What I learned from my first live storytelling event

TL;DR: You have to stay alive long enough for your life to change

Paid subscribers can listen to story I told on stage that night. It’s about the night my mother died, and I was very proud that I could tell it without breaking down. Here’s a link if you’d like to listen.

Photo by Ian Mulholland

A few months ago, I got on stage at the Dublin Story Slam and spoke about the night my mother died. Being on stage doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m deeply introverted and struggle to even share my work on social media. But I wanted to try it. I wanted to see how it would feel to share a true story with a live audience. 

I arrived early, and sat with friends who enjoyed crisps and beers while I tried not to panic. The speaking order is determined by names being pulled out of a hat, and my name was pulled first. I rushed on stage, worried that the applause might run out before I got there. 800 pairs of eyes were gazing up at me. Adrenaline fizzed through my body. “I’m very nervous,” I blurted and the audience cheered. Their generosity made the next 7 minutes possible. I told my story. I wasn't very good at it. I stumbled a few times and kept my hands in the same position. But I didn’t faint or burp or panic. I was surprised when the audience laughed at what I thought was the story’s saddest moment, but I kept going. 

By the time I sat down, I was exhausted. I don’t love being the centre of attention. I find it scary and exposing. But I was also very proud of myself. I knew the boundaries of my comfort zone and had stepped beyond them. It wasn’t the best story of the night (I think I came second last! 🙃), but I had tried something new and I didn’t die. 

After the event, I hugged my friends goodbye and walked with my partner toward our car. As I turned the corner, I was hit with the visceral memory of being on the same street 17 years before. Emotionally, I was still inside my story. I remembered the raw panic of the night Mam died, and how I felt like the world was crumbling underneath me. I remember hiring a lawyer, and coming to their office on this street 17 years ago. 

I remember sitting in their fancy conference room and hearing about what would happen next. There would be a criminal case against the woman who’d crashed into my mother’s car and killed her. There would be a civil case, with insurance companies arguing over what financial value they’d place on my mother’s life. There would be a long, drawn out process to settle my mother’s estate. She died without a will. She had an appointment to make one on August 7th 2007, but she died on August 4th. It would be years before we could access the money she left behind. I was devastated, broke and desperately alone. 

Almost two decades later, I turned the corner onto the same street holding my partner’s hand. We were chatting about her day at work and how Budino (our much-loved sick cat) was doing. 

For a split second, I saw both lives in parallel. My terrified 19-year-old self in step with my present day self. 

Me at 18, shortly before Mam died

Back then, I didn’t know if my life would ever get better. My only experience of the world was that of a dangerous, scary place. I lived with the consequences of other people's decisions, but couldn’t choose what I wanted for myself. 

My younger self would be jaw-on-the-floor aghast to see the life I have now: an amazing partner, a safe and cozy home, a writing career, a growing social enterprise, a community of friends and colleagues, a running habit, travel opportunities, fulfilling hobbies like cooking and reading… I could go on and on. These aren’t ground-breaking things. They are the basic components of many people’s lives. But for me, given the start I had in life, they are astounding achievements. They are precious gifts that I never take for granted. 

After my mother died, people told me it would get better. I didn’t believe them. I didn’t want it to get better. It was an irritating thing to say, but it wasn’t entirely wrong. 

Life changes. Sometimes all at once. Usually more slowly. You just have to stay alive long enough for change to happen. 

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