By Thomas Watson

As I gazed out from behind the protective curtains into the rowdy crowd, I found myself doing a hand twitch. It felt like a quick, uncontrollable jerk that messed with my sense of calm. Like a sudden shock, it left me uneasy. It was as though my hand had a mind of its own for just a moment. Since childhood, I had a tendency to exhibit nervous tics during times of stress–a sudden hand movement, a quick opening and closing of my mouth, an uncontrollable roll of the eye. It was as though my body was betraying me. 

Standing there on that stage, the betrayal was setting in. It all felt overwhelming. I saw the big purple curtains, shielding me from the audience. I heard the people around me trying to stay calm. The faint whispers of my castmates getting into position filled the air. Their resilience inspired me, and I took a few deep breaths. My mouth tasted bitter, like dark chocolate. I felt the thick sheet of dust on props that hadn’t been used in what seemed like decades. I could smell makeup being applied to the actors. As the curtains slowly parted, I found myself alone on stage. In that moment, it felt as though all of my fears were on the verge of materializing.

It was bright. Too bright. The feeling of a hundred eyes on me was only emphasized by spotlights as people settled into their seats and everything came together. Sweat was dripping from my forehead as I looked out into the hushed crowd. I saw my mom, my dad, and my sisters. The pace of my heart resembled the quick notes of a typewriter in overdrive. The ringing sound in my ears felt violent, echoing like the relentless pounding of war drums. The excruciating silence was cut off by coughing in the crowd. Cringing with every fibre of my being, I looked to the exit sign. The bright neon red light stood out against the darkness of the gymnasium. I seriously considered dashing to the exit, a portal guiding me away from the embarrassment of my current situation.    

In that moment of uncertainty, I took a deep breath and was transported to the Sick Kids Anxiety Clinic that I attended when I was 9 years old. I began to do the exercises that I learned there. “Take deep breaths,” they said. “Focus on one thing from each of the five senses,” they suggested. “Go to your happy place,” they instructed. I grounded myself in my happy place. I took a deep breath, and I was transported. I imagined the dock at my grandparents’ house on Maple Lake in Northern Ontario. The soft summer breeze, peaceful silence, and beaming sun reminded me that while it felt as though I was drowning, everything was going to be okay.  These grounding exercises were a lifeline, preventing me from spiralling into uncontrollable anxiety. The realization that keeping myself from spiralling was crucial for maintaining composure motivated me to stay present and remain calm.

And then, I made a quick joke. The light laughter reverberated off the gymnasium walls and filled me with a sense of pride. My hand felt at ease. I tried my luck and made a joke that wasn’t in the script, but I thought fit the scene well. Over the headset, I heard some backstage members giggling. The joke had landed. It felt like a humongous weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I felt proud of what I had accomplished, as I had faced my fears and didn’t let anxiety stop me from doing the things that I love to do.

The lead-up to the performance had been nerve-wracking, with fears of forgetting lines and making mistakes, but under the bright spotlight, those fears disappeared like morning mist giving way to the warmth of the sun. The stage became a place of connection, growth, and an opportunity to share a passion beyond personal insecurities. On that stage, the fear of mistakes lost its hold. If I slipped up, I embraced it, turning potential mishaps into moments of laughter and friendship. It became a lesson for me in resilience and a reminder of the strength found in self-confidence. This encouraged me even more and made me feel like I had found a collective where I belonged. 

Walking off the stage that night to the sound of applause and cheers, I was reminded that I should never let my anxiety or tics get the best of me. If I had let myself fall, if I had given in to the anxiety and charged towards the exit sign for the easy way out, I would have lost a key part of what makes me me. Will I ever be stress-free? Will I never feel afraid or uncomfortable again? Will my hands always be at ease? No. But that isn’t the point. The point of learning how to combat these uneasy feelings is knowing that no matter how far I fall, I will always be able to pick myself back up and trudge onward. Never giving up, and never giving in, I can approach stressful situations with a newfound ease. I imagine myself doing what I love and remember the pride I felt walking off the stage that fateful night. The stage is like a magical escape, where worries fade, leaving only me, my fellow actors, and our shared purpose.