When the Performance Ends, Who Are You?

When I started writing my novel, I thought I was telling a story.

But what I was really doing was making sense of my own.

The book is a fictionalized version of my senior year and the years that followed.

It is a story of performance, perfectionism, and identity.

As a performing arts student, I thought if I could just be perfect —

hit every note, every cue, every expectation — people would love me. I’d finally be safe.

But perfection isn’t peace.

And I eventually learned that what looked like confidence was really masking —

my nervous system’s way of keeping me safe through constant performance.

When “Being On” Becomes the Only Way to Feel Safe

My body had learned to associate safety with performance.

If I was useful, I’d be accepted. If I stopped, I’d disappear.

We call that the *safe and social bypass* — when our nervous system confuses connection with proving or performing.

It’s something I see every day in my clients —

performers, students, and high achievers who are brilliant, but exhausted.

They’ve spent years being “on” without realizing they’ve lost touch with themselves.

That’s why I created my coaching practice:

to help students integrate nervous system regulation into their craft - whether their craft is the performing arts or academics

Because we teach technique, we teach excellence, we even teach expression —

but rarely do we teach how to come back to yourself when the curtain closes.

Through coaching, I help clients:

✅ Recognize when they’re performing from passion vs. fear

✅ Understand their nervous system and how it drives behavior

✅ Build tools for grounding and self-regulation

✅ Reconnect to the joy that first drew them to their art

My novel tells the story of what happens when those tools are missing.

My coaching shows what it looks like to heal, regulate, and perform from authenticity.

If you’ve ever felt like your worth depends on your performance —

if you’re tired of burnout, perfectionism, or people-pleasing —

you don’t have to keep repeating that pattern.

You can rewrite your own narrative.

Performance can be your art — not your armor.

Let’s make your nervous system part of your practice, not an obstacle to it.

Because being perfect isn’t the goal.

Presence is.