Giving my first conference talk recently was an absolute thrill. I was excited, not overly nervous, and deeply confident in the hard work I’d put in. My mindset was simple: I’m going to nail this.
And mostly, I did! Despite a few initial jitters and some screen-sharing shenanigans, I found my rhythm. When the screen randomly went black mid-presentation, I handled it with humor, kept my cool, and let my passion for the topic shine through. Overall? 10/10. I was proud.
The I got my feedback from the attendees. Most were positive, kind, full of support and praise. One was a 7/10 with thoughtful critiques that I found myself nodding along to as I was reading the review. and then, there was this:
My initial reaction? "What. Is. This."
I'm someone who has a tumultuous relationship with feedback. I'm certainly not arrogant enough to think I can never improve on things. With people I know and respect, I can take feedback easily, with humor and a sincere goal to get better. With people I dislike, I can simply be ambivalent, with a "you-can't-win-em-all" mindset.
With people I don't know at all, I can be stung by it, but more than anything I want a conversation. I want a back and forth. I want to make sure my position is known and understood even if its disagreed with.
Enter my bane, anonymous feedback.
I absolutely understand the value of anonymous feedback, that people usually won't be honest otherwise. But it does, unfortunately, narrow in on my weak spot: getting vague feedback from someone I don't know with absolutely no way to probe deeper on their meaning.
So, at first, I was grumpy. Got feedback from various people on that, some understanding while others counseling me that accepting feedback was optional. After sleeping on it, I realized what was annoying me most about it... that person was right. They tapped directly into an insecurity I had harbored before even stepping on stage.
My talk was on accessibility. My core strategy was to read the presentation content explicitly so hard-of-hearing attendees could read everything and visually impaired attendees could hear everything. It was a deliberate, logical choice, but deep down, I had worried: Is this too dry? Too literal? Too boring?
That uncomfortable review forced me to ask new questions: How could I deliver the same accessible information in a more dynamic way? How do I balance thorough accessibility with high engagement?
Suddenly, my frustration shifted into creative motivation. I started brainstorming new ways to evolve the talk and I feel really motivated to do so now! Excited even.
What's the moral? Even when feedback arrives in an unideal wrapper, don't throw it in the trash right away.
You don't have to process it immediately like a robot. Step away, take a walk, or sleep on it. But once the dust settles, investigate that needling feeling. See if you can ask yourself why it upsets you so much. Because that feeling is usually trying to tell you something and it can be a really good way for growth, if you're brave enough to sit with the discomfort.
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