I cried for two days

And in Ikea

Two weeks ago I performed my first one woman show. Something I have wanted to do for as long as I can remember. A dream, you might say. A dream that I put to the back of my mind but would gnaw on me from time to time. A dream that at some point I had decided wasn’t for me and became so down trodden I’d almost forgotten it was mine at all.

I put it on sale by accident. I announced I was doing something and it was only when I realised it was a one woman show that I suddenly found myself with a date in the diary and people buying tickets.

I told myself it didn’t matter if no one actually came because I wanted to do it. I needed to do it. I started writing it and buzzed with excitement. The process, the ideas, the post it notes. I was in pure flow. Hours whizzed by and I finished the day exhausted from my creative endeavours.

I wrote a script and was in awe of how good it was. When I practised it that afternoon I declared it was the best thing I’d ever done. I imagined myself doing it not on zoom but in real life, on stage in front of people. I imagined a tour, packed tiny theatres, the Edinburgh fringe. This was it! This was the moment I’d been waiting for, the bit where everything made sense. I could relax knowing there was a plan coming off the back of this one zoom call. My life was about to change, my dreams would come true! Pressure?! There was no pressure! What could possibly go wrong?!

I set up the space, gathered my props and put on the new red top I’d bought especially. I got the music ready, put up the ring light I’d ordered from Vinted and tried to calm my nerves as they kicked in. Show time!

It began and people started joining. I danced to the music and saw names of people I knew. It was happening! But when I spoke my voice broke. It wasn’t how I thought it was going to be. I didn’t feel how I thought I was going to feel. I suddenly became hyper aware of myself. I became embarrassed. Barbie doesn’t get embarrassed, but this one was.

I carried on, determined to have a good time. About half way through my nerves began to settle and I managed to centre myself but the soaring high I’d hoped for wasn’t there. It finished, I said thanked everyone for coming, told them they could expect the replay later that evening and ended the call.

I sat in front of the desk, staring out of the window wondering what the hell had just happened. I went downstairs, sat on the sofa and stared at the rug. My husband asked ‘how did it go?!’ and I started to cry. I cried for two whole days. I cried in Ikea.

Turns out the pressure to change your life on one zoom call is too much. Also it turns out that doing it on my own was very different to performing in front of other people. When the reality didn’t match the fantasy I’d built in my head, I just couldn’t cope.

When I finally did stop crying I read some of the testimonials people had sent in. People couldn’t have been nicer. “I hope you do more of these!” wrote one person, “I wish I could come to these every month!” wrote another. And suddenly I realised this wasn’t a quick fix, this was a slow burner. It might burn slowly for years. Rather than being the big bright finale, it was the beginning of something. I had taken the first step, I had lit the fire.

Because what happens when you have a two day meltdown and cry into a plate of meatballs? The next show almost writes itself.

Well Well Well 2 is coming soon.