Physics class, the first year of middle school.

It was a big day — the headmaster was visiting. Naturally, the teacher had to show off, so she rolled out a list of experiments and a few “surprise” tasks. 

All that was left? Pick a kid at random to run the show in front of everyone.

And of course, the honor went to me.

It shouldn’t have been a problem. I’d done these before in primary school, and I even found them fun back then.

But as I stood up, something felt off.

What’s that tightness in my throat? And why are my hands shaking more and more the closer I get to the whiteboard?

By the time I reached the front, I was trembling so badly that I could barely handle the equipment. The teacher asked me an easy question, and my mind went blank.

I felt humiliated but I shrugged it off. Just one bad day, right?

Yeah... no.

That was the start of something much bigger.

Stage Fright And Me — the Unexpected Pair

Let’s start with a definition — the one that made the most sense to me:

Stage fright is a form of performance anxiety that strikes when someone is about to speak, perform, or present in front of an audience.

That moment in physics class? It marked the beginning of my battle with it.

And after all these years I still don’t know what triggered it. I used to be a confident kid. I answered questions in class. I even joined the Drama Club. I liked performing.

But no matter the reason, that was my new life. Something had shifted and it wasn’t coming back.

Someone asking me a question in public? Panic.

Even hearing my name during attendance — which happened multiple times a day — felt like fighting for my life.

I didn’t know what was wrong. But I knew one thing:

I needed to do something. 

My Escape Plan (Age 14)

So I started skipping school and smoking on the side. Pretty bold for a 14-year-old. 

My parents were furious as you can imagine. I used to be a perfect student. Now we were fighting almost every day.

But here’s the thing: I felt better. Being hated is better than being laughed at, right?

Eventually, they stopped caring as much about my failing grades. I calmed down a bit, too.

But the fear? Still there.

Whenever a presentation was coming up — I’d disappear.

Or when there were those group sessions with school psychologists. Public speaking, over and over again, but this time about personal stuff? That was a nightmare.

My grades were garbage, though I still did well on tests. Good enough to get into a decent college.

But the problem didn’t go away. It just followed me.

First Fight — Me vs. My Demons

College was fun. Except for one thing — the presentations. 

There were more of them now, and I handled them the same way I always had: I ran.

But after a few successful escapes, I hit a wall. 

Do the presentation — or fail the course.

To this day I wonder where the courage came from. I made a PowerPoint and practiced a lot. Walked to class.

I can still picture the door. I stood before it completely frozen. Heart pounding. Palms slick.

Then I pushed it open.

And you know what?

It was incredible. All my fears were gone — I stood before a class full of people with confidence. Everyone laughed at my jokes. I even got compliments afterward.

Just kidding. 

It was awful.

My hands were shaking, and my voice cracked more than once. I barely remember half of what I said.

When I walked back to my seat people smiled like they felt sorry for me.

Weirdly though, I was too overstimulated to feel embarrassed. It felt like something in me wanted to spare me the pain. 

Hitting the Plateau 

I did a few more presentations in college, and they went… okay. I wasn’t exactly the star of the show, but I held it together. 

Eventually, I graduated. And that felt like a win.

Finding a job wasn’t hard. It was 2019 — a good year to be getting into software development. I landed my first programming gig.

It seemed fine. Sure, it was a little stressful — first adult job and all — but it felt manageable.

Then came the company’s weird little tradition.

From time to time, they’d hold all-hands meetings. And what they did there? Every new hire had to go on stage and introduce themselves.

People pushed me forward. Don’t worry, you’ll be great.

I wasn’t.

It was worse than my first college presentation. My voice wouldn’t cooperate. I still remember the look on their faces — surprised, like, Oh… so it doesn’t go well for everyone.

That moment stayed with me. I felt weirdly unique — everyone else did a good job so I must be… special.

After that? Nothing. The job was quiet. I coded. I kept my head down. No client work, no presentations.

I felt safe. And that was enough for a while.

But deep down, I wanted something more.

Matt the Presenter (Ready or Not)

Hi Matt, our company places a strong emphasis on client interaction. In addition to programming, you'll work closely with stakeholders to define project requirements and conduct product presentations for clients.

Are you ready to take that job?

I nodded. 

After two and a half years of staying purely technical, I needed a change.

With each passing year, the fear grew deeper. It was now or never.

The first few months were easy. Turned out, they didn’t even have a project for me yet. I worked on some internal tools with other devs — quiet, stress-free stuff.

It gave me space to adjust. To breathe.

But then the project came.

Before that first client meeting, I was a wreck. I lost two days to stress, spinning in my head, pacing in my room.

But I showed up. And it was… okay-ish.

I survived.

The next one wasn’t any easier. My hands still shook. My voice still hesitated.

But I did it.

And over time, something started to shift.

I built a little trust in myself — enough to stress just a little less the next time.

And even less after that.

My Stage Fright Update

So… did I beat it?

Hell no.

Funny how the brain works. The fix was... situational.

I first rediscovered that anxiety during an emotional intelligence workshop. The company sent me — it was required for a senior position. The session was in Polish. The topic wasn’t technical.

My brain flipped the switch. Same stress reaction. Same tight throat. Same urge to run.

Later I took a writing course - and guess what? My throat tightened all the way. I could barely say hello.

Turned out, I’m brave only in presentations conducted in English and focused on software development.

But here’s the thing:

I don’t care that much anymore.

So what if I’m anxious? I’ve still done things I’m proud of. I’ve built things, shared ideas, and kept going even when my brain screamed no.

Panic attacks on stage? Just one small part of the story. Every failure was worth the price that came after it.

I’m still struggling. But if I hadn’t fought?

My life would be a shell of what it is now.

Conclusion

Stage fright is common. For most people, it’s manageable — a bit of nerves, a bit of adrenaline.

But for some of us, it’s more than that.

If you’re one of us? Fight it.

It will wear you down. You’ll fail more than once. But I promise — nothing good waits for you on the other side of avoidance.

A Few Personal Tips:

• Breathing and calming exercises can help with small stress. But if you’re teetering on the edge of panic, it’s like throwing pebbles at a tank.
• Cigarettes work — but they’ll take more than they give. Using them to manage fear is a fast track to addiction. Don’t start.
• Sleep. Hydration. Food. Movement. If your body is drained, your brain won’t stand a chance.

That’s all. It wasn’t easy sharing this, but honesty rarely is. I hope it resonated.

See you in the next post.