It was a nightmare. I prepared for my seminar in advance: reading the assigned texts, highlighting, analyzing and rereading until I got a grasp of the subject. I understood the lecture. I felt confident. Then the conversation started, or worse, the tutor asked, “Are there any questions?” and my brain was wiped clean.

I wish I could tell you that it was just a bad dream or that I only had to relive that scenario a few times during my first year of uni. I want to say that I discovered an easy fix and it never happened again but my story required me to slay a couple of dragons before I could claim my victory. The first of those was my perfectionism.

A hideous beast, it slithered up my arm and rested on my shoulder in order to whisper its poison in my ear.

It is a stupid question.

Everyone is going to judge you.

You’re going to make a bad impression.

I listened to its deceits and silenced myself for longer than I care to admit. Then one day, fed up and frustrated, I went to class determined to say something – anything – and I told myself if it was stupid, or people laughed, I wouldn’t care. I armed myself with lies.

Of course, I cared and perfectionism knew it too. It bombarded me with self-doubt. My hands got sweaty, my throat dried up, and my heart beat so fast I had trouble sitting still. When my moment came, it screamed in my ear. Still, I raised my hand.

I don’t remember what I said or asked. The detail that stuck in my head was the fact that nothing bad happened as a result. I didn’t even succeed in asking a stupid question and in hindsight it all makes sense. I’d prepared for that class; I knew what I was talking about. My thoughts were relevant and they mattered.

The next hurdle was subtler. I am, and always will be, an introvert. It is a preferred mode of being, not a defining, unmalleable characteristic. As a result, it means I tend to reflect before speaking. Being an introvert has helped me in many ways but it was less useful in a class full of extroverts.

Ideas popped into my head but I lacked the actual space to share them. I tried to wait patiently for everyone else to share their thoughts but a moment of silence where I could interject never appeared. My responses got lost and the conversation moved on. I couldn’t think fast enough. I became intimidated by the enthusiasm of my peers. I needed to change the way I prepared for battle.

Instead of trying to come up with questions and make connection on the spot in class, I created a ‘cheat sheet’ ahead of time. I noted down key points of interest, at least three questions and any connections I’d observed. It worked. When the discussion was opened up, I was suddenly one of the first with my hand up and if I had to wait for others to finish their thoughts I didn’t lose track of my own.

Discovering how I needed to prepare for seminars, changed my experience of them. I still have days where perfectionism will whisper its doubts in my ear but the voice is quieter. There will always be someone in my class who intimidates me but I’ve learned that their insight doesn’t devalue my own. In fact, it helps me grow and it motivates me to share my thoughts in the hope they might spark an idea in another.

I will always be the most comfortable as an observer, listening and absorbing the knowledge shared, but the heady thrill of contributing to a seminar can’t be beat.

Are There Any Questions: Contributing and Speaking in Seminars

Severed Heads and Sunken Statues

Dissertations: or, the Art of Knowing Yourself