You Think YOU'RE Afraid of Public Speaking?

By Rob Bloom
Rob Bloom is a freelance writer from Atlanta, Georgia. Visit his website at www.robbloom.com. You'll laugh until you stop.

As published in The Toastmaster Magazine

"How can a whole week have passed already?" you think to yourself as you walk into the meeting room. As you survey the room and quickly mumble polite greetings to your fellow Toastmasters, you inconspicuously shuffle to a seat in the "poorly lit" corner, hoping to camouflage yourself with the wallpaper.

The meeting begins. So far, Operation: Introvert is working to perfection. And then, it happens…

Table Topics.

The first person is called on. Not you. Phew. Time for the 2nd person. Quick. Avert your eyes. Yes! Safe again. And then it happens. The Table Topics Master calls on…you.

Time stands still…yet the room somehow manages to spin. Your palms are dripping with sweat. Your throat is dry as a bone. Your head is throbbing from the voices inside it that are offering such helpful quips as, "You can't do it!" and "They're all gonna laugh at you!"

Then again, maybe it's just me.

You see, I am a person who stutters (PWS). And if you think YOU'VE got a tough time at club meetings, try on a pair of my loafers for a few paragraphs.

I've stuttered my whole life. I remember being three years old and struggling with all my might to push out the words ‘C-c-c-aptain K-k-k-angaroo'. As the years passed, my fight for fluency continued — my stuttering only becoming more severe.

So what is the result of a few decades of stuttering on the psyche? Well, I'm proud to say that I have successfully trained myself to have a fear of talking — in general. Unlike other club members who wrestle with anxiety about mere public speaking, I routinely go into panic attacks when confronted by such seemingly easy tasks as ordering food in a restaurant, giving a destination to a taxi driver, and even answering the telephone. While my stuttering is not the direct result of nervousness, I certainly "block up" more in an anxiety-provoking, life-threatening situation, like ordering a combo meal at the drive-thru window.

In spite of the obvious struggles, my stuttering has taught me quite a few things over the years. In addition to discovering that people do not like to be drenched in spittle during a conversation, I've learned that I am, in fact, pretty darn good at stuttering. In fact, I'm an expert at it. Forget leaping tall buildings in a single bound…Rob Bloom can manifest deep levels of anxiety in a single breath! And if everyday events are enough for my brain to send smoke signals puffing out of my ears, you can just imagine what a friendly session of Table Topics can do.

Ah, Table Topics. The weekly event that should be preceded with a disclaimer of "Be Afraid. Be very afraid." Table Topics. The club tradition that carries with it a great legacy of hand trembling, sweaty palms, and dry throats. Yes, Table Topics. The portion of the club meeting more commonly known as "Hell on Earth."

I invite you to picture this scenario for a moment. It's a typical club meeting and I'm sitting quietly, awaiting the inevitable doom of Table Topics. My hands are clenched under the table, my eyes are fixated on the ______ (ceiling, floor, door, air conditioner…take your pick), and I'm cursing myself for enduring this painfully agonizing experience. And then…my name is called.

"Why am I doing this," I ask myself with the same sense of dread that I felt at age 10 when climbing the high-dive at the public swimming pool.

"This is a huge mistake," I tell myself, knowing that nothing good can possibly result from this experience.

"I won't do it. I CAN'T do it," I remind myself while quickly scanning the faces of the Table Topics Master and my fellow Toastmasters who are awaiting my response. Looking at their faces reminds me of the tiny pool that exists at the bottom of the very tall high-dive.

"If I stand up and talk, I'm going to stutter. They'll laugh and I'll be humiliated." It is the latter thought that rings throughout my mind, nagging at me relentlessly. A movie begins to play in my mind. Ten-year-old Rob is climbing down the narrow, silver steps. As I descend on the ladder, I feel dozens of pairs of eyes burning holes into my neck and back. Ashamed at my cowardice, I lower my head, unable to look at the people around the pool.

And then it hits me.

This is not the neighborhood swimming pool and I am not that scared boy. I am an adult. Moreover, I am a member of an organization filled with supporting and caring individuals – all of whom are striving to improve their ability to communicate. And suddenly I am climbing back up the stairs to the high-dive, readying myself to jump off.

I arise from my seat, look around the room at my fellow Toastmasters, and take a deep breath. And then I talk. I say a few words and am quickly confronted by a "block." I remind myself that, despite whatever anguish I am feeling, I am not going to climb down the high-dive steps. I am going to stay right where I am. Moreover, I'm going to continue to make eye contact with the people listening to me. Moments later, I get through the block and press on. After a few more syllables of struggle-free speech, I am blocked on another word. I force myself to maintain eye contact. I get through that block. And the next. And the next. And the next.

Before I know it, it's over and I sit down. I did it. And at the next meeting, I'll do it again.

Will I stutter? Probably. Will the other Toastmasters care? Not at all. Do I care? Less and less. And herein lies the beauty of this journey and battle that I've been waging for so many years. As I care less about whether or not I'm going to stutter, I find myself experiencing greater fluency. Has Toastmasters "cured" me of stuttering? Not even close. But it has made me more confident about speaking and less self-conscious about blocking in front of others.

But this is not an article about stuttering, nor is it a commentary on facing fears. What it is, however, is a written testament to the value of this organization. I am a person who has stuttered for his entire life and has thus developed deep fears about communicating with others. But in making a commitment to overcome my speech-related anxieties, I decided to join Toastmasters. And I am now a proud member of an organization who has embraced me – the "real" me – for exactly who I am. And it is this acceptance that is going to make me more comfortable addressing others and, ultimately, a much better communicator.

So the next time you're slouched down low in your chair, hoping to avoid the darting eyes of the Table Topics Master, I ask that you think of my story. And remember that the people around that table are there to support you and help you achieve your goals. You are not alone.