Last year, I stood on the District stage, nervous, excited, and full of heart. I had poured myself into the speech, refined every word, and delivered it with everything I had. But I didn’t win.

And that stung not because I lost, but because deep down, I wondered: Was that it?
Was that the end of my contest journey?

I had given my best. I had told my truth. And after coming so close, it felt like maybe the door had quietly closed.

The Moment That Shifted Everything

Fast forward to this year. I was preparing for a regular club speech, not a contest, just a regular meeting. After I spoke, one of my mentors sat quietly, absorbing every word. Then she looked at me and said something that changed everything:

“Ola, this is a contest speech.”

That was it. Not “You should enter.” Not “You might win this time.” Just five simple words. But they echoed louder than any doubt I’d been carrying:
“The world should hear this.”

That sentence lit a fire in me. It reminded me why I speak in the first place. Not for trophies. Not for applause. But for the truth. For impact. For the chance to connect with even one person who might need to hear what I have to say.

So I entered. Again.

The Climb Back

From the club contest to area, then division, each round brought its own lessons. I refined not just my delivery, but my message. I dug deeper into why it mattered. I stopped focusing on how to win and started asking how to serve.

This time, I wasn’t just delivering a speech. I was starting a conversation. I was reaching for connection over perfection. And every round, I felt more aligned with that purpose.

The Return to the District Stage

Then came the District stage, again. But this time, I didn’t stand in fear.
I stood in purpose.

I wasn’t hoping for validation. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was simply there to share, to serve, and to speak with conviction.

And when the Contest Chair called my name as the 2025 District Champion, I was overwhelmed, not just by the win, but by what it represented.

It wasn’t just a personal achievement. It was a reminder that trying again is always worth it. That growth often lives on the other side of “almost.”

Why the Contest Journey Matters

The contest journey isn’t easy. It demands courage, vulnerability, and a willingness to grow in public. But that’s what makes it so powerful.

Toastmasters contests aren’t just about speaking well. They’re about pushing past fear, learning to be seen, and discovering just how much your voice matters. Whether you walk away with a trophy or not, you gain something even greater: clarity, confidence, and connection.

To Anyone Standing at “Almost”

If you’ve competed before and didn’t place, I hope you try again.

If you’ve never considered it, I hope this encourages you to start.

Because whether you walk away as a champion or not, someone will be moved by your words.
Maybe that someone is you.

And sometimes, the only difference between “almost” and “champion” is the decision to show up—one more time.