Why do they do this to us? Why must we endure such torture? Why, teacher, why do I have to give a presentation? Students of all age can relate to the dread that comes along with giving presentations in front of the class. On paper it's not so bad: all you have to do is learn about the subject and then explain the information to an audience of your peers. However, in real life, it's scary to stand in front of an audience (even if it is your peers who are going to have to do the exact same thing) and share your knowledge--it's a degree of vulnerability that most of us are not used to.
The feelings I have before each presentation are the same; I'm in my final year of college and I still can't shake the jitters. The evening before, the internal conflict begins and I find myself inventing many different reasons why I won't be able to go to class the following day to give my presentation: I am sick, my dog is sick, or maybe I can say my brother is sick. Why can't I think of something legitimate? Okay, maybe I'll just go through with it. I can do this, right?
No, I can't do this... I'm going to have a panic attack. This is when I start to get creative: perhaps if I leave my window open and my ceiling fan on I'll wake up congested and actually feel sick. Nothing a doctor's note can't fix, right? No. Maybe I could say that while I was driving to class, I drove over a pothole and ended up with a flat tire? Eh, believable, but still not good enough. Discouraged, I begin to see the potential reactions of my teacher:
Shit. The sad realization that the presentation is inevitable sets in. So let the continuous rehearsal begin!
Unfortunately no matter how much I practice, I will still be a bumbling, nervous disaster on the day of my presentation. I am forced into survival mode, hoping to keep it together long enough to make it through those five minutes of public scrutiny.
When I get in front of the class, I'm surprised I'm still standing--I thought the weak knees or heart palpitations would've taken me down by now. As I begin speaking, my voice is obscured. Because my heart is beating so rapidly (and because, naturally, I've forgotten to breathe). I begin panting, as if I had just walked up three fights of stairs. It becomes hard to speak clearly since I'm trying to catch my breath. Usually, once I've spent two-or-so minutes in front of the class, I'm able to consciously remind myself to breathe. However, there are still some things that will inevitably happen:
I will invent new words: "Plobaby" comes out instead of "probably," "Sro" comes out instead of "so."
My hands will be shaking--no I'm not going through withdrawals, I'm just having a low-level panic attack.
Every other word may or may not be "uhhh" because I'm half way to blacking out and forgetting everything I spent hours practicing.
Finally, once I've fought my way through the presentation, I can feel the relief--meaning I literally feel the redness leaving my face. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" my teacher may ask. All I can do is smile, because I'm still thinking, yes, yes it was.
My only saving grace in the process is putting the experience into perspective: it's only five minutes out of my entire life, how minuscule and insignificant!
