I stood under the spotlight at the New York Comedy Club – thrilled, buzzing, and genuinely overjoyed. My first joke landed beautifully. The audience was warm, expectant, and ready. And I was living my dream, performing at a legendary comedy venue. Then my mind went completely blank.

This wasn’t a dramatic pause or a clever comedic beat. It was a full 30-second freeze where I couldn’t remember my name, let alone the jokes I had spent months perfecting.

My face went red-hot, my palms were so sweaty the backup notes I’d scribbled on my hand blurred into an abstract watercolour, and the audience’s faces shifted from anticipation to compassionate confusion. In that moment, I desperately wanted the stage to open up and swallow me whole.

The perfectionism trap

Stage fright is rarely about the stage. It’s about the gap between who we are and who we think we should be in high-pressure moments. I had turned every stand-up comedy performance into a memorisation exam. I believed if I knew every word, every beat, and every pause, I would be safe. But scripts are prisons. They create a false sense of security and block real connection. And if you forget even one tiny word, the whole thing can unravel – quickly!

For months after that freeze, the memory ambushed me at unexpected times. I’d be brushing my teeth and suddenly I was back there, paralysed under those blinding lights. I knew I needed a different kind of preparation – one that worked with my vulnerability, rather than against it.

The turning point

Months later, when I was embarking on my first solo show in the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, everyone said: “We’re going to heckle you.” I was petrified. This time, I tried something different. I Googled the most common heckle lines and their best comebacks, printed four pages, and took them on stage each night on a clipboard. Halfway through every show, I stopped and told the audience: “This is my first comedy festival, and everyone said I’d get heckled. I was petrified. So, this is your moment. Lights up on the audience, please. Hit me with your best heckles. I promise I have a cracker response.” Someone yelled, “You suck!”

I scanned my clipboard and replied, “And you swallow!” The room exploded. Night after night, this became the biggest laugh of the show.

The shift that changed everything

At the New York club, I hid my fear. At the festival, I owned it. Instead of pretending to be confident, I aligned everything – my words, my energy, my intention, and my truth. And that alignment created connection, trust, and laughter. I also realised something liberating: anxiety and excitement feel almost identical in the body. The butterflies, racing heart, sweaty palms – these sensations are the same. The difference is the story we tell ourselves. Change the narrative, and the meaning shifts instantly. My stage fright didn’t disappear. It transformed. What once trapped me now turbocharges me.

So, here’s five ways to turn stage fright into your superpower:

1. Own your fear instead of hiding it
   When you authentically acknowledge what scares you, it loses its grip on you.
2. Use the 4-2-4 breathing technique
   Breathe in for four seconds, hold for two, exhale for four. Repeat this three times and feel the immediate sense of calm it brings. Counting takes us out of anxious thoughts and into the present moment.
3. Replace scripts with structure
   Know your key points and opening lines, but give yourself permission to be spontaneous. Flexibility beats rigidity every single time.
4. Work with your physical symptoms, not against them
   When you fight your nerves, tension amplifies every shaky breath. Instead, recognise your body is gearing up for peak performance and that it’s working with you, not against you.
5. Remember your audience wants you to succeed
   Fear can convince us that everyone is waiting for us to stumble. But your audience showed up hoping for a great experience – just like you. You share the same goals.

The best communicators aren’t fearless. They’ve just learnt to dance with their fear instead of fight it. Anxiety before a presentation isn’t a weakness. It means you care and that your body is getting you ready for an important occasion. My freeze in New York taught me that true influence doesn’t come from being perfect. It comes from presence. Your stage fright isn’t the problem. Hiding it is. So own it, reframe it, and watch it become your greatest strength.

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