A powerful speech may begin before you choose what to say: with understanding the story you want to tell. Shareatha Coleman had plenty of material. What she lacked was confidence in choosing and shaping it into something powerful — “explosive”, as she put it.

“I didn't want a dull speech,” she said. “I know I needed help.” Her search for a stronger speech would lead her to look again at what her experiences meant to her, not only what they might mean to an audience.

The Problem

Having many stories does not necessarily make it easier to speak. It can leave you facing competing memories, uncertain which one deserves attention or how to give it a clear purpose.

For Shareatha, the difficulty was not simply selection. As she described her work with Gerard Grogans, a transformational life and speech development coach and author of The Blueprint: How to Recreate Your Life in Six Simple Steps, another concern emerged: the feelings inside the material.

She said he “showed me that my stories were bigger than just stories”. They were, she explained, “stories filled with emotions that I needed to process”.

That recognition changed the task. Wanting to impress listeners was one thing; understanding what she was asking herself to revisit was another.

The tension is important for anyone turning lived experience into a speech. If the only question is whether a story will sound dramatic enough, you may overlook whether you understand what you want to communicate through it. The pressure to make an impact can get ahead of the work of finding meaning.

The Solution

The way forward in Shareatha's account was not to search for a more sensational experience. It was to look more closely at the stories already there.

She expressed a wish to examine difficult events, break down the stories and “feel better emotionally”. That remains an aspiration, not evidence that the work is complete or that speaking has resolved her feelings.

For a reader developing a speech, the practical distinction is to separate choosing material from performing it. Before polishing an opening or planning a dramatic ending, consider what happened, what feelings arise when you revisit it, and what you understand about it now. These are questions to explore, not demands to disclose everything publicly.

Then ask what a listener could take from the experience. A story does not have to contain every detail of your life to carry a clear message. Choose what serves that message rather than what merely intensifies the telling.

None of this requires pretending that uncertainty has disappeared. Describing someone who might need a mentor, Shareatha said, “who's not confident like I was, like I am”. That correction leaves room for an honest account of development: she had found support and still had doubts.

The Key Takeaway

Before asking how powerfully you can tell a story, ask how clearly you understand what you want it to mean.

Your Homework

Today, spend a short writing session with one experience you feel ready to examine; you do not need to choose your most painful memory.

Write a brief account of what happened. Beneath it, name the feelings that arise and note what remains unclear. Finally, write one sentence describing what you would want an audience to understand from hearing it. If that sentence is difficult, leave it unfinished rather than forcing a lesson. Keep the exercise private for now.

Shareatha's account ends with willingness, not a finished performance: “And so I am up for the challenge, I will say that.” Begin your own work today with one story and an honest question about its meaning. You do not need complete confidence to keep becoming.