Sit Down, You Stupid Boy

Just five words but five words that were to have an enormous impact upon me for many, many years to follow. Whenever and wherever I had to speak in front of others, those words were always the very first thing that instantaneously sprang to mind. 

Every time. 

Not unlike hearing a song which instantly elicits a specific memory, perhaps of a favourite time in your life, or a place, or someone special, and takes you right back there.

But there was nothing pleasant about this particular memory, or the feelings it triggered.

The back story to this sits in the 1970s when I was just a lad—12 years of age—at what was then middle school. We had a particularly unpleasant English teacher who never really taught, only ever instructed, criticised, belittled and ridiculed. If you didn’t do exactly as you were told or, heaven forbid, challenged them in any way, then you would either experience their wrath verbally – which would usually also involve being sent to stand in a corner of the room – or, much worse, you were sent to Mr E for remedial action. Mr E was the expert in use of the cane.

In those days it seemed a caning was a weekly occurrence at the very least. And, as most of the classrooms in the school, including Mr E’s, were located around the small main hall, every single person in those classrooms could hear any caning taking place. That was usually enough to ensure that the vast majority ‘behaved’. There were exceptions of course and one particular boy seemed to take great pride in being sent for the cane, in stifling any pain he felt while receiving it, and in then telling Mr E to ‘F off’ after the beating. In secret many of us had much admiration for him enduring what he did, however not one of us could quite comprehend why he continued to do the very things he got the cane for doing. 

To the best of my knowledge no-one every explored why he was late most days, why he’d have the same shirt on all week, why he frequently looked as if he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in quite some time. I never saw him as an angry person, never aggressive or violent towards anyone, but he was often defiant and disobedient with the teachers. There’s a whole other story there.

Anyway, it may seem I digress, but it’s related. Note that pain—physical, emotional, remembered or anticipated—can play a significant role in the states generated from experience and the associations laid down in memory.

On one particular occasion, in our afternoon English lesson, and without any prior notice or warning, we were told that each of us would take it in turn to go stand at the front of the class and give a short talk to everyone. Just the very thought of doing that instantly filled me with dread, I was already known for being one of the shyest in the class. As the process unfolded, in the clockwise order instructed – each person automatically taking their turn – it got closer to me taking mine. My panicky state and level of anxiety escalating with each and every person going before me. When I wasn’t fixated on the next person getting out of their seat I was lost in my thoughts of how much I really didn’t want to do this (understatement), and whether there was anything I could do to escape.

Of course neither fighting nor fleeing were options I could follow through on. I simply froze. Staring out of the window with a longing to be free I was startled back into the present upon hearing my name being shouted and a harsh voice telling me it was my turn. No warmth or empathy, no gentle encouragement, just  ‘You’re turn, get up here to the front’. For a split second the possibility of running out of the room crossed my mind and whether later getting the cane could be a less terrible option.

Rising from my seat I made my way slowly and anxiously to the front and turned to face the class. A couple of my close friends knew what was going on for me and I could almost feel them trying to will me on, encouragement on their faces as they nodded their heads and gave me the thumbs up, silently mouthing “you can do this“.

“Come on, we haven’t got all day!” they shouted at me. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Turning to face them, but lowering my head as I dare not look directly at them, I softly said I didn’t know what to say. 

“Don’t tell me, tell them” they shot back. I looked up “But I really don’t know what to say” I stuttered as tears began to blur my eyes. Standing, they glared at me. I could no longer hold it together and began to sob, my whole body shaking, as I covered my face with my hands. Feeling completely overwhelmed, not only incapable of doing what I was told to do, I had the double embarrassment of being in tears in front of my classmates.

“Sit down, you stupid boy.”

I did as I was instructed and sat down. Shaking, anxious and tearful, feeling stupid but relieved. It was over.

Hindsight is indeed a wonderful thing. Knowing what I know now I’m absolutely certain there were very likely a number of events from my early years—this single experience being a particular one—which contributed to my belief I was damaged, deficient or broken in some way. As I got older a secondary belief I held was that if only I could identify and fix those things then the problem(s) would be gone. I was certain that was the way forward when I first sought help in overcoming my deeply held fear of public speaking in my twenties. For quite a while it was the only path I took, an exploration into the past, into the what and the why, the where and the when, the root of my being so messed up, a complete gibbering wreck when faced with the possibility of having to speak in front of others.

If I’d had a mantra at the time ‘find it, fix it and be free’ would probably have been it.

But I didn’t. Nor did I ever find the ‘it’ that resulted in everything being ok from that moment on.

Only after many years of situations and experiences which caused much anxiety, and then applying for and succeeding in getting a job in which I’d have to get up and speak in front of others, on a weekly basis, did I find my path forwards by not looking backwards. By identifying and working through what the real ‘issues’ were. Spoiler Alert: Being ‘fearless’ wasn’t one of them.

And then one day, out of the blue and whilst delivering a workshop on an unrelated topic, a participant handed me their workshop feedback form and said I should deliver something on the HOW of what I’d just done and done really well. They said they would be the first to book a place on it. I was inspired and uplifted by what they said and a few months later the very first ‘The Fearless Presenter?’ workshop was written and delivered successfully.

That wasn’t the end of the learning journey though, far from it. Life being life, it never can be. Along the way there’ve been many experiences, some of them particularly painful, some of which I can laugh about now (and I’m certain you would too) but when they happened they were anything but amusing.

And then a shift came.

One of my most significant learnings was in recognising that moments like these — as wounding as they were — became the very soil from which I, and my work, would grow. That painful English lesson planted a seed I couldn’t see at the time, as did other distressing, upsetting and embarrassing experiences. But collectively they all eventually helped shape who I am, as well as my path of working with others to find their own voices, the lives they want to live, the goals they want to achieve. Even when the orchestras of fear and self-doubt are playing at their loudest.

Because becoming a ‘Fearless Presenter?’ was never about losing the fear — it was (and is) about learning how to engage with it, walk with it, and do the thing we most want to do, regardless. And it’s the same with life.

If there’s something there you recognise in yourself, or would like to explore further, why not get in touch?

Thanks for reading.