How I Found My Voice

When people envision someone with communication confidence, they often picture someone who has always been comfortable speaking up—raising a hand without hesitation, leading conversations, or commanding attention in a room. I’ve never identified with any of those traits or behaviors.

While I’m proud of the strides I’ve made in my public speaking journey, my road to comfort with verbal communication began not with confidence, but with silence. Some of my earliest memories are shaped by my experiences with selective mutism, an anxiety disorder that makes speaking to unfamiliar people feel impossible. Public spaces were overwhelming, and even small interactions—such as asking a question to my teacher at school or expressing a need—felt out of reach.

While I eventually developed coping strategies and a better understanding of my anxiety, the progress I made did not cause the discomfort to wane entirely. As I grew older, the symptoms changed, but the underlying fear remained. Speaking to new people was still challenging, and presentations in school filled me with dread well into adolescence. Soon, avoidance became my most reliable—but limiting—strategy.

Growing up, I had a steady advocate in my father, James Matteo. A Toastmaster since 1996 and a Distinguished Toastmaster since 2020, he believed deeply in the idea that growth happens by diving headfirst into discomfort. When I turned 18, he encouraged me to join Toastmasters. In true teenage fashion, I wasn’t ready to hear it and shelved the suggestion. In hindsight, my dismissal wasn’t a rejection of Toastmasters—it was an implicit admission of fear.

It took six more years before I was willing to consider attending a club meeting. Joining The Toast of Celebration club in Kissimmee, Florida, at age 24, marked a turning point I didn’t fully anticipate. There wasn’t a dramatic breakthrough moment or a sudden arrival of confidence. What I found instead was a process—incremental, sometimes uncomfortable, and consistently characterized by support from fellow club members.

Within a year, I experienced growth that once felt out of reach. I did impromptu speaking and delivered club speeches. I worked up to my biggest stretch: I moderated an educational panel at my former company’s trade show in November 2025. That moment mattered because it demonstrated what was possible when I stopped waiting to feel “ready” and instead dived into the discomfort.

What Toastmasters has taught me isn’t how to eliminate my fear, but how to work alongside it. By design, members face challenging situations in our club: standing up to speak, thinking on our feet, and receiving feedback. For someone with a history of anxiety, that structure was initially intimidating, but the predictability of the discomfort mattered. Each meeting offered a controlled environment where I could face fear incrementally rather than avoid it altogether.

Over time, what once felt overwhelming became familiar. Familiarity didn’t remove the nerves, but it made them manageable.

The experience also reinforced the importance of a support system. Toastmasters clubs are built on shared participation, encouragement, and constructive evaluation. Fellow members offered me thoughtful feedback, practical suggestions, and—just as importantly—belief in my ability to succeed. Often, they recognized progress I was too quick to overlook. Their encouragement and support made it easier to keep showing up, even on days when self-doubt took hold.

Looking back, I’m grateful that my dad urged me to join Toastmasters. What once felt like an intimidating step became a resource that reshaped how I approach fear, growth, and communication. The experience did more than strengthen my speaking skills—it changed my expectations of what I can achieve.

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