Near the beginning of “The King’s Speech,” Prince Albert of England, played by Colin Firth, stands to address a crowd at London’s Wembley Stadium. He begins to speak but he can’t get his words out. The words trip over one another and then become stuck, reducing him to a panicked, humiliating silence. The scene is excruciating to watch — especially for those like me who have endured the silent shame of a stutter.

Firth has been widely praised for his performance as the prince with a debilitating stutter who becomes king after his father, the reigning King George V, dies and his brother, King Edward VIII, abdicates to marry the twice-divorced American, Wallis Simpson.

As King George VI, the stutter remains his, but his words belong to England. But King George VI finds his voice with the help of Australian speech therapist Lionel Logue, played by Geoffrey Rush, and later delivers a stirring speech to the English people when the country declares war on Adolf Hitler’s Nazi Germany at the beginning of World War II.

Firth is considered the favorite to win the best actor award during the Academy Awards Sunday. “The King’s Speech” is deserving of any and all awards it wins. The movie’s screenwriter, David Seidler, is nominated for best screenplay.

But even if Seidler does not win the Oscar, he has succeeded in giving a voice to those who struggle every day in fear of their own voice. While growing up, Seidler, who stuttered, was told by his parents about King George VIII. “Maybe there was hope for me,” Seidler thought.

Most stutterers are boys or men, and most of those who stutter begin doing so when they are young children, and therefore, at their most vulnerable. When you stutter, you are deprived of your voice but also of your confidence and self-esteem, and left with a sense of shame that is exacerbated by ridicule.

Stutterers often find their disorder is misunderstood as a lack of intelligence. Noted zoologist Alan Rabinowitz told 60 Minutes that his teachers thought his stutter was associated with mental retardation. Rabinowitz’s father took him to the Bronx Zoo, where, away from the pressure he felt around his classmates, he spoke easily with the animals.

Country singer Mel Tillis could barely make it through a sentence without stuttering, but his singing sold millions of albums. James Earl Jones, who owns one of the richest voices in acting, stuttered so badly as a boy he rarely spoke. An English teacher recognized Jones’ writing ability and urged him to get “involved with words.” By doing so, he, too, found his voice.

I began stuttering when I was five or so. Like Rabinowitz, I had a teacher who thought I belonged in the special education class. My parents intervened and I was sent back to my class, where I also did not feel I belonged.

As I progressed through school, I lived in fear of giving speeches in front of a class. My mother recognized that my stutter was related to a lack of confidence. Whenever I had a speech, she would sit on the living room sofa and listen as I practiced, sometimes for hours, until I didn’t stutter. When I went to college, I’d practice my speech in my dorm room or apartment, or find an empty classroom. I took every speech class offered by the college.

I’m now a professor of communication, where I stand in front of a classroom of students for several hours a week. I would not be a teacher if I had not had someone, like King George VI, who helped me find my voice. “The King’s Speech” is a movie that needs to be seen, and heard.

Chris Lamb teaches communication at the College of Charleston in Charleston, S.C.