Finding My Voice: A Reflection Inspired by Sarzameen

I recently watched the film Sarzameen, a story layered with themes of patriotism, militancy, and parenthood. While all three were powerful, it was the portrayal of parenthood that stayed with me the longest. It stirred memories I had tucked away—memories of my own childhood, of a time when my voice was trapped behind hesitation, fear, and silence.

As a child who stammered, I didn’t struggle only with speech—I struggled with shame. What hurt more than the inability to speak fluently was the reaction it drew from those closest to me. In many families, unfortunately, a child's speech difficulty is met not with patience, but with ridicule. When parents mock—whether playfully or out of frustration—it sends a clear message: you are not enough. And siblings, unknowingly or otherwise, often join in.

This constant sense of being “different” and “less than” is deeply traumatic. Home, which should be a safe haven, becomes a place of judgment. Slowly, the child retreats inward, silenced not by the stammer itself, but by the fear of being laughed at or dismissed.

But life has a strange way of placing the right people in our path.

People who listen without rushing.

People who see the person, not the problem.

People who simply say, “Take your time, I’m here.”

It was through such kindness that I began to heal.

I found my voice not through therapy alone, but through acceptance.

Through love.

Through belief.

I hope the people who stood by me during those fragile years find their way to this post. Your support may have seemed simple or ordinary at the time, but for me, it was life-changing. A special thank you to that one person—you know who you are. I will remain forever indebted to you.

From being the child who couldn’t utter a single word in class…

To someone who now speaks confidently, without hesitation, in any room—

That journey has been long, painful, beautiful.

And I write this today not just to reflect, but to remind every parent, every sibling, every teacher, every friend—

Your words can wound. But they can also heal.

Choose the latter.