've reached home and can kick off your shoes and eat a snack