Catch Me

Dear Friend,

Last week I shared about the enormous fear I had — long story short, I got over my fear and over myself. There is nothing more self-centred than fear.

It's Monday morning, I have done London and Brighton in one weekend, and I'm about to travel back to the West Country for more fields and family time.

My comedy is essentially an exposé of my shame. That confessional style ridiculousness comes in the middle of facilitating a group of strangers to completely drop their masks and make friends with their own. Me having fear that I'm not good enough, or too much, is dissolved in the light of this work — because that is the entire point. To let go of the need to be perfect.

Delivering the work is scary and then liberating. It's like standing at the edge of a cliff and leaning forward into the void, saying to an invisible power — okay, catch me.

In London, a woman bravely shared how wrong she feels. How trapped she is by the weight of everyone else's opinions about her life. She cried as she told us that all she ever wanted to do was dance — that her body knew how to move — but everyone around her wanted her to be something else. So she had retreated and been stuck in a long wintering.

I recognised her experience — who doesn't?

I stood with her, my hand on her back, and the group stood in a big circle. I asked her to choose a pair of eyes and ask them to help her remember something about herself.

She stopped in front of a woman, stood there with tears in her eyes and asked —

Will you help me remember that it's okay to be just the way I am?

And the group said it back — with truth, reminding themselves at the same time.

Yes, we will help you remember that it's okay to be just the way you are.

Do you accept that it's okay to be just the way you are?

This was her choice.

Her body adjusted to the truth as she stood there, her eyes searching the eyes of this would-be stranger. Then, after a long pause —

Yes. I accept that it's okay to be just the way I am.

Every time she said yes, the group moved a step closer. We repeated that process — finding a new pair of eyes, asking to be helped to remember the things we all face. That we are allowed to be as we were created. Precious and free.

Until the group enveloped her in a hug and she wept.

Her tear-stained face was radiant with joy and relief. After the workshop she thanked me. And said I was fucking awesome.

That's why I got on the plane — not to be fucking awesome (although it helps) — but to be the way I was intended to be.

Precious and free. That's why I got in the river. That's why I do my thing.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Lizzie