Politics is brutal. I'm still learning to own my voice
Working in a profession where his speech is always on show, Ben Pease tells us about battling the worry, challenging assumptions around stammering and being determined to carry on speaking.
I've had a stammer for as long as I can remember. It's always been there, some days barely noticeable, other days I stammer more, but it's never something I've wanted to hide behind or let define me. I believe that if you've got something to say, it's worth saying.
I've always been chatty and have never been afraid of using my voice; I've done public speaking, taken part in debates, and I enjoy expressing myself. That instinct followed me to university, where I studied politics.
Debate and discussion are a fundamental part of our democracy, and learning how to argue a point, listen closely and defend a position comes with that territory. I remember putting myself forward to debate drug legalisation onstage because I wanted to practise staying calm under pressure and getting my points across despite the mental gymnastics happening in my head. That doesn't change just because my speech sometimes sounds different. If anything, it's made me more determined to show up and speak on my own terms.
Finding my place
I've been working at a public affairs and communications consultancy for just over a year — by definition a profession where your voice is constantly on show. I genuinely love it. I've been incredibly lucky with the team around me, who have been patient and supportive, giving me the time and space to speak in my own way. That understanding has made a huge difference.
The job demands you use your voice constantly. This includes phone calls with MPs' offices, which, if I'm honest, I still find difficult. Online meetings with clients and stakeholders. Networking events where, to get the most out of them, you have to work your way around a room, meet new people and sound confident. When you stammer, that reality comes with an extra layer of complexity.
If I want to grow in this industry, I need to keep speaking, even when it feels uncomfortable.
I write fairly openly on LinkedIn about my stammer. Writing gives me control over my voice and the space to say exactly what I mean. But I also know I can't rely on writing alone. If I want to grow in this industry, I need to keep speaking, even when it feels uncomfortable.
I've been reading Ed Balls' autobiography recently and the section where he talks about his stammer has really stayed with me. Seeing someone write so honestly about working in politics with a stammer made me reflect, because it captured feelings I've carried for years. It made me feel less alone.
The parts I still find hard
The hardest part of stammering in a professional setting isn't the stammer itself. It's the assumptions that can come with it. I still catch myself worrying that people might think my stammer means I'm nervous, unsure, or that I don't know what I'm talking about. Owning my voice has meant pushing past that and reminding myself that credibility comes from the substance of what I'm saying. I know what I'm talking about. My voice might sound different, but the substance still matters.
It can also be frustrating when I know I have a strong point to make, but the delivery doesn't come out how I want it to. That gap between what's in my head and how it sounds can be difficult to deal with.
The hardest part of stammering in a professional setting isn’t the stammer itself. It’s the assumptions that can come with it.
High-pressure environments don't help. Speaking to senior decision-makers, influential business figures, or people you feel you're slightly 'punching above your weight' with raises the stakes. Politics is intense because the issues being discussed affect everyone's lives, and that sense of importance brings pressure.
There are also practical realities. I struggle with words beginning with P, L and M, which is inconvenient given I work in public affairs, talk about politics and Parliament, studied at the University of Liverpool, and regularly discuss the Labour Party. You get the picture.
What I want to get better at
Looking ahead, I want to work on belief; belief in myself and in the value of what I bring. When I feel the pressure on my stammer, I want to remind myself that I know what I'm talking about, that I deserve to be in the room, and that what I'm saying matters.
I want to work on belief; belief in myself and in the value of what I bring.
I'm also pushing myself in networking situations. When I'm in those environments, I try to focus on my ideas and perspective rather than how my speech sounds. Stammering has given me a unique relationship with communication, and I'm continuing to reflect on what that means for how I work. Every small moment counts: introducing yourself, asking a question in a meeting, picking up the phone, offering an opinion.
I'm ambitious, and I'm motivated by public service and by making a meaningful difference. I don't want to become someone in politics who hides behind a script and sounds robotic. Politics has enough of that already. If anything, my stammer forces me to be more myself, more human, and I'm grateful for that.
Conclusion
Some days my stammer barely crosses my mind; other days it frustrates me or leaves me feeling flat. I hope that being open about it encourages people to listen more closely to what I'm saying, rather than how I'm saying it.
Everyone communicates differently, and difference shouldn't be a barrier to being taken seriously. With patience, understanding and the space to speak, people who stammer can thrive – in public affairs, in politics, and in any profession that values ideas and integrity.
In the end, communication isn't about sounding perfect. My stammer is only one part of who I am. I know I have a lot to add. And I hope that by owning my voice, I encourage others to listen. That's what I'm trying to do, one conversation at a time.
See our Work & Job Hunting section for guidance and tips on succeeding at work when you stammer.
Read more Your Voice articles.
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