It was a Tuesday much like any other in Los Angeles - the sun was shining at a balmy 75 degrees, people were milling about happily...it was a normal day. I woke up in a decent mood, despite the fact that I only got four hours of sleep last night - I thought, eh, it happens.
The only thing that was not good about today was the fact that I had a presentation to do in my seminar class (for my senior thesis). I mean, the concept of this presentation didn't ruin my entire day; no, it takes something big like a midterm/paper/final/the cafeteria being out of pb&j (come on, they make it with Jif and who doesn't love Jif??) to do something like that. The only thing was - is - that I am a terrible public speaker. Yes, terrible.
Terrible.
TERRIBLE.
T
E
R
R
I
B
L
E
Like, bury your face in second-hand embarrassment terrible.
I think you get the picture.
Anyway, like the devoted student I am, I prepared my presentation well the night before, practicing to myself with my stopwatch, making sure I touched on all the right points, etc etc. I just knew I was going to do well - I was going to nail this one. (It also didn't help that I had a presentation last week too for this same class and if it were possible to fall flat on my face while standing still I would have...)
I actually went to class today looking forward to presenting my primary source(s) for my thesis project. I felt surprisingly confident to the point where I was disappointed when my professor told us we were going in alphabetical order, leaving me in the bottom four presenters. It was a weird first experience for me to say the least. As the students before me all went - and did very well mind you - I started feeling shakier and shakier, but not in a bad way like typical me. Seriously, I just wanted to stand up and say "LET ME GO I'M READY I'M SO READY I'M GONNA KICK THIS THING'S BUTT AND BE THE BEST THERE EVER WAS."
Haha.
Eventually, after what felt like hours but was really only about 45 minutes, it was my turn. I stood up - still feeling great - handed out copies of my notes to everyone, and made my way to the front of the classroom. I opened my mouth. I spoke.
"As you know, my topic is on the various representations of Queen Elizabeth I in film in the 20th and 21st centuries."
And then it happened.
"...20th and 21st centuries."
Erin, you dumbass THERE WERE NO REAL MOVIES BEFORE THE 20TH CENTURY. I messed up. Instead of saying "...from 1955 to present," I said "in the 20th and 21st centuries."
Oh no.
I messed up.
I messed up big time.
From that point on, I was thrown off. The room felt like it was spinning around me; there were all these eyes staring at me, from my girlfriends to the cute boy in the back (who I'm sure just I charmed the hell out of), and for a moment I could have sworn I heard the professor's voice in my head: what is she doing?
I had a whole slew of notes in front of me, right down to the actual article I was to explain. But as I looked down at them the words danced on the page - not in a dyslexic sort of way, but in an "I'm going to have a panic attack" sort of way. I wondered if any of the other students were asking themselves if I was okay, because I just stood there, saying "um" over and over and over...what was my next point supposed to be? Was it about the abundance of female sexuality in the New York Times review article about Elizabeth: The Golden Age (2007)? Was it about the modern concept of a single woman in power? I had not a clue.
I looked down, wishing I could melt into the floor, or fold myself into a teeny tiny little box where no one could see me. I was embarrassed and had no idea how to get out of the hole I had - however unintentionally - dug myself into without giving in to my looming panic attack. But I pressed on.
"The...the start of the article says..."
No! No no no! I was supposed to talk about that quote at the end! They don't need to know about Elizabeth's legs yet!
I managed to get through the first quote of the article, stammering on words that used to have meaning to me but now just felt like pennies in my mouth.
"Am I allowed to cry in public?" I thought to myself. "No, no I can't do that. I was raised not to do that." I was Mia from The Princess Diaries; the girl who runs out of class to vomit when she's forced to speak in front of everyone.
Luckily, the tears - or the obnoxious lump that forms in the back of your throat - never came (nor did the vomit)...because my professor saved me.
"Erin," she said calmly, like she hadn't noticed a thing wrong with me. "Tell us how you can use this article in your project. What purpose does it serve?"
Purpose...purpose...ah ha! I could answer that.
"I'm comparing this movie review to one written in 1955 on another movie about Queen Elizabeth, and using them to discuss the progression in female sexuality, and focus of the woman in film."
Exhale.
Students began raising their hands to ask me questions. This was good - I could handle their questions because it gave me structure, kept me out of my own head. Some of them even smiled at me - even better. Once I finished, even though I knew I was probably thinking way further into it than my peers, all I wanted to do - once again - was crawl into that teeny tiny little box and hang out there for like the rest of my life.
You see, the thing is, I wasn't always bad at presentations. Yeah I would forget paragraphs here and there when I was little, or I would stutter on a word or two in high school, but I was actually okay at it. But for some reason, once college hit, God was just like BAM! You're gonna suck at presentations now and I'm gonna make you work SO much harder so that you DON'T suck anymore.
Well thanks a lot. It's working.
Maybe it's just because it's my senior thesis and my graduation from college depends on it, I don't know. There's just something about this seminar class that turns me into a squirmy little guppy when it's my turn to present any information. I'm sure Professor Stone is super pleased about that too.
I need to find my confidence. I need to have more faith in myself. I need to figure out how to stop needing this teeny tiny little box to save me from situations like HIST 490. For now I've actually decided to call it the "teeny tiny little senior seminar box," because it seems to have taken up residence in seminar class for now, and to tell you the truth...
I've never been very good at kicking things out.
~Erin
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