Walking through the fear. (From the Stage Part 2)

Hi guys.
So this journey through my fear continues, and I want to keep you up to speed with how things are going.

Wow. I’m feeling so many emotions and already learning so much.

I’m going to backtrack just a little to the days leading up to actually showing up for the first “class.”

I was feeling incredibly anxious. Full of doubt. Questions running through my head like: Why the hell am I putting myself through this? How are you actually going to pull this off? I felt anxious knowing I might have to introduce myself — maybe on stage immediately, maybe sitting around a table with the group. Either way, both scenarios tap straight into old fears of being put on the spot.

Everything felt unknown.

All I really knew was that this program, From the Stage, would be intimate …max 10 people. I knew it was being held at a bar. I knew that after three meetings, we were expected to be ready to do some sort of performance. And I knew I was supposed to bring my instrument on the first day, if that’s what I planned to use.

I went back and forth about bringing my guitar. If I didn’t bring it, they couldn’t ask me to play on the first day… right? But then I stopped myself and said, Jill, you said yes. So show up and bring your guitar. You can make decisions in the moment , but show up fully.

So… all of that fear, the sleepless nights, the completely fried nervous system… and I went anyway. I showed up.

I arrived 15 minutes early, walked toward the door with my guitar in hand, heart racing, already shaking ~and this was just the first meeting. I think the reality of what I had signed up for was finally becoming real. YIKES.

I peeked inside and saw three people. One was Shawna, our fierce leader and teacher. The others were possibly employees of the bar. I didn’t see anyone who looked like me — terrified, stepping into one of their biggest fears. Before anyone noticed me, I turned around and went back to my car.

I wasn’t running away, as much as I may have wanted to. I just knew I’d feel safer there for a few minutes than standing inside alone and scared. So I sat in my car and listened to a 10-minute calming, grounding meditation. It helped.

Okay. One minute until start time. Here I go again.

I was still the first one there. WTF… where was everyone? Maybe they all backed out. But after Shawna’s warm welcome and getting a feel for the space, I started to relax. Slowly, the other six participants trickled in. We made casual introductions before being asked to gather around a table to begin.

My heart was still racing, but something inside me was calming down. Maybe it was Shawna’s grounded energy and excitement. Maybe it was knowing that the other strangers around the table were likely feeling something similar.

Shawna began by explaining the program and what we could expect. But first, she wanted us to go around the table and share a little about ourselves.

Holy shit.

Even typing those words — “let’s go around the table” — triggers something deep in me. The fear goes way back you guys, and I want to share a little about that before continuing.

Growing up, my family moved every one to two years because of my dad’s job. Throughout my school years, I was constantly uprooted mid-year — new states, new houses, new people, new accents, new clothing styles. New, new, new.

Because we often moved mid-year, I was regularly asked to stand up and introduce myself to a new class. It was horrible. Terrifying. I felt completely alone. Even now, writing this, tears are coming.

I knew my older sister Jen was nearby, going through something similar in another classroom, but aside from that, I was completely alone. I don’t remember ever being able to tell my mom or dad how unsafe I felt. I don’t think I had the words or maturity to ask for what I needed.

So for years, I lived with this fear — terrified of the first day of school, of the teacher calling on me, of going “around the room.” I used to panic before roll call because I knew I’d have to say “here.” Not good, you guys.

Okay… back to From the Stage.

We’re sitting at the table with this intimate group of courageous adults, and Shawna asks me to go first. I think she could feel that it was better for me that way — the longer I wait, the stronger the panic grows.

And once I started speaking… something surprising happened.

I had so much to share. I wanted to speak. I didn’t feel nearly as nervous as I expected. I felt safe sharing why I was there and what I was afraid of. I felt supported just by the presence, the energy, the humanness of the people around me.

Each of us shared something deep. We were all choosing discomfort — together.

I loved what I shared. I loved that I stayed present. I loved that I didn’t have a panic attack. I loved listening to everyone else and noticing the connections and serendipities that showed up so clearly. I felt safe.

One huge realization hit me hard: all the hours and emotional energy I spent trying to control and predict what day one would be like — how I would survive it — was completely wasted energy.

Huge epiphany.

Be present. Show up. Trust that I can handle whatever comes.

That’s the mantra I’m holding onto.

Another big thing happened before I even got in the car that day — maybe a couple of days before. I consciously chose to stop resisting my anxiety and nervousness and instead accept it. To breathe with it. To “hold that little girl’s hand” instead of telling her it wasn’t okay to feel afraid.

That inner child can be healed through this.

After introductions, our next step was to get on stage and experience the microphone — hearing ourselves speak, offering a short introduction like we might during our final performance.

Of course, I was nervous — but not nearly as much as I expected.

Being up there felt… good. Maybe because I’ve dreamed about this for decades. Standing on a stage with my guitar, singing. I’m not all the way there yet — but this felt like a huge step.

I also want to share how much admiration I already have for Shawna — her insights, her history as a performer, her life experience and the wisdom she shared so openly. I truly feel like we are in the best hands possible.

There was this feeling — like having an adult next to me in school, holding my hand, letting me know it’s safe to speak and be myself. The feeling of “I’ve got you.”

Now, things are starting to feel exciting.

When Shawna talked about the “field of transformation” and said things like, “Oh, you guys have no idea!” with such genuine excitement, it’s clear this is about so much more than playing a couple songs on stage. I feel that deep in my soul.

I know the Universe placed this opportunity in front of me at exactly the right time. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

As we wrapped up and said our goodbyes, excitement started building around fine-tuning our performances and beginning stage practice next week. But before leaving, I felt the need to talk to Shawna.

And of course… doubt crept back in.

I’m not sure I can carry a tune. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.
Doubt. Doubt. Doubt.

I can’t remember if I suggested or if Shawna asked for me to send her a video so she could find out if she thought I was going to make an ass out of myself — and whether I should even be there. Why is it so hard for me to believe in myself? That’s a big, deep question I’m still working through.

The next day, I tried recording a video. OH boy, this made things worse…I totally freaked out.

I look like that? What the fuck is that? I sound like that?
The self-doubt was unreal.

So I decided not to send it.

Instead, I chose to explore why I felt the need for validation in the first place. I’ve been journaling a lot this week and realized I don’t need to send her a video — I can carry a tune. I noticed how often I play small, repeating the same stories: my voice isn’t that great, I come in on the wrong key, I don’t sound good enough.

Why would I choose whether or not to do something based on someone else’s opinion? If she loved it or hated it, I would still sound the way I sound. Some people will resonate with it. Others won’t. And that doesn’t get to decide what I do for myself.

Time to change the narrative.

I have a perfectly imperfect voice that is uniquely mine. I love playing and singing. I’m not trying to be famous. I’m trying to share the love and soulful feeling that comes through me when I play from my heart.

So now it’s about practicing in a way that feels good to me. That’s what I want to share — the feeling, the soul.

As of now, I’m two days away from class two, and I feel more excited than nervous. I’m practicing positive self-talk, journaling from different perspectives~ me now, my higher self, my future self. It’s been incredibly helpful and cathartic.

So the journey continues.

And if you made it this far ~thank you for being here with me.
Haha. 🤍