Nobody starts as a gifted public speaker. I flopped my first event, built from there, and eventually spoke in 12 countries at 100+ events including TEDx, YPO, EO, and the United Nations. This is what I actually learned, not the version you'd put on a conference bio.
The idea that some people are just born speakers is one of the most damaging myths in professional development. It gives people an excuse to never try. If you believe speaking is a gift you either have or don't, then there's nothing to work on. You're off the hook.
It's not true. Nobody starts out naturally gifted at public speaking. Every speaker you've ever admired has logged hours in rooms where it didn't go well, where they lost the audience, where they walked off stage knowing they'd missed the mark. The difference between a good speaker and someone who never tries is reps. That's it. Reps and the willingness to reflect honestly on what isn't working.
I know this because I am introverted. I have always been more comfortable in small conversations than in front of large groups. Standing at a lectern with a microphone and a few hundred people looking at me does not come naturally. I had to build into it, deliberately, over a long time.
I want to be honest about this because I think it's useful.
My first public speaking event was rough. I was nervous, I was probably underprepared in the ways that actually matter, and the audience could feel both of those things. I'd prepared in the wrong way. I had memorised material rather than understood it. I knew what I was going to say but I didn't know it well enough to be flexible, to read the room, to deviate from the script when it wasn't landing.
I learned more from that event than from any of the events that went well. The ones that go well are validating. The ones that go badly tell you what you actually need to fix.
The point I want to make here is this: your first public speaking event will probably be rough too. That's fine. It's expected. But don't make your first engagement a massive, high-stakes event. Don't volunteer to keynote a conference of 2,000 people or present to the Coles leadership team on your first outing. Start somewhere you can afford to be imperfect. A local industry meetup. An internal presentation to your own team. A panel with 30 people in the room. Give yourself the room to be bad before you need to be good.
I went from flopping my first event to speaking in 12 countries, at 100-plus events, across TEDx, YPO, EO, and the United Nations. I've addressed government bodies and spoken to audiences of 20 people in a boardroom and thousands at industry conferences. The TEDx was about something I care about deeply: how hardship builds character and resilience, and what millennials and Gen Z are navigating in a world where failure is everywhere but rarely talked about honestly.
I've spoken at company conferences, leadership team offsites, industry summits, and public institutions across multiple sectors. I've been on stage in Malaysia, England, Germany, the United States, the Netherlands, and across Australia, among others.
None of that happened because I became a natural. It happened because I kept saying yes to rooms, kept reflecting on what didn't work, and kept putting in the reps.
One other thing worth saying: every speaking fee I earn, minimum $5,000 per engagement, goes directly to Lighthouse Foundation. Every cent. I don't keep any of it. That's a deliberate decision. It removes the financial motivation entirely, which means every engagement has to be worth doing on its own merits. If I'm not going to get something valuable from it, I don't take it. That filter has made me much more selective about the rooms I say yes to, and I think it's made me a better speaker for it. More on why I do that in the related piece below.
"The audience wants you to succeed. They are not sitting there hoping you fail. They came to learn something. They are on your side."
Here are the things I know to be true after doing this a lot, not theories, things I've seen play out repeatedly.
The audience wants you to succeed. This was the most useful thing I learned, and I learned it early. When you walk on stage, the people in that room are not hoping you stumble. They came because they want to get something from the next hour. They are rooting for you. Once you actually feel that rather than just knowing it intellectually, the nerves change character. They're still there, but they're not the same.
Preparation is not about memorising your script. Memorising is the wrong goal. If you memorise your talk, any deviation, any unexpected question, any moment where you need to adapt, puts you at risk of losing the thread entirely. The goal of preparation is to know your material well enough to throw the script away. You should be able to talk around your subject for twice the allotted time, and then cut it down in the room based on what's landing. That only comes from actually knowing what you're talking about, not from knowing what you planned to say.
Your first 90 seconds decide whether the audience trusts you. Before you've said anything of substance, people are reading you. Are you confident? Do you know where you're going? Are you present in the room or somewhere else in your head? Those signals get picked up fast. The first 90 seconds set the tone for everything that follows. I spend a disproportionate amount of preparation time on openings for exactly this reason.
Stories beat statistics every time. But only if they're true and specific. A stat might be interesting. A real story from a real situation, with specific detail, makes people lean forward. Generic stories don't work. Vague anecdotes don't work. The detail is what makes it feel real, and when it feels real, people connect to it. The best moment in any talk I've given has always come from something specific that actually happened, not from a framework or a model.
Self-awareness is your biggest asset on stage. Everyone has nervous habits. Some people speak too fast. Some people fill silence with filler words. Some people look at the floor. Some people lose their train of thought when they get a question they didn't expect. Knowing your specific habits is the first step to correcting for them. I know mine. I've watched enough recordings of myself to be honest about them. That self-knowledge is worth more than any presenting technique I've ever been taught.
The goal is never to impress. Every talk I've given where I was focused on impressing the audience fell flat. Every talk where I was focused on giving the audience something they could actually use landed better. The goal is to leave people with something. A perspective they hadn't considered. A framework they can apply. An honest account of something that happened that makes them feel less alone in their own situation. Impression is a by-product of generosity, not the other way around.
Start small. Not because you should aim small, but because the small rooms are where you build the skills you'll need in the large ones. Say yes to the panel with 30 people. Present at the industry meetup. Do the internal session at your company. Make your mistakes in front of 20 people, not 2,000.
Practice out loud, standing up, in a room. Not in your head, not silently at your desk. Saying it is a completely different thing from thinking it. You'll find out very quickly where the gaps are.
Know your material well enough to abandon your slides. If the projector dies, you should still be able to run the session. If that's not true, you're not ready yet.
And when you get the feedback that stings, sit with it. Don't dismiss it and don't collapse under it. It's the most useful information you'll get.
100 events, 12 countries, and I'm still learning. Every room is different. Every audience teaches you something. That's the part that keeps it worth doing.
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