From Stage Fright to Side-Splitting Success: My Comedy Journey
When I first stepped on stage with a microphone, I wasn’t thinking about laughter. I was thinking about survival. My palms were sweaty, my knees were shaking, and my brain was screaming, Why did you think THIS was a good idea? Stage fright had me in a chokehold so tight I could barely remember my own name, much less the punchline I’d rehearsed a hundred times in the mirror.
But here’s the thing about comedy—you can’t fake it. If you’re nervous, the audience feels it. If you’re confident, they feel that too. And if you bomb? Oh, trust me, everyone feels it. That first night, I delivered a joke so badly that even the crickets were silent. Somewhere in the back, a man coughed, and I’m pretty sure it got a bigger laugh than I did.
Most people would’ve quit right there. But not me. I figured if I could survive bombing that hard, then maybe—just maybe—I could learn to do this for real. So I kept showing up. Open mics, coffee shops, bars with three drunk guys and a bartender who couldn’t care less—I did them all. And slowly, I discovered the magic of leaning into the chaos.
Comedy, I realized, isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being real. It’s about turning the awkward, embarrassing, downright ridiculous parts of life into something people can laugh at. Like the time I split my jeans bending down at a family barbecue. Or when my dog ignored me in front of my entire neighborhood. Or the countless farm chores that turned into slapstick sketches all on their own.
The more I told those stories, the more people laughed—not because they were flawless punchlines, but because they recognized themselves in the mess. They laughed at me, sure, but also with me. And that’s when the stage fright started to fade.
Fast forward, and now I live for the spotlight. The stage that once felt like a firing squad now feels like home. The same nerves that used to paralyze me now fuel the energy I bring into every set. And every laugh from the audience? That’s not just noise—it’s proof that fear doesn’t get the last word.
My comedy journey isn’t about overnight success or viral moments (though a few goats and donkeys have stolen the show on TikTok). It’s about persistence. About turning fear into fuel. About realizing that sometimes, the punchline is hiding in the very thing you’re afraid to share.
Because if I learned anything from going from stage fright to side-splitting success, it’s this: the scariest stories are often the funniest ones. And the biggest failures? Well, they make for the best material.
