Practically Speaking, LLC

Sam’s a rockstar. A sharp, high-performing VP with a reputation for results. He’s on the shortlist for the next big promotion—but (and it’s a big but), there’s a hitch.

Sam’s got a communication problem.

And not the "needs to pause more in meetings" kind. The "turns into a robot with a bad Wi-Fi signal anytime he’s in front of leadership or the board" kind.

His exec team sees it. His boss sees it. Sam? Not so much.

In high-stakes conversations, Sam leans hard into posturing, trying to look tougher, smarter, and more alpha than he is. Instead of being the collaborative, energetic leader everyone likes to work with, he becomes a tight-lipped “try-hard” with a side of insecure, gym bro energy.

Why?

Because Sam is stuck in that old trap: fake it ‘til you make it.
He’s got a head full of trash telling him that authority = force, that confidence = perfection, and that executive presence = sounding like a Navy SEAL with a PowerPoint.

Spoiler: none of that works. Especially when everyone in the room knows you’re trying too hard.

So, how’d we fix it?
We didn’t try to turn Sam into a TED Talk star. We took out the trash.

First, we tackled the stories he was telling himself about leadership, confidence, and what he thought execs wanted to see. (Hint: It wasn’t a robot.)

Then, we gave him tools. Skills. Frameworks. Not scripts. He learned how to show up polished and real. Clear and human.

Finally, we doubled down on his natural strengths: his collaborative style, dry sense of humor, and ability to rally a team. The goal wasn’t to turn Sam into a different person. It was to help him stop pretending and start communicating with personality and precision.

Sam stopped faking it. He made it.

You can’t posture your way into the C-Suite.

Confidence isn’t a costume—it’s a skill.

Many of us have been taught that "better" is just a few fixes away.

We live in a world that says "better" is always one more course, one more transformation away.

But what if our bravest act isn't chasing "better" but simply recognizing that you, right here, right now, are OK?

What if being OK isn't small? What if it's sacred?

When we speak to ourselves, those inner words shape our reality far more than any external feedback the world sends our way. Instead of treating ourselves as an endless self-help project (is it just me or do you do this too), what happens if we pause and say "I'm OK." ?

This isn't about skipping growth or settling for less; it's about giving ourselves a foundation of compassion that makes growth possible. It's honest, admitting where we are without spin. It's grounded, acknowledging where we are in this moment, and it's hopeful, giving us space to see our uniqueness and beauty.

This kind of OK-ness comes from a place of strength. Not from brokenness.

So maybe you can give yourself permission to give ok-ness a try today. Give that wonderful face of yours a good, hard look in the mirror and say, "I'm OK," and see how it lands.

It just may be that over time, that sacred "OK" becomes your fuel for genuine joy and connection.

"How long did it take to get here?"

That’s what my physical therapist asks me every time we work on my shoulder.

(I'll spare you the gory details.)

Each time she asks, I have to admit that my shoulder has been a problem for a year. (Probably longer, but hey, who's counting?) She just nods and reminds me that it took time to get to this point, and it’s going to take time to get things working right again.

Wait...what?

She doesn’t have a magic wand?

Dang it.

But she’s right. And the same goes for you.

The habit you’re trying to change (like saying “um” or “right?” every five seconds)? That took time to settle in.

The new skill you’re learning (like pausing in a presentation without panicking)? That takes time and practice to feel natural.

Those nerves that show up like clockwork? They’re just well-worn brain patterns, and yep, they’ll take time to rewire.

So the next time you’re feeling frustrated or impatient with your progress, ask yourself:

“How long did it take to get here?”

Then take a deep breath… and keep going.

I heard Alan Alda say this once and I haven't stopped thinking about it since:

"Would I have this look on my face if I understood you?"

Oof. Right? You can practically see the furrowed brow, the confused squint, the pursed lips that scream, "I'm trying really hard here but I've lost the plot."

We've all seen it. Whether you're chatting one-on-one over coffee or standing in front of a room of 100 people, there comes that moment when someone in your audience makes that face. The one that says, "I'm confused," "I don't follow," or my personal favorite, "Are you still talking?"

And here's the kicker: it's usually not because your message isn't important—it's because we get so caught up in our own enthusiasm, our own brilliant ideas, that we forget to do the most important thing in communication...

Check. For. Understanding.

Let me say that again, but slower (see what I did there?):
If someone looks like they don't get it, they probably don't. And that is not their fault. It's our cue to pause, rewind, and try again.

Instead of plowing forward (full speed ahead on the S.S. Monologue), consider stopping to ask a question.

"Does that make sense?"

"What are you hearing so far?"

"Should I back up and explain that a different way?"

