Trusting myself

Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?

Good [morning/afternoon/evening], everyone.

Let me take you back to a moment that defined how I approach speaking in front of an audience. My last speech was straightforward: “Hello everyone, great job, and happy working.” Short, simple, and to the point. But the second last? It was a completely different story—a Toastmasters speech that left me staring at the page, silent and frozen, as the words I’d prepared refused to come out. That’s when I called it quits.

But why did it happen?

For me, speechwriting is not just about preparing words; it’s a battle with self-doubt. I rewrite, second-guess, and tweak endlessly, trying to predict what the audience wants to hear. Feedback pours in, each piece making me question if I’m even close to crafting something impactful. The process goes on for days, spiraling into uncertainty.

Then comes the irony: on the day of the speech, inspiration strikes at the eleventh hour. Suddenly, the perfect phrase, the ideal connection, or the missing spark reveals itself—effortlessly, as if it had been waiting all along. And I wonder: Why didn’t I think of this before?

The answer lies in trust. Or, rather, the lack of it. I realized I wasn’t trusting my intuition the first time I wrote those drafts. I was too focused on perfection, on pleasing everyone else, to truly listen to myself. And yet, when I let go of that need to control every detail, brilliance emerges—not through meticulous editing, but through authenticity.

So, here’s what I’ve learned from my journey: trust the process, but trust yourself more. Speak from your heart, not just your notes. Prepare, yes, but leave room for the moment to guide you.

Your audience doesn’t want perfection; they want connection. They want to feel your energy, your honesty, and your story. And sometimes, the best part of a speech isn’t what you write—it’s what you discover when you step up to the mic.

If you ever find yourself rewriting endlessly or doubting your instincts, remember this: the brilliance is already in you. It may come at the last minute, but that doesn’t make it any less powerful.

So, as I stand here today, I’m not just speaking to you—I’m speaking to the version of myself that once froze in silence. I’m reminding myself, and maybe even you, that the voice we’re searching for is already here.

Thank you.