That Thing Where Your Voice Shakes in Meetings (And Why Fighting It Makes It Worse)
Tuesday morning. Brad asks me to "walk everyone through Q3 real quick."
Real quick.
My chest gets tight. Voice starts doing that shaky thing like I'm about to cry even though I'm just terrified of spreadsheets I literally created myself. Speed-read through slides while gripping the clicker so hard it left marks. Karen from HR took notes. Brad did his concerned face (which looks exactly like his constipated face btw).
Sat in the parking lot for 20 minutes eating vending machine Cheetos and googling "how to fake your own death and start over in Vermont."
This wasn't new. Been doing variations of the shake-voice thing since my first job at that terrible startup where the CEO made us do trust falls every Monday. Always the same:
Tried everything. Power poses in the bathroom (caught by Brad once, never recovered). Meditation apps that told me to "breathe into my anxiety" which... what does that even mean? Beta blockers from my doctor that made me feel like a zombie who still had presentation anxiety but now also couldn't feel my face.
Then my therapist said something that pissed me off.
"What if you stopped trying to not be anxious?"
I'm sorry, WHAT? I'm paying you $150 an hour to tell me to just... keep being anxious? Thanks for nothing, Lauren.
But then she explained this thing about how fighting anxiety actually makes it worse. Like your amygdala (panic brain) sees you fighting and thinks "oh shit, this must be REALLY dangerous if we're fighting this hard" and doubles down. Confidence & Calm Under Pressure actually teaches this—it's like quicksand. The more you struggle, the faster you sink.
She mentioned some app. Mind Hack Lab or something. I ignored her because I was still mad about the "stop trying" comment.
But then Tuesday happened. And when you're googling "jobs that don't require speaking" at 2 AM, you know something needs to change.
Downloaded it at 2:47 AM. First thing it did was make me map out my actual triggers. Not just "presentations" but specifically what about them. Turns out it wasn't all presentations. Just ones where:
- Brad was there (sensing a theme)
- I hadn't prepared for questions
- Senior people were watching
- I was put on the spot
Then it taught me this paradoxical acceptance thing where instead of trying to stop the shaking, you literally tell yourself "I'm going to shake and that's okay."
Which sounds like giving up but apparently your brain can't maintain panic when you're not fighting it? Again, not a neuroscientist. Just someone whose voice doesn't sound like a broken blender anymore.
Next day. Brad pulls his classic "can you just quickly update everyone on..." move.
Chest got tight. But this time I just... let it? Told myself "voice might shake, that's fine." Started talking.
And... my voice shook. For like 10 seconds. Then it just... stopped?
Not because I forced it to stop. But because I wasn't fighting it. My stupid anxiety brain got bored when I stopped struggling and moved on.
Made it through the whole update. Even answered Brad's follow-up questions without dissociating. Nobody took notes. Nobody asked if I was okay. Just a normal Wednesday where I did my job without having a breakdown.
Revolutionary.
Still get anxious. Still hate presenting to Brad (still hate Brad tbh). Sometimes my voice still does the thing. But I'm not afraid of the anxiety anymore. Recovery takes minutes, not hours. No more parking lot Cheetos shame spirals.
Actually scratch that—I still eat Cheetos in my car sometimes but now it's just because I like Cheetos.
Recent research shows workplace disengagement costs $8.8 trillion globally. But you know what else kills productivity? Spending half your meetings fighting your own voice box.
Ready to Stop Fighting Your Own Voice?
If you're reading this at 3 AM because you can't stop replaying that meeting where your voice betrayed you... maybe try the thing that actually helps. 30 minutes. Real techniques that work with your nervous system instead of against it.
Worst case, you waste half an hour. Best case, you stop being afraid of your own voice.
P.S. — Brad still sucks but at least now I can present to him without sounding like I'm delivering financial forecasts while riding a mechanical bull.
