2/2 I’ve been with my current firm ever since. I worked my way up to a management position. I lead a team, give lectures, present, and teach. I stutter while doing it—that won't change—but this time, I see results and recognition. People listen to me because they want to listen. They invite me onto their projects; they need me. It turned out that I just needed to find the right people and combine that with the things I’m good at. I simply needed to find where I belonged. The most important thing for me, however, is that I started to trust myself. Faith in myself and my abilities is the most essential thing to me now. I’ve started living by a new rule: if I want to do something, I just have to jump in. Don't fear challenges; try new things. After years of playing in various bands, I’m finally in one that is actually successful. I answered their ad—something I never would have done before because I didn't believe in myself. In previous bands, the musicians didn't really want to get anywhere or improve. Now we have a great band with great people. And the stuttering? It doesn't matter at all. I have a three-year-old daughter who is absolutely wonderful. I never believed I’d find the courage to have children. What if they stutter too? How will I take care of them? How will I take her to the doctor when I’m afraid to even book a dentist appointment for myself? We’re managing perfectly. My only regret is that I hesitated for so long, but I needed that time to find myself and start believing. While people around me are getting divorced, complaining about work, politics, or the environment, we are living a beautiful life. We enjoy ourselves and don't have many worries. Sure, the stutter is still there in the back of my mind, along with dreams of what I could do if I didn't have it. But I look at other people too: my brother-in-law, one of the smartest people I know, who just drinks and is on unemployment because he doesn't believe in himself. A friend who works a low-paid factory job even though he basically runs the whole place. My sister, who constantly complains about work but hasn't tried to learn anything new in years. The guy in the pub complaining about being managed by an immigrant, even though he’s done nothing but the bare minimum for ten years to deserve a promotion. I have a friend in a wheelchair who has run a recording studio for years without complaint. Even though he can't position microphones or reach all his gear himself—needing a hand from the musicians instead—he still does what he loves and truly enjoys his life. Everyone has problems, and sometimes they are much bigger than mine. Stuttering is just visible and audible at first glance, and it stops us from doing certain things.