My Second Speech: Toastmasters
It’s been more than 6 months and 10 meetings since I joined our company’s corporate Toastmasters club. And like I have said a hundred times already, joining Toastmasters was one of the best decisions I made in 2025.
Not only has it given me confidence, but it’s also helped me embrace myself. My voice, my stories, my pauses; they all matter.
And if you know me, you know this: anything that happens in my life (as long as it’s shareable) always ends up here. This is my way of expressing myself and letting someone out there know that you are not alone on the muddy slopes of life.
So here’s my second speech. The one that came to me after I wrote a recent blog on burnout over on Medium.
Speech Title: “Survival Is Not Success”
Good afternoon, fellow Toastmasters.
I’m Toastmasters Sneha, and before I say anything else, I want you to do something with me. Take a deep breath.
(Inhale. 3-second pause.)
Feel better? Even if it’s just a little?
We don’t pause enough, do we? Most days, we race from one message to the next, from one meeting to another.
But in all that motion, we forget to ask a question: At what cost?
That brings me to a headline that I recently came across. No, not exactly a headline, but a warning. “India has the longest working hours in the world.”
And it is also reflected in the global data. A 2023 ADP report found that nearly 80% of Indian workers experience burnout, and more than half don’t even know it.
They just call it:
“Being tired.”
“Not doing enough.”
Or worse: “This is normal.”
But when did exhaustion become a badge of honor?
When did survival start passing off as success?
A few days ago, I read something on LinkedIn that stopped me cold. Nikhil Somwanshi, an engineer at Ola’s AI unit, reportedly died by suicide. A viral post claimed relentless work pressure and toxic culture played a role.
The company said he was on leave, and maybe that’s true. But does it change what we felt when we heard the news?
No.
Because the truth is, we all know what this really is. It’s a mirror.
And whether we admit it or not, many of us have looked into that mirror and seen ourselves — tired, isolated, stretched so thin we don’t even recognize who we’ve become.
I didn’t know Nikhil. But I know what it feels like when the world doesn’t notice you’re drowning.
When you’re surrounded by people, and still feel invisible. And I know that feeling… because not so long ago, I lived it.
In 2020, I was working in Gurgaon when the pandemic hit. Teams were being laid off overnight.
Those of us left behind? We were expected to smile… and do the work of three people.
I was working 18 to 20 hours a day. And to feel like I still had some control,
I used to time my bathroom breaks — two minutes. Stopwatch on. What I didn’t realize was…I was breaking down — slowly, silently.
I had already been diagnosed with clinical depression in 2018. I was trying to heal. Trying to hold on. But the pressure, the fear, the isolation — it all collided.
Emails started giving me anxiety. Meetings felt like drills for survival.
And one day… my body just gave up. I couldn’t stop vomiting. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t feel.
And in that darkness, one thought crept in —
“Maybe it would be easier… to just stop.”
But something inside me said:
“This is not the end.”
So I did something we rarely celebrate —
I quit my job.
Not because I was weak. But because I was dying on the inside.
And no job is worth that.
The worst part is, my story isn’t rare.
A 2022 WHO report found that more than 15% of global depression is tied to poor working conditions. That’s not just a statistic — that’s a wake-up call.
We treat mental health like a checkbox. Friday yoga. A friendly email from HR. Then it’s back to 12-hour workdays, unrealistic expectations, and “urgent” everything.
We glorify hustle.
We romanticize burnout.
Until someone breaks — or disappears.
And even then, we move on like nothing happened.
And most people don’t leave toxic jobs.
They leave themselves behind —
Slowly. Silently. Painfully.
So what now?
We stop waiting for people to crash before we start caring.
If you’re a manager: Don’t just ask, “How’s the task?”
Ask, “How are you — really?”
If you’re a teammate: Don’t wait for “I’m not okay.”
Look for the silence. The delay. The change in energy.
Reach out — not to fix, but to stand beside.
And if you are the one silently struggling —
Please know this:
You are not weak. You are not broken. You are human. And you are allowed to choose yourself.
I know how dark it gets. I know how heavy it feels. And honestly, I’m still figuring myself out.
But where I can, I take control. Now, I walk away from positions that steal my peace. I maintain distance from people who drain me. And I hope you give yourself the permission to do the same.
It’s not easy. But it’s necessary.
It wasn’t easy to say all this today. But I had to.
Because if not now, if not here, then when? And how many more lives must we lose before we finally listen?
So let’s stop calling burnout ambition. Let’s stop celebrating survival as success.
We don’t need another Nikhil. We don’t need another obituary. We need something else entirely:
A moment of action.
And here’s where it starts:
- Take a break — without guilt.
- Speak up — even if your voice trembles.
- Check in with your team, your friends, and yourself.
- Set boundaries — not walls, but breathing room.
- And if you’re in pain, reach out. To a friend. To a therapist. To someone.
At OpenText, we have access to the Employee Assistance Program — a free, professional, and completely confidential service. No one — not even your manager — will know. Use it. That support exists for a reason. Or try Rocket Health. Calm. Anyone you trust.
You don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to burn just to keep others warm. And if you ever find yourself racing again, losing yourself again,
I want you to remember this speech.
This moment. This breath.
Pause.
And ask yourself —
“Am I truly living…
or just surviving in a world that has forgotten how to care?”
Take care of yourself. Because you matter. And your story is not over yet.
Thank you.
As usual, I missed a few lines from what I had initially written in my blog.
But this time, it was definitely better than the first one, where I almost forgot half the script! I’m not saying this to justify anything, but genuinely, it felt good once I was done. The reaction I got from the room — the nods, the smiles, the energy — was precisely what I was hoping for. It’s hard to explain, but there’s a particular kind of warmth when people connect with your words. And the best part? This speech came from my own experiences. It wasn’t something I had to memorize word for word (though I did try to!).
I could just flow with it, and that felt freeing. I didn’t have to fumble or force it; it was me, speaking as me.
Yet, when I stepped off the stage, a part of me still felt a little upset. Because as a writer, you know what hurts the most? It’s when those beautifully crafted lines, the ones that sound perfect in your head, don’t make it out the way you imagined. You feel like you’ve left something behind. But this time, it hurt a little less. Maybe because I knew that this was progress. I could feel it. I’m improving, and I will continue to get better.
This was my second speech, and I know I have a long way to go. I will have to do better next time, not just because I want to, but because I owe it to myself, to the words I write, and to the voice I’m still learning to trust.
Oh! That brings me to some good news — I won the Best Speaker award for this speech! 🎉 And even though this wasn’t my 100%, I know I’m growing, and next time, I’ll be even better.
Also, if you’ve never thought about joining a Toastmasters club, I insist you give it a thought. It might just be one of the best decisions you’ll ever make.
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