Reflecting On My First Speech as a Person Who Stutters
Here I was: on the stage in front of a large, dimly lit auditorium at the iconic University of Toronto. For months, I had been preparing for this and just like that, it had arrived.
This was my moment.
I had simply turned a negative into a positive. That’s it. That’s all. Or so I thought.
I was let go from a job just three years earlier, leaving me, among other emotions, angry and bitter.
Knowing I needed to change things up, I maximized my love of writing — hockey writing, to be precise — and decided to face a personal fear: speaking on the phone.
As a Person Who Stutters since early childhood, speaking on the phone was something I had always dreaded. I would panic, sweat, and even stutter a lot more at the mere thought of it, much less doing it.
My hockey writing up to that point consisted of opinion pieces, previews, and recaps. Yet, while I did enjoy these types of pieces, an ulterior motive for these was to avoid interviewing others. But after my job loss, I decided enough was enough.
“Face it head on,” I convinced myself, referring to said fear.
The team I had written about for many years were entering their 50th season.
“Why not interview 50 former players for the occasion?” I thought.
“Yeah right,” I internally responded. But then…
“But what do I have to lose?” I quickly followed up.
I may not have quite been ready to tackle my fear live but I was willing to work around it.
I’d pre-record my questions while listening to instrumental music through my headphones.
The first few were nerve-wracking but from there, each interview became gradually easier.
When all was said and done, I had accomplished what I thought I never could.
When I shared this story with the Canadian Stuttering Association two years later, they recommended that I apply for a workshop at their annual workshop the following year and share my story.
I did, and just like that, my story had turned from a negative into a positive.
As people were filing into the auditorium, I couldn’t help but reflect.
Standing behind that podium all set to go, I had thought about my wife, family, friends, and colleagues who had helped me get here.
Whether it was words of encouragement or giving me the time and space to rehearse my speech multiple times, I couldn’t help feeling grateful and thankful to everyone who played a role in setting this up.
The crowd of people dispersed to their seats and suddenly, you could hear a pin drop.
“It took me a long time to get here,” I began.
With each passing moment, I became gradually more comfortable and more confident.
Glancing at my notes, at the big screen, at my spot on the back wall, I found myself in a groove.
“This all started because I lost that job,” I couldn’t help but remind myself.
I informed every person in that auditorium of my struggles as a Person Who Stutters, my isolation, and my deep depression. But I followed that up with my newfound hope as a Person Who Stutters, my motivation, and my promise that I would, at last, be my best self as long as I am on this planet.
It was exhilarating.
When my speech was finished, applause thundered throughout the auditorium.
I felt alive — so alive that I wanted to speak again… and again and again.
Unfortunately, the pandemic hit just a few months later, forcing me to wait a couple of years before giving my next live speech. But I wasn’t going to dwell on that. Instead, I was going to keep speaking, keep writing, and keep working.
I still believe that all I did was turn a negative into a positive. But that’s the beauty of sharing my story: it may inspire someone beyond the simplicity of my thoughts. And that’s okay.
Heck, that’s more than okay.
I remember when I was too afraid to even say hello.
Ah, those were the days. Thank goodness there are better days ahead.
