Human Before Perfect
There I was—two hours early to the meeting—because this was, without question, the biggest event of my life. Or at least, that’s how it felt in the moment.
I had handwritten my script word for word. I had practiced half a million times. I had prepared for every hypothetical situation my anxious mind could invent. I was so nervous I skipped lunch entirely. When it was time to walk into the venue, I didn’t walk—I sprinted. I had never been this early, yet never this nervous. But the moment I saw the warm smiles on familiar faces—friends, mentors, fellow Toastmasters—it hit me. I wasn’t standing above a shark tank. I was standing in front of people who were ready to hold space for me to learn and grow. Phew. The nerves softened… just a little.
The Guest Arrival
Then the guests started arriving—and a new panic took over.
- What if they don’t like this?
- What if they don’t understand what we do here?
- What if I’m not for them what my first Toastmasters meeting was for me?
My first experience as a guest had been incredible. I was mesmerized. I knew immediately that I wanted to keep coming back. What if I failed to be that spark for someone else? So I did the only thing that grounded me—I walked up to a few guests and said hello. I introduced myself. They were warm, friendly, and easygoing, and that reassurance carried me further than my script ever could.
The Real Test
By the time the meeting was about to start, I felt steadier. Script in hand. My closest friends seated nearby—close enough that, if I fainted, I trusted they’d say something corny or embarrassing enough to revive me. Then, just as we were about to begin, I noticed something else. A few role takers were missing. And just like that, the spiral returned. One thing after another, and then another. It felt like the universe was testing me in real time. Until a friend—an ex-committee member—stepped in.
She placed a hand on my shoulder and said something I will never forget:
And just like that, something shifted.
I allowed myself to take the stage with confidence and grace—not because everything was perfect, but because I wasn’t alone. There were ups and downs, moments of adjustment, and small imperfections along the way. But through it all, I kept reminding myself: there were people holding my hand who have my back. I was safe—to fall, to fail, to learn.
Showing Up
My first experience as TMOD was nothing short of lovely. Not because I executed flawlessly, but because I showed up fully human. And that, perhaps, was the most important lesson of all.