I did it!

I did it! I made it through the class and performed last night in the Storytelling Showcase!

After that first class I continued to be nervous, but not nearly as debilitating as that initial day. I actually felt more like me in the subsequent 5 classes. I was able to speak up and joke around and switched from the “too nervous to talk” to “too nervous to handle silence” mode.

Week One was spent sorting through ideas and fleshing out the framework for three of them.

Week Two we shared our three ideas and received feedback from the others in the class about which they felt was the more solid story for the framework. The homework was to write the story. I chose to write the story of divorcing my uterus.

Week Three we read our stories to the class and received feedback. I was chosen to go first. Nervously, I read the story exactly as it was written and was told I should probably condense parts, as it was pretty long, but didn’t really feel like I’d gotten much feedback other than that. I don’t know if it was because I was first, but it seemed like he had a lot more to say for everyone else’s story. By the time we got through all of our stories he didn’t have time for us to do the lesson he had planned, so it was postponed until the next week. Our homework was to adjust our stories using the feedback and work on memorizing the story.

I spent some time working on getting it set mostly set in my head, but did not try to memorize it word for word. Considering it was likely we’d be making changes along the way, I felt that wouldn’t be helpful. I condensed parts to help it fit in the time and hoped it was what the instructor was looking for.

On Week Four, we started with the instruction that we didn’t get to the week before, then took turns presenting the story to one another. Only, we didn’t have time for everyone and I managed to convince the instructor to start on the other side of the room and therefore didn’t have to go. Which meant I had no feedback to use for improving my story, so I simply continued to read over my story and practice it when I was alone in the car.

We started Week Five with the people that did not present the previous week. I had my story printed out, but decided to try telling the story without looking at it (I did have it in my hand, just in case). I made it through the whole story without looking, which impressed my classmates. The instructor felt I was not projecting the analogy of my uterus and I being in a relationship as well as he thought necessary and he suggested working on punching that up. Homework: adjust and practice.

I’m gonna be honest. I didn’t practice all that much. And I didn’t write down any of my changes. I simply made the changes as I told the story to myself. I’m not exactly sure what my thinking was, but I felt like if I thought too much about it, I would sabotage myself. I’d end up OVER thinking and increasing my anxiety about it.

Week Six was our final class. We presented our stories as if it were the showcase, with a microphone in front of our classmates as the audience. Our instructor took video as we told our stories so that we could watch ourselves and understand the feedback he was giving us (which he also recorded). We were then told to practice saying our stories at least once a day leading up to the performance.

I promptly (and purposely) put the whole thing out of my mind. I focused on everything else going on in my life so that I wouldn’t create anxiety over the upcoming performance. When people would ask if I was ready, I’d say “I’m pretending it’s not happening.” I didn’t practice at all. I thought about the story a few times, but I did not say it out loud and I did not think the entire story from start to finish at any time. He had sent out the videos for us on Saturday, but I didn’t watch it until Thursday, the morning of our performance. When I first started watching I was appalled at how I looked and couldn’t concentrate on the performance at all. Eventually I was able to get past it and pay attention to the feedback I’d been given. I still didn’t practice.

Call time for the performers was 6:30. The show was scheduled to start at 7:30. I had enlisted my mother-in-law to bring the kids for the show, but planned to pick them up from school myself. Only, my daughter stayed after to work on color guard. And she didn’t text me to come get her until 5:45. I quickly went to get her, brought her home, changed clothes, and went directly to The Comedy Arena. I arrived right on time (which you know is late in my brain). I didn’t have time to have dinner.

Now that I was actually at the arena, I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. I was scheduled to perform 7th amongst the 8 of us. My anxiety as we waited for show time began to mount. If you’d been a fly on the wall you would have seen my knee bouncing, me filling every silence with conversation so my brain didn’t spiral out of control, and me playing with my silicone ring that I use as a fidget when I’m nervous. I began to panic that I hadn’t practiced more, that my story wasn’t funny enough, that I wouldn’t incorporate the feedback I’d received, that I’d forget how my story should go or ramble incoherently.

Once the first performer was up, I tried to focus on them instead of me. I listened for where they had made changes and where they got laughs. I internally cheered every time the audience reacted. I felt invested in their success, but I also feared I would pale in comparison. I felt certain I would not be funny.

When it was finally my turn and I got up on stage, adjusted the microphone, and looked into the audience, I froze. I took a few deep breaths and almost made a comment about how nervous I was. But instead I started my story. I changed things on the fly, based on the feedback and also the reactions of the audience. At one point I accidentally punched the microphone, which I tied into the story even though everyone knew it had been an accident. I got a ton of laughs. Which was honestly unexpected. Yes, my classmates had been encouraging about my story, but I didn’t feel like they did more than chuckle here and there when I would practice for them. And the way the instructor kept telling me I needed to punch up the jokes made me feel like the way I had been telling them was falling flat. But to the audience, who had never heard my story, it seemed to hit just right. And my last line, which I knew was a great landing, went perfectly. It went so much better than I had hoped.

Does this mean I want to take more classes? Not really. At least, not right now. But it does make me feel better about myself. I’d been thinking that I had lost all of my performance ability, having not used it in years. But this reminded me that I’m a natural storyteller and performer. And that having anxiety about it doesn’t mean I can’t succeed.