Performance Anxiety Part 1: How to shine in performance and presentation
For anyone whose interviews and auditions don’t show what they can actually do.
As a coach and somatic practitioner, I often work with people who freeze or panic when the stakes are high. People facing interviews, major presentations, auditions, or board meetings, who find their body taking over the moment they are required to perform in front of others.
Most of us know what we are capable of when nobody is watching. That speech was word-perfect in the mirror this morning, but now that you see everyone looking at you, your mind has gone blank. You would give Mariah a run for her money when you sing in the shower, but you believe you couldn’t reproduce that performance for an audience.
Embodied, Courageous Communication
For anyone who has frozen during a difficult conversation or felt their body lock up when trying to speak.
Reading the warning at the base of the skull
Most of us develop protective habits against feeling unsafe long before we realise we are doing so.
In somatic practice, this is often described as body armour: holding chronic tension in the musculature as a physical shield against distress, long after the immediate threat has passed. When I began working with a practitioner to support my recovery, learning to track these sensations was eye-opening. By paying attention to what my body was doing when I felt exposed, I began to see the connection between physical sensation, emotion, and action.
I learned, for instance, that whenever I feel vulnerable or anticipate conflict, the muscles at the base of my skull tend to shudder or vibrate. It is not a subtle cue. It has shown up during tense meetings, difficult personal conversations, and job interviews.
Performers are not our Property
For performers, creatives, and anyone who feels the pressure to trade their wellbeing for an audience.
The cultural appetite for watching artists unravel in public has always been voracious.
From the relentless media surveillance that hounded Amy Winehouse to the legal battles of the Free Britney movement, society has a long history of consuming a performer's talent, then demanding their trauma as an encore. We look on with voyeuristic fascination as young, highly visible artists are placed under intense scrutiny, treated as public property, and discarded when they collapse under the weight.
It's easy to shake our heads at the tabloid press or blame predatory managers, yet this dynamic points to a wider issue inside the performance industry itself. The very qualities that make someone a compelling artist – emotional sensitivity, a porous relationship with feeling, and an instinct to connect – are the exact traits commercial systems routinely exploit.