Getting Over Stage Fright: When Fear Meets the Spotlight

What do Vladimir Horowitz, Barbra Streisand, Renée Fleming, Donny Osmond, Carly Simon, Lady Gaga, Laurence Olivier, Nicole Kidman — and yes, me — all have in common?

Twelve years ago, I joined a professional choir at one of New York’s most prestigious churches. I had just finished my bachelor’s degree at Mannes College of Music after leaving a career in nursing. On my first Sunday, surrounded by brilliant musicians, I felt small — older than most, less experienced, and painfully insecure.

When the music director asked me to sing the alto aria “O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings to Zion” from Handel’s Messiah the following week, I should have felt confident. I’d sung it before. It was familiar. It should have been easy.

But that week was anything but easy. I couldn’t sleep. My mind spun with what ifs: What if I make a mistake? What if they don’t like me? What if I fail?

By Sunday morning, I was exhausted. My heart pounded, my knees trembled, and as I stepped onto the altar, the packed church blurred before my eyes. I felt thrown into a lion’s den.

The music began. I lost my place. My throat tightened. My tongue turned to stone. I sang on autopilot, disconnected from sound, body, and soul. Terror consumed me. I wanted to run.

Barbra Streisand once said of her own stage fright after forgetting lyrics in Central Park, “I couldn’t come out of it… What if I forget again?” It took her 25 years to return to live performance.

Donny Osmond battled panic attacks. Carly Simon fainted onstage. Renée Fleming confessed that her coach had to push her onto the stage, describing “deep, deep panic.” Lady Gaga had to be dragged from her dressing room before a major performance. Horowitz doubted his abilities despite standing ovations. Nicole Kidman called her first stage experience “absolute terror.” Even Laurence Olivier, the greatest of them all, needed to be pushed onto the stage.

When my aria ended, the congregation applauded — but I felt shattered. I stumbled off the altar, humiliated, convinced I was a disgrace. My worth evaporated. Like Fleming, I thought, Maybe I should leave the stage forever.

I didn’t know that the nervous system doesn’t distinguish between real and imagined fear. Anxiety lives in perception — in the gap between what’s demanded of us and what we believe we can deliver.

As Shirlee Emmons wrote in Power Performance for Singers, “Arousal on stage is great — but too much takes away from our capability to perform at our best.”

Psychologist Thomas Borkovec found that relaxation, breathing, and visualization can reduce perceived threat. Combined with the “law of substitution” — the mind can hold only one thought at a time — we can replace fear with focus.

Donny Osmond learned to lower his expectations: “I’ll make a mistake. I’ll trip. I’ll do something stupid. But it’s OK; you pick up and move on.”

Streisand returned stronger than ever. Horowitz, at 82, played again and moved audiences to tears. Fleming now commands stages worldwide.

The Paradox of Stage Fright

Stage fright rarely reflects our actual ability. It’s not about talent — it’s about vulnerability. The fear comes from within, from the pressure to meet our own impossible standards.

People are driven by two primal emotions: desire and fear.

My terrifying experience led me to a new path — one of study, research, and training to rediscover joy and desire in performance. I learned that fear is universal, not shameful. Even our backstage rituals — break a leg, knock ’em dead, merde — acknowledge it.

A British study once found that actors’ stress levels on opening night equal those of car accident victims. Search “performance anxiety” online, and you’ll find millions of results. Perfectionism is often the culprit.

To heal, I built my PEP‑box — my personal empowerment toolbox. Inside are techniques to relax, focus, and reframe negative thoughts. I visualize my nervous system as a seesaw, balancing it with deep breathing. I keep lists of compliments, reviews, and affirmations that remind me of my worth.

These tools have become my lifeline — the key to unlocking my potential.

So let’s breathe deeply, visualize success, and laugh at our human mistakes. The world will be better for it — for both listener and performer.

Like Laurence Olivier, we won’t be remembered for our fear, but for the moments when our true selves appeared — free, fearless, and magnificent.

Wilma Wever, 2014