quiet journies
I’ve had a speech impediment for as long as I could talk. Growing up I always knew it wasn’t normal and tried to hide it away the best I could. It was the source of much of my frustration and inspired many jeers that still ring in my ears. It was a dirty secret that was impossible to keep. I tried my hardest to keep it tucked away though, during class readings in middle school I would excuse myself to the restroom every time my turn to read was coming up. For class presentations I would call out sick and present in private to my teachers. I asked to have my desk in the corner and couldn’t make eye contact when I conversed with people. I isolated myself and tried as well as I could to keep it hidden, but alas it was not possible.
Primary and middle school came and went and I soon arrived on the doorstep of high school. Feeling unconfident and defeated, yet wanting to change the trajectory of my life, I knew I had to make adjustments to my life. Thus, I decided to jump out of my comfort zone. I joined the speech and debate team. This decision was arguably the stupidest thing I could have done at that moment, yet that decision would be the catalyst to a lifelong journey of acceptance and understanding.
Joining the team meant practicing in ways I could not have been prepared for. It was obvious that I needed to practice more than the average person on the team, but I was willing to do anything to speak more fluently. I was drowning beneath the waves of insecurity and fear and fluency was the air I clawed at. I practiced speaking day and night and my voice stained its ink black words on my bedroom walls. The speeches I practiced echoed throughout my head during classes. I knew exactly how each word would sound, what tone I would use, and exactly where I would take a breath within each speech. I had put my heart and soul into practicing and I eagerly awaited my first tournament.
Wouldn’t this be a great story if I had done well at my first tournament and conquered my fears and overcome my demons? Well unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. I completely bombed my first tournament, scoring a historically low amount of speaker points and standing in silence for longer than I spoke at the podium. It was undeniably terrible, I have never been more embarrassed than at that tournament. However, I didn’t toss in the towel. I came back for the next tournament, and the next, and the one after that. I had already established myself as the most embarrassing speaker in the state so I had nothing to lose. Suddenly, the tournaments became my training grounds for both my speech and my confidence. I’m extremely grateful that I didn’t give in, I know I wouldn’t be where I was had I not persevered through my year on the team. This story does have a happy ending though. I eventually placed top 8 at the state tournament and promptly quit the team afterwards. I joined some clubs, organized and taught at a math academy, and even made some friends. I had gained a sense of understanding for my stutter, but the acceptance was yet to come.
Entering university, I was still struggling with my identity as a disabled individual. Moreover, the same fear and apprehensiveness I felt in my primary school years was slowly creeping back into my life. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to find an internship or a job, perhaps I wouldn’t be able to make friends, or maybe even I wouldn’t do well in my business classes due to the emphasis on presentations and group work. For the most part, these fears were squashed as I met mentors and friends who empowered me to perform at my best regardless of my stutter. However, there were two defining moments during my time so far at university that have drastically shifted my attitudes towards my disability. The first moment was when I met a professor who had a stutter. At the moment, this was mind-boggling. I loved to teach and had wanted to pursue teaching but had completely written it off because of my stutter. However, sitting in his lecture I realized that it was my fear that had closed certain doors on myself, not the disability. The second moment was in an interview for the Lime Connect fellowship program. For the first time in my life I saw someone who sounded exactly like me in an upper management role at a firm I admired. It was like a veil lifted right before my eyes, I was in awe. I always knew it was possible for people like me to achieve great things, but it was a completely different experience seeing someone in front of me who did it.
I’ve come a long way from the boy who sat alone in corners and looked down when he spoke. I think he would be happy to see me speak in front of crowds, give presentations to rooms of people, and to simply chat among friends. I hope to fulfill his dreams one day.
