The very foundation of our civilization, of our society, is social interaction: speech. Language makes us human, separating us from apes and elephants who communicate with grunts and flicks of a tail. We glorify it from infancy, celebrating like drunkards a baby’s first words, trivial as they may be. From the first day of preschool we are thrown into the lion’s den to fend for ourselves, the articulate crowned and the babblers outcast.

All my life I have dealt with stuttering, a condition that can render someone unable to let forth even a single word. It ruins social conversations and sets fire to academic dialogue, but worst of all, it is tantalizing. The impediment comes in waves, allowing me to speak eloquently for months, only to have it all fall apart in a chorus of shakes and jitters at a simple question. It’s always there though; a devastating combination of transience and finality.

Social situations of even slightly heightened stress can send shudders up my spine, curl my tongue back in spirals. At school, there are days when I may converse with teachers during and after hours with an unrestrained eagerness and desire to learn, and there are days when the creaky old chair in the back becomes my refuge, the final bell ring my repose. Sometimes I can muster up the courage to take some stabs, offer modest pennies to the discussions, but other times the teacher speaks my name and I find my lips trembling as bats before light, squeaking an incomprehensible series of garbles and hisses.

Yet I claim no pity; this world was not meant for wallowing. I quickly learned that my handicap was more than just a curse. My heightened social apprehension did not make me a hermit, but instead allowed me to weave a tight knit group of friends: adventurers and intellectuals whom I know better than myself. Some school days may have struck me mute, but summer camp arguments turned to immigration reform, politics, and the ethics of mortality.

And instead of wasting hours indulging in small talk with strangers, I turned to books, whose wide eyed fantasies and erudite perspectives propelled me into a world of higher thought and reflection. Soon I delved deeper and the ancient Greek legends coupled with the philosophies of Plato and Aristotle swirled about me as though I were sitting at the very depths of Tartarus. Entering high school, I was introduced to literature, consuming the works of Steinbeck and Hawthorne, and fashioning my own prose to match their form. In an effort to hone my craft, I became a contributor to my school’s newspaper, an editor of its literary magazine, and a paid editor and writer for Fansided Network, a content provider for Sports Illustrated.

Looking for broader opportunities to expand my writing experience, I joined my school’s mock trial team, intrigued by the task of analyzing and composing a full legal case. Little did I know, however, that I would be promoted to attorney and forced to give an opening statement in court. The writing would be no problem, but I was barely coherent to friends, let alone a panel of judges. Oration, though, came like ambrosia to my palate, as I found that something I had carefully fashioned with my own mind and pen flowed from my tongue more eloquently than any other combination of words I had ever spoken. The elation that this writing gave was addictive, and I quickly took up similar challenges, reprising my role as attorney and serving as a delegate for Model UN. So while casual conversation may still yield struggle, my ideas have finally found an outlet. As I quickly learned, the ultimate manifestation of struggle is strength, and perhaps a stutterer’s suffering shall yield a writer’s morrow.