It’s 6.30 pm and I’ve had a busy week preparing for a Professional Speaking Association meeting tomorrow in which I have a 5 minute speaking slot. In front of people who book speakers. Next week, I’m talking at my old Grammar School and later on in the summer at the BBC and a regional PSA group. Why am I telling you this?
Well, it’s because, in preparing for the first of these, I’ve faced up to one of my demons and, in writing this, I’m facing up to another. This latter is about never counting your chickens. The original demon is speaking without prompts. I wrote the prompts and did dry runs at home. No problem. Unfortunately, the moment I put the prompts to one side, I didn’t exactly dry up; rather my mind went a blank and I forgot everything. No matter how hard I tried (and I did for two days) I had no joy. As you can imagine, I got worried. In the end, I thought “Sod it” I’m just going to do it anyway.
Now, fortunately I see a therapist every so often and I went to see Stevie on Thursday. To cut a long story short during the session, she asked me what my talk was about and I said “Me” before describing it in detail. At the end, she smiled, as did I, her ruse had worked. Not, however, before taking me into a real dark place in my childhood. It left me shaking in fear until I felt my way out. The cause of my anxiety came into my mind and, with that, it largely faded away. A weight has been lifted me and, although I feel apprehensive about tomorrow, it is the normal apprehension that anyone in those circumstances might feel.
“Fingers crossed” he said, not wanting to count his chickens!