I won a public speaking contest

Hello,

Last week I told you I was about to do something that terrified me. I was entering a public speaking competition, and I wasn't sure I was ready.

I want to tell you what actually happened. Not the version where I found my courage and walked on stage like a woman who had her life together. The real version.

Five minutes before I was supposed to go on stage, I was standing in a corridor looking for the exit. Not metaphorically. I was physically scanning the hallway for a door I could leave through without anyone seeing me. Notes crumpling in my hands, voice in my head so loud it didn't even sound like doubt anymore, it sounded like common sense. "These people are better than you. Just go home."

I want to be honest about what that moment felt like because I think we get lied to about it constantly. We see people on stages, in pitches, on camera, and we assume they feel ready. That confidence is something they have, and we don't. I believed that for years. I genuinely thought my fear was evidence that I didn't belong there. That the right people for these things just feel different on the inside.

They don't. The people who look confident on stage aren't feeling less fear. They've just learned to move before the fear finishes its sentence.

There's a gap between "I can't do this" and actually doing it. And that gap is about four seconds.

Four seconds where your legs move before your brain catches up. Four seconds where your body makes the decision your mind was never going to make. Everything changes in that gap.

On Wednesday, I didn't try to be brave. Brave wasn't available to me. What I did instead was make a deal with myself, not for the whole thing, just for one step. I said, "I'm not committing to the speech, I'm just going to walk to the door of the room." That's it. Just the door. And when I got to the door, I said: "I'm just going to sit down in my chair." And when I sat down, I said: "I'm just going to stand up when they call my name." And when I stood up, I said: "I'm just going to say my first line."

By then, it was too late. I was already doing it. My body got there before my brain had time to argue. And the thing about fear that I wish someone had told me ten years ago is this: you don't overcome it. You don't beat it. You don't wait for it to pass. You just get better at moving before it locks you in place.

I won the competition. Three years ago, I couldn't finish a two-minute introduction without losing my breath. The difference isn't talent or some breakthrough moment where I stopped being afraid. The difference is I stopped waiting to feel ready.

Next time you're standing in your own corridor, whatever that looks like for you, try this.

1. Don't negotiate with fear. It will win that argument every single time. It's faster than you, it's louder than you, and it has better material. Stop trying to reason with it.

2. Shrink the commitment. Don't commit to the whole thing. Commit to one physical movement. Walk to the door. Open the laptop. Dial the number. Press record. Make it so small your brain can't object to it.

3. Move in the four-second gap. There's a moment, right after you decide and right before the fear catches up, where your body can move. That window is about four seconds. Use it. Stand up, walk forward, open your mouth. The words come. They always come.

up, walk forward, open your mouth. The words come. They always come.

The thing you're avoiding right now probably isn't as far away as it feels. It's one step away. And your body already knows how to take it.

I won on Wednesday. I'm still a bit in shock about it if I'm honest. But the trophy isn't the thing I'm taking from this. The thing I'm taking is that the worst five minutes were the five minutes before, not the seven minutes on stage. The stage was fine. The corridor nearly broke me.

If you're in your corridor right now, move. Just one step. That's the whole secret.

A few weeks ago, I shared a short book about my weight loss and health journey, and the identity shift that made it possible.

Not the routines or the rules, but the internal changes that had to happen for me to stop cycling and start moving forward. I’m mentioning it here for anyone new, or anyone who wants to understand the deeper work behind sustainable change.

I’ve been writing these pieces in the quiet, between school runs, work, and late-night thinking, but I’ve started sharing more of the journey in real time too. The reflections, the systems, the messier parts of reinvention that never make it into the newsletter.

If you want to follow along, you’ll find me here:

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Website: orgesameli.com

Come say hi. It’s less about followers, more about finding the others who are doing the invisible work too.

If something in this email made you pause, think, or feel seen, send it to a friend who’s been quietly trying to make a change, too.
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