“I’m sitting in the middle of the ocean with five other strangers.
Cameras are in our faces, and drones are flying overhead. I can’t stop thinking: “Why did I choose to come out here and do this. Am I going to be able to speak when I introduce myself one minute from now? How are my castmates going to respond when I stutter? Will I even be able to say my name? What will the viewers at home think? Well…there’s no hiding the fact that I stutter now.”
I’m used to hiding. Growing up as a kid who stutters is incredibly hard. Every morning, I would wake up and get ready to go to school, feeling sick to my stomach because I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to even say hello to anyone in the hallways, much less stand up in front of people and be heard.
I always dreamt of getting the chance to play Survivor in some faraway place. But for a long time, I didn’t believe I was worthy of that dream. I didn’t think my story mattered — because I stutter. And even though I had worked up the courage to make it this far, as I sat on the boat preparing to jump into the competition, those old feelings crept back in.
Then I remembered the mantra that carried me through the Survivor application process that kept me grounded in hope and faith: Just because you haven’t seen someone who speaks like you achieve their dreams doesn’t mean it’s not possible. It might just mean you have to be the first to do it.
So I jumped off the boat and into the spotlight. I introduced myself in front of the 4.8 million people watching. “Hey, my name’s Mitch and I’m a person who stutters.”
As a person who stutters, every day can feel like Survivor. You wake up knowing there will be challenges — moments when you feel like you can’t get through a word, or someone looks away before you finish your thought. You learn to adapt, stay calm under pressure, and keep showing up even when you feel misunderstood. Every conversation can feel like a test of resilience.
So when I finally stood there on that island, I realized I was ready — because I’d been training for this my whole life. I knew what it meant to face fear and keep going. I knew what it meant to be patient with myself, to find my footing when things didn’t go as planned.
Then Jeff Probst turned to me and said, “Hey Mitch, when you’re struggling, what can I do to support you?” And I got to do what I always do when I stutter: I said, “I’d just like you to hold on and let me finish what I have to say.” It was one of the most meaningful moments of my life — a moment where I got to share what real support looks like for someone who stutters, and to invite my fellow players into that understanding.
But I also got to share that moment with the world. By choosing to be vulnerable and stutter openly with millions watching every Wednesday for 13 weeks, I gave myself the chance to be completely myself.
That experience taught me something I’ll carry forever: giving yourself permission to chase your dreams authentically can give others the courage to chase theirs.
It didn’t take long for this lesson to hit home. After my time on Survivor, I received a text from a parent at the school where I teach, whose son happens to stutter, and she said, “Hey Coach G, I just want to let you know what happened today — my son came home and said he wanted to try out for the school music program.” And when she asked him why he wanted to do this, he said, “Because if Coach G can do it, I can too.”
The journey toward the confidence and faith in myself that carried me through Survivor — the guts to stand in front of millions and stutter openly — that was something I had to build alone. But we can give that kind of courage to kids sooner, and in abundance.
The SAY community gives kids who stutter a space to practice being brave, to show up as their true selves, and to realize they’re not alone in it. It gives them the community I wish I’d had growing up — a place where they don’t have to hide, where they can share what’s hard, lift each other up, and finally feel seen for exactly who they are. In this community, every child has the opportunity to both inspire others with their courage and authenticity, and be inspired in return. It’s an upward spiral of bravery and belonging.
Every child deserves to feel what I did out there: that they don’t have to hide, that they belong, and that they’re capable of so much more than just surviving. That’s what SAY makes possible.”
In Spring 2025, the world watched as Mitch Guerra modeled what true confidence looks like — the courage to speak bravely, even when it’s hard.
We feel so lucky to call him both a hero and a friend, and to see his story light the way for the next generation of kids who stutter.
At SAY, we help kids take their own leaps every day — no hiding, no holding back. Just courage, community, and the belief that their voices belong. This commitment to removing barriers extends beyond our message to the kids we serve — every SAY program is offered free or pay-what-you-can, creating a truly inclusive community where every voice has a place.
You have the power to keep that upward spiral of bravery going. Together, we underwrite $2 million in program costs each year so every child can find the same community of courage that Mitch believes in so deeply.
Make a gift today and help more kids find the strength to jump in.