Being Vulnerable in a Public Setting

It's not something that most people can pick up on. At least, that's what I tell myself.

It's funny when it comes to our own insecurities, how loud they are in our heads, but how quiet they are on the surface.

But loudness always drowns out the still of the surface, no matter what.

Every time that I am handed the microphone in a press conference, the same thing happens. I hold it up, waiting for a coach or player to finish their current thought so that I can ask my question(s).

When it's my turn, there's a pause. A second. Half-second. Quarter-second.

How long? I don't actually know.

But in that time, it's my brain trying to work to make sure that I can say the word that I need to say to kick off my question.

It's a vulnerable position, and it's one that I've had to work really, really hard at throughout my life.

See, since I was a kid, I had a speech issue. I would have a fluency problem, formerly known as stuttering.

I was made fun of constantly. It turned my natural extroverted self as a kid who was curious and wanted to make friends to a curious introvert who didn't belong.

Outside of my elementary school, we had these brown trailers. I'm not sure if it was a renovation effort by the school, or that's just how they were. But within them housed the speech teacher.

Her name was Mrs. Lori. I got to know her well – well enough to become friends with her awkward son, Robbie, who liked to play Sega Genesis, too – since I spent so much time in there.

Our school system was small, having elementary school serve kindergartners through sixth grade and high school eighth grade through 12th (I moved after eighth grade, thankfully).

I spent the majority of my elementary school years with Mrs. Lori in her trailer to work on my speech issue. I couldn't formulate a full sentence without having a fluency issue. I'd stutter. Jam words together. Speak fast. Go with a different word.

I'd get mad. Angry. Frustrated.

And it's something that I didn't get a hold on until high school. By those years, thanks to the help from Mrs. Lori, I was able to hold my own. I would have to pause before I spoke, trying to figure out if I could say the word I wanted to say without hesitation. Oftentimes, I'd have to pivot to a different word because the one I wanted to say wouldn't come out.

I knew that working in communications would be easy, but I always liked a challenge. I've only had one issue before whenever I was interviewing someone and I wasn't able to speak the way that I intended to.

A teammate in the clubhouse started laughing, and it sucked.

But I learned to love that part of myself. That younger me who couldn't say the words that he wanted to say. That couldn't dream of being able to communicate with people for a living (I'm also thankful for the younger me for instilling my love of writing since it was a form of language that I didn't run into fluency issues with).

In my day job, we are in litigation with the Trump and Vance administration over unlawful conditions put in place for grant funding.

I've had to take off my journalist hat and put on my public-facing hat.

In an interview with USA Today, I had an issue. I had all of my talking points in place. I knew the information. I understood our position. And I was ready to represent us.

But then, I went to say one word, and little Mike popped up in front of my face.

Operationalize.

I couldn't say the fucking word.

It took me five times, and finally, once I said it, I did what came natural – I poked fun at myself before anyone else could.

I said "wow. I've heard the saying 'say that word five times fast but I guess for me, it's trying to say it once.'"

The reporter was kind. She laughed and said "there's a lot going on with it" and moved on.

It was loud on my head, but not a big deal on the surface.

And while she didn't have to be, the reporter, Bethany, being kind, mattered to me.

It's why when I interviewed Rickea Jackson prior to the Dream's game against the Sparks on Wednesday, I choose kindness.

Let me explain.

Rickea is great. I chatted with her last year for a piece, and I was excited to chat with her again this year in person. In what was supposed to be fun, light exercise, something pulled on her heart strings.

"I hate getting emotional," Jackson said.

And then, she started to cry. Tears falling.

Rapidly.

Immediately, I just wanted to cut the camera, apologize, and tell her that everything is OK.

But they were happy tears. Happy to see how far she's come in her life to get to the point where she is now.

She looked a photograph of herself from 10th grade, and her emotions got to her.

I said I could cut that part out of the video, because my goal wasn't to make someone uncomfortable or sad.

"Tell Mike they were happy tears and it's fine lol," she said.

So I'll be leaving it there, because it was just Rickea reflecting on her journey. Her happiness. The things that she had to overcome.

And mind you, my speech issue doesn't compare to having an abusive father and stepmother, but it still molded me into who I am.

So whenever I'm in that press scrum or have the microphone, there will continue to be that pause. There will be long-winded questions that go around the block twice to get to the point, because using the word that I need to use to get there quicker just isn't clicking at that time.

And that's OK. Because the thing is, until you read this, you won't notice. If you do, you'll think I'm just one of those reporters who takes longer than needed to ask a question.

Because while it's an alarm going off in my head, it's business as usual to everyone else.

I'm just going to avoid using operationalize when I can from now on.

Implement sounds good.

Yeah, we'll go with that ... until we can't.

Until Next Time

I love you awesome nerds.