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 horrible 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 her in any way, then you would either experience her wrath verbally, – which would frequently also involve being sent to stand on 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 caning was an almost daily occurrence 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’. Except that is for one particular boy who 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 going through 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. 

Looking back maybe he saw himself as a rebel or activist perhaps, attempting to make a stand against tyranny and corporal punishment. But more likely something else much deeper was running beneath the surface. 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.

Anyway, I might seem to digress, but it’s related.

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 order instructed with each person automatically taking their turn, it got closer to me taking mine. My panicky state and anxiety level 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, and whether there was anything I could do to escape. Fight, flight or freeze became a recurring theme in my life. Fight has rarely if ever been an option (but standing my ground and challenging something has, frequently. Pushing back against things that were wrong.)

On this occasion fleeing wasn’t an option either as the very thought of the consequence—being sent to Mr E. for the cane—kept me trapped. 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 cold voice telling me it was my turn. No warmth or empathy, no gentle encouragement, just  ‘You’re turn, get up here to the front’.

Rising from my seat I shuffled my way slowly and apprehensively forwards 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, silently mouthing ‘Steve, you can do this’.

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

“Don’t tell me, tell them” she shot back. I looked up “But I really don’t know what to say” I stuttered as tears began to blur my eyes. Standing, she 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. Now completely torn apart, not only unable to do 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 and still anxious, feeling stupid but relieved.

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 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. 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 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. And it, or at least ‘it’ alone, didn’t.

Only after many years of situations 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 do some serious work on understanding and working through what the ‘real’ issues were. After being asked if I’d show others the way of presenting I developed The Fearless Presenter? workshop. And then I started on the path of pulling all of the narratives together to form the basis of a book.

These narratives then were intended to be kind of part memoir and part manual, reflections on my experiences, my journey into public speaking and the many lessons along the way as I attempted to do it but without the fear. 

As we know, hindsight is indeed a wonderful thing, and so many times the notion of ‘if I knew then what I know now’ has bubbled up in my mind. It’s not all sadness though and I’m not a believer in holding onto regrets. Many of the experiences I’ll share I can laugh about now, and I’m certain you will too. But, more often than not, when they happened I was mortified. 

Until the shift came that is.

“What was the shift? In part, it was recognising that moments like these — as wounding as they were — became the very soil from which my work on ‘The Fearless Presenter?’ would later grow. That painful English lesson planted a seed I couldn’t see at the time, as did the painful and embarrassing experiences, but together they all eventually shaped my path into helping others find their own voice, and the life they want to live, even when the orchestra 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 walk with it, present with it, and speak anyway. If that’s something you recognise in yourself, or would like to explore further, why not get in touch?

Thanks for reading.

“The day was excellent, informative and uplifting. I DID conquer my fear and actually spoke in front of 70 people!!!”

Katie Hemmings, Rotherham.