I’m afraid…

Those who know me in real life might think that I’ve got my shit together. My friends tell me I’m strong and invincible and can do anything. And for the most part, that’s sorta kinda true most of the time. Now anyway. Not so much a few years back when a nervous breakdown left me in a messy puddle of nothingness…

I’ve talked about fears before… mostly snakes and tarantulas and falling off of step ladders… but some of the silliest things scare me too.

Whether legit or frivolous, fear has the ability to grip you tight in it’s clutches and make it hard to breathe. It can fill you with anxiety and lead you to make really dumb decisions… all based on fears of what “could” happen… {but probably won’t if we’re being honest}

With the approaching Listen to Your Mother show {tomorrow O-M-G} fears are creeping into my brain so fast I can’t even sort them all out.

FYI – the day before you are about to get on a stage and read terribly personal and heartfelt words to a crowd of 200-300 family, friends and strangers leaving yourself completely open and vulnerable is probably not the best time to remember you have a fear of public speaking.


I’m terrified I’ll freeze at the microphone and forget how to speak. {That’s sorta kinda why I have people at both shows so I can pretend I’m just telling them my story.}

I’m terrified I’ll trip and fall on my way up to the microphone. {There are only two steps to climb but do y’all know how klutzy I can be? Especially when I’m nervous. And in heels.}

I’m afraid that the few funny parts in my piece will fall flat and I’ll leave the audience reeling after hearing such a heavy piece and they will be in shock as I walk back down the steps to take my seat in utter silence. {I’m hoping those same people who I’ll be reading to know that I also expect them to clap. Loudly.}

I have no clue what to do with my hands and I’m afraid I’ll look like a robot up there at the podium and bore the poor audience. {I’ve been told I already gesture when I read my piece but I honestly can’t remember doing it.}

I’m afraid that I might cry … again… when reading my piece and the whole audience will laugh at that. {Ok, so that’s dumb. I will cry. I cry every time I read it. EVERY TIME.}

I’m afraid I might walk out of the bathroom and onto the stage with my dress tucked into my Spanx {but I’m pretty sure my fellow cast mates would tell me… RIGHT LADIES?}

I’m afraid that I’ll accidentally wear the non-waterproof mascara and have raccoon eyes on that stage. {and the show is videoed and the internet is FOREVER}

I’m afraid that my hair will be so huge that no one will hear the words coming out of my mouth. {Seriously – it’s gonna be big and curly because Mama always said that the bigger the hair, the smaller the face. And when I actually take time to curl it, it’s amazing.}

I’m afraid that the dress I loved when I bought it will look ridiculous on me. {but that’s silly because I don’t have time to shop again}

Even with all of those fears, this is something that is important to me. This show across 39 cities gives women everywhere the opportunity to say “OMG – ME TOO” and maybe not about my piece specifically, cause well, I’m me, but there’s still something so relateable about the vulnerability and honesty and utter rawness of the pieces in the Austin show. I can’t speak for other cities, but I’m sure they are equally amazing.

Fear can hold you tight in its grip and make it difficult to move forward. It can make it hard to breathe. It can cloud your judgement by filling your head with lies and scenarios that are less likely than being hit by lightening. {OMG – will there be lightening?!?}

Bravery isn’t about never being afraid… it’s doing the thing you are afraid of in the face of that fear.

And in the midst of my fear, I’m reminded that I’m surrounded by amazing women who share and console my insecurities and fears. If no one else laughs, I know they will. If no one else claps, I know that they will. I know that they will be in the audience cheering me on and hugging me in the way that this group has done through both previous rehearsals and will continue to do at the show. And will tell me if my dress gets caught in my spanx.

And in the vein of being brave… Here’s Kristin reading her piece titled Being Brave in the 2013 Austin Listen to Your Mother show.


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  1. So proud of you. Of us. You will be awesome. It will be magical. Your piece is amazing. So are you. Wooo sahhhh.

  2. You are brave and beautiful and have fabulous hair. I may not be in a seat but know I shall be in that theater with you. So tell me the story. You will amaze everyone including yourself and it’s okay to cry.

    • I so wish you were able to be there physically but it IS reassuring to know you will always be with me in spirit! XOXO

  3. OMG You listed every one of my fears! Seriously, especially the big hair issue and the falling. I bawled at my first rehearsal (and I am not a pretty crier), held it together for the 2nd one and am offering a pagan sacrifice for show day.

    I would wish you luck tomorrow, but you will rock it. So I will wish you a great show and good hair!

    • Thank you so much for the kind words. And especially for the wishes for good hair. That IS the most important thing after all 🙂

  4. I am admittedly a little over emotional today, but this made me tear up. You will be amazing. You will leave the audience in awe.

    • Emotional? Yeah… I might be there too… Thank you for all of your love and support. I’m not sure what this journey would have been like with out you and honestly, don’t want to even consider that.

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