A dance between Love and Hate

My relationship with my stutter has always been a complicated dance between love and hate.

I “loved” my stutter because the pain it caused me also gave birth to a certain depth within me.

I doubt I would understand a song, a poem, or a piece of literature as deeply as I do if I had never known this kind of pain. I don’t know whether I would have developed the same empathy for the person standing before me, the same sensitivity, the same compassion… without it. Without my stutter.

And I wonder if I would see life in such vivid colours if I had never known its darker shades.

And yet, I hated it too.

I hated it every time it limited who I was. I hated it when I allowed it to take opportunities away from me on this incredibly short journey we call life. I hated it when it made me retreat into a room and confine my life within four walls, instead of being out in the world, living fully, taking life by the spoonful.

I grieve what it has taken from me.

And I am grateful for what it has given me. It has been both wound and teacher, both prison and doorway.

My stutter also made me incredibly strong… strong enough to face whatever life might place in my path. 

Those of us who stutter know this kind of strength intimately. We have grown accustomed to fighting battles that most people never even notice.

For some, ordering a coffee is nothing more than ordering a coffee. Making a phone call is just a phone call. Saying your name, asking a question, introducing yourself… small, forgettable moments in an ordinary day.

But for us, sometimes, they are battles.

Battles fought quietly, often invisibly, in the space between a thought and a word.

And we fight them every single day.

We walk into situations that others move through without a second thought, carrying with us a kind of courage that has been forged through repetition… through countless moments of fear, frustration, anticipation, and the decision to speak anyway.

Perhaps that is another gift my stutter has given me: the knowledge that I can survive discomfort. That I can walk straight into the things that frighten me and keep going.

It taught me that strength is not the absence of fear.

Sometimes, strength is simply ordering the coffee anyway.

My stutter also taught me to look beyond small talk, beyond words that merely fill the silence. Because when speaking can be a struggle, words become precious. You learn to choose them carefully. You learn to mean them.

My stutter taught me how to pour my whole self into every word I speak... to place my heart, my presence, my truth into the space between one word and the next.

A few months ago, I found myself cleaning my home with tears in my eyes, grieving the loss of my dearest friend and companion.

The one who never judged me, never cared whether I stuttered, and never asked me to be anything other than myself.

He never heard my stutter. 

He heard me. 

My dog. 

My phone rang, notifying me of an email.

Little did I know that, in that moment, those few words on a screen would turn my life upside down.

That was the first time I heard about the STAMILY community.

At first, I felt resistance. Fear. Doubt.

But I needed something to pull me back towards the light.

As a student, I had avoided programs like this, afraid of facing my stutter in a foreign country, surrounded by people I didn’t know. I would tell myself, and others, that I couldn’t go because I had to stay home and take care of my dog. What a silly little girl… 

The timing felt almost like a sign from something greater than me.

Because this time, I no longer had my dog as an excuse…

I gathered every ounce of courage I had and applied to take part in the youth exchange.

It was, without a doubt, the best decision I have ever made.

The week I spent at that camp in Lemele was one of the most profound, joyful, and meaningful weeks of my life.

I don’t know where to begin.

Suddenly, words feel far too small for everything I carry inside me.

In that little camp, I met people who left a mark on my heart. People I loved, people I connected with, people who taught me, made me laugh, made me cry… people who reminded me what it means to truly feel. 

That one week, with all of you around me, was enough to completely change the way I saw my stutter.

Each of you, with your own unique personality, showed me something I had never truly understood before:

People who stutter are, after all, the coolest people around!

I want to thank each and every one of you for the unconditional love, friendship, and feelings you gave me so freely.

For every laugh, every tear, every moment, and for the part of yourselves you left behind in my heart. 

I want to give a very special thank you to my dear friend Marillena, because thanks to you, I am writing these words today… ❤️

Thank you for opening new horizons for me and introducing me to a whole new world — one I didn’t even know I was looking for.

My deepest gratitude also goes to everyone who contributed to organising this youth exchange. Thank you for your time, your energy, and everything you poured into creating this life-changing experience for all of us.

And I want to end with something my beloved friend Lissana once told me:

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because you lived it.”

I love you all more than words can say.

And I miss you terribly.