How to be more confident when speaking

Your breath is the first thing that betrays you when nerves hit. One shallow inhale, and suddenly your voice sounds like it’s been borrowed from a squeaky toy. I remember the first time I had to present to a room of executives—my breath was so shallow I sounded like I’d just run a marathon. That’s when I learned the trick of diaphragmatic breathing. It’s not woo-woo; it’s just how your body is supposed to breathe. Place a hand on your stomach and take a slow breath in through your nose. If your hand moves, you’re doing it right. If your chest rises instead, try again. Exhale twice as long as you inhaled. Do this for three breaths before you speak, and you’ll notice something wild: your voice steadies, your hands stop shaking, and that tightness in your chest loosens just enough to let the words out. It’s not magic. It’s just your nervous system remembering how to relax.

The scariest part of speaking isn’t the audience—it’s the fear that your brain will go blank mid-sentence. That moment when you’re staring at someone’s face, and suddenly the next word evaporates? Yeah, that’s the one. It happened to me during a job interview, and I swear I could hear the seconds ticking by like a bomb. That’s when I started using the PREP framework. It’s just four little boxes to put your thoughts in: Point, Reason, Example, Point. Say what you mean, why it matters, give one concrete example, then say it again. That’s it. No fancy transitions, no memorized paragraphs. Just a simple path to follow so your brain doesn’t spiral. I’ve used it for everything from toast at weddings to arguing for a raise. It works because it’s not about sounding smart—it’s about giving your ideas a place to land so you can relax and speak like a human, not a robot.

Nervous speakers talk fast. Like, really fast. It’s like we’re trying to outrun the fear, and the words just keep tumbling out until we’re breathless and the audience is lost. I used to fill every gap with "um" or "you know?" until a friend recorded me and I cringed so hard I nearly deleted the file. Turns out, the fix isn’t to talk faster—it’s to talk slower and let the pauses breathe. Try this: read a paragraph out loud, and every time you hit a period, tap your foot once. That’s how long your pause should be. No filler words, no rushing. Just a quiet beat to let your words sink in. At first, it’ll feel awkward, like you’re waiting for someone to jump in. But then something clicks. The audience leans in. You sound deliberate. Confident, even. And the best part? You’ll actually hear yourself for the first time.

Eye contact is supposed to be this magic confidence booster, but for a lot of us, it just feels like staring into the sun. I used to scan the room like a robot, darting from face to face so fast no one felt seen. Then I tried something different: I picked one person and held their gaze for a full sentence. Just one. It was terrifying. But then something unexpected happened—they nodded. Smiled, even. And suddenly, speaking didn’t feel like a performance. It felt like a conversation. If that still feels like too much, try looking at the space between someone’s eyebrows. They won’t know the difference, but you’ll feel less exposed. The goal isn’t to memorize every face in the room. It’s to remind yourself that you’re talking to people, not critics. And people? They’re just hoping you’ll say something interesting.

Here’s the thing about nerves: your body doesn’t know the difference between fear and excitement. Same heart rate, same butterflies, same sweaty palms. The only difference is the story you tell yourself. I learned this the hard way during a TEDx talk. My hands were shaking so badly I had to grip the podium to hide it. Then I remembered a trick from a public speaking coach: reframe the energy. Instead of "I’m so nervous," I whispered, "I’m so excited." And you know what? It worked. Not because the nerves disappeared, but because I stopped fighting them. That energy? It’s not your enemy. It’s fuel. Channel it into your hands—gesture when you talk. Shift your weight. Walk a few steps. Let your body move with the words instead of against them. You’re not trying to eliminate the nerves. You’re just giving them somewhere to go.

You don’t have to leap into a keynote speech to get better at this. Confidence when speaking builds in the quiet moments—the ones where no one’s watching. Like ordering coffee and making small talk with the barista. Or speaking up in a meeting when you’d usually stay quiet. Or even just practicing in the car on your way to work. I started by recording voice memos to myself, then listening back and cringing (a lot). But over time, the cringes got smaller. The pauses felt less awkward. The words came easier. The key? Progress, not perfection. You’re not trying to become a different person. You’re just trying to let the real you speak up a little louder. And honestly? That’s enough.

Here’s the truth: your voice might still shake sometimes. Mine does. And you know what? It’s not the end of the world. The first time I heard a recording of myself, I winced at every wobble. But then I noticed something—no one else cared. Not really. Because when you’re in the audience, you’re not listening for flaws. You’re listening for the idea. For the person behind the words. And if your voice shakes? That just means you care. That’s not weakness. It’s humanity. So yeah, practice the techniques. Breathe deep. Pause. Reframe the nerves. But don’t wait for the day you’ll feel 100% confident to speak up. That day might never come. And that’s okay. Because confidence isn’t about being fearless. It’s about speaking anyway.