Are you a stand-up comedian, tour guide or world leader? No? Then there is a good chance that you hate public speaking too.
It's among my greatest fears, which may surprise those who know me best.
As an overactive talker, I struggle to keep quiet and listen during one-to-one conversations. I regularly find myself dominating group discussions, often to the irritation of those trying to get a word in.
I may seem like someone who would love the idea of a podium, a microphone and a rapt audience. So when two close friends decided they wanted someone they knew to emcee their wedding, I probably seemed the perfect candidate.
But to me, speaking in public is a different proposition – one that brings fear of embarrassment and, eventually, social exile.
I’m not alone. Glossophobia is one of the world’s most common fears, affecting up to three-quarters of us – more common than a fear of heights, spiders and even death.
Let that sink in: some think perishing is a less terrifying prospect than speaking in front of a crowd.
For me, previous attempts to regale a gathering have resulted in a mixed bag at best. My three best man speeches have produced one success and two huge question marks. One followed a toast to the late father of the bride, leaving me to address a weeping audience. Another was delivered to an openly hostile crowd who considered the groom’s brother a better candidate for the role.
Not ideal for someone with glossophobia.
Despite this, when my betrothed friends asked me to emcee their special day, I accepted enthusiastically, genuinely moved at the touching gesture. It was only later that I truly considered what I had agreed to do.
It would be fine though, surely – it’s not as though I was the one getting married. Heck, I didn’t even have the pressure of the best man’s speech this time.
But anyone who has delivered a wedding speech or reading has uttered some version of “Thank god that is over” upon completing their mission.
And then I realised it was never “over” for the emcee, at least not during the ceremony. He or she is required to introduce every other speaker.
“Why don’t you do it?” I said to my wife as D-Day approached. Presenting a daily online news programme had helped her overcome her natural shyness. Surely it would be a breeze for her.
“Let’s do it together,” she replied, once I had insisted four times. I felt marginally better until the day of the wedding, once the guests started to file in.
“So what do I do?” I asked the bride. Wearing a look that screamed “I have got enough to worry about”, she pointed to a moustachioed man fiddling with sound equipment.
A brief lesson on how to use a microphone later, and everyone seemed happy that I had been prepped adequately. Everyone, that is, except me.
My wife delivered the opening remarks with confident poise. Then she handed the mic over to me. I made a decision. Fail or succeed – but do it loudly.
My first contribution drew a ripple of chuckles, some polite, some seemingly genuine. This was a willing crowd, eager to enjoy their day. With each small remark that did not result in booing or, worse, silence, I felt more assured. My fear had mostly gone.
Soon, my wife was barely bothering to stand when our part came up, leaving me to it as I bellowed into the mic. She wore a half-proud, half-smug smile, as if she had always known that as soon as I relaxed, she could too.
Lowlights included coaxing the crowd to cheer when the groom’s sister made a late return to her table, only to find out the delay was caused by a medical condition.
But the laughter started up again when I introduced the groom’s speech with a knowing warning that anyone with a nervous disposition should leave the room (I’m well-versed in the art of the dad joke – ask my kids).
And then the highlight – the honour of introducing my friends to the crowd as husband and wife.
I tripped over my closing line, an invitation to enjoy dessert, before accidentally turning off the microphone mid-flow. A timely reminder not to get too big for my boots.
And it was over!
What I've learnt
First, don't sweat it. Literally, take off your jacket when delivering a public address on a summer's day in a small room without air conditioning.
Two, don't worry too much. Usually, those watching you are rooting for you to be funny, or clever or just not awful.
But the biggest takeaway was something we all know, yet often forget: it is important not to worry about what other people think, especially those who don't know you.
The only two people who really mattered in that room were the ones I introduced as a married couple at the end. If they were happy, I was happy. They seemed happy …
Would I do it again?
Yes, absolutely. Did I nail the role? Let’s put it this way: no one approached me with an offer to present the next Golden Globes.
But unspectacular is always preferable to being remembered for the wrong reasons. I didn't get any names wrong, I didn’t swear, and I didn't elicit groans for any egregious attempts at humour.
Late into the night, one couple said they had thought my wife and I were professionals brought in to present for the day. I am choosing to believe them.
Either way, I have escaped being ostracised from society for now. Though maybe next time I am invited to talk in public, I should probably suggest they speak to my wife.
Want to try? What to know
Being given an important role at a wedding is not something most people plan for – if you are asked to be best man or maid of honour, you should probably just take a deep breath, do the best you can and laugh about the bad bits later.
But if public speaking is suddenly expected of you, at work or in your social life, there are many ways to improve both your confidence and your skill.
The internet is full of videos, podcasts and apps giving tips on public speaking. Try well-established platforms such as Preply for public speaking courses, or AI-powered apps such as Speeko and, for help to reduce umms, Ummo.
Therapy can also help – among options in the UAE are Abu Dhabi's Harley Street Medical Centre and Dubai's Rehoboth.
