The voice of the voiceless

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Trevor

When Trevor Villas was judged because he stammered, he made a promise that fired him up to achieve.

There's a moment I carry with me, even now.

I was working with a personal trainer, giving everything I had, when he cut me down with a single judgement. I got confused and asked him to show me something again. He showed clear disdain when it took me five minutes to get my words out. He told me I was "untrainable because of my stuttering". He didn't see the sweat on my skin, the effort in my body or the determination in my heart. All he saw was my stammer. And in that moment he made me feel like it defined my worth.

It's hard to describe the pain of that. The shame. The humiliation. Walking away feeling smaller than I had ever felt before. My voice — the thing I couldn't control — used against me as if it made me less human. For days, I replayed it in my head, and for a while I believed it. I believed I wasn't good enough.

All he saw was my stammer. And in that moment he made me feel like it defined my worth.

But out of that pain, something unexpected grew. It lit a fire inside me. A promise that if I ever became a trainer, no one who worked with me would ever be made to feel the way I did that day.

That promise became my lifeline. I pushed forward, carrying my stammer with me, not as a weakness but as a reminder. I trained, I studied, I qualified. And step by step, I built something of my own. Not through gyms or big brands, but through word of mouth. People who said: "He listens. He understands. He makes you feel safe".

Along the way, I became a Level 1 Boxing Coach, a Level 3 Sports Massage Therapist and a Personal Trainer. Every qualification was more than a certificate — it was proof that the trainer who dismissed me was wrong. Proof that my voice, even with its stammer, had power.

A stammer doesn't take away your voice. If you let it, it can give you something even more powerful — a reason to use it.

I also chose to work in a hotel, because I wanted to challenge myself daily with my speech. And God, it's challenging at times. Some days are harder than others. But I knew I wasn't the only one who stammers — and finding STAMMA helped me realise I'm not alone.

That trainer thought my stammer defined me — and he was right. But not in the way he imagined. It defined me as someone who refuses to let others feel small. Someone who chose empathy over ego. Someone who turned hurt into healing and silence into a mission.

I don't want to be the loudest trainer, or the most polished. I want to be the trainer who makes sure no one else ever feels voiceless.

Because a stammer doesn't take away your voice. If you let it, it can give you something even more powerful — a reason to use it.

If you're reading this and you stammer, I want you to know: you are not alone. I know the struggle, the frustration, the moments you feel invisible. But your voice matters. Your words matter. The very thing you think makes you 'less' could one day become the reason you change someone else's life.

If you receive bad service or are discriminated against because you stammer, contact our Advocacy Service to do something about it.

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