Imagine having a deathly fear of spiders (in case you don’t already).
Now, imagine walking into class on Tuesday morning, and your teacher tells you that in order to earn an A, you must stand in the front of your peers as he dumps live spiders into your hand. You are required to stand still as the eight-legged monsters crawl up and down your arms, inching up your neck and sneaking into your clothes.
That’s how I feel when I have to give a presentation.
I am petrified of public speaking, yet I must continually endure this torture in my classes. When I am seated in class, knowing I’ll be presenting in the next few minutes, my body is on full alert. My stomach ties in knots and I feel like a fire is burning from under my face. My hands shake, my heartbeat quickens, and my mind races with a thousand scenarios that end in a humiliating defeat.
Sometimes people reduce my fears to a lack of preparation. “Just practice, know the material, and you’ll be fine. You’ve had weeks to prepare.” But my fears are not a result of lack of practice. My freshman year I had to take a Communications class, where the sole purpose was learning to give a stellar presentation. I know the expectations of a good presenter: Speak clearly and loudly. Don’t read straight from your notes. Make eye contact. Most importantly, be confident- easier said than done.
This past week I gave a presentation on Ethnoprimatology, and I knew my stuff. I reread the case studies, again and again, familiarized myself with every component of my presentation, and knew exactly what I was going to say when the moment arrived. That was not the problem.
The night before, I tossed and turned in my bed. Then in class, my name was called and I ambled to the front of the room. I hid my hand behind the podium because it was shaking uncontrollably. I tried to calm myself, but once I began my rational side was thrown out the window. I was speaking too quickly. The professor stopped me in the middle of my presentation to tell me I could slow down, but I couldn’t. I was too nervous. The words spilled out of my mouth like rapid-fire, even against my own better judgment.
Afterward, I walked back to my seat with my head down, feeling defeated. I dug my nails into the palms of my hand to redirect my attention to physical pain, and to pull back the tears that were forming in my eyes. Yes, real tears. It happens every time I make a presentation, and it’s humiliating. I think it’s a way of my body expelling the anxiety that was accumulating for so long. It’s also sadness, however, because no matter how much I prepared I couldn’t fulfill my own expectations. I do think I have improved over time, but despite the dozens of presentations I’ve given over the years I am never quite at the level I hope to be.
But as afraid as I am of them, I know they are good for me.
Maybe spiders weren’t the most appropriate metaphor. Presenting is more like having a fear of shots. You would rather do anything else, and hate the moment before and after, but ultimately, you know that it’s a necessary evil.
When I know I need to prepare a presentation, I study the material meticulously. While I practice I say the words out loud and continuously look over them, preparing for the big day. Because of this, I retain the material much better than if I had simply read them from a textbook or heard it from a lecture. When the information rolls around on a test, I know it inside and out.
For me, public speaking is a literal nightmare, and it probably always will be. But sometimes you need to face your fears to overcome them, or in this case to get the A. I may never be completely comfortable with giving a lecture to a crowd, but maybe one day I'll be able to give a presentation without feeling like someone is playing smack-a-mole with my insides. Maybe.
