Finding My Voice at Open Mic Night

Last night, I did something I’ve been talking about doing for months—maybe even years—but always found an excuse to put off. I attended my very first open mic night.

The setting couldn’t have been more perfect: a cozy little local bookstore and coffee shop, the kind of place where the smell of espresso hangs in the air and the shelves are stacked high with stories waiting to be discovered. But as I sat there with my pages in hand, my stomach was doing flips. My palms were sweaty. My inner critic was screaming louder than any microphone could project.

Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. Eric sat beside me, calm and steady, the kind of presence that grounds you when you feel like you might float away in a cloud of nerves. My best friend Lex was there too, grinning at me with the kind of encouragement that says, You’ve got this. Their belief in me felt like an anchor.

This wasn’t just a random night out. For me, it was the next step in getting myself—and my book—out into the world. Reading my own words to a room full of strangers felt terrifying, but also necessary.

When it was finally my turn, something unexpected happened. The people in that room—most of whom had never met me—welcomed me with warmth and grace. They listened intently, they smiled, they clapped, and in that moment, I realized this wasn’t about being perfect. It was about showing up.

And after I sat down, heart still racing, I got to spend the rest of the evening listening to others share their work—poems, songs, essays—each voice so unique and brave. It felt like being part of a community I didn’t even know I was missing.

I left feeling lighter, braver, and more inspired than I have in weeks. This won’t be my last open mic. If anything, it’s just the beginning.