A short story about my New Zealand grandmother rescued my presentation
I’ve noticed an uneasy feeling recently. Despite many trusting me as their communications coach, I worry I’m losing my public speaking courage. If so, I’m not super surprised. Four years ago this September I stepped away from academia where I taught live classes at least twice a week, sometimes five with extra sections or corporate workshops.
I stopped this flow of public speaking addresses when going back to school to train to become a coach and after certifying in a few excellent programs, got busy soon after with coaching. I didn’t mean or expect my business to grow quickly; but it did, especially when specializing in communications coaching and when bringing my shop to BetterUp. Within three months, I was at capacity coaching and training foreign born leaders and coaching full-time. I shifted from public addresses to 1:1 private ones.
I have kept my public speaking skills alive somewhat. In most sessions, we riff on different ways to present, co-create creative ledes to hook our audience, and tactics to recreate dry, stagnant topics into something interesting and creative. I must be nimble, think on my feet, and demonstrate in moments how I might try. My ability to “riff” (as my clients call it) grew my practice. They love it and learn with me to do the same.
I’ve also hosted and launched two podcasts since starting my coaching business. The Sage Sayers podcast and The Competency No 5 podcast. Both exercise that public speaking muscle. I’m sharing my ideas. I’m unscripted. I’m out of my comfort zone. I’m interviewing others — all live time. I also do videos at times, explainers in 60 seconds, and share those via social media. Again, more practice and a chance to feel that familiar fear of judgment and dread once I hit share.
But I noticed this year when coachees came to me with full panic fear of speaking in front of high stakes audiences, I couldn’t fully relate. It had been a while, I noticed. And from what these dear men and women told me, the fear has intensified. Many feel residual social anxiety from our locked-up years through Covid. Record layoffs make most business cultures dicey and trust in each other’s integrity has reached epic lows.
I knew, as I listened and helped co-solve their fears, and as we co-built strategy, I wanted to feel that fear again to fully relate and to ensure I bring solid, relevant strategy and insights. Who wants to be dated and stale? Not me, I noted, and decided to do something about it pronto.
I knew from experience, having navigated my own public speaking fear as an early professor in my youth, the only way to overcome the fear is to challenge and override it from frequent, consistent exposure. (Something I’ve documented in this Sage Sayers episode.) With that, I navigated a search for corporate training roles and through a kind referral to a publicly traded corporate training platform hosting very esteemed presenters, I wrangled an audition. I chose my course: Active Listening. How to listen in ways where your audience feels truly heard. (My trainer approved this choice as few courses exist on the behavioral aspects behind this delightful practice.)
I felt the normal anxiety as I prepped my slides and approach, 30-days before the audition date. Irrational saboteur-induced fears felt familiar as before. So did my Sage counter:
- Will I be ready in time? (Of course, silly! When have you ever not?)
- Will they like me? (Some will. Some won’t. Who cares? It’s not about you. It’s about your message.)
- Will I provide value? (You’re expert in active listening, silly goose. And the trainer approved your approach.)
- Will I captivate them from the opening words? (You’re a storyteller! How can you not?)
- Will my public speaking fear show? (Maybe. But you know: only in the opening 20 or so seconds — and that’s normal. Besides, you hear from everyone the want for Ted Talk polished veneer talks died a long time ago. Some imperfection’s welcomed and good.)
The Sage override helped. I felt grateful for my Positive Intelligence training and my coaching training. I could self coach through most of the fears. That part already felt victorious. How fantastic my coaching skills helped me manage irrational fear.
But as the day grew closer, I sensed a depth of fear like no other. Full panic, just like my coachees described on our calls. Ruminating thoughts. Holding of breath. Insomnia. Deep-set fear of failure. Worry of disappointing the revered coach who referred me to this esteemed outfit where famous people train. “I am not immune,” became my first sad thought. “I’m a fraud — an absolute garbage communications coach,” became the next one.
Then my wise elder self and my Sage — a true reckoning force — showed up loud and clear. “Kudos to you for honoring your values of authenticity, courage, and truth,” she bellowed over the statick-y synthetic fear mongering of my Judge and Hyper Vigilant and Stickler saboteurs, all hijacking my mind like a wild child driving a car.
“Harness those fears,” she chided. “Know: your fear helps you better relate to your clients. That’s why you’re here, no? Make lemonade from lemons. That’s what you’re known for.” She sounded wise and strong. A voice worth listening to. And I did.
Even on audition day, the fear lingered but with less intensity after the well-timed royal verbal bollocking from my Sage. By the morning of, I felt super creative, energized; satisfied with everything but my lede. I knew most of us feel fear in that opening. Like a car engine cranking on a cold Wisconsin winter day, any filler or panic shows itself in the opening sentences. I wanted a story to start things and had abandoned mission only because nothing really stood out as a story I really wanted to tell. I knew (from experience and research) if I feel calm and conviction in my opening (through story or other means), I’d reach that flow state early and it may just hold my nerves at bay. But what?
Then it came to me. With two hours left to spare. When did I first learn active listening? Not from coaching school. I learned from Margaret Gardiner, my grandmother, who lived at the neighboring farm from my father’s and whom I visited often in my youth, long after my parents divorced. It came like a bolt — the returning wise voice of my Sage. I obeyed. And that’s where I must begin. Now do it.
