Stage Fright

People get connected to the internet for all sorts of reasons, but I bet stage fright isn't a common one.

I don't know why or when it first manifested itself, but I've suffered from stage fright as far back as I can remember. Infact one of my earliest memories is crying with fright in my father's arms when he wanted me to publicly walk up to another girl's home to ask her to come to my fourth birthday party.

At school back in Scotland we had weekly Assemblies in the main hall. The hall wasn't big enough for the whole school, so the secondary school assembly was split into 2 sessions. As well as the Rector's regular haranguing, the religious sermon, and the school notices, the 6th year Prefects took turns in reading out the weekly lesson from the Bible.

Somehow when I finally became a prefect, I forgot about that onerous duty until the day the Rector took me aside and informed that it was my turn next. OhmyGod was all that ran through my mind for the next half hour. Well the awful day finally came and I lined up outside the hall with the Rector and other senior teachers, ready for the Junior assembly. We filed into the hall, and by the time we reached the steps to the stage I was in a state of shock as I reminded my body how to walk up stairs.

Left foot up ... forward ... down (wincing as I moved it too far and stubbed my toe) now right foot up ... not so far forward ... down. Hmm, this isn't so difficult: left foot ... right foot ... left ... r..... oops, we're at the top already: be careful girl, you don't want to trip and make a complete fool of yourself.

Tunnel vision fully engaged, I proceeded to my designated seat glancing neither left nor right. However my prickling shoulder blades were all too aware of the other occupants of the cavernous room.

Fidgeting nervously I barely paid attention to the Rector's droning voice, until I noticed it's change in timbre. He became increasingly annoyed as he sounded off about the latest shenanigans in the playground. He finished off by announcing that he was so angry that he was cancelling the remainder of the assembly.

Thankyouthankyouthankyou....I'm sorry I ever doubted you God. I heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed as my torment drew to a close.

As I was leaving the hall and started to head to my classroom, the headmaster stopped me and reminded me to be there in time to read the lesson for the Senior assembly in a couple of days.

I'm surprised I didn't faint on the spot with the force of my renewed fear. But calmed down when a faint ray of hope shone through: maybe he'd read the same riot act and I wouldn't have to talk?

The dreaded day came, and as I made my way to my seat on the stage, my benumbed mind repeated the calming litany: he'sgoingtocancel he'sgoingtocancel he'sgoingtocancel........

The Rector stood up and spoke. His voice remained calm. He smiled. He spoke the fateful words "today's reading from the Bible..." and looked meaningfully at me......

Keeping my eyes downcast, I shakily stood up and took the fatal step forward to the lectern. Fortunately the Bible was already open at the correct spot, or I'm sure I'd have dropped it. Eyes firmly focussed on the page in front of me, I commenced the reading.

As my confidence increased, I got cockier and glanced up at the assembled students. Big mistake. There before me was an infinite sea of faces, every eye fixed on me, eagerly waiting for me to fail.

I stuttered, I mumbled, I speeded up almost incomprehensibly as I raced through the remainder of the passage anxious to finish and escape my ordeal. By the time I entered my classroom afterwards I was a limp rag wrung almost dry and draped across my chair. At the following week's assembly I didn't look up at the stage at all, feeling the imagined terror of that week's reader almost as keenly as if it had been my own.

Fortunately after that I was never called to read again, and most of the time managed to avoid any further public speaking.

I joined the Drama Club in the hopes of overcoming my fear, but chickened out and volunteered for the role of the prompter, unseen and unheard by the audience.

Reading out my designated role in the latest play we were studying in English Lit. class, I was glued firmly to my seat in the front row, relieved at not having to face anyone other than the teacher. Of course since there were only 3 others in the class it wouldn't have been too bad anyway and the novelty of having to read aloud a love scene with yourself as both characters was hugely distracting.

Infact I almost finished school without any further incident, until I was asked (or rather ordered) to take part in the Senior class debate. There followed further weeks of agonised speech writing and memorising, to the point where I could (and probably did) recite it in my sleep. But as D-Day drew nearer my panic increased, until I woke up the day before the dreaded morning, opened my mouth to tell Mum that yes I was wide awake, and nothing came out.

