I Was Not a Poor Speaker, I Didn’t Have Anything to Talk About
The Truth I Discovered About Communication Skills (and How to Fix It)
For most of my life, I thought I was a bad communicator. Awkward pauses and forced small talk were my norm. I figured it was just who I was—until a public speaking course in 2019 left me wrecked and searching for answers. The realization didn’t hit me right away. It came later, through a slow, messy process of curiosity, scribbled notes, and unexpected connections.
What I found changed everything: I wasn’t a poor speaker; I just didn’t have anything to say. Here’s how I stumbled onto that truth—and how you can use the same approach to transform your own communication.
Joining a Public Speaking Course
In 2019, I took a leap and enrolled in a public speaking course. I’d always struggled to express myself, but I’d convinced myself it didn’t matter. My tech skills were strong—coding, problem-solving, building things—and I figured that was enough to carry me through life. Why bother talking when I could let my work speak for me? Still, a quiet doubt gnawed at me, pushing me to sign up. The course seemed simple: record a short video every day on any topic. I hoped it would flip a switch and unleash some latent ability. Instead, it broke me open.
Each time I sat down to record, I’d press the button and freeze. The red light blinked like an impatient eye, staring me down. I’d gaze back at the screen, my reflection a mute stranger. My mind emptied out—nothing to say, no words to grab onto. I’d open my mouth, willing something to come out, but silence swallowed me. I’d fidget, clear my throat, and try again, only to choke on the quiet. Minutes stretched on as I sat there, trapped in a loop of starting and stopping, the camera waiting for a performance that never came. If I forced a few words—mumbling about toast or clouds—they sounded hollow, like echoes in an empty room. It wasn’t just dull; it was excruciating.
Watching the playback was a fresh wound. My voice, when it dared to appear, was flat and lifeless. My face looked lost, my words weightless. I’d joined the course clinging to the idea that tech skills alone could sustain me, but each failed video chipped away at that illusion. It hit me hard: communication wasn’t optional—it was essential—and I was nowhere close to mastering it. By the end, I didn’t just feel defeated; I felt exposed, smaller than I’d ever been, certain I’d never bridge that gap. But that crushing moment wasn’t the end—it was the spark that started everything.
The Accidental Turnaround
After the course, I didn’t have solutions—just a lingering frustration. But I’ve always been curious. Even when I felt lost, I couldn’t resist digging into ideas. I discovered journaling accidentally. Nothing structured, just random disconnected thoughts on paper. I watched videos on psychology, sociology, geopolitics anything that caught my eye. I read books I could get my hands on and jotted down notes—messy, unpolished scraps of what I was learning.
Over time, something shifted. Those scattered notes started linking up. A question from one book tied to an idea from a video. Patterns emerged I hadn’t seen before. That’s when it happened: I stumbled into my own theory on human psychology. It wasn’t some grand plan—it was accidental, born from chasing what interested me.
That spark led me further. I began working on a journaling app, I needed a better way to organize my thoughts. I started writing articles online, sharing what I was piecing together. These weren’t polished projects; I just did what I wanted to do. But they gave me something I’d never had before: substance. Conversations stopped feeling like chores. I had ideas to share, questions to explore. I wasn’t trying to fix my communication—I was just following my curiosity, and it fixed itself.
Connecting with My Past and Realizing the Issue
The real breakthrough came later, when I looked back. I grew up in a very poor family in India. Money was tight—there were no vacations, no dinners out, no big adventures. While other kids swapped stories about their summers, I stayed quiet. I didn’t have tales to tell because I hadn’t lived them.
That silence followed me into adulthood. The 2019 course didn’t flop because I couldn’t speak well—it flopped because my well was dry.
This hit me hard. I’d spent years blaming myself. I thought I had some character flaw and everyone else confirmed that belief.
But it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t a poor communicator by nature; I just didn’t have anything to talk about. My struggles stemmed from a life that hadn’t given me much to work with. It wasn’t a flaw in my voice or my confidence—it was a lack of raw material. That shift in perspective was freeing. It also pointed me to the real fix: fill the well, and the words would follow.
How to Fix It
If you’ve ever felt tongue-tied—not because you don’t know how to talk, but because you don’t know what to say—this is for you. The answer isn’t in tricks or techniques. It’s in building a life that gives you something worth sharing. And the best way to do that? Follow your curiosity.
Here’s what worked for me:
Chase what lights you up. It doesn’t need to be profound. Pick up a book that grabs you, watch a video that sparks a question, or dig into whatever pulls your attention. Start where you are.
Write it down. Get your thoughts out, even if they’re rough. Journaling turned my chaos into clarity. It doesn’t have to make sense at first—just let it pile up.
Share what you’re learning. Tell a friend about an idea you stumbled across. If no one wants to listen to you, write online. Don’t explain views, do it for your own enjoyment. The more you explore, the more you’ll have to say—and the easier it gets.
That’s it. No fancy steps, no rigid routine. Curiosity builds the foundation; your words grow from there. It’s not about forcing yourself to be interesting—it’s about letting yourself be interested. Do that, and communication stops being a struggle.
Conclusion
I used to think I was doomed as a communicator. Now I see it differently. I wasn’t a poor speaker—I just didn’t have anything to talk about. That changed when I let curiosity lead me. Through journaling, connecting ideas, and chasing what fascinated me, I built a life worth sharing. You can too. Start small, follow what pulls you, and watch your words find their way. It’s not about fixing yourself—it’s about filling your world.