When most people recall their childhood, they think of school plays, laughter in the classroom, and carefree conversations with friends. For me, those memories were there, but they were accompanied by something else: my stammer. It wasn’t just about speech. It was about the quiet struggles people didn’t notice, the feelings hidden beneath every pause, and the lessons I carried with me every day.
Conversations were difficult for me. I often tried to avoid such situations where I had to speak. As a child, I recall the emotions I felt when my teacher would make us stand and read a paragraph from the textbook. I wished desperately for the period to end. I read the same paragraph again and again in my mind, only to mess it up when it was finally my turn. I used to rehearse sentences in my head, but when it was my turn, the words broke apart. The class moved on, but I was left replaying that failure again and again. Stammering wasn’t just about words getting stuck. It was about the small, invisible battles no one else noticed. I chose silence in groups because it felt easier than fighting through my own speech. From the outside, it probably looked like I was shy, quite, or maybe even uninterested. But inside, I had so much to say, I just didn’t always have the voice to say it.
What people didn’t see was the frustration, the embarrassment, and sometimes the loneliness. Stammering often made me feel like I was standing outside of conversations, watching everyone else speak so effortlessly. I wondered why something so simple for others felt like climbing a mountain for me. It felt unfair. I used to look at people and wonder, “Why me?”. Whenever I used to speak, it made me feel disgusted and embarrassed. I remember I used to have thoughts after I spoke, like it’s better to shut up. My stammer made me hate myself.
Looking back, I realize stammering shaped me in ways I didn’t understand at the time. I learned how to listen deeply, how to empathize with others’ struggles, and how much courage it takes to keep speaking even when your voice doesn’t cooperate. It taught me patience because I had to wait for my words, and sometimes wait for others to understand me. It taught me resilience because every time I spoke, I was facing a fear head-on. I started to recognize and be more sensitive to the hidden struggles of others, because I knew what it felt like to struggle silently. Stammering felt like a pause button I never pressed. It interrupted me, it tests me, but it also taught me life lessons that shaped me. My stammer was a challenge, yes but it was also a teacher. Even in the most frustrating moments, it reminded me that my voice mattered, even if it didn’t always sound smooth.
Stammering doesn’t just affect speech; it affects confidence, friendships, and identity. It destroys you from the inside but also teaches you resilience in quite powerful ways. My words may pause, repeat, or stumble, but they always find their way out. And that’s enough.
Thank you for reading
~ Iknoor Kaur
