The Mind Before The Music

There is a very specific feeling I get before walking onto the stage for a solo. I can know my choreography, have practiced it countless times, and still feel my nerves taking over. Knowing that I am going on stage alone, with everyone watching and wanting to do the dance perfectly, can feel like a lot to carry. I get really cold and shaky when I’m nervous. Over the years, I’ve gotten better at handling those feelings, but the nerves haven’t completely disappeared. Instead, I’ve started to become more curious about why I feel this way.

Part of it comes from the pressure of being evaluated. During a solo, there is no one else on stage to share the responsibility with me. I know the judges and audience are watching, and I put a lot of pressure on myself to perform well. This is performance anxiety, the fear or nervousness that can occur when we feel our performance is being evaluated. A related concept is fear of negative evaluation, or the worry that others will judge us negatively. For me, thoughts like “What if I forget?” or “What if I mess up?” can make the possibility of a mistake feel much bigger than it actually is.

This also connects to cognitive appraisal, or the way we interpret and evaluate a situation. The stage itself isn't dangerous, but the way I interpret the performance can make it feel threatening. If I think, “I get to perform something I love,” I might feel excited. But if I think, “Everyone is watching me, and I can't make a mistake,” the same situation can create anxiety. It’s interesting to me that the situation hasn’t changed: my interpretation of it has.

The anxiety isn't just in my thoughts either. Before a solo, I can physically feel myself getting cold and shaky. This is part of physiological arousal, which occurs when the body becomes more activated in response to a demanding or threatening situation. When the brain perceives a threat, the sympathetic nervous system activates the body's fight-or-flight response, preparing us to respond quickly. Of course, walking onto a dance stage isn't actually dangerous, but worrying about being judged can still trigger this response. My body can react to the pressure even when I know logically that I am safe.

The interesting part is that most of this anxiety starts to disappear once I actually begin dancing. I might feel shaky during the first few moments, but once I get into the choreography and the music, my attentional focus shifts away from the audience and toward what I am doing. I stop thinking about what could go wrong and become completely absorbed in the movement. This reminds me of flow, a state of deep concentration and immersion in an activity. When I get into that state, I’m no longer thinking about whether someone is judging me. I’m just dancing. This is one of my favorite parts of performing because it feels like everything I was worried about before stepping on stage disappears for a moment.

Over the years, I've also learned that I don't need to completely eliminate my nerves. I just need to trust myself. I remind myself that I know the dance and that I've practiced for this moment. The more I've performed and successfully worked through those nerves, the more I've developed self-efficacy, or the belief that I am capable of handling a particular challenge. Each time I perform while nervous and realize that I can still do it, I gain another experience that strengthens that belief. I've learned that being nervous doesn't mean I'll fail.

This is also why I still love performing. There is something surreal about being on stage, feeling the music, and getting completely lost in the moment. Sometimes I walk off stage thinking, “I don't even know what just happened,” and almost immediately want to do it again.

Performance anxiety has taught me that anxiety and enjoyment don't have to be opposites. I can be nervous because I care so much about doing well while still loving every moment of performing. Understanding the psychology behind my nerves has made them feel less like something I need to get rid of and more like something I can learn to work with. For me, the goal isn't to stop being nervous; it's to not let the nerves stop me from doing something I love.