The agony and ecstasy of public speaking

My earliest memory of being terrified of public speaking was formed in elementary school–and I wasn’t even the one speaking. One of my classmates was by far the largest student in the class; at least six inches taller and 30 pounds heavier than the next. Although he probably gave several presentations that year, I only remember one word. It seemed that every few seconds, he would pause and bellow a long “UUUUUM.” And each time he um’d, the class repeated his “um” back to him in unison. He would wait until they finished and then somehow muster the courage to continue his speech. When it was over, he’d stare down at his shoes and slowly trudge back to his seat while the class hooted with laughter.

The image of that giant child being reduced to the smallest person in the room became the embodiment of my view of public speaking.

Perhaps out of self-preservation, my brain has blocked out my own experiences giving speeches as a child. In fact, my earliest, clear speaking memory is from my mid-twenties at my grandfather’s memorial service. Grandpa was a popular and well-respected guy. Between family members, friends, and professional colleagues; it seemed like there were at least 100 people in attendance. One by one, they took turns at the podium, sharing anecdotes and emotions in his honor.

At some point, I decided I had to say something. He was my grandfather, and I owed him that much. Unfortunately, as soon as that idea entered my mind, fear decided to keep it company. As I began to rehearse in my head what I was going to say, I felt a knot begin to tighten in my stomach. At some point, I’m pretty sure I was shaking in my chair.

Finally, it was my cousin’s turn to speak. Of all my extended family members, he’s one of the people I feel closest to. Once he was done speaking, I took it as my cue to follow. I propelled myself from my seat and strode frantically to the podium. I then stammered through a one-minute speech about the time I went to a baseball game with my grandpa and caught a foul ball, after which he brought me down to the locker room entrance and wouldn’t leave until I got an autograph from one of my favorite players.

At the end of my story, I bolted away from the podium, past the audience, out the back door, and into the nearest restroom. I proceeded to shut myself in a stall and lie on the floor for a solid ten minutes, curled in a ball and writhing from the stabbing pain in my belly.

Just a few years later, I started a new job working in the IT department for a major newspaper. Within about a month, my boss made a horrifying announcement: my teammates and I would need to take turns giving a presentation of our plans and accomplishments to the vice president of the department. Always the people pleaser, I didn’t protest, but I silently dreaded what was to come.

Once again, I’ve blocked out most of the experience, but I remember I spent a long time preparing and still felt embarrassed and exhausted when it was all over.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. These presentations were an annual tradition. That meant I would have to go through the whole process again in a year. I knew I didn’t want to spend the next year living in fear, which left me with two choices: quit or learn to deal with it.

I chose the second option.

After a bit of research, I learned about an organization called Toastmasters International that focused on helping people develop their public speaking skills. Lucky for me, there was a Toastmasters club just a couple of blocks down the street that met once a week at lunchtime. I contacted the club president, who invited me to join their next meeting as a guest.

I arrived, carrying my lunch in a to-go box, and immediately headed for the back row and sat down. As a speaker shared his tale of a hiking expedition, I felt like I was no longer in a meeting room but seated in front of a campfire watching a master storyteller at work. As other attendees were called upon to give impromptu responses to “table topics” questions, I marveled at their ability to speak off the cuff on a variety of subjects. At the same time, I had barely touched my food, mainly because I was terrified that at any moment, someone might ask me to speak.

Fortunately, all they requested of me was to share what I thought of the meeting. I quickly blurted out that I was impressed, and that was the end of it.

By the end of the next meeting, I had decided to join the club. As part of my membership dues, I received a “Competent Communicator” manual. Within it were ten speech projects, each designed to help me develop a facet of my speaking skills, and each accompanied by an evaluation form another member would fill out to help me improve. I vowed to complete the manual before my next presentation to my VP.

My first speech project, the “Ice Breaker,” involved giving a short presentation about the subject I was most familiar with: myself. I wrote the entire speech out, word for word. When I presented it, I spent almost the entire time gripping the lectern and staring down at my paper, barely even glancing up at the audience.

Over the next few speeches, I continued to bring a printout of the full content, but I gradually spent less time looking down and more time looking in front of me. I’d sometimes lose my train of thought and emit an “um” or two–flash to my elementary school classmate–but rather than ridicule me, my fellow club members would just smile and listen attentively. Each time after I spoke, my assigned evaluator would share their feedback to help me recognize how I was improving and what I could work on to continue to grow.

For my sixth project, I spent about the first two minutes holding my typewritten speech in front of me and reading it verbatim. Then I crumpled the printout into a ball, strode over to the trash can, threw the paper away, and gave the rest of my speech from memory. The act was completely choreographed, but it represented a huge milestone in my growth as a speaker.

By the time my boss announced we were due to give our next presentation to the VP, I had earned my “Competent Communicator” award for delivering my first ten speeches. Because all of my speeches had been timed, I knew how much material I could cover in the time allotted to me. I knew how to structure my speech and how to cater it to my audience and keep them engaged. I even planned to throw in a bit of humor.

I actually looked forward to speaking!

Then came the day of the presentation. There were four of us, and I was to be the last to speak. Unfortunately, my teammates hadn’t spent the past year preparing for this moment like I had, and a couple of them rambled on far longer than they should have. By the time it was my turn, the hour was almost up. I had barely spoken for 30 seconds when, in the interest of time, my boss cut me off, summed up my work in a couple of sentences, and then wrapped up the meeting.

This was hardly the “happily ever after” ending I was hoping for. However, I still consider it a positive outcome. One year prior, I had been terrified by the mere prospect of having to speak. This time, I was disappointed I didn’t get to speak more.

There were plenty of opportunities to come. Within a few years, I was asked to lead a multi-day training session for about 100 colleagues, a combination of managers and team leaders. Soon after that, I accepted an invitation and gave a presentation on public speaking in front of strangers at a local technology conference. And as a senior consultant for one of my subsequent employers, I was speaking on a regular basis, both to give presentations to existing clients and to try to earn the business of new ones.

I even helped start a new Toastmasters club geared towards helping writers use public speaking to hone and promote their craft. Over five years later, that club is still going strong. In fact, some of the posts on this blog started out as speeches I delivered to that club.

There are still many things I’d rather do than give a speech, and I still feel a little bit of fear each time I’m about to start a presentation. But because I’m willing to face that fear and embrace speaking opportunities, I’ve begun to see myself as a leader instead of the guy hiding in the back of the room or curled up on the bathroom floor.

What have you been avoiding due to fear or some other mental barrier? What opportunities might you be missing out on because you let that barrier stand in your way?