Yesterday, I had a moment when I wanted to run. Not because I didn’t care, not because I hadn’t prepared, but because sometimes, even when you know what you’re doing, anxiety has a way of making you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. My thoughts raced, my heart beat a little too fast, and suddenly, the very thing I had prepared myself to do felt bigger than me.

I froze. I choked. For a moment, walking away seemed easier than pushing through. But I didn’t walk away. And today, I am awfully proud of that.

Talking to groups has never been particularly difficult for me. I have performed on stage, participated in talent shows, sung in choirs, taught lessons, and delivered briefings. But being comfortable in front of an audience doesn’t mean I am free from anxiety. Stepping into my new role as a leadership coach has taught me that a little self-talk is necessary. I never quite feel prepared enough.

For the first few weeks, I wasn’t flying solo. Having a co-facilitator beside me helped. This time, I was on my own. I had prepared, encouraged myself, and reminded myself, You can do this.

Lights, camera, action. Then everything went sideways.

My screen wouldn’t share. The spirit of a bottle of ginger ale I had accidentally tipped over onto my computer seemed determined to wreak havoc. Suddenly, I was struggling to keep the session on course.

Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. My colleague stepped in to help until I could regain my footing and take the lead again.

Finding My Footing

As the technical difficulties mounted and my colleague stepped in, I briefly considered letting go. Maybe I wasn’t capable of steering this ship after all?

Despite my past successes, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I must have looked to the eight students depending on me to lead them and deliver what they had come to learn.

Then my colleague asked if I was comfortable taking over again. I said yes.

I can do this.

And I did.

I pushed forward, refusing to let a moment of vulnerability cost me an opportunity to lead. I accepted help, gathered myself, and kept going.

I didn’t fully recognize it at the time, but that setback was becoming a test that would ultimately become my testament. I was no longer simply speaking about persistence, perseverance, and the willingness to adapt. I was living them.

Those students watched me struggle. They watched me accept help. And they watched me recover.

Perhaps that was a leadership lesson no prepared slide could have delivered quite as effectively. Leadership isn’t always about having the answers or maintaining control. Sometimes, it means continuing through discomfort, recognizing when you need help, and finding the courage to step forward again.

Reflection Is Where Growth Happens

After class, I was still a little distraught over my performance. The perfectionist in me replayed every hiccup and moment of uncertainty. I couldn’t help wondering whether I had done enough.

But reflection lets us look beyond how a difficult moment felt and consider what it actually produced. We need time to breathe, clear our minds, and recognize the growth that may not have been visible while we were experiencing it.

Yesterday, I felt overwhelmed. Today, I recognize that I persevered.

I am proud. I am grateful. And I am reminded that no matter how many times we have done something or how well we have excelled, mistakes happen. Things go topsy-turvy. Even the most prepared among us can find ourselves facing the unexpected.

We may be the leaders, instructors, and coaches, but we must remember that we can also be led, instructed, and coached. There is no shame in accepting a helping hand. There is humility in recognizing that we are still learning, even when we are the ones standing at the front of the room.

Yesterday, I had to practice what I encourage others to embrace. I had to persist, adapt, accept help, and trust that one difficult moment did not define my ability to lead.

I didn’t lead because everything went according to plan. I led because, when it didn’t, I chose to keep going.

Sometimes, the most valuable lesson we offer others is the one they witness us learning ourselves.