Fear Of Public Speaking

by Anna

The teacher called my name. "It's your turn Anna". I felt shock hit my body like a stray bolt of lightning. I shifted in my seat. I turned to the person at the desk beside mine and opened my mouth to speak, but when the teacher spoke first, I quickly looked down. "It's not her turn Anna, it's yours". I closed my eyes. I could feel my mind saying "Get up", but my body would not listen. Then I forced myself to stand. My legs shook as I walked slowly to the front of the class, my story tightly clenched in my hand. I stood behind the podium frantically fighting the urge to hide beneath it or to run wildly for the door.

My mind went blank, I felt dizzy, I felt like I was going to throw up, my legs started to feel strange as if they were going to give out beneath me. I began to feel myself swaying to one side until I caught my balance and righted myself. I looked at the other students and there they were, all looking at me. They were not looking at their books, they were not looking at the teacher, they were not looking at each other, and they were all looking at me. I froze. I could not speak. I stood there for what seemed an eternity, until the teacher said, "Anna, we're all waiting".

My voice shook uncontrollably as I began to speak. I uttered one short sentence and then froze again. My story was right there, I knew what I had to say, I had practiced it in the mirror the night before. The words were written clearly, but there I was, just one blank page.

Then I began to speak again. My voice quivered, I shifted from my left foot to my right, balancing myself the best that I could. Somehow I read the whole story, somehow I finished what I had to say, and somehow I was still alive. I looked again at the other students in the class and no-one was laughing. No-one said anything until one student said, "That was awesome!", and then the whole class started to clap. I turned and handed the story that I had written to the teacher and went unsteadily back to my desk.

The next day the teacher asked my permission to add my story to a yearly book that went out all over our high school. One story was to be chosen from each class, and he wanted mine. I shyly said "yes". My teacher looked at me and said, "You will write a book one day".

That was the first and last time that I ever talked in front of a group of people. That was the first and last time I ever faced the fear of talking in public with a large group staring at me. I'm not sure how I would do if I had to speak in front of another group again, but I don't feel as if I would do that much better. Just thinking about it is causing my fingers to shake as I hit the keys on my keyboard. I'm even shocked that I'm hitting the right keys.

I'm not gifted at being in the public eye. I would much rather blend in with the crowd, go anonymous, or quietly hide behind the tallest person I can find, hoping not to be seen.

When I was in grade school, a teacher gave us an assignment to make a Christmas card. I chose to draw a camel being led by a man who was looking up at a star. As the teacher walked around the class looking at all of the drawings, she stopped at mine and kept looking at it. She picked the drawing up and showed it to the other children. "Isn't this beautiful", she said. The other children just looked at it and then went back to their drawings. The teacher went to the front of the class and pinned my drawing up. I slumped down in my chair. My face turned beet red. The next day I saw that she had pinned all of our drawings up in the front of the class and I was glad that mine was not the only one there anymore.

At home my sister Laura and I would draw pictures and tape them to our bedroom wall. The whole wall was wallpapered with our drawings until you could not see even a small piece of the original wall. I forgot what color it was until one day when we took all of the drawings down. The color of the wall was blue.

In high school my art teacher said that I would be a great artist one day. That never happened. The most that I did with my drawing was to draw pictures with my children when they were little. My youngest son had so much artistic talent. He is now 32 years old. He wanted to become an artist at one time, but he said that he didn't think he was good enough. I know that he is good enough. I often wonder if having me for a role model caused him to doubt himself as an artist. How can I possibly be a good role model for my children or for any other child, if I do not have the courage to do what they want or need to do in their lives? Perhaps they are better off with other role models.

When I was a child, I used to listen to my Great grandmother sing. She was Irish and had such a beautiful soprano voice. I did my best to try to sing with her, and she would smile at me so sweetly.

My sister Laura and I used to sing when we did the dishes. We learned to harmonize the song "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". Every night when we were washing the dishes we sang that song or some others that we had learned. We knew every note by heart. We knew each other's timing. One day my father had some of his friends in the basement. One of his friends called up from the basement to my mother asking her to turn up the radio so that they could hear the song better. My mother told them that it wasn't the radio and that it was Anna and Laura. My father's friend said that they should try to get us girls into the singing world.

When I was a teenager in choir, my teacher said that I would be a great singer one day. When I grew up, I sang to my children. They were all of the audience that I needed. I loved to hear them sing too. My present husband says that he likes to hear me sing and that I sound like the Celtic women. If I try to sing in front of anyone else, I clam up. My voice shakes and I cannot utter a note. That is all of the singing that I have done in my life. I'm 54 now, and my voice does not sound like it did when I was younger anyway.

I am shy. I'm not as shy as I was when I was a child and a teenager, I can talk to people in the grocery store now, I can talk to my neighbors, but I quake with terror at the thought of doing anything in the public eye. I am in awe of anyone who speaks in front of people, or who does anything that really gets them out there. What purposeful things they can do!

What could I have done if I had healed from my shyness when I was younger? I know that we are so much more than our accomplishments. I know that who we are inside is what matters the most. We share ourselves with others without even knowing it. We add to the collective of the world, our own unique spirit. I know these things. Still, I cannot speak in front of a room full of people. Perhaps one day I will. Maybe one day a child will see me doing that and think that they can do it too. Maybe one day my spirit will fly.

Response from Dr. DeFoore

Hi Anna, and thanks for this great story. A lot of people have anxiety about public speaking, and I think your story will be helpful to them.

My very best to you,

Dr. DeFoore