WOOPS: From Panic to Poise

A: So, we're talking about this framework called WOO-PS. Our teacher, Dr. Fowler, introduced it, saying it's really good for setting goals that help you become the kind of person you want to be.

B: WHOOPS, huh? Sounds a bit like... goal setting acronym. What kind of goals are we talking about?

A: Well, for me, the immediate challenge was a group presentation coming up. My first, gut-reaction 'wish' was just, 'I want to get through my presentation.' You know, like just survive the ordeal.

B: Right. Pure damage control. Not exactly aspirational.

A: Exactly! But then I remembered what Dr. Fowler said about shaping your wish. So, I reframed it: 'I want to do my part calmly and confidently.' And then, even more profoundly, 'I want to prove to myself I can improve at this.' That shift in perspective was pretty powerful for me.

B: That's a massive mental leap. From just enduring to actively wanting to perform and grow.

A: It was. And the 'Outcome' step of WHOOPS really cemented it. Instead of just picturing the usual panic, I imagined myself finishing the presentation feeling proud instead of stressed out. That really changed the whole approach.

A: So, with that aspirational wish locked in—wanting to become someone who handles presentations calmly—the next step in WHOOPS was confronting the 'Obstacles.'

B: The things that always get in the way, the 'usual suspects' as they say.

A: Precisely. For me, they were glaringly obvious: first, I talk way too fast, like my mouth is trying to outrun my brain. Second, I avoid practicing at all costs because it feels incredibly awkward. And third, the timeless classic, procrastination, leaving everything until panic sets in.

B: Those are so relatable. So, knowing those specific pain points, how did you even begin to craft a 'Plan' that felt realistic?

A: That's where WHOOPS really shines. For talking too fast, my strategy was simple: a tiny star on my cue card. It was my secret signal to pause, take a breath, and not rush through my words.

A: For avoiding practice, the rule became just five minutes. Door closed, no audience, not even my dog, because he absolutely judges. Just five minutes to hear my voice.

A: And for procrastination, it was 'practice before fun.' One run-through, after dinner, before I could even look at my iPad. The amazing part was realizing none of these strategies were massive, terrifying changes. They were all small, completely doable steps.

B: That shift in perspective alone must have been empowering.

A: It was. Suddenly, Friday didn't feel like a disaster waiting to happen anymore. The practice days went... surprisingly well.

A: Tuesday, I remembered the 'practice before fun' rule and did a quick run-through. Wednesday, setting that timer actually felt calming. By Thursday, I just knew skipping would make Friday worse.

B: And Friday itself?

A: Nerves were there, absolutely, but they weren't winning. I felt... ready. Stood up when my group was called, no brain protest.

B: Did the star help?

A: It was perfect. Spotted that little star on my cue card, and it was my trigger. Nerves bubbled, but the star reminded me to pause, to breathe. My voice steadied. It wasn't flawless, hands still shaky, a wobble, but I didn't rush.

B: Sounds like a huge personal win.

A: It was! Sitting down, I didn't feel like collapsing. Felt like I'd upgraded myself one tiny level – 'Presentation Me: Slightly Less Panicky Edition.'