(A version of this essay appeared in The Providence Journal.)

My stutter began towards the end of high school, which is a relatively late onset. Looking back now, my symptoms then seem mild. I could still say anything I wanted to say, perhaps with a repeated syllable here or there. But teens can be insecure and petty, and so from the start it was a source of embarrassment and anxiety for me. Something to be hidden. I can recall multiple times when I st-st-stuttered on a word and a classmate echoed it back to me in a mocking tone. Thankfully the severity of my condition didn’t really take off until graduate school, when my symptoms transitioned from mainly syllable repetition to something called blocking.

A block is when rather than not being able to finish a sound, you can’t even start it.  There is some bizarre disconnect in the brain between knowing what sound you want to make and actually making the sound. It reminds me of trying to run in a dream, or a mime struggling against an invisible wall. In general stuttering is a strange, fickle beast. It affects some words but not others, sometimes but not always. One minute I might speak with perfect fluency, and during another minute I might eke out two words total. It can be incredibly frustrating, and the inconsistency only makes it more so. I think most people would agree that spotty internet is more infuriating than no internet.

My fluency changes day by day, week by week, and year by year, but the overall trend seems to be one of decline. I am now in my first postdoctoral research position after receiving my PhD in physics, and there is no hiding my stutter. I’ve resorted to introducing myself to new people by explaining that I stutter on my own name, and then holding up my ID for them to read. As part of my job I regularly give 30–60 minute presentations to dozens of colleagues. Public speaking is one of the most common fears, and for me there is an extra layer of uncertainty and anxiety to it. Thankfully the shot of adrenaline usually seems to boost my fluency, but during talks it still runs the gamut from near normalcy to having excruciating thirty-second pauses between words. In spite of these difficulties, I never thought of myself as having a disability until recently. But as my stutter continues to worsen there are some day-to-day tasks, such as making a phone call, that on bad days I am not just slower at, but simply incapable of.

To be sure, stuttering is a relatively minor disability in the grand scheme of things. But it’s not a race to the bottom, and more importantly I believe that stuttering, and speech disorders more generally, receive inadequate attention from scientists and the media given how common and serious they are. About 5% of children and 1% of adults stutter worldwide. The severity varies, but for many it is truly detrimental to quality of life. Stuttering usually begins in early childhood, and it often affects social development and inflicts lasting trauma. According to the Cleveland Clinic, adults who stutter are twice as likely as non-stutterers to develop depression and anxiety disorders, and three times as likely to develop personality disorders. Despite all this, the cause of stuttering remains a scientific mystery.

In media, depictions of stuttering are few and far between and most seem to use a character’s stutter to represent some flaw, such as the timid Professor Quirrell in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.  A notable exception is The King’s Speech, in which stammering is the main antagonist. But this depiction is still not entirely satisfying to me, because it is a story of overcoming a stutter as opposed to living with one. Likewise, public figures associated with the condition are almost invariably formerly afflicted. For many adults who stutter, though, the reality is that nothing they can do will rid them of this troublesome pest. The representation I would love to see, in movies or preferably in the real world, is confident, successful people who actively stutter.

Such representation would make us less invisible in society. It would give us role models, and make us feel less alone in our struggles. And, just as importantly, it would help others understand us better. In generations past, many parents believed that a child’s stutter was a sign of personal weakness, and punished it accordingly. Thankfully this seems to be less common today, but vestiges of the sentiment remain. Some well-meaning loved ones seem to think that my stutter is merely a symptom of stress or anxiety, and that all I need to do to fix it is relax a bit or gain some confidence. This is a harmful misconception. It reinforces the stereotype of people who stutter as timid and weak, but that is not the reality. The truth is that we are strong, we are confident, and we are ready to be seen.