By TM Anurag Deb
I didn't walk into my first Toastmasters meeting because I thought I was lost. I walked in because I knew I wasn't fully found yet. It was early in college, that strange, fragile window where you're simultaneously convinced you know everything and terrified you know nothing. I had the technical skills down. I could code, calculate, execute. But when it came to standing in a room and making people feel something? When it came to leading without a script or speaking without a slide deck safety net? That was foreign territory. So, I chose Toastmasters. Not because someone handed me a brochure and told me it would enhance my soft skills. But because I needed a space to figure out who I could actually become.
Here's what no one tells you about growth: it's awkward. It's messy. It involves saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, losing your train of thought mid-sentence, and realizing halfway through a speech that you've been gesturing like you're conducting an invisible orchestra. Toastmasters became the place where all of that was okay. It was a safe space, not in the sanitized, corporate jargon sense, but in the truest meaning of the phrase. A place where I could experiment wildly, fail spectacularly, and try again the following week without anyone writing me off. Every speech was a sandbox. Every role was a low-stakes rehearsal for the high-stakes world waiting outside. And slowly, something shifted. The stumbles became strides. The silence after a joke landed turned into genuine laughter. The feedback that once stung started fuelling me instead.
Toastmasters taught me things no syllabus ever would. It sharpened my confidence, yes, but not in the loud, performative way. It gave me the quiet kind of confidence that lets you walk into a room full of strangers and think, I belong here. The kind that lets you hold a stage, hold a silence, and trust that your voice matters. It taught me stage presence. How to use pauses like punctuation. How to read a room before you try to lead it. How to stand still without shrinking and move with purpose without pacing like a caged animal. It taught me composure. Because when you're juggling leadership roles across college committees, club events, district initiatives, and a social life that occasionally requires you to be a functioning human, composure isn't optional. It's survival. Toastmasters became my training ground for making decisions under pressure, managing chaos with grace, and learning when to delegate and when to dive in.
But here's the thing: none of this felt like a lesson plan. It felt like living.
I stayed for the growth. But I stayed longer because of the people. The Toastmasters community is something rare. It's supportive without being patronizing. Creative without being chaotic. Fun without losing sight of the work. It's filled with people who genuinely want you to succeed, not because your success reflects well on them, but because they remember what it felt like to struggle, and they want to pull you up the same way someone once pulled them. Here's something I didn't expect: everyone appreciates everything you achieve, however small it may be. Everyone always applauds, however small your attempt. You finish a two-minute speech that felt shaky? Applause. You take on a role for the first time and fumble through it? Applause. You try something bold that doesn't quite land? Still applause. Not out of pity, but out of recognition. Because they know what it took for you to stand up there in the first place. They make you feel like family. And I don't mean that in the hollow, corporate retreat way. I mean it in the way that matters: they show up for you, they celebrate your wins, they cushion your falls, and they never let you quit on yourself. Being part of an institutional club while still in college has its own unique advantage. It gives you structure in a phase of life that can feel beautifully chaotic. It connects you with people across batches, departments, and mindsets you'd never cross paths with otherwise. I'm making connections that matter, not just for networking's sake, but because these are people who challenge my thinking, expand my perspective, and remind me that growth happens in community. There's a specific kind of magic in a room where a CEO, a student, a retiree, and a freelance artist are all giving each other feedback on the same stage. Where your title doesn't matter, but your effort does. Where mentorship isn't formal, it's woven into every conversation, every evaluation, every post meeting coffee chat that runs longer than the meeting itself. I've found collaborators here. Cheerleaders. Honest critics. Friends who've become family. And in the process, I've learned that growth isn't a solo mission, it's a team sport. Toastmasters is a place where I learn from everyone, and others learn from me. That reciprocity is what makes it feel real. I'm not just consuming knowledge or ticking boxes. I'm contributing, teaching, guiding, and being mentored all at once. That exchange is what keeps the experience alive.
My personal growth didn't just happen in Toastmasters. It happened because of Toastmasters. The leadership exposure taught me how to build teams, not just join them. The event planning taught me that perfect is the enemy of done, and that improvisation is a
superpower. The PR work taught me how to tell a story that people actually care about. The creative campaigns taught me that a little boldness goes a long way and that sometimes, the wildest idea is the right one. There were mentoring moments that changed me. Times when someone believed in me before I believed in myself. Times when I got to pass that belief forward to someone else. There were unexpected opportunities, the kind that only show up when you've been showing up consistently. The kind that remind you that growth compounds when you're patient enough to let it. And somewhere along the way, Toastmasters helped shape my personal brand. Not in a manufactured, influencer core way, but in the way I carry myself. How I introduce myself. How I show up in professional spaces, academic circles, and social settings. It gave me a public identity I'm proud of, one that feels authentic, intentional, and entirely mine.
If there's one thing Toastmasters has given me that I didn't expect, it's accountability. It forces me to show up. Not just physically, but mentally. It forces me to think better, speak better, lead better. It doesn't let me coast. It doesn't let me hide behind I'm busy or I'm not ready. It asks me, week after week, to be a little braver than I was the week before. And that consistency? That's the real secret. Growth isn't about the one big moment. It's about the hundred small ones. The speeches you gave when you didn't feel like it. The roles you took when you didn't feel ready. The feedback you absorbed even when it was hard to hear. Toastmasters has been my anchor during college, a phase of life that's often untethered and overwhelming. It's the place I return to when everything else feels uncertain. The place that reminds me who I'm becoming, even when I'm not sure where I'm headed next.
I could tell you I continue because of the tangible skills. The résumé line. The networking. And sure, those things matter. But the truth is simpler: I keep coming back because the growth feels authentic. And because it's compounding. Every meeting builds on the last. Every speech pushes me a little further. Every leadership role opens a door I didn't know existed. I keep coming back because Toastmasters still challenges me. Still surprises me. Still excites me. It's not a box I checked off. It's not a phase I outgrew. It's not a club I joined out of obligation and stayed in out of guilt. It's the place where I choose to grow.
And maybe that's the most honest thing I can say: in a world full of things I have to do, Toastmasters remains something I want to do. Not because it's easy. But because it's worth it. Because the person I'm becoming here, that's someone I'm proud to meet.