Not only does this show that you care, it also gives your audience the gift of clarity—and saves you from delivering a TED Talk that lands with the emotional impact of a tax form.

So the next time you see someone with that confused look, don't take it personally. Take it as your sign.

Get curious. Ask. Listen. Adjust.

Because as much as we love the sound of our own voices (guilty), communication is only effective if someone walks away with something other than a headache.

Remember: If they're wearing the face of confusion, it's your moment to stop talking and start connecting.

After all, what's the point of being heard if no one understands you?

Stay curious. Or at least learn to read the room. 😏

During a recent talk, I shared a simple yet powerful truth: a quick check-in with an employee can help create a psychologically safe environment.

A short message, a moment of connection, can make such a difference.

At the end of the session, during our wrap-up, an audience member spoke up. He shared how much it meant that his company president had checked in on him during a tough time. He didn’t elaborate then, but the emotion in his voice was unmistakable.

Later, after the conference, I had the chance to talk with him one-on-one. That’s when he told me he had just lost his mom the week before. Those small, thoughtful check-ins from his president had meant everything. They were a reminder that he wasn’t alone. That someone saw him, that he mattered.

Checking in costs nothing. But to the person on the other end? It might be worth everything.

How many miracles did it take to get here?

If you're like me, this question feels a lot like math—and math isn’t exactly my strong suit. So, bear with me through this scrappy example with limited hard data.

In essence, it took a TON of miracles to get you here.

Your parents meeting at precisely the right time.

All the in-between biology stuff.

The choices made for you, by you, and with you that led to this exact moment—where you’re reading this email.

Miracles?

I’d say so. Because for every reason why you’re here, there are a zillion reasons why you shouldn’t be. (Not to be a bummer, but let’s be real—you and I have dodged a lot of metaphorical bullets.)

So why does this matter?

You don’t have to care. But I’d argue that being here—being a miracle—means you have something important to add to this world.

Something to say.

Your voice matters.

Now more than ever. Whether it’s asking for help, sharing a compliment, nailing a presentation, or standing up for what you believe in.

So, what are you waiting for?

Go say what you need to say.

Don't you think it would be weird to feel confident all the time?

Let's noodle on this a bit, shall we? Do you feel confident when you start a brand-new task? Or when you walk into a room full of people you don’t know? Probably not—and that’s perfectly normal.

I was reminded of this at the INspire Her Summit (big shout out where I watched Julia Boorstin deliver a powerful keynote. She gave us the reminder that confidence isn’t a constant state—it’s something we build, lose, and rebuild again. And that’s not failure; that’s growth.

(Shout out to Girl Scouts of Central Indiana for this event.)

So, the next time you feel a little unsure, remember:

Confidence isn’t a light switch. It’s a dimmer—sometimes bright, sometimes low, but always in your hands.

Your front-row fan,

I woke up at 4 a.m. in my hotel room, buzzing with ideas about improving my session. One I’d already delivered successfully in the past.

4 a.m. Alex should not be trusted.

Slides were deleted. New, “better” content was added. I was sure this audience would get something even more impactful.

Except… when I got on stage, those brilliant 4 a.m. ideas? Gone. The activities? Fell flat. It was an agonizing hour, ending with one lone audience member offering me advice.

I was mortified. Ashamed. I knew better than to make last-minute changes. I drove home swearing I’d quit speaking, become a barista, and drown my sorrows in Cheetos.

Eventually, I pulled myself together. Because messing up is part of the process, we all screw up, stumble, and get caught in our heads.

What matters is what we do next.

I wiped off the “dust” and got back on stage. Again. And again. And again.

It’s hard to fail, but here’s the deal: If you let it, surviving mortification will make you stronger.

Once, at a networking event, I introduced myself as "a professional overthinker and part-time disaster." People laughed—exactly what I wanted. But then I noticed no one took me seriously. Turns out, when you constantly downplay yourself, others believe you—worse, you believe yourself.

Self-deprecation seems harmless, even funny, but it slowly chips away at how you see yourself and how others see you.

Here’s why it’s got to go:

Your Brain Believes You – Your subconscious takes jokes as truth. Say, "I’m terrible at this" enough times, and your brain files it as fact.

You Teach Others How to See You – If you introduce yourself as a mess, don’t be surprised when people don’t hand you opportunities.

It Kills Your Presence – Confident people don’t apologize for existing. Self-deprecation shrinks you before you even step in the room.

The fix?

Change the script.

Instead of "I’m the worst at this," try "I’m learning this."

Instead of "I’m just lucky to be here," say, "I worked to be here."

The world will believe what you say about yourself—so say something worth believing.

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