Last week I caught a particularly annoying cold and lost my voice. As I showed up to class armed with masks and copious amounts of hand sanitizer, I noticed that I wasn’t raising my hand as much during class as usual. I didn’t ask my teachers questions or answer theirs because of my voice; I didn’t bother trying to speak because I knew it wouldn’t work. Its silent effect was annoying, and it was especially annoying because it wasn’t the first time my voice had held me back.

Growing up in Argentina, I had difficulty rolling my Rs. Beyond this barrier, I could speak, read and write very well. However, I was missing a crucial element of Spanish speech, something I only acquired after speech therapy and vocal training; To this day, I still remember the “arararararar” exercises that I practiced in front of the mirror every morning.

When I moved to Florida in elementary school, I was one of the few students in my Spanish class who could roll my R’s, which became a fun little trick to teach my friends. Quickly losing my accent, I spoke fluent English to my American classmates and enjoyed reading and writing. But even without the language barrier, my friends couldn’t always understand me. I spoke incredibly quietly and, especially when I was nervous or excited, I spoke so quickly that my enunciation went out the window. My words jumbled together, sometimes becoming almost unintelligible to close friends and family. Once again, speaking became an obstacle to sharing my ideas.

I sang in my middle school choir and remember being taught to “throw my voice against the wall” and “lengthen my vowels” during class. This dramatized version of volume and enunciation helped me gain some speaking proficiency, but, around this time, I began to get “stuck” on words, especially when speaking Spanish. The stutter-like result made me feel ashamed and my voice diminished further.

In high school, however, I was given a big platform to speak. The prospect of a speech was daunting, but I wanted to share my ideas. So, I practiced. I rehearsed my speech to anyone and anything (including my dog) who would listen. And when I gave the speech, it was far from perfect, but it was there. Over time, I began to talk more and more and hold back less and less.

This process of gaining the confidence to speak has been a strange journey of personal growth. This means recognizing that some of the things I have to say are worth hearing and that it is worth working to get that voice. It was about overcoming the anxiety that makes me want to rush my words out, taking that deep inner breath and realizing that I’m not going to get anywhere if I can’t be understood.

It has also been a journey of patience. I’m used to having to repeat myself multiple times to be understood, and I’m grateful each time someone else also has the patience to give me multiple attempts at a sentence. But it’s also been a journey of patience with myself – of giving myself the space to mess up and being willing to try again. Over time, I’ve been able to focus less on the process of producing sound and more on the words I want to share, and that has been a privilege.

Today, I delivered successful speeches to international audiences. These have led to some ridiculously interesting opportunities, and I am beyond grateful to the organizations that have given me a platform. But I am also grateful to family, friends, and teachers who not only heard me but understood me when I tried to speak. As I progress through my university studies, I hope to continue speaking, not only professionally but on a daily basis, even if I lose my voice from time to time and even if I still can’t quite understand the ” g” of “gracias”.

Sara Kaufman is a sophomore from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, majoring in biomedical engineering. Her column focuses on the experiences she’s had and the lessons she’s learned outside of the classroom.