How do you turn nervous energy into enthusiasm on stage?

I’m backstage at a sweaty comedy night in Leeds, pacing a three-metre strip of linoleum like a Roomba that’s lost Wi-Fi. My hands feel too big for my arms, my stomach’s auditioning for Riverdance, and I’m one bad thought away from legging it down the fire escape.

Ten minutes later I’m on stage, talking about kettles and family WhatsApp groups, and the audience is laughing in the places I hoped they would. Same body, totally different vibe. What flipped the switch? Spoiler: I didn’t “conquer” nerves. I redirected them. Here’s how that trick works, in normal-human language, no superhero cape needed.

understand the buzz instead of fighting it

That shaky feeling is your nervous system cranking the volume to max. Heart rate up, senses sharper, muscles primed. The body’s basically saying, “Something important is happening, stay alive out there.” Fighting that signal is like arguing with a smoke alarm while the toast burns.

Instead, clock it:

- Name it out loud: “Oh hi, adrenaline.” Sounds daft, works. Labeling the feeling knocks it down a peg in your brain.

- Rate it 1-10. If you’re a 7, cool, you’ve got juice. If you’re a 10, step back and breathe (more on that next).

- Reframe the story: The body can’t actually tell fear from excitement. Choose “excited.” Feels cheesy, but your heart rate doesn’t care.

move the energy through your body, not into your thoughts

Thoughts spiral; bodies discharge. Five minutes before showtime, I run a mini circuit:

1. Shake everything - hands, jaw, legs. Look like inflatable-tube man for 20 seconds.

2. Four-second inhale, six-second exhale, twice. Longer exhale signals “we’re safe” to the brainstem.

3. Power stance for one full song in my headphones. Shoulders back, chin level, feet planet-wide. Pick a track that makes you nod without thinking.

The aim isn’t Zen calm; it’s channeling the buzz into physical readiness, like warming up before football instead of doom-scrolling.

treat the crowd like co-pilots, not judges

Social anxiety loves the “spotlight effect” - the idea that every stranger is a critic with a clipboard. Flip it: imagine they’re mates who secretly want you to nail it because sitting through someone bombing is awkward for everyone.

Quick hacks:

- Eye-contact triangles: Front left, front right, back middle. Rotate. Looks inclusive, feels less intense than drilling one person.

- First line that involves them: “How’s the front row doing?” or “Anyone else get rained on tonight?” Simple call-and-response snaps the room from “audience” to “team.”

- Micro-wins: Plan an early moment you know works - a familiar punchline, a reliable demo slide, whatever. One laugh or nod is rocket fuel.

build tiny rituals that cue enthusiasm on demand

Humans love patterns. Give your brain a repeatable pre-show ritual and it’ll start linking that sequence to “showtime vibes.”

Mine:

- One cup of mint tea (coffee = jitter overload).

- Write the set list twice by hand; muscle memory locks it in.

- High-five the door frame before walking out. No logic, just Pavlov.

Your ritual could be lip-trills, a lucky pen, or texting a friend a pineapple emoji. Consistency beats meaning; do it every time and the body fills in the hype.

stack real-world reps, even tiny ones

No blog post fixes stage nerves if your only audience is your bathroom mirror. You need reps - short, low-stakes, frequent.

Ideas that don’t require quitting your job:

- Open mic nights that allow 3-minute slots. Leave once you’ve done your bit if you need.

- Toastmasters or improv drop-ins. Yes, it sounds corporate; no, the crowd isn’t scary.

- Offer to intro the next Zoom meeting at work. Cameras count.

Every rep teaches your brain: “We did not explode. Maybe next time will be easier.”

wrapping it up so you can go practice

Your nervous energy isn’t a flaw; it’s free electricity. The trick is rerouting the current - notice it, move it, share it, ritualize it, then repeat until the wiring feels natural.

Next time your stomach starts river-dancing, smile at the absurdity: the same chemistry that made you want to bolt can light you up like a festival stage. Go plug in.