What to Expect When You’re an Improviser with Anxiety

Are you paralyzed just from the stress of reading that title? You’re not alone. You’d be surprised by how many of us improvisers are part of that very serious, panic attack-y, clinically diagnosable club. In fact, Second City Training Center classes have emerged that are specifically designed to help address legitimate-freak-out needs, which is pretty great.

That being said, anxiety can be a constant and chaotic battle. Full disclosure: I’ve only ever had mild performance anxiety, but some of my closest improv pals (and favourite students) have battled it much more seriously for years. Honestly, if you’ve got real anxiety issues, you’re probably much more interesting than me, and improv scene work might sometimes feel like someone spliced together “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure” with an Alfred Hitchcock film and cast you in it. It’s definitely a strange ride— but a worthwhile one.

Here’s a look at some things you can anxiously expect from improv comedy in general.    

Just F*ck Your Fear Already

Okay, so your first new improv pals didn’t totally “get” you for the first little while, and it probably made things a little worse to not call the anxiety out. That obviously doesn’t feel great, but that’s normal. It pairs well with early freeze-ups on stage, the ole “what’s with this guy?” eyes going around, and the incorrect assumption that you’re some big ‘fraidy cat who started class with the exact same fears in the exact same proportions as everyone else. Who cares if they mistakenly think you’re a bit of a wiener that doesn’t understand how bravery works?  I know you’re brave, anxiety-person! Tell your pals/teacher what’s up so you can know you’re brave, too.

Solo = Uh-Oh

“Hot spot.” “Show me how to get down.” “Oscar moment.” Anything with a monologue in it ever. How much do you LOVE these solo-focused, put-you-in-the-spotlight games and warm-ups?!? Not so much? Well, good news—uninformed general instructors are going to push you to do them regularly. They’ll think they’re throwing you in a pool to teach you to swim, while you’ll probably feel more like they’re dousing you in gasoline and matches to get over not liking being on fire. Sometimes, that’s the way we get down. 

Really, REALLY Follow Your Gut

If your anxiety manifests through your digestive system, it’s going to be worse on stage when those gross butterflies start figuratively trying to burst through your abdomen, alien-style. Do yourself a favour. Clear those pipes and calm yourself before the heavy-touching Caligula exercises start. …Oh, yeah. There’s a lot of touching sometimes. Sorry.

Trigger Warning

Hey, look! You stuck around for a while, and you’re having some good scenes! That’s great. You’re feeling safe, vulnerable, and even shared a real fear or self-weakness through a character in the scen—UH-OH. You’re screwed. Your castmates thought it was simply a big character offer, not your real-life phobia. Now, they’re repeatedly hitting and heightening this anxiety trigger again and again, because, y’know, comedy. And now, you’re stuck accepting a “cut to” an elevator full of the most tightly packed giant wrestler characters, all eating object work hummus so close to your face that you can smell the fake hummus on their real fingers. Don’t worry; they’ll realize you’re freaking out about it by the fourth tag-out or so. Got your back!

Friday Night Lights

It’s like the weekend tech just knows when you’re anxious and turns that spotlight up to 11 on purpose! Maybe they just love when we play scenes as blind, nervous-faced mannequin characters? Somewhere, there’s a deer in the road staring down a 4x4 with its high beams on thinking, “Well, at least there aren’t 100 people watching.”

Nobody’s Set Is Perfect

If you’re starting out in a typical inexperienced group, you’re going to be cutting your teeth with scene hogs, unaffected robots, shitty overendowers, jocks afraid to be vulnerable, bad listeners, poor actors, actual actors (not so bad), dumb-dumbs, anti-social geniuses, and assholes. And that’s normal! It’s what most of us improvisers start out as at first: misfits, just figuring it out. What’s harder for an anxiety-stricken perfectionist is that when you do finally succeed and bond on stage with these weirdos, you might not realize it.

So that’s the gist. In all seriousness, it’s never easy, but no form of comedy is more supportive and accepting of anxiety sufferers as this one, and the bonds in those first fun ensembles really can last a lifetime. (Mine did.)

Hey, worst case scenario, I’ve never seen a panic attack in a scene that didn’t get a laugh.

Gulp!

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Steve Hobbs is a Toronto-based actor/comedian/writer, trained in improv and sketch writing through Second City’s Conservatory and longform programs. He’s also a past senior editor/writer for The Beaverton satiric Canadian news magazine and is best known for his work at Toronto Fringe 2014 in sketch juggernaut “Everything is Fine,” as well as with ex-Impatient Theatre Co. headliners “El Fantoma.”