Posted 3:36 p.m. Wednesday, March 11, 2026
"A Ripple in the Ocean"--Literacy Narrative
Paralyzed yet overwhelmed, why am I like this? A relentless flood approaches, my gates closed and unyielding. The rapids grow wild, crashing into my stone. Each molecule churning and colliding desperately seeks freedom. I wait patiently to open my gate, allowing the current to flow downstream. The pressure builds. The river grows wild, thrashing into the walls, echoing through my core. I attempt to give way, crr…crkk…crk but my gates refuse to open. I am frozen, unable to move. I try again, harder than the time before. But the dam holds strong. So I retreat. I seal the gates, allowing the water to steady. Not a ripple to be seen, pretending this is how it is meant to be. But deep down, the water never stops. It churns, it screams against my walls, waiting for the moment where it can finally be free.
As the dam holds back the river, so have I my voice. This is entirely driven by my speech impediment. Growing up with a speech impediment meant every single word was a battle. The constant fear of judgment, of a stutter, or a lisp in front of others made it more comfortable to stay silent. Over the years, the habit of staying quiet was extremely hard to break, causing my voice to feel as if it did not matter. This development of social anxiety caused me to feel trapped. My inner thoughts and unprocessed words were left unsaid and unheard. It is not that I have nothing to say, it is that I struggle to verbally express my mind.
Many asked, “Why haven't you tried to change? It can’t be that hard to open your mouth and speak about whatever is on your mind.” But I had tried, multiple times, and it always resulted in the same scenario. As a result, my goals and aspirations of becoming a verbally literate person slowly faded back in high school.
The dreadful memory began with me paralyzed and overwhelmed. I was sitting in a graded discussion taught by Mr. Scott, a teacher I had for two years straight who never truly understood me. I sat there as the class formed a circle and the room erupted with conversation, voices overlapping in an endless stream of chaos. My mind raced, cycling through thousands of thoughts about what to say. I patiently waited for a pause in the conversation, a brief moment to intervene. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning the words around me. I gripped my pencil a little harder, its sharp edges digging into my sweaty palm. I wanted to speak, to partake in the conversation, but every time I opened my mouth, the words tangled at the back of my throat. “Th…Bu…Wha.” My classmates held back their laughter. I tried again, even louder than the time before. I scanned the room, searching for a sign of recognition. Nothing. Not even a slight glimpse from my peers. My classmates gave each other weird looks and changed the topic. My voice dissolved into thin air before it ever had the chance to be heard. My only option was what I did best, what made me comfortable. So I retreated. I forced a slight smile and pretended I had nothing to say. But deep down, I had thousands of thoughts and ideas that were left unsaid and unheard.
My eyes fixated on the clock, its hands slowly ticking towards the bell. I was too afraid to peer down at dozens of eyes, their judgmental thoughts lingering in the air from my stutter minutes prior. That was until a voice thundered in my right ear, “Ty sit down!” Mr. Scott stood over me, pointing me to his desk. Walking toward him felt as if I were walking to my grave. Mr. Scott looked me directly in my eye and said, “I need you to participate in class more often. Are you even reading the book?” He exhaled loudly, arms folded, leaning back in his chair. “Yes” I responded quietly. Mr. Scott leaned in. “I don't get it, Ty. I call on you all the time and you sit there like a statue, not a word to be said.” Deep down, I wanted to tell him everything, let him know what was going on, but I felt inferior as if he would not understand. “Yeah…. I'm sorry,” I muttered. “Don’t be sorry,” he said coldly. "Show me. Speak up.”
I could tell he had no care in the world about what was going on inside my head. I left the room knowing that I was useless, that no one understood me, and that my thoughts and words were just a tiny ripple in the ocean. With nowhere to turn, no one to understand me, I had to suppress my struggles and push forward. Mr. Scott saw my silence as a lack of effort, but he couldn't have been more wrong. I strived to be heard, I just didn't know how. My churning thoughts within my head had been trapped for years, as verbal communication felt like an inescapable concrete wall. Every failed attempt to express myself only reinforced the fear of speaking, solidifying my fate of staying silent. However, the frustration boiling inside urged me to prove a point; it lingered beneath my skin, growing into a sense of determination. For days, Mr. Scott’s words and the laughter of my peers echoed through my mind, taunting me. I replayed the graded discussion over and over, trying to grasp the words that caught in my throat.
All of a sudden, the next writing assignment was posted online titled “Write about something you regret.” This was my opportunity to release my thoughts. My regret wasn’t something external, it was the years of silence, the moments when my thoughts stayed locked within the gates. I had the urge to feel heard, all the years of being misunderstood, laughed at, and judged had built up too much pressure, the walls began to crack. Hovering over the keyboard, my heart began to pound out of control. I took a few deep breaths. A blank page sat before me, a fresh start. No judgment, no laughter, it was just me, my thoughts, and the keyboard. I finally opened the floodgates. The river rushed into freedom. I began to type. Every unspoken word and swallowed thought spilled onto the page. I wrote about all the missed opportunities I had because my words were caught in my throat, the fear of judgment that scared my opinions away, and the years I spent trapped in silence. I typed about my feelings of shame, fear, and frustration. Instead of retreating, I stepped forward into the battle. Writing gave me power. It gave me freedom. I had full control. I could pause, delete a stuttered word, and could fully express my mind without becoming paralyzed and overwhelmed. For the first time in my life, my voice carried weight, it mattered.
A click away from submitting my paper, I realized this wasn’t just another essay; it was my inner self that had long been hidden. Writing became a part of me; it became my voice. With every word I write, I regain a piece of my own identity. Through writing, I am able to express my feelings that I am unable to portray verbally, allowing me to discover who I truly am. Writing gives me the strength to step forward, be vulnerable, and embrace the fact that my words carry weight. While writing, I am in control, the only one speaking, the sole contributor of the conversation. There is no laughter, no stutters, no unheard sentences. The fear of judgment transforms into excitement, giving me the ability to be expressive, to reflect, and to write with no boundaries. This instills the thought that my words have weight. This prompt pushed me to dig deep revealing my emotions, something I would never do before my transformation. My adoption of the expressive writing style that I have today is due to the years of judgment, misunderstandings, and moments of feeling unseen. Mr. Scott, as well as many of my peers, shunned and laughed at my involvement in literacy, forcing me to retreat. However, I used that fear and years of built up frustration that once silenced me, into a power that I can wield, shaping my words with purpose and clarity.
Though I still struggle with social anxiety and my voice trembles in speech, my words on paper will never be silenced. In a society that prioritizes verbal communication. This fear has led me to discover that power exists in various forms of literacy. Through this discovery I have turned to writing, not just as a form of communication, but as a way of expressing identity, connection, and empowerment. To this day, whenever I feel unheard, I turn to a blank page and let my churning thoughts spill onto it. This has helped me transition into college, where expressing my mind is difficult due to the presence of judgment, allowing me to transform my thoughts into something real. Through writing, I have found the ability to be understood, express myself, and prove that even the smallest ripple in the ocean can create a significant impact.