The same thought that always pops into my head before these things kept me awake the night before: why on Earth did I volunteer to do this? What was I thinking? I trick myself all the time, saying yes to things and then wondering what on Earth I was thinking the closer it gets.
Surely one of these days someone will see through my act and discover I actually have no idea what I’m doing.
And then I’ll get my first bit of engagement from the audience and I’m away — it’s like time evaporates and I’m as captured by entertaining them as they are by me.
However, when I got home on Friday night, Alex asked if it hadn’t gone well because I was so flat. It went brilliantly, but I’d morphed into a kid on a sugar crash, moping around not knowing what to do with myself.
I get into a funk and become hyper-critical of myself. People can compliment me all they like, but I know deep down they’re only saying it to make me feel better.
To this Alex quipped: "Why do you think so many musicians and actors have drinking problems? They’re chasing the rush from performing. That quiet time after always feels like a huge anticlimax".
So of course, we dealt with my mood very constructively and had a wine, and another, and after a couple of glasses I was excitedly recapping the day for him. Seems there’s some truth to his theory. I’ll probably just go for a run or do some yoga next time though, because it was quite counterproductive to my Saturday.
In the weekend I was at the world’s best backyard music festival right here in Brighton — Lobofest. Eight Kiwi bands and all the musicians just hang out with the crowd after their sets. Given my stage-fright terror was fresh from the day before, I decided to compare it with the musos.
One particular guitar-playing, singing rock legend who’s toured all over summed it up: "Oh really, you liked it? Thanks so much — we’re just stoked we got invited!"
Or another one of the drummers, who explained he feels instantly at home behind his drum kit, but the idea of getting on the mic makes him sick. It’s not him performing, it’s his music.
Alex has been playing the drums his whole life, yet when he’s got a big gig he’s exactly the same — last year in the lead-up to his first touring rock theatre production he literally made himself sick with nerves, convinced they’d made a massive mistake picking him for the job. Of course he nailed it, but if you were to approach him after and rave about it, he’d feel very grateful but equally embarrassed to be the centre of attention. Again, it’s not about him up there, it’s about the music.
Public speaking is the same. I try not to think about it being me up there, but about giving a performance and what I want to leave my audience with after.
At the festival I was chatting with a fellow boss lady. She’s been asked to do a speech on her own journey. Awesome! Being a new mum, under 30 and with several successful businesses, she would be the perfect speaker for inspiring women, I would think.
Alas, no.
"But I’m not there yet"; "I don’t feel I’ve done enough," she said. I’ve always felt like that too — in fact I’m pretty sure she saw me talk a few times in the early days of my career. I definitely didn’t feel "there yet" then either.
It’s not about being the biggest or the smartest or the best. It’s about telling a story that someone can relate to. Your courage to give it a go and push through the uncertainty is exactly what someone starting out needs to hear. Not the "overnight success" story, which, let’s be realistic, doesn’t exist and is usually the last two years in a 10-15 year battle of near wins and near misses.
In the engineering and manufacturing sector in particular, women still only make up 30% of the workforce. In my 15 years as a business owner I can count female-owned clients on one hand. I was speaking to a woman at an event last week who is one of only two women in a technical management role within a company that has over 1500 staff.
At the same event I was one of five women in a room of 30 of New Zealand’s leading manufacturing companies. We were also one of the smallest companies in the room, the only company from Dunedin and one of only two from South of Christchurch.
Ladies, another cliche, but arguably my favourite — you can’t be what you can’t see. We need to represent.
To do this I’ve found my "home" on stage. I "perform" rather than speak. I remind myself that nervousness is the exact same physiological response as excitement and tell myself "I’m excited!". Set an intention for what you want people to think after the speech. I always ask a question at the start to get engagement as early as possible. Like a crazy person I practise my speech out loud in the car by recording it and playing it back — so I can nail just the first line. As for the set, I make sure I’ve got some props such as a table or stool to perch on and walk around as I hate being behind a lectern, and I prefer a cordless mic.
It’s also helpful to remember that no-one deliberately goes to a speaking event to judge the speaker (unless of course you’ve got the unfortunate occupation of being a politician).
- Sarah Ramsay is the chief executive of United Machinists.
