I didn't realize how much I had pushed down into myself until I started to write my solo show. The first day in class we were asked to perform 1-2 minutes of our story, just improvised. Get up and see what comes up. How did we want to get into our story? How did we start?
This was why I had taken the class - I didn't know where to start. I stared around the room, looking for an object to inspire me into the story. And then I focused on the chairs that were placed in the front of the class. The chair. I could start my story with a chair...but it was so much more than a chair in that moment. For those of you who have seen, or are helping me work through my show, you'll understand. For those of you who haven't - get in touch with me. It's a great story!
Telling just a part of it for 1-2 minutes felt so liberating, I felt high as a kite on the train home. And then the next morning my whole face was in pain - I'd been grinding all night and could feel the anxiety just building in my body. I had a small panic attack the next night. I spoke to my therapist - I didn't realize how much FEAR was coming out. And what a horrible opinion I had of fear. We were supposed to write for 10 minutes a day, but I was scared to sit down again and write. I couldn't even manage what I had just done. What should I do?
I recognized that I had put so much of the fear and pain in a box, and buried it deep deep within my body so that I could just survive. And now it was open - and I couldn't get the lid back on. I tried to write some more for class, I sent it to the woman leading the class. She recommended reading it to a trusted friend as a next step to move it along. And so, I reached out to my remaining theater friend. I don't know why, but I was scared she would say no.
She didn't, and we chatted on FaceTime. After I was done reading what I had written, she had some good notes and thoughts. And then she asked, "I'm a little worried about how you deal with this when you perform it. How does it feel in your body?" She had hit the nail on the head, and I hadn't even had to tell her (this is why she's one of my best friends). I told her about my problem with Fear and being able to put it back in the box. She laughed at me. Here I was doing the most terrifying thing, and judging myself for being afraid - it was comical.
So, she suggested a prop - an actual box. A box that contained things to anchor me to each part of my story. As I started sorting through pictures to anchor me, I went down to the basement. I needed to go further back in my life. And there it was: the box.
This box used to hold the wedding pictures from my first marriage. In fact, it was still marked, "Wedding." Boxes have many purposes: we can shove things in them so that they don't come out, and in that way, we keep ourselves. But a box can also hold something dear. It can protect it for us until we're ready to see it's value.
You can choose to see your story as something you have to hide away in a box, or you can choose to protect it safely until you're ready to dig in and share the contents. If you're ready to share the contents, I look forward to your journey. If there is anything I can do to help you, please reach out. If not to me, than to someone in your trusted circle. Reach out to the first person who you think will see the value in it. I don't think you'll be sorry.
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