“Did you forget your own name?” This was the first question people would ask me when I was trying to introduce myself. Not because I was ashamed or being impolite, just because I could not say it. I remember the first day of my freshman year of high school. I was a new student, in a new school, in a new country, and I was mentally repeating to myself: “My name is Sebastien Oudin-Filipecki. My name is Sebastien Oudin-Filipecki…” And then, when it was finally my turn to introduce myself, I stood up, and I said, “My name is… My name is… Sssse…” People started laughing, others looked away. I felt so embarrassed, so angry, I sat down.
I have stuttered since I was six years old, and a lot of people have given me unsolicited tips to avoid it, suggesting I take a deep breath when I speak, not think too fast, try not to be stressed. But even though most of these tricks were ineffective, my stuttering never stopped me from participating in class, asking questions, or giving presentations. Of course, it bothered me sometimes; it was so frustrating to get stuck on a word for many seconds. I was afraid to read out loud in class, and I was bullied by some of my peers.
For a long time, I considered stuttering as my enemy because I did not know how to cope with it. Sometimes I wondered how I would ever have a successful job interview, order at a restaurant, or find a romantic relationship, if I was not able to say my name?
Thankfully, my school’s counselor helped me find a speech therapist. I quickly discovered how much it would help me. As I made quick progress and learned more about my stuttering, I started to embrace it as a part of myself. I learned that stuttering was a muscular coordination issue and not an emotional problem as had been suggested by previous therapists I had seen. I also discovered that it would never go away, even though I knew how to deal with it. This revelation was difficult to accept at first; I had hoped that, by going through speech therapy, what I considered a “flaw” would disappear, but it didn’t, and it was ultimately for the best.
Accepting that I stutter allowed me to change my perspective. It taught me to be a more attentive and active listener, a more efficient speaker, and, most importantly, it taught me to accept myself. At my first Model United Nations conference, I was terrified at the idea of speaking, and when I heard the voice of the chair say, “Spain, you have the floor for sixty seconds,” I stood up, opened my mouth but no sound came out. I was stuck; the room was in complete silence with all eyes looking at me. I thought about sitting down in frustration and anger as I had done many times in the past, but I told myself, “Not today.” So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and delivered my speech.
I still stutter today (and I always will), but I have learned to accept and to love it because it is a part of my everyday life and a part of myself.
Sébastien is third-year political science and psychology student at McGill University who is passionate about journalism, writing and conflict resolution. You might run into him day-dreaming walking down Peel St, or in a coffee shop near Square-Victoria. If that’s the case, do not hesitate to say hi.
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