The Bravery Of Vulnerability

The Bravery Of Vulnerability

The Time I Tried to Be Brave and Just... Flopped

So, last month, I decided to do something “brave.” I’d been talking about how hard it is to be vulnerable while managing anxiety, and I thought, Hey, why not just *do it* on stage? Like, full vulnerability, no safety net. I’d been working on a bit about how my anxiety makes me rehearse arguments with my therapist in the shower, and I’d even written a punchline about it. But instead of the punchline, I decided to just… share the raw version during my set. You know, the “I’m so broken, look at me” version.

Here’s the thing nobody wants to say out loud: I bombed. Hard. I stood there, voice shaky, telling the crowd how I’d spent three hours that morning crying over a burnt toast, and then… silence. Not the good, thoughtful silence of a room leaning in. The oh-god-why-is-she-telling-us-this silence. People shifted in their seats. A guy in the back checked his phone. I tried to recover with a joke about the toast, but it died faster than my confidence. I just… stood there. A human puddle of shame.

Anyway, that’s my trauma response: I’ll just make it worse by trying to be real. The aftermath? I avoided talking about my mental health for months. I’d rather do a set about my cat’s judgmental stare than admit I was struggling. I felt exposed, not empowered. I’d thought vulnerability was the goal, but I’d forgotten the most basic rule of comedy: vulnerability needs a punchline, not just a sob story. You can’t just hand the audience your raw nerves and expect them to hold them gently. It’s not brave to dump your pain on strangers without the why—the funny, relatable, human reason it’s happening right now.

The real lesson? Bravery isn’t about sharing the wound. It’s about sharing the messy, ridiculous, human way you’re trying to bandage it. And sometimes, the bravest thing is admitting you don’t have it figured out… and then actually making the audience laugh while you’re fumbling. Not just standing there, crying over burnt toast.

— Sheila Bishop, laughing so I don't cry