When Your Brain Becomes Your Worst Hype Man

Let me set the scene. It's the night before my first real talk. Not a Zoom call. Not a chat with my cat. A live, 30-minute talk to a room full of women entrepreneurs who were expecting, you know, someone who had their life together.

And my brain? Oh, my brain had THOUGHTS.

"What are you doing?" it whispered to me at 2 AM. "You've never given a talk before. What makes you think you can pull this off? Remember when you were a kid and mom sent you to Jewel to order a pound of cole slaw? You practiced it so many times, 'one pound of cole slaw, one pound of cole slaw'—that when they finally called your number, you opened your mouth and said, 'I want one pound of CO SAW.' The deli lady stared at you. 'What?' You tried again. 'I'd like one pound of CO SAW.' Everyone was looking. You were in full-blown panic mode, words completely gone, until she finally said, 'Are you looking for cole slaw?' YES! And then she asked which kind, olive and vinegar or mayo—and you had absolutely no idea because your mom hadn't told you and you were still recovering from the CO SAW incident. Remember that? THIS WILL BE LIKE THAT BUT WORSE."

Ah yes, that familiar pre-performance pep talk from the ADHD brain, equal parts motivational speaker and doomsday narrator.

As I lay in bed, my brain wasn't just whispering, it was hosting a Fear & Catastrophe TED Talk of its own. Every "what if"  came to my mind. What if I forget my speech? What if the mic doesn't work? What if I trip walking up the stairs and make my own grand debut? (Yes, that would be Karma) 

The Weight Loss Hypnosis Incident (Or: When Cheese Wins)

And that thought instantly reminded me of the time I went to a weight-loss hypnosis seminar years ago. They asked for a volunteer to come up to the stage.  One very  enthusiastic participant sprinted to the stage... only to trip up the stairs! She  went down like a cartoon character in slow motion, arms flailing. I remember laughing so hard because that so could have been me. Everyone finally stopped laughing, and yes, the eager volunteer was laughing too.

And here's where it gets Peak ADHD: Everyone settled down and got real serious. You had to think of a specific food, use imagery. I immediately went to cheese because it's one of my favorite foods. As we were being guided through the hypnosis, I realized I had to get more specific on which type of cheese. I was feeling stressed, and every time I tried to focus, my brain refused to cooperate. I was still cracking up inside about the poor woman face-planting. And to top it off, I couldn't even decide what specific cheese I wanted to give up. Apparently, cheddar, brie, and parmesan and american  were all invited to stay. I could only think of Limburger, and I've never even tried it.

Let's just say the cheese hypnosis didn't work. 

So now here I was, the night before my big talk, thinking, "What if I become that person? What if I trip up the stairs in front of everyone?" My brain, always the overachiever, was serving up comedy and catastrophes in 4K replay.

But deep down, I knew this was the perfect real-life example of what I teach, focus, energy, and follow-through. If I listened to my fear, I'd shrink back. But instead, I told my brain: "Thanks for your concern, but I've got this. It's now time to get some sleep."

The Morning Of: Chaos, Coffee, and Zero Deep Breaths

Now, you'd think the morning of your first big talk would start peacefully, maybe with affirmations, coffee, and a little quiet time to visualize success.

Nope.

My daughter woke up sick and couldn't go to school. My son decided to "lay down for five more minutes"... and overslept. So instead of calm and collected, I was running around in full mom-mode, taking her temperature, while trying to get my son out the door so he wouldn't miss the bus, while  trying to convince my body that now was not the time to rehearse its fight-or-flight routine.

The Moment You Could Play Small (But Don't)

This is where the story could have gone differently. This is the part where I could have listened to that voice, found a convenient excuse (Family emergency? Car won’t start), and played it safe.

But I didn't.

By the time I got in the car to head to the event, I was already worked up. And that's when my brain started spinning out its greatest hits again, those classic moments of childhood embarrassment and misplaced focus.

I played "This is Me" from The Greatest Showman. I love that song. and I was relieved when I reminded myself that I wasn't about to perform a trapeze act or have to start juggling. I started to laugh and slowly began to relax.

Show Time (And Everything Goes Blurry)

When my time came, I walked up to that stage. I felt this wave of gratitude for the audience that had shown up. These women who had taken time out of their days to be there. I gave myself the world's most reassuring pep talk: "It's okay. You just do the best you can."

I started my speech.

I looked up to make eye contact with the crowd.

And that's when I realized my vision was completely blurry.

Like, couldn't-see-anybody, everything-is-a-blob blurry.

Plot Twist: The Upside of Temporary Blindness

You know that old advice about imagining your audience naked to calm your nerves? Well, good news! No need to worry about that when you literally cannot see anyone in the crowd. Problem solved!

Except... my brain immediately jumped to: "I'm about to pass out."

Vasovagal response. That had to be it. My vision was blurry, energy was racing through my body, my heart was beating like I'd just run a marathon, and I could feel my face turning the color of a fire truck.

My focus immediately shifted to: WHAT IS WRONG? SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

"This would be the worst place to have a vasovagal episode. Seriously, body, now?! After all the prep, coffee, and pep talks? You're just going to face-plant right here on stage?"

I focused on my breathing and why I was there. I was hoping that this was just my body's way of trying to keep me safe, and that I could handle it.

The Decision to Show Up (Even When You Can't See Straight)

But here's the thing about focus, energy, and follow-through. Here's where it matters.

I thought: It's important that you show up. You show up for those women who are here to listen. And you show up for yourself.

So I kept going. Speech continued, vision still blurry. Every minute, I kept hoping my eyesight would return. Every minute, wondering if this was it, the moment I'd become a meme on social media. 

And then I heard it.

Laughter.

I had put some humor in my speech, and people were actually laughing. Even though I couldn't see them, I could hear them. And that sound? That was everything. Calming. Reassuring. A lifeline.

So I kept going.

The Ending I Didn't See Coming (Literally)

I made it to the end. The response was incredible, laughter, clapping, engagement. People were smiling. I could feel their energy, even if I couldn't quite see them yet.

I looked up and removed my glasses to wipe the sweat from my nose (because apparently I'd been sweating? Who knew?).

And my vision had returned.

My. Vision. Had. Returned.

Apparently, anxiety, adrenaline, and readers are a powerful combo.

The After-Lesson (Or: Why Reading Glasses Are Not Stage Glasses)

And here's where my love of learning strength really got to shine. Because in that moment, I learned two important things:

1. Do not wear readers while giving a talk. (Turns out, they only help you see things close up, not the audience you're trying to connect with. Who knew?)

2. Even when your body is screaming "danger, danger, abort mission!"you can still choose to show up. Our brains and bodies mean well, they're just trying to protect us. But sometimes "safe" and "small" are the same thing.

That day, I learned that trusting yourself, even through the blur, leads to clarity on the other side. You're capable of far more than you can imagine—even when all you can see are fuzzy outlines.

And hey, if you don't want to see the audience, maybe wear some readers. 😉

Confession time, tell me in the comments below: what's something you've done recently that scared you—but you did it anyway? I promise to cheer louder than your inner hype gremlin.