How Risking The Open Mic Can Help You To Heal

As an emerging writer, it can be difficult to be honest.

By honest, I don't mean in the sense of lying, although everyone does that too. We often lie to impress, to avoid hurting people, to sidestep confrontation.

As a writer, it’s easy to hide your feelings behind metaphors and similes, speaking in code to avoid being hurt.

Rather than telling someone, "I'm feeling uneasy in this situation", you might write a poem about how the ocean batters the coast during a storm. Instead of telling someone "I like you a lot", you write about the way fireworks explode colour into the night sky.

Or at least, that’s what I do.

My personal failure with writing this way is that I find it very difficult to share these words with the people who generated such feelings within me - mostly out of fear. Fear of rejection, ruining a friendship, or just appearing strange to the outside world.

And in a sense, I find myself at peace in living this way. When I am writing alone, I am free to express myself fully, without judgement, rejection or failure. I can be entirely myself, and this is why I love poetry.

But this isolation comes with its own difficulties. I sometimes crave that connection with another person who feels the same way as I do.

This is why, last year, I decided to perform my poetry at a spoken word event.

As a Midlands-born writer, I love listening to the likes of Liz Berry, Nafeesa Hamid and Casey Baley on YouTube (check them out if you haven’t already)[1]. Their powerful words and passionate voices are changing lives and people’s ways of thinking, and I thought to myself – I want to do that. I want to be that kind of writer.

Most of you may be thinking right about now that you will never have the confidence to perform your own work.

But please know (and this is coming from someone who as a teenager was so scared of embarrassing herself she locked herself in a toilet cubicle for an hour to avoid performing a dance routine), that it is scary, but you will still be able to do it.

On my first go, I was absolutely terrified. That fear of being laughed at that had been ingrained in me during my high school years, and the fear of rejection I had felt during past relationships - they all came to the surface right before my performance.

A wonderful blog over on Writer’s HQ inspired me recently. It said: ‘fear is an excellent and vital evolutionary trait – but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make your success or failure or writing any different. It just stops you from even trying.’[2]

And it’s true! All fear does is stop you from being your wonderful self. But you probably already know that. It’s stopping fear that is the real trick.

But do you want to know a secret? You don’t stop it. You need fear, or at least, some kinds of fear. Fear can be wonderful. Fear stops you from stepping out into the road before looking. Fear stops you from saying something stupid in front of your new boyfriend’s parents. Fear keeps you alive.

But fear can hold you back. And the way to let it go, is to embrace it completely.

Author Brene Brown writes in her novel The Gift of Imperfection (2018)‘Trust me when I tell you that shame and fear can’t tolerate that kind of powerful connection surging between people.’[3]

This is why open mic is important. Once you put yourself in that situation, where you are consumed by your fear of embarrassment, you will find yourself heard, accepted and appreciated by the room of strangers before you. In doing so, you can find a way to let it all go.

And this is exactly what I did.

I remember standing in front of this room of expectant faces, pouring the words out in a hurried narrative. I was so nervous the paper shook in my hands, and at one point, I stopped breathing.

But when it was over, the room fell silent. Intense eyes stared back at me in sombre recognition. I was exposed to the room, as if I were standing there without clothes on. Because in a way, I was. I had borne my soul to a group of strangers, and they had listened intently, watching me with interest.

Suddenly, they began clapping. It began slow, and rose to a crescendo. I stared at them for a moment with fresh pain lingering in my eyes.

And then the relief flooded through my body, racing through my veins and sending me into a state of euphoria.

They had liked it!

Afterwards, we exchanged stories of lost loved ones and broken hearts, and I found myself talking about things I'd never shared outside of our family unit. Things that had bothered me for so long came tumbling out of my lips, and people nodded and smiled, and agreed that they had felt similar. It was better than any counselling session I had been to.

I remember having a moment, almost an out of body experience, where I realised that I had finally found a place where I belonged, with people who understood what I had been through.

This realisation followed me home, down the dark cobbled streets to my little flat where I sat in the dim light of my lamp and gave into exhaustion. That night, I slept deeply for the first time in what felt like years.

There may be people reading this who are afraid of sharing their personal work. If that is you, then I encourage you to do so. There is something so incredibly cathartic about speaking your darkest fears to a room of strangers. Voicing your feelings and letting them spiral and shift away from you may be the first step towards healing that you didn't know you needed.

Blogger Romaine Washington writes that ‘Open mics are a safe place for people to explore new ideas and reveal struggles and emotions that often are not talked about…I always leave feeling inspired, energised and more connected with my past – my future and everyone around me.’[4]

The mental health charity Mind are also supporters of open mic events and the power of spoken word poetry, particularly the ways it helps readers and listeners alike[5]. And as research suggests, ‘This face-to-face bond of trust between reader and listener is part of the antidote suggested to help alleviate our current epidemic of loneliness.’[6]

Of course, it isn't for everyone. Some things are too painful to speak about. But if you have considered sharing your work, whether online or in person, just remember that being human is difficult. We live in an unsteady and complex world, and everyone has their pain and their burdens.

But in sharing them with others, and finding people like you - well, it makes this life much easier to bear.

If you aren’t already convinced…

Here are some more benefits of Open Mic:

You can meet new and wonderful people!

It’s a fun night out with friends and family

You can spend a relaxing evening away from all of your devices

You support budding artists, writers, comedians, musicians, or just people trying to heal by sharing with others

You support local pubs, art galleries, community halls and small businesses

You get an insight into the lives of people from different backgrounds, which has endless benefits.

Further Links:

Amerah Saleh, 10 Birmingham Spoken Word Artists You Need To Know (2016) <https://www.beatfreeks.com/blogs/10-birmingham-spoken-word-artists-you-need-to-know> Sarah Lewis, Fear and Failure: A Guide to Giving No F*cks (2019) <https://writershq.co.uk/fear-and-failure-a-guide-to-giving-no-fcks/> Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are (Minnesota: Hazelden Publishing, 2010) Romaine Washington, Attending an open mic event can have some serious health benefits (2019) <https://www.pe.com/2019/10/19/attending-an-open-mic-event-can-have-some-serious-health-benefits/> Samuel Cole, Talking about mental health through spoken word poetry (2016) <https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/your-stories/talking-about-mental-health-through-spoken-word-poetry/>