Roshni Jacob
Goddard Scholarship
I have lived with a stutter since the second word I spoke. I’m sure I stuttered my first word too,
but my parents only started counting after the first one.
Whenever I was called upon in elementary school, my stomach would clench, and when the
words would refuse to come out, heat rose in my cheeks. My classmates’ snickers only further
burrowed the pit into my stomach. Over time, I stopped speaking in class, silencing myself
because it seemed easier than the embarrassment I felt. But I hated it. I reached a breaking point,
and I vowed to stop holding myself back.
I sought help from a speech therapist. I joined a theater class, where the constant stream of new
monologues to deliver helped me reclaim my voice, piece by piece. Halfway through my
freshman year, I found myself as an attorney on the Mock Trial team.
At first, I hated it. Studying the case felt boring and memorizing arguments tedious. I was
intimidated by the thought of publicly arguing a case—competitively, no less—and I doubted my
fit in this metaphorical arena. At my first trial, I buckled under the pressure and completely
flopped. I resigned myself to the fact that this was not for me, or rather, I was not for it.
But as that first competition fell increasingly further back in time, I discovered that I had slowly
gotten better and had developed a sense of control over my voice. I spent hours in the offseason
rewriting my examinations, practicing them in the mirror, and then rewriting again. The more
time I spent preparing and working, eventually back with my team, the more I felt capable of
handling the pressure. Each additional practice chipped away at my doubts and built up my
confidence.
Mock Trial is now the place where I seek refuge and comfort. I no longer get first-meeting jitters
or an overwhelming sense of displacement. While the competitions are still intense and filled
with adrenaline, my existence in Mock Trial is no longer a challenge; it’s a platform for me to
showcase my abilities. I have found my voice here and began to assert myself in a way I didn’t
before. I am comfortable in my place in Mock Trial, to the point where I am now the leader of
the team, guiding the underclassmen and offering support when they face the same nervousness I
did, and in the process winning gavels for best attorney in two successive years.
I will probably never set foot in a courtroom again—being a lawyer is not my calling. But Mock
Trial taught me to trust myself, even in uncomfortable situations. It showed me that growth
doesn’t happen all at once; it’s slow and often frustrating, but ultimately rewarding. More
importantly, it revealed something I never expected: that I could succeed, not in spite of my past
struggles with speech, but because of them.
That same mindset—the willingness to step into discomfort and stick with something even when
it’s hard—is what I plan to bring with me to college. Whether I pursue a degree in business or
another field that requires communication and leadership skills, I know I will carry with me the
lessons I learned in Mock Trial. I will seek out roles that push me beyond what feels easy. I will
embrace unfamiliar territory. And I will continue to use my voice, despite the fears and
insecurities that surround me.
This achievement—learning how to speak not perfectly, but powerfully—has shaped the way I
approach every challenge. I no longer work to erase the stutter. I now work to refuse to be
hindered by it.
As I step into the next chapter of my education, I’m not walking in quietly. I’m walking in ready
to speak.
