My Pre-Show Toolkit: Managing Sensory Overload When the Lights Come On

I love performing. I love connecting with people through my music. But I also deal with situational sensory-triggered anxiety that can turn a packed venue into a full-body alarm system. The bass thumping through my chest, camera flashes going off in my face, perfume so thick I can taste it — these aren't just uncomfortable. They can send me into a spiral if I'm not prepared.

Over the years, I've built a pre-show toolkit that helps me walk into those spaces with some sense of control. This isn't about being 'tough enough' or pushing through. It's about knowing my nervous system and meeting it where it is. These are my personal practices — not medical advice, just what works for me.

First: I carry loop earplugs everywhere. Not the foam kind — the ones designed for musicians that lower volume without muffling sound. They take the edge off without disconnecting me from the room. I also keep a small tin of unscented balm to dab under my nose when perfume or smoke gets overwhelming. It gives my senses something neutral to anchor to.

Second: I script my arrival. I get to the venue early when it's still quiet, walk the space, find the exits, locate a bathroom or green room where I can step away. I identify my escape route before the crowd arrives. Knowing I can leave if I need to makes it easier to stay.

Third: I communicate with my team ahead of time. My sound engineer knows I need a quick soundcheck so I'm not standing under full stage lights longer than necessary. My photographer knows I prefer candid shots over long posed sessions under flash. I used to feel like I was being difficult. Now I know I'm being responsible for my own wellbeing.

During the show, I use grounding techniques I've practiced a thousand times. Five things I can see. Four I can touch. Three I can hear. It sounds simple, but when my chest tightens and my vision starts tunneling, that countdown pulls me back into my body. I also keep a small stone in my pocket — something solid to squeeze when I need a tactile anchor.

And here's the most important part of my toolkit: I have an exit protocol. If I start feeling lightheaded, if my breathing gets shallow, if I feel panic rising, I have permission — my own permission — to step offstage or leave the room. I've done it twice. Both times, I came back after ten minutes in a quiet space. Nobody judged me. The world didn't end.

Living with social anxiety and agoraphobia doesn't mean I have to stay home. It means I have to be intentional. I prepare, I communicate, I give myself grace. Some nights go smooth. Some nights I need my earplugs and my exit plan. All of it is valid.

If you're navigating sensory triggers in your work or creative life, I hope this gives you permission to build your own toolkit. You're not weak for needing accommodations. You're wise for knowing what you need.

If you are in crisis, call or text 988 (US) or visit findahelpline.com.