The Night I Found My Voice at Toastmasters

I’d been living in my new country for a few months when I first stumbled across the name Toastmasters. It popped up in conversations with a co-worker and I felt a spark of curiosity… followed almost instantly by a wave of dread.

A public speaking club?
In a foreign country?
In a culture I was still adjusting to?

Absolutely not.

At least, that’s what I told myself—right up until the day I found myself asking, “can I come check it out?”

The Anxiety Before the Door

The night of the meeting, my heart was doing gymnastics. I stood outside the building, staring at the door like it was a gate to another dimension.

What are you doing here?
You’re going to embarrass yourself.
You don’t belong here.

The usual chorus.

I considered turning around—twice. But something kept me rooted. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was just the exhaustion of running from fear of change for so long.

So I took a breath, held it longer than necessary, and finally walked in.

The Warmest Room I Didn’t Expect

I was prepared for a room full of polished speakers in suits, sipping confidence like it was espresso. What I found instead was a group of ordinary people laughing, chatting, arranging chairs, eating snacks and sipping beverages—each of them warm in a way that instantly lowered my shoulders.

Someone greeted me before I even sat down.
Someone else smiled and handed me an agenda.
Within minutes, I wasn’t a stranger—I was a guest, welcomed without hesitation.

The meeting started, and I watched in awe. People gave speeches with shaky hands. Others delivered evaluations with encouragement rather than criticism. A first-time speaker forgot half her points but kept going anyway as the room snapped supportive finger-clicks.

It wasn’t perfect.
It was human.
Beautifully, courageously human.

The Moment It Clicked

During the Table Topics section—the impromptu speaking part—I could almost hear my pulse. Guests weren’t required to participate, and I had every intention of melting into my chair like spilled tea.

But as I listened to others stand up and speak, something inside me shifted.

They weren’t fearless.
They weren’t flawless.
They were just… trying. And the room celebrated effort more than skill.

For the first time, public speaking didn’t look like a performance.
It looked like growth. I decided to jump in and volunteer to answer a table topics question. I don’t know how I did but I was just proud of myself for showing up and doing it.

Walking Out Different Than I Walked In

By the end of the meeting, I realized I didn’t do anything brave on the outside.

But something brave happened inside me.

As we wrapped up, the club president asked each guest how they felt. When it was my turn, I surprised myself by saying:

“I think this is exactly the challenge I’ve been looking for.”

And I meant it.

Riding my bike home that night, the air felt lighter. I felt lighter.
I’d walked into that meeting feeling terrified, and walked out feeling… ready.

Not ready to be perfect.
Not ready to be fearless.
But ready to begin.

And sometimes, that’s the most powerful kind of readiness there is.