Unmasking on Stage: How Stand-Up Comedy Helped Me Reconnect With Myself
Cranky. Tired. Unmasked for Comedy
I was cranky. I was tired. I was experiencing emotional burnout. Why? Because I unmasked hard—on a stand-up comedy stage. And I want to tell you what happened when I did.
I’m Brett—the AuDHD Boss. I’m an autistic manager with ADHD. Normally, I talk about workplace survival, masking, and accommodations. This is about what happened when I decided to use stand-up comedy as a way to unmask, to connect with my queer community, and to explore my identity in a way I’ve never done before.
This wasn’t about getting out of my comfort zone.
“I was trying to get into my comfort zone.”
🏳️🌈 Why Stand-Up? Why Now?
This was