Sweet blessed Jesus, miracles do happen!

I had laryngitis and there was no way I could make the speech tomorrow. Hurried phone calls were made and my speech was given to the Head Girl to read. I heard afterwards that my words had been a great success and won the debate for our team. But of course since I wasn't speaking them, the accolades went to my replacement.

It was a small price to pay, and of course the laryngitis was most likely psychosomatic, but what the heck, it meant I'd escaped my fear once again.

To my delight, I continued to escape all further public speaking for another 10 years. Until my latest employer sent me on a training course that was supposed to help mould me into the next prospective team leader.

About half way through the week-long, residential, women-only course, we had the lesson on 'presentation skills'.

We were split into groups of half-a-dozen or so, and sent off to different syndicate rooms. Almost subconsciously I sat in the chair nearest the door, and listened anxiously as brief instruction in how to make a short speech was given and guidelines indicated for the 5 minute speech we were each asked to present in front of the rest of the group.

"Pick a subject you know well, and present that to your classmates".

Feelings of sheer abject terror coursed through me as my mind became increasingly blank. I broke out into a sweat, my hands wouldn't stop shaking, and I felt a suspicious moisture build up in my eyes.

The trainer who was overseeing our group finally noticed my distress and came over to see what was wrong. She tried to calm me down and reassure me that no-one was going to laugh at me, then walked off, in the belief that she'd succeeded.

However, as the other women took their turns to present their speeches, my tears threatened to spill over as I fumbled anxiously with my brutalised handkerchief. The trainer came over and talked to me again, finally admitting defeat and asking delicately if I'd like to go and freshen up.

Like a rabbit released from a trap, I gracelessly shot out of the room, tears finally spilling freely down my cheeks, and locked myself in the Ladies room. And there I remained for the next 15 minutes, hiccoughing gently as my tears slowed, bathing my reddened cheeks and nose in the cool calming water, until finally the trainer came to check that I was OK.

She suggested that in order to overcome this fear, I should make a short speech in the evening in front of 3 of my classmate. I reluctantly acceded, and having fortified myself with a stiff brandy, gabbled out an explanation of the latest happenings at my workplace. Unfortunately the ground didn't open up and swallow me, but I got through the ordeal alive and the others were kind enough to tell me I was very good.

The next day I was asked by the course manager to 'meet and greet' that day's after-dinner guest speaker (this was a rather formal course, and the speeches were intended to inspire us to better things). The final part of this duty was to make the public introduction and thank you before her speech. In other words, public speaking.

Well, I met and greeted my charge, and spent a pleasant 15 minutes showing her round the conference centre grounds before finally handing her over to the course organisers. The evening meal then passed by unnoticed as I frantically composed short witty welcome speeches in my head. At the appointed moment, I gave my little speech (which lasted all of 30 seconds), while alternating my gaze between the dessert plate in front of me and our guest speaker. I sat down (or rather collapsed) as soon as I'd finished and didn't even hear the start of her own speech, once again doing my famous impersonation of a limp rag.

I have successfully avoided all other public speaking since then, even turning down otherwise perfect, highly paid jobs because the job specification included the likelihood of making presentations. However I have sometimes had to give training to others, but managed to avoid any 'speechifying' by making all such session one-on-one. I've even been told I'd make a great trainer, but I don't care how desperate I might become for paid employment: there's no way on this earth I'll ever voluntarily put myself through all that agony again.

So, why did that make me go on-line? Well, it was for a similar reason to when I tried my hand at role-playing games a few years earlier and the drama club a few years before that. The idea was that I would confront my fear by talking publicly in a chat room. It was a good theory, but it took me 3 months of non-interactive 'net surfing before a workmate finally bullied me into meeting him in a chat room and actually start talking.

And I would still have lurked silently in the background if he hadn't publicly asked me questions and demanded answers. The only way I was able to encourage myself to finally 'talk' was to rationalise that after all no-one there could physically see or hear me and they never would, so I could be as outrageous and silly as I wanted.

Of course it didn't quite work out that way. Since then I've actually met several of my on-line friends, and I'm still terrified of public speaking. But my life has been, and continues to be, enriched by the experience so I deem the experiment a total success.