Three Things I learned Going from TEDx Speaker Coach to TEDx Speaker

“Speaking is my thing. I shouldn’t be this nervous.”

It was one month before my TEDx talk. I was sitting on my counselor’s couch processing the physical stress I was feeling. Quickened heart rate. Shallow breathing. Tingly feels in my body. 

“I wish that I could brag that this wasn’t a big deal to me, that I’m a pro, but the truth is, I’ve been feeling anxiety.”

Becoming a TEDx speaker

Three years prior, in the Fall of 2019, I received an email out-of-the-blue from a TEDx group in Texas inviting me to speak on their stage. I was honored, but if I had one shot at fulfilling my life goal of delivering a TEDx talk, I wanted to be with my people in Portland where I’ve been a speaker coach since 2015. I said a prayer and emailed David Rae, curator at TEDxPortland, asking him if I should say no to Texas in hopes of having the opportunity in Portland someday. Unbeknownst to me, my name was already in the running for speaking in Portland because of a nomination by TEDxPortland committee member, and all-around great human, Ben Ford. 

For context, some TEDx organizations have a speaker application process; others are invitation-only (TEDxPortland being the latter). From my observation, some speakers are chosen because they are a well-known and respected person, and the one idea worth spreading is discovered through a collaborative, supportive process. On the flip side, some speakers are chosen because there’s a certain topic or idea the event wants included in the program and will go find an expert to speak on that topic. (For example, in 2017, we wanted a female teenager to do a STEM talk and found Ragini!)

I waited a month for a formal response from David. When I saw the email, I held my breath. Sure enough, it was an invitation to join the 2020 Speaker Class of TEDxPortland.  

I cried happy tears. 

A month later, I heard whispers of a virus in China. In March, I held my breath. In April, I prepared my heart. And sure enough, our May TEDx event was postponed due to COVID. And so was our second reschedule, May 2021. And then again December 2021. 

But in February 2022 emails circulated that TEDxPortland was full steam ahead for May 28th and still on track to be the world’s largest indoor TEDx event ever with over 7,000 attendees in our sports arena.

Time to dust off my talk. Again.

The first thing I did was email my speaker coach, G Cody QJ Goldberg. 

Yes, the speaker coach had a speaker coach.

People seem surprised by that. But everyone needs a truth-teller - someone unbiased from content and story, who can listen with audience-minded ears. Cody and I met at a TEDxPortland dinner years ago. We became fast friends. Having delivered his own TEDx talk (on the power of play!), he brought personal wisdom and immense compassion to my process. 

My biggest challenge

Luckily, the overarching focus of my talk was clear from day one: Hope. 

My accidental global movement of spreading hope was deemed TEDx talk worthy but I had a significant challenge that kept me up at night (literally). It was the same dang challenge that many of the speakers I coach wrestle with and I was not immune. 

What’s the one novel idea worth spreading?

Keyword: novel

Everyone’s talking about hope. COVID, and all its massive disruption and destruction, made hope a buzzword. So what was my unique angle? What have audiences not heard before? Can I help shape the concept of hope as less fluffy and idealistic, and more gritty and tangible? 

These questions plagued me for years as I awaited my talk. One day Cody and I were in our usual meeting spot, Caffe Umbria in Portland’s Pearl District, when he recommended doing some more research on the topic of hope.  

On a whim, I googled ‘the science of hope’ and found the book Hope Rising: How the Science of HOPE Can Change Your Life by Casey Gwinn JD and Chan Hellman. And there in chapter 5, referencing the work of psychologist Rick Snyder, was the golden, novel angle. 

I found it. It wasn’t proprietary. It was simple and profound. It was the catalyst behind the Don’t Give Up Signs Movement. And now I had a word for it.

Agency. Personal agency.

Agency is the belief in our own ability, power, or influence. 

Hope needs us to claim our agency.

Problem was, Cody wasn’t as big of a fan of the idea. Neither were the multiple committees that heard me practice my talk months leading up the big day. 

“It’s too vague.”

“It has other connotations.”

“It’s not the right fit.”

But, as my friends and family know, I can be a bit stubborn.

“I’m doubling down, coach” I emailed Cody a few hours after my third committee review. “This is the idea. If the concept is confusing, I want the honor of bringing clarity - making it less abstract. I’m willing to do the work. But this is it!”

