Embracing My Butterflies: Finding My Voice
There are some fears that quietly shape our lives for years. For me, it was public speaking.
Growing up, the idea of standing in front of a group — especially people who had teased me in school — would make my cheeks twitch and my eyelids flicker. It wasn’t just nerves; it was a wave of dread that would hang over me for days. I learned early on to avoid situations that would make me the centre of attention.
I told myself I was a behind-the-curtains kind of person. That I was meant to help from the sidelines, never the spotlight. I even chose my career path in health care in part because I thought it meant I’d never have to speak publicly.
But after my second separation, something in me shifted. I started to see all the places fear had quietly dictated my decisions. It hit me one day: if I didn’t face this, I’d never be able to speak at my children’s weddings. I’d never have the strength to stand at a loved one’s funeral and say the words that mattered most.
I realized I’d let fear narrate too many chapters of my story. And I wanted to change that.
Stepping into the Arena
I joined Toastmasters, terrified but determined. Those early meetings weren’t pretty — my heart pounded, my breath caught in my chest, and I stumbled through more than a few speeches. But slowly, something started to shift. Toastmasters helped me plan, prepare, and get desensitized to being the centre of attention..
And then came the next layer of growth: improv. Unlike Toastmasters, there’s no script, no safety net. It forced me to let go of control, to laugh at myself, to trust the moment. Between the structure of Toastmasters and the playfulness of improv, I started to find a new kind of strength — the kind that comes from leaning into the fear instead of running from it.
A Week I’ll Never Forget
When my brother Grant asked me to speak at his wedding to Sherrie, I said yes. That moment was a test of everything I’d been working toward.
The timing was poetic. Just days before the wedding, my son Colin was turning sixteen, and I decided to take him and my daughter Alanna bungee jumping in Quebec. It wasn’t just a birthday surprise — it was my way of training my own mind to push through fear.
Within four days, I jumped off a bridge with my kids cheering me on and stood at a microphone at my brother’s wedding. Two moments. Two fears. One woman learning to embrace her butterflies instead of letting them hold her back.
Where I Am Now
Public speaking still gives me butterflies — but now I know butterflies aren’t a sign to run. They’re a sign that something meaningful is about to happen.
I’m still not “perfect” at speaking. My voice shakes sometimes. My heart races. But I’ve learned that courage isn’t about erasing fear — it’s about walking with it.