Do I care too much?

It was my birthday on 30th June. I was 64. The lovely Jo Brand was hosting an event for us and threatened to sing that awful Beatles song which they recorded when they were roughly one-third of my age. Oh, the irony. For one brief moment I felt ‘cared for’ although the joke was on me.

Now I care too bloody much about everything, my friends, colleagues, family and (here’s the confession), mainly about what people think of me. This the single most dominating thing that has always held me back and, if I have any kind of legacy to pass on, it would be to say that it doesn’t matter. I know that, you probably know that but this is the core of all my  self-esteem issues.

It all began with the school reports a very long time ago. ‘Lynne lacks self-confidence’ was a recurring theme. Fast forward to today’s age of digital enlightenment and this lack of self-confidence is now challenged by social media demons and the constant pressure to appear ‘woke’ regardless of age. Add in a dash of overthinking, a brain that seems to work ten times faster than everybody else’s, in the wrong direction, and you’ve got a recipe for a nervous breakdown. Yep, I had one of those 27 years ago and there’s been a few near misses along the way since.

I am the most self-critical person I know. The words ‘should’ and ‘ought’ are a recurring part of my vocabulary yet I know that the regret they engender kills passion and ambition. Instead, I’ve developed a personal strategy to hide this by focusing attention on others and telling them what I really ‘should’ have been telling myself over the years.

Coming from a base set pretty low on the self-esteem front means that I really truly care and I don’t want others to fall into the ‘could do better’ self-flagellation trap like me. Consequently, for the last 18 years of my life I have diverted my energy into helping women, and a few men too, to get over themselves and find their voice through comedy.

I still feel that I have a lot to prove, if not to myself but to a whole generation of women who’ve also accepted the ‘invisibility cloak’ that descends over us with age. Maybe my failure to celebrate my own achievements is generational despite the fact that so many of us are proving otherwise. Some of my sisters really are doing it for themselves.

Ultimately it comes back to caring too much. To be a performer you’ve got to believe in your own shit, big yourself up and appear not to care. As my husband says, ‘brag it out’.  Yet it is our inner-critic that drives us to be funnier, more creative, cleverer, stronger… We have to prove our talent and skills to ourselves before we can show off to everybody else.

For example, a lot of us are really uncomfortable asking for testimonials and nominations to recognise our work. I sit and moan inwardly to myself about not winning awards, or not being invited to speak or facilitate at other people’s events but I also know that you’ve got to be in it to win it. When I find the confidence to ask people to book me, they often say yes. I know too that organisers (like me) are only too pleased when you offer to do something for them that makes their life easier.

For me, the fear of rejection is totally overwhelming which is rich considering that I run awards and know the value of taking part and learning from every experience. It’s worth remembering that those who win have usually worked hard to overcome their own demons and looked beyond their own insecurities to get there.  With social media at your finger-tips to create, edit and hone your image the pickings are there for all of us.

Yet, much as I acknowledge this, I also hate the fact that it is so easy to look good. There’s extra pressure which feeds our insecurities, especially around age (in my case), weight, beauty, fame, success and talent.  So many of us let ourselves fall into the ‘not good enough’ trap.

Like I’m telling you to do, I have to get over myself and celebrate my successes rather than ruminate over my age, looks and all the things I’ve not managed to do during lockdown. None of it really matters, I know that, and I have to trust in the wisdom of my years and take charge of my emotions and insecurities.

So, here goes.

Happy birthday to me! I never thought that I’d be doing what I’m doing at my age – let alone in the middle of a worldwide pandemic, an extra curve ball none of us would have predicted! 

Well done me! I am proud to still be captain of the Funny Women ‘ship’ and all that sail in her. Long may the voyage continue.