“Honored to be by your side on this journey” he responded. “Make certain you schedule some serious self-care over this next month… I’m here for you 24/7 until we hug as you leave the stage!”

Full steam ahead.

If I had any doubts about my talk, having overthought every word, every phrase, every inflection, every gesture, all my doubts were obliterated when I hopped on a call with Annatova Neches.

In addition to being a creative, talented musician and human, Annatova was also the visual designer assigned to my talk.

And every time we got together to refine my slides, I mean EVERY TIME, virtual or in-person, she’d cry as I practiced. Annatova’s open, tender heart kept me human in this process. What a freakin’ gift in the overwhelming sea of feedback and ungodly amount of wordsmithing. Her tears and fist pumps affirmed the power in my story and this one idea. 

She got it. Deep in her bones she understood it - how hope and personal agency were intimately connected.

There are 16 drafts of my TEDx talk on my computer, each taking different angles, unpacking agency in different ways. Some versions had more of my personal story of trauma and what it looks like to claim agency in personal suffering. Some versions teased out more of the challenges that get in our way in claiming our agency to do good in the world.

This was a sticky challenge for me. 

I usually ask clients when we begin coaching, “What do you want people to walk away thinking, feeling or doing differently when you’re done speaking?”

So I asked myself the same question when I got stuck. The answer was two-fold. 

I want people to feel empowered to claim their personal agency to help others - that they can have significant impact and they don’t need to be special to do it. But I also wanted them to have a fresh encounter with hope for themselves –  balm to their weary souls.

The reality was, I only had 10 minutes, and clarity and fluidity suffered when I tried to do both well. I had to practice what I preach to clients all the time: sacrifice good ideas to elevate the great ones. So I elevated the one I felt most qualified to speak on – spreading hope in the world. After all, that’s why I was standing on that stage as a founder of an accidental global movement. 

(But take special listen to the last two sentences of my talk!)

My biggest fear

May 28th was quickly approaching on my calendar. That’s when the anxiety started to peak. I’d be driving around town and imagine waiting in the green room before my talk. My heart pounded and my arms got tingly. 

That’s why I walked into my weekly counseling session and asked, “Can we go a different direction today? I have a talk coming up. Speaking is my thing. I shouldn’t feel this nervous.”

I left 60 minutes later with a surprising insight.  

We went through a visualization exercise while using EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). As I sat with my eyes shut, tapping my right and left thighs in a steady rhythm, we walked through the day of my talk. The green room. Getting mic’d up. Waiting behind the stage. Hearing the host, David Rae, introduce me. Walking out into the spotlight. Standing on stage delivering my talk. And walking off ten minutes later.

This exercise revealed something peculiar.

My anxiety peaked when I thought about waiting for my talk to start. Would I pace? Would I feel sick? Would my head spin? Would I want to be chatty, or be by myself? Would I be out of breath?

But as soon as I visualized stepping onto that stage, I cried.

They weren’t tears of fear or stress.

They were tears of joy.

“I was made for this.”, I told my counselor, eyes-shut, tapping my legs. “I feel connected to my audience. I’m present in the moment. The words flow effortlessly. I’m fully me on that stage.”

This counseling moment was profound for me. 

I had one looming, dreadful fear giving a TEDx talk: missing my own talk.

Would I freak out backstage, default into autopilot from all my practice, walk out on that stage, and 10 minutes later walk off thinking “What just happened!?”

I had faith in myself to deliver a talk for an audience that was actionable, inspiring, empowering, and insightful. But for me, in fulfilling a personal life dream, I wanted to be present for it. 

And in counseling, in my visualization practice, I felt it. Deeply.

I left our session with three strategies to manage anxiety backstage if it became an escalating issue. It included a 5-senses grounding exercise by slowly inventorying my physical surroundings, a breathing practice of tracing my fingers (inhaling tracing down, exhaling tracing up), and muscle tightening and relaxing rhythm.

Evidently, I left all my anxiety on that couch because I never felt it again.

Practicing what I preach… 

The extensive two-and-a-half-year process of refining content was finally over. I had three-ish weeks to memorize my talk. I hate scripting – I never recommend it for my clients – but in this case I did because there was a strict time constraint, it was going to be published online, and for two more personal reasons. 

First, I integrated every theme of TEDxPortland over the last 10 years into my talk and I didn’t want to miss them (if you’re wondering: uncharted territories, crossroads, perfect, tomorrows, bridges, spectrum, wonderland, re-imagine, what if, audacious).

Second, to honor past TEDxPortland speakers who trusted me as their speaker coach, I wove in a phrase or concept from each of their talks. This. Was. Hard! 

Listen for these mentions: grassroots family movement (Karen Gaffney, 2015), the reality is that tomorrows may never come (Fawn Weaver, 2015), crucible moment (Jim Serrill, 2016), don’t limit your imagination (Ragini Dindukurthi, 2017), new hope and possibility (Albert Chi, 2018), empathy and kindness prevail (Carine Kanimba, 2019), compassion fatigue (David Peyton, 2019), stigmatizing stories (Vitor Bastos, 2022)

To memorize but still feel conversational, I purposefully practiced alone in the car. I said the talk out loud off paper every time I drove somewhere. I had a copy of the talk in the passenger seat, only checking the script occasionally for accuracy. I aimed for 90% consistency, but wiggle room for different wording here or there (as long as it wasn’t the verbatim bits I mentioned above). 

This also means that my family never heard me practice. In fact, none of my inner circle heard my final talk beforehand, not even my husband! I wanted them to hear it for the first time in the magic that is TEDxPortland energy. Only my youngest daughter Harper overheard my talk during a virtual meeting.  As I was practicing via Zoom, I saw in my video feed that Harper was standing behind me with a whiteboard that said, “Love you. Good job.” Be still my heart. 

Full practice mode.

Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. 

But repetition has some downsides.

Sarah Schiffman (fellow speaker coach) and I coordinated a handful of group practices in an empty auditorium at Portland State University with fellow speakers Emily Nestor, Taylor Stewart, Viva Las Vegas, and Vitor Bastos. (Side note: I had never done this before and it was the missing ingredient to prepping the speakers I support: practicing in community with other speakers!)

That’s when Sarah threw me a curve ball after my run-through. 

“You’re coming off a little mechanical at times. JUST BE YOU!”

Oh lawrdy. I felt my confidence deflate – which was important. Repetition and overpracticing can breed mechanical mannerisms. And I fell victim.

Once again, time to practice what I preach. Authenticity over perfection.

That’s when I decided to stop practicing. I knew my content. I was overthinking every inflection and word. I was keenly aware that expectations were sky-high that I delivered a good talk. This is what I do for a living, after all. 

But it was time to trust myself. 

The big day

In the last ten days before my talk, I only practiced 3-4 times. The day before, we had mini-rehearsals to get a sense of the stage, lights, sound, and scale of the audience. I felt relaxed, excited, and ready.

That night I fell asleep around 9 PM while watching Antique Roadshow with my husband, Jake. Thank God - a full night’s sleep. The next morning was typical: coffee and Bible. I hugged my girls goodbye and headed off to Portland with Jake. After pulling into the VIP parking lot, Jake went to find his seat while I went backstage. I sat with a make-up artist who relaxed my curls and bronzed my face for stage lights. I found my parents and friends in the auditorium to take pictures before the event started. 

The auditorium filled. The opening video played. I ducked behind the black curtain, walked back to the greenroom and watched Asia Greene-Rhodes kick us off with her passionate, articulate, inspiring spoken-word poetry. 

I felt it in my body. I felt grounded and relaxed. I felt… normal. 

Being the second speaker of the day, I didn’t have to wait long. I did a final check-in with the make-up artist and then it was my turn. I was guided up the steps to behind the stage curtain as I heard curator and emcee David Rae giving me a warm introduction.

I walked out, and the rest is history (Literally… on Youtube forever). 

I didn’t need the teleprompter. I caught the flow. I ad libbed a few moments with the audience. All the content came effortlessly. I felt connected and smooth. I trusted my skills. I led with my heart. I navigated a curve-ball heckler from the front row (luckily it was a positive heckler, but oddly-timed shouts of affirmation are incredibly distracting as a speaker. Good intentions – poor impact. I ignored him and stayed in the flow.) 

I was greeted off stage in the dark green room by fellow speakers and volunteers as the tech folks untethered me from a mic. “Wow,” Sarah whispered. “That was different from our practices. As soon as you got up there, you were in your sweet spot. You were ON!”

I first felt it on my counselor’s couch. 

And now in the spotlight on stage.

Deep joy.

What I learned

First, I learned that I’m human. 

I am susceptible to anxiety just like the rest of ‘em. It didn’t matter that I’m a professional speaker coach and speaker. I tell clients not to wordsmith talks to death – but I did. I tell clients not to over practice – but I did. I tell clients not to get flustered by feedback – but I did. I went through the rollercoaster like everybody else. And in the most beautiful, important way, it was humbling. 

I also learned that expectations are a complicated thing.

Three days after my talk, I was sitting on my counselor’s couch again, this time processing the lack of big emotions I felt on stage. My heart rate didn’t spike. I didn’t feel excitement course through my body. I didn’t have a huge adrenaline dump walking off stage. It all felt so… normal. But to me, normal felt uneventful. 

All the feelings I didn’t feel for my talk, I definitely felt for Vitor Bastos’s. 

I was Vitor’s speaker coach this year, along with Grace Moen. My heart raced as he walked on stage later that afternoon. I knew how important this moment was to him personally, coming out publicly as HIV positive. I knew the profound impact it could have. I was on pins and needles with every word. Grace and I stood alongside a back wall, elbows linked, and watched the magic of the audience DRINKING UP Vitor’s talk. It was thrilling. His standing ovation was electric. I ran behind the curtain and greeted him off stage. He buried his head in my shoulder and wept. All the emotions. Relief. Gratitude. Vulnerability. Release.

His talk was the highlight of my day. 

Which was confusing. 

“Obviously I felt emotions that day – just not in my talk. Did I swing the anxiety pendulum to the opposite side, numbing myself out of a once-in-a-lifetime moment?” I asked my counselor.  After processing, we determined no, I didn’t. It just wasn’t what I expected. And that’s okay. 

It was still good.

Finally, I learned to rest and trust myself.

I gave myself permission from day one that I could make mistakes on that stage. I have made plenty of goofs on numerous stages over the years. Quick wit, relaxed composure, and swift transitions were my trusted tools to navigate imperfect moments. It took the pressure off.

But what was more liberating was knowing that audiences don’t want perfect – they want real. As long as I was authentic and clear, with an idea that served my audience, it was going to be a moment to be proud of. My challenge was moving from knowing this truth, to living this truth.

I wanted it to be perfect, but perfect afforded me no grace to be human. So I prioritized rest. The week of my talk I got my hair done, watched movies with my family, took hot baths, and weeded my garden (although my neighbor pulled over perplexed, asking me why I was weeding at 5:30 AM. Evidently, even though I felt relaxed, my body was keenly aware something big was coming and woke me up early all week!).

On May 28th I fulfilled a life dream of delivering my own TEDx talk at the largest indoor TEDx event ever. It was a long-time coming. It was certainly a team effort. There were a lot of bumps along the way. It wasn’t quite what I expected, and yet it was deeply meaningful. 

It was all worth it because of a core belief: 

Shared ideas matter. 
Shared stories matter. 
Shared words matter.

If you have ever questioned your own idea or story - if you’ve ever felt silenced, struggled to find the words, or felt paralyzing fear in public speaking - I have three words for you today:

Don’t give up!

Curious about hope’s relationship with personal agency?
Watch my talk here.

Big mushy thank you to…

David who knew it was a policy risk putting me, a volunteer, on stage as speaker

Cody who advised me not only on content, but also persistently advocated for my self-care

Annatova for the beautiful slides and for showing up with your whole heart at every practice

Ben for nominating me (BLESS YOU!)

Sarah S. for giving me feedback that I desperately needed

Emily, Taylor, Viva, and Vitor for feedback and affirmation in our practices (MY PESKY HANDS!)

Grace for being an anchor and safe place for me to process all the big feels 

The speaker committees whose feedback surely made my talk ten times clearer

Vangie and Jessica for running Don’t Give Up with me and cheering me on

My friends who showed up proudly to TEDxPortland in Don’t Give Up tees 

Dad for affirming me always (and sending me flowers in May 2020 “I know today was supposed to be your big day”)

Mom for the dozens of prayers you surely prayed over me during this milestone

Jacob for stepping up for dinners and shuttles every time I was gone in a meeting or practice

Harper and Avery for caring about mom’s big day. I hope I’ve modeled for you commitment to a craft, reaching out for help, embracing your voice, and living with integrity and vulnerability.