By the time the audition crowd trickled into the room, I’d run through the story once. The tech check seemed just fine. I uploaded my curated seven-slide deck. I stood on my acupressure mat at my desk to ground, knowing the buds press into our feet in helpul ways, reducing the fight or flight, someting I’d learned from live remote classes years ago.) My aromatherapy machine sprayed its soothing lavender and sandalwood aroma. This also worked. Before I knew it, the trainer introduced me, reminded the audience why we were here and I heard the anticipated prompt: D G McCullough, the stage is yours.
All eyes on me, the butterflies in my chest did not fly in sync…they fluttered and thumped around in my chest until, I began. I told the audience who I was and asked them the pre-prepared question which came to me a month earlier. “When were you last listened to? I mean really listened to?” I paused. “If you’re like me, it might have been a while ago. In fact, if I ponder for a moment on the best listener in my life, I think of my paternal grandmother, Margaret Gardiner, who listened in ways I felt truly heard.” [This segue teed off my story.] The eyes stayed on me. The expression of my audience seemed soft. But I felt oblivious, because at this point, the story carried me and consumed me. The story and the meaning behind it pulled me forward. I continued on.
“Margaret, who lived in the rolling green hills of South Canterbury New Zealand on a farm she’d once run with my grandfather Dudley, listened beautifully whenever we reunited long after my parents divorce. She asked sweet, short questions. She waited for my answers. She never inserted a thing about herself. She asked curious questions about what I laid down, always without judgment. And as we went on our walks, through her rhodendrun garden or the country lanes around her farm, she’d nod, and smile as I shared and offer something small but affirming when I finished.”
I had not scripted this story at all. But the feeling within me as a rusty presenter, a coach, and a storyteller felt extraordinary: I felt calm, centered, and worthy — so worthy. And I felt loved. In fact, as I shared the story of grandmother Margaret and how she listened before active listening or coaching was a “thing” she came with me to that audition. Her spirit left us in 1986 when I turned 16. But Margaret certainly joined me in my study that day and her presence pulled me forward, far, far away from fear and into full trust that I had all I needed to proceed and succeed. She held me in full presence.
In my hasty decision to start with story vs the open-ended rhetorical question, I’d not thought of a segue to my topic. But in this creative flow, it came to me like gold dust. “Sadly, too few of us — including me — get to feel listened to in this way,” I started. “And I think I know why. We’re rushed. Over-booked. Distracted. We’re worried about our health, our relationships, our careers and livelihoods. But when we do feel truly listened to and provide that space to others, the security and calm stays with us. And that’s what we’re here to learn today: A handful of tips and tools to listen in ways which feel extraordinary for you and the receiver, and an understanding of our barriers.” The entire intro took 2 minutes. I could tell within me before I checked in with my audience and their responses. I had lift off.
The intro went great. Otherwise, so much went wrong with my audition that day. I lost track of time when thinking of the story and gave myself only 20 minutes vs. the planned one hour to get myself dressed, coiffed, and ready. Various technology snafus prevented me reading people’s names. I had to cold call on people based on how they looked. (Disastrous.) I could not read the chat and yet to pass the audition I needed to read from it. (My trainer read for me.) But I still passed and received an invite to train on this platform, which feels great. I achieved my goal. Aside from my self coaching, two things helped the most. The story, and the live coaching I inserted in the middle (the only way and the best way to show how active listening works).
Here’s what I have learned and confirmed from my first big exposure in three to four years to live public presentations:
- Our anxiety in general has gone up, I suspect from too many meetings and less downtime than before. That franticness most of us work through means we must work harder to bring our overall anxiety down to center. That fear of job loss has grown for many certainly does not help.
- Our storytelling skills stay with us, no matter what, provided we tell them often, even if it’s to our children, or an elder, or to an inner circle friend, even our team. It need not be a stage to build that muscle.
- Our exposure to crowds further helps build the courage required to speak publicly. But podcasting or interviewing others also builds the muscle, somewhat. As I got going with the story, I realized every episode I record, even writing on Medium trains my mind to keep to an arc (a beginning, a middle, an end with a lesson towards the end). I hadn’t forgotten a thing. I simply needed exposure to crowds again to see that.
- Our connection with the crowd can come in multiple stages and places. My audience connected with my story; but connections also came in the Q&A after demonstrating active listening through a live coach. Anchoring with the audience, admitting when we’re not sure of a question, and getting curious on what’s behind a question helps build that depth.
The other takeaway came from the story itself. As we choose our story topic, choose something meaningful and non-self serving. We hear a lot about authenticity but that must not mean predictable and boring, devoid of depth. If you find meaning in your words, those positive emotions have a contagion effect on your delivery and audience. That’s our truth. And that’s within our control. All very coachable.
Note to my readers: If you’d like to hear me read my essay, do read along as my Sage Sayers podcast episode this week here.
Debbi Gardiner McCullough coaches and trains foreign-born leaders to become more confident, concise, and mentally fit communicators. From Wisconsin, she owns and runs Hanging Rock Coaching and coaches worldwide with BetterUp.