Finding My Voice Again: Communication and Toastmasters

Charles Hill writes how years of incarceration reshaped his ability to interact, and how Toastmasters helped him rebuild essential communication skills.

It was a festive Thanksgiving week. All was well until it wasn’t. I sat in a rusted chair, my heart pounding. My hands were shaking from adrenaline. Over the past decade in prison, I’ve been the center of attention, but those were fights and bad altercations. I turned to scan the room, all kinds of big eyes staring at me like vultures zooming in on dead meat. Sweat collected on my forehead. I exhaled. Just another day in prison. What have I become?

Losing My Social Skills Behind Bars

Years ago, at the start of my sentence, I didn’t have communication issues. I was an average, happy-go-lucky young man in my twenties. In high school, I had performed in front of thousands—in sports, plays, and speeches. But prison slowly drained me of social norms. I was now in the land of “No Goods.”

In the land of No Goods, everyone is or has been antisocial. Prison is like a dysfunctional household full of raging men who want what the next man has. Of course, there are many normal Joes who happened to be in the wrong situation at the wrong time, but if one man is dysfunctional, everyone suffers.

From Avoidance to Reclusion

Over the years, I learned to spot the crash-outs and crash dummies. Not as quickly as I would have liked, but after a few years of basically hitting my head and fists against brick walls and crashing out, I learned to avoid the crazies. Avoidance became the main problem, because it led to reclusion.

Before my Toastmasters communication overhaul, I was that rude, reclusive guy. I always carried a book with me anywhere I went. Whether it was lunch, lay-ins, or school, I carried a book. Prison is notorious for waiting in long lines for extended periods of time. We have mass movements for everything, and the waiting experience is like standing in line for the Superman at Six Flags, except at the end it’s never as satisfying. This is why I always carry a book, because I hate wasting my time and my life. The real problem is no one else brings a book.

Small Talk and Communication Breakdowns

Most people stand in line like hostages waiting for time to tick down. They try to make the best of it by talking. Everyone will talk in line to the guy next to them about absolutely nothing. “What’s for chow?” “Man, it’s hot today.” “Did you hear, ole boy got ___.” “Did you know that guy who committed suicide?” Small talk and small-town drama, a waste of time. That was my old mindset, that every encounter was the same.

Many times, while I was reading a book, someone would start a conversation. “Oh, what are you reading?” I would ignore them, but they would continue, “I read a lot of westerns.” My eyes peeked up from the book, and I raised an eyebrow in an awkward question. My nature of disassociation slowly severed the communication skills I’d once had.

Hypervigilance and the Cost of Poor Communication

Prison is built like a cage because it is a place of detention. A big cage with smaller rooms makes it impossible to avoid the crazies. There is nowhere to go, to relax or exclude yourself from the madness. We learn to cope. We learn to live in it. Living in madness and avoiding crazies will cause you to become reclusive to a non-socializing state. The fewer interactions with people, the fewer problems you tend to have.

Over time, the hyper-awareness of your surroundings turns into a state of hypervigilance. When you hear the smack of a fist hitting a jaw, you instinctively turn to the location, readying for the worst. Enough hypervigilant encounters compound anxiety to form chronic post-traumatic stress disorder. Everyone’s heard about PTSD in soldiers, but what about people who constantly witness and are forced to interact in traumatic events? Fights, altercations with abusive authority, verbal abuse, dysfunction, and negative social interactions. One event may do little harm, but multiple events build mounds of turds to drag around.

A Wake-Up Call in the Principal’s Office

Ten years into my prison sentence, although I’d achieved a BA in humanities, my communication was inept. I only realized this when I landed a job as a teacher’s aide for the GED class. The first day I talked to the principal was like a Charlie Brown episode.

The awkward interview made me realize I needed serious work on communication. That moment of stumbling over a simple interaction pushed me toward Toastmasters.

Toastmasters and Rebuilding Communication

Everyone has self-denial until they hit a breaking point. For me, that came when I struggled to answer basic questions. But I wasn’t about to fight someone or get into an altercation—I was about to take one small step to reverse the effects of trauma on my communication skills.

That day was speech number three, and I was speaking on circumstantial tragedies. The Toastmaster’s introduction echoed in my head: “Charles Hill’s objectives are to use vivid words and speak with clarity.”

After the speech, my feedback read, “Eyes, eyes, keep your eyes on us. Talk to us.” That was then, and now I don’t have a problem speaking. My communication skills have almost returned to my previous levels before incarceration. One speech at a time, Toastmasters has enabled me to shake off awkward body language, hypervigilance while speaking, and PTSD of eye contact. Without Toastmasters, I wouldn’t be the communicator I am today.

Communication doesn’t have to mean silence, avoidance, or hypervigilance. With tools like Toastmasters, even after years of trauma and reclusion, it’s possible to rebuild confidence, recover your voice, and reconnect with others.

Enjoy this story? Don’t miss Life in Prison: Day 14,975

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