by Zeynab Rahman, Content Team contributor
“It’s just a presentation”, they say. So why does it feel like the worst thing in the world?
I sat down in my seat, listening to the professors talk about which group would go first. At first, it hadn’t fully hit me, but I could feel it building. My heart started beating faster, my palms grew sweaty.
I glanced around the room. Everyone else looked so calm and collected, while I could feel my face flushing pink, my expression giving away the worried look I was trying to hide. I began to feel my legs bouncing uncontrollably beneath the table.
As they started calling groups up to present, the anxiety hit all at once. My chest tightened and I found it harder to breathe. I tried to focus on my notes, scanning the words repeatedly, but they just started to blur together, nothing was sinking in.
All I could feel was this growing sense of impending doom. Then they finally called my group up.
As we stood, I instinctively moved towards the corner at the front somewhere I could almost hide, somewhere that felt just a little safer from everyone’s eyes. But it didn’t help much. The nausea hit me quickly, my breathing turning uneven and hard to control. That same rising panic came back, stronger this time, as I waited for my slide.
My turn.
I started speaking, staring down at my notes, not daring to look up. I could feel my foot tapping uncontrollably against the floor, my legs shaking beneath me. My voice cracked, like I was seconds away from crying. I was speaking too fast, barely pausing to breathe, the words spilling out in a rush.
I just wanted it to be over.
Every so often, I forced myself to glance up, only to see the professors looking straight at me. It made everything worse. My thoughts spiralled “Am I even making sense? Can they hear me? Do I look stupid?”. The questions came one after another, faster than I could manage.
My throat felt dry, my chest tight. At some point, I stopped caring about doing well – I just hated the feeling and wanted to finish already. All those eyes on me, watching, judging, noticing every little mistake. I could feel my face burning, but I stayed stuck on autopilot, just trying to get through it. Finally, I finished.
I stepped back and slowly, everything began to settle. My breathing steadied, my legs stopped shaking. The paper in my hands now damp from my palms was crumpled as I wiped my hands on my jeans.
This is anxiety.
Talking to friends, I realised not everyone experiences presentations this way as people can experience anxiety in many different scenarios. For me, it feels like one of the worst things imaginable, but that doesn’t mean I’m the only one. There are so many people who feel this same kind of fear. The late nights replaying everything, the constant overthinking, the stress that builds long before the moment even arrives.
A lot of it comes from fear of judgement – the pressure of being watched, analysed and the possibility of being wrong. When you care about doing well, the stakes can feel even higher and your mind starts preparing for the worst-possible outcome.
Public speaking is hard. And just doing it no matter how well you think it went is an achievement itself. If you stood up there and got through it, even if it felt messy or overwhelming, that still counts for something.
It doesn’t mean it gets easier overnight. Even now, I still feel that same build-up before presenting. But each time, I get through it even when it feels awful just so I can prove to myself that I can do it.
Because pushing through something that scares you that much? That’s something to be proud of.
