Presentation Nerves, Training Fears and Raspberry Tea.

So, I’m up there, at the head of a big conference room in a moderately smart hotel, just outside of Aberdeen. A large projector screen is lit up behind me displaying a slightly off-colour interpretation of a slide-show presentation that, frankly, I should be able to do in my sleep by now.

Through the glare of the projector, I can see that twenty-something delegates have now taken their seats around the room. Typically, they have left the two rows of chairs closest to me empty in a process of filling from the back that we learn as children and, let’s be honest, most of us never actually grow out of.

They sit there, talking among themselves, with the occasional nod in my direction. While most of this group are smiling, some are very-much-not-smiling at this stage. I've identified a few I feel that I will need to draw in to the session (my "reluctant learners") and a separate few that I can probably rely on to cooperate if I require delegate interaction.

The air is filled with the smell of cheap coffee and the feeling of anticipation. Despite the smell, it's at least a positive feeling; it suggests that they are here to learn.

My head is currently processing other things for now though.

The room is far too big.

There are no biscuits to go with the drinks.

The second microphone that the hotel has provided me with doesn’t work either.

Despite years of experience training, mentoring and presenting across several industries, in numerous settings, covering a multitude of different topics, I am nervous. Even before the delegates started filing into the room, I was nervous.

Every time I prepare to deliver any session, I am always nervous.

Every time.

It was a conversation with another trainer regarding this that sparked my thoughts around those nerves and led me to think of that particular seminar.

I consider myself a good trainer and if the feedback I receive from my delegates following each session is anything to go by, I am still being modest in declaring this.

However, that doesn't seem to stop fear setting in before every single session.

The conversation had initially been around other things that had happened that day, including raspberry tea, which naturally (you'll appreciate why if you make it to the end of this article) led to discussing my nerves.

She asked me if I usually get nervous in my profession.

I told her that I did, to varying degrees.

She doesn’t get nervous anymore, she tells me.

She is in “full control” of the situation.

She’s “prepared”, “eager”, “keen” and she’s apparently several other buzz words too and takes her time to list them all at me.

I suspect that she’s also skirting the truth. I don't doubt the validity of those qualities she has described in herself particularly, but it's clear she's trying to dodge admitting to a potential blight in her ability.

While it might be that I am wrong and she did not in fact feel any further fear of her role, I suspect that she denied her nerves out of concern that it would make her seem incomplete as a trainer. Having seen her work first hand, this could not be further from the truth. But I also saw her prior to her own delivery and she did not come over as the temple of calm she might imagined herself to have been.

My speculative thoughts brought me to this question: Might she have been ashamed of her nerves?

Are nerves something to be ashamed of?

I don’t think they should be, to be honest. The more I think about it in fact, I am glad that I still feel that urge to drop my shoulders and hide myself into a dark corner somewhere.

I never will, of course. I've learnt that if you can manage it, a bit of fear will keep you alert. Your finger will be on that pacey pulse so that when there is risk of things going south, you are ready for it.

Being nervous also means that when you succeed (and you will) the taste of that success is so much more satisfying. After all, anyone can face challenges that they aren’t afraid of; that’s not really being brave. Just doing things that you aren't intimidated by is easy and I personally don’t think there is too much satisfaction to be had from doing easy all of the time.

Bravery is accomplishing despite your fears. That’s something to be proud of. That’s the one that counts.

For me, I think there is something else that these nerves do. They acknowledge things that I kind of know already, but still find comfort to get confirmation in from time-to-time.

This still challenges me.

I’m still pushing myself.

I still care.

That last one is the ace of spades. Standing up in front of the twenty-something delegates, I know that I care.

I care that the first thirty seconds have already passed and I perhaps haven’t given them the perfect first impression I’d have liked to achieve.

I care that the projector is inferior, that the room is not ideal and that the hotel forgot to put out biscuits.

I care that the people at the back might not hear me and I can't shout for the next three hours.

I care that this training session won’t be easy, that I am responsible for my delegates and that at the end of the session, I care that I will have, again, turned an often misunderstood emotion into a strength.

There is nothing wrong with being nervous about doing anything. In fact, I’m going to suggest that these nerves will make you a better trainer, consultant, manager, food historian, or whatever it is you are striving to be.

So use them.

Stepping out from the pedestal, because I don’t want anything hiding me from the delegates that should be able to trust me, shoulders back, chin up and arms out a little for some irrelevant dramatic effect that will however pull the audience away from their private conversations, I defy an emotion that might have sought to cripple me and use it to my advantage in delivering the best session of my life, again.

The best session of my life.

Actually, truth be told, on this particular occasion, I knocked a raspberry tea from the table beside me with one of my arms, it of course covered the bottom of my crisp white shirt in a lovely pinkish hue, much to the satisfaction of my audience.

Well, on one hand, they are all smiling now.

“Now that you know I’m nothing to be scared of,” I declare defiantly in a quick, but steady recovery. “You’ll all be happy to move forward two rows and fill the void between us?”

Interestingly, they were, which helped solve the microphone problem as well.

Two problems solved and strangely, my nerves are already starting to subdue again.

So, the next time you’re nervous, remember that they are your emotions to use. They remind you that you are challenging yourself and that they will keep you alert.

They show that you care.

You care about the consequences, you care enough to be nervous.

And it could be worse, you could also be covered in raspberry tea...

Steven Musham.