At thirteen-years old, I attended a month long intensive fluency clinic to fix my severe stutter. If I didn’t do well, I would stutter forever. I didn’t do well. Fast forward eighteen years to a moment when I was answering questions as part of a talk I gave at the National Stuttering Association’s (NSA) annual conference. “Why do most people who
Category: Change
Living on guard is exhausting. It consumed all of my energy to be that watchful for so many years, yet I had no other choice. I passed through life avoiding social interactions with the hope that no one would talk in my direction. I missed opportunities, friendships, jobs, and all of the everyday connections in between.
Unless someone tells you what it is you never feel it. It lingers in the background of your life, wearing down your resilience and leaves you unknowingly begging for mercy. Instead of acknowledging it, we numb our senses and bury its burden. It accumulates and compounds with each moment. It shapes who we are each day. It
I sat dejected across from a man that had just interviewed me for three hours. The interview was for a job that I had thought was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Afterwards, I no longer cared whether I got it or not. In the three hours, I had spent more time convincing the interviewer of
For most of my life, I cared what other people thought about the way I talk. The disjointed words and the ugly facial grimaces that came with or without the words from my mouth. I knew I was different than everyone else. Rather, how I talked was different than everyone else. Was the way it made
With two face masks on, a blue dress shirt, and a red skinny tie, I sat before an 80-inch screen as at least 15 faces stared back at me. The faces—a mix of peers, supervisors, and senior executives—weren’t aware of the courage that it took to stutter through my ten-minute presentation. While I spoke, I
I couldn’t resist the urge any longer. It had gained momentum during a whirlwind of change that seemed to happen all at once. There was little else that I felt more viscerally than finding the words to describe this urgency to write. Did anyone else experience this feeling? I thought, “I’ve never been a good
Every Waking Moment 