Stepping Into Discomfort

My First Improv Drop-In Experience

I walked into EPIC’s Improv Drop-in absolutely terrified.

Not “mildly uncomfortable” fear — more like my-system-thinks-I’m-about-to-walk-on-stage-at-Broadway terrified. I mean sweating in all the wrong places, hands and arms shaking, overthinking every breath kind of terrified.

And honestly? That’s exactly how I knew I needed to be there.

Being a part of the EPIC team has given me the privilege of watching the evolution of individuals who participate in the 6-week classes. I’ve seen the quietest introverts open up. I’ve watched people who used to stumble through sentences suddenly share their thoughts with clarity and confidence. I’ve seen friendships form, laughter echo, and social anxiety melt just a little week after week.

I’ve seen posture shift, listening skills grow sharper, and people walk into class looking hopeful (excited, even) to be there.

Everything improv might help with… I’ve seen happen in real time.

So naturally, I wanted that too.

I want to feel comfortable telling a story without rehearsing it 40 times.

I want to make a public mistake and survive it, maybe even laugh about it.

I want to feel accepted, seen, heard, understood.

I want to gain the confidence to speak in groups.

Ultimately, I want to continue to evolve, grow, understand the emotions I experience, and comprehend the emotions of others.

A moment from the last 6-week improv cohort, filled with laughter and connection.

Recovery has shown me again and again that the things I fear or avoid are often the places where growth is waiting. I have learned that discomfort does not mean something is wrong. More often, it means I am stepping into something new. Some of the strongest and healthiest parts of my life today came from choices I once resisted with everything in me. Recovery asked me to be honest, to be vulnerable, to be uncomfortable, and somehow those moments created the foundation I stand on now.

So walking into improv felt like a natural continuation of that journey. Another chance to stretch parts of myself that do not get used very often. Courage. Presence. Playfulness. Trust. Another chance to let myself be seen without rehearsing or rewriting who I think I should be. Another opportunity to strengthen the relationships in my life, including the relationship I am still learning to build with myself. Recovery has taught me that choosing to show up is sometimes the bravest thing I can do.

And here’s an important clarification:

This wasn’t a room full of strangers that I will never see again.

It was actually full of people I know — colleagues, community members, people I interact with professionally.

Which, for the record, made it way scarier.

Performing in front of strangers is one thing.

Playing “Bunny Bunny” and doing superhero poses with two of my colleagues and then showing up to a team meeting the next day?

A completely different level of vulnerability.

But here is where improv surprised me.

I walked in terrified and I walked out with adrenaline, endorphins, and this deep sense of “Oh… that was actually 100% worth it.”

I’ve learned that improv is built on the idea of “Yes, and…”

It’s the practice of accepting what’s in front of you and adding something new.

No resistance. No perfection. No getting stuck. No being ostracized for saying the wrong thing.

So here was my personal “Yes, and…” moment:

Yes, I was scared… AND the experience was absolutely worth the discomfort.

Yes, I felt vulnerable… AND I had the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.

Yes, I overthought everything… AND I left feeling proud, energized, accepted, and more connected.

I had thought improv was just performing random, unscripted scenes on a stage, but it’s so much more than that.

It’s games.

It’s laughter.

It’s acceptance.

It’s coordination, memory, and genuine connection.

It’s supporting your partner, building rapport, validating each other’s ideas, and experiencing this weirdly delightful form of controlled chaos.

It’s belonging. For me, it was an opportunity to be a part of something greater than myself. A chance to surrender and just be.

Nothing about it was unsafe.

Just unfamiliar — a ‘perceived fear’ if you will.

After only two hours of improv, I can say with complete honesty: the discomfort was worth it. Fully and undeniably worth it.

And I’m not here to convince anyone to try improv. You get to choose your own path, your own growth, your own brave moments.

I just want to share the story of someone who walked into a room full of familiar faces, terrified…and walked out a little lighter, a little braver, and laughing about the fact that she allowed herself to show up in a completely new way and discovered she was safe the whole time.

If anything, I hope this reminds someone that courage doesn’t always look confident.

Sometimes courage looks like shaking hands, awkward laughter, and saying:

“Yes… and.”

If this story sparked something in you, feel free to visit the EPIC Events page to see what workshops, groups, and community offerings are coming up.

This story is shared from my personal experience and perspective. It is not clinical advice, and your own journey may look beautifully different.