I had a panic attack during a presentation. Here’s what it taught me.
Almost 5 years ago, 20-year-old Dezzy was giving a presentation in her college PR class.
Looking around the room, my eyes got fuzzy. My throat was ridiculously dry, and every sentence that I had vividly memorized started to fade in and out of grasp. Eventually, I simply had to stop and address what was happening.
“I’m sorry everyone, I-
I think I’m having…a panic attack?”
A water bottle got passed up to the front of the room from an unknown provider, and I took that opportunity to think about what was happening. I sipped the water. Something felt off, incongruent with who I really am. Why was I nervous? I know all these people, this professor adores me, and I have a damn good project to show. I’m bound to get an A just for standing up here. So what was the problem?
We have to go back to 6-year old Dezzy to unpack this.
Childhood
During a profound meditation a few nights ago, I could vividly remember the worldview I possessed when I was between the ages of 5–7. I remember being talkative and confident. I perceived myself as likable and even “popular” amongst my baby-faced peer group. I remember feeling like I was one of the smartest in the class, that adults were fond of me, and that I was an overall catch of a person.
In elementary schools I gave long, memorized presentations and speeches as school functions. (I was told that I had a natural public speaking ability, and I wanted to live-up to this distinction). I’d do the morning announcements every morning of 4th grade, where’d I’d dress as my mad scientist alter ego “Professor Jones,” equipped with a long white lab coat, a tape measure as a belt, and lab goggles. I’d excitedly go on the school television and tell everyone what phase the moon was in, or what form of precipitation to expect that day.
I was happy to be seen. I thought I should be seen. I enjoyed exploring my potential and dreaming about it at every chance I got.
Somewhere along the line, something changed.
Getting Older
A shift happened when I got to college, and a few years thereafter. I don’t know if it was the newfound freedom of “adulthood” or the feeling that the world was my oyster that stifled me mentally. I became hyper-aware (and fixated on) of my outer perception.
I was no longer a child: No longer living robustly and vibrantly, coasting off of the energy of my own vitality.
Instead, I became an adult who was trying to survive. Trying to rank, to get ahead. Below is a table to illustrate the fundamental differences in my worldview at 6 years old vs 20 years old.
Why I Panicked
After reflecting, I know why I froze during the presentation.
So many people were looking at me, and, moment by moment, I was trying to predict the future. I was trying to rigidly control the outcome of the presentation by hitting every mark perfectly.
Let’s make sure I don’t stutter.
Let’s make sure my posture is correct.
Let’s make sure I keep good eye contact.
It required so much mental energy (too much, it turns out) trying to forge and sustain a particular perception of myself.
When I was a child I had more confidence and optimism when I wasn’t trying to be seen in a particular way. I knew who I was. There was no sense of competition or desperation. There was no need to try to be anything.
If you’re hyper-focused on making sure you don’t stutter, or that your hair is falling correctly, then you aren’t able to hyper focus on what you should be focused on–communicating your message, demonstrating your project, doing the work. It’s taxing on the mind to be in constant surveyance of the self.
Focus on the work, get into the flow of the work, fall into the work, and completely disconnect from how you look while doing it.
Dealing with the Panic
Gratefully, after taking a sip of a classmate’s water, I remembered myself.
I owned up to the feeling I was having, apologized to the class for the blunder, and decided to go back to that 6-year old Dezzy, right there.
I literally flushed the pre-written script out of my head, flowed off the cuff, and, in the process, stumbled upon organic jokes and opportunities to make the presentation more fun.
I’ll never forget how that switch felt. The juxtaposition of it all.
It showed me that my 6-year old self had still been living inside me, patiently waiting to get back in the mix.
There’s more to explore.
I make content to help people identify the mental blockages that prevent them from doing great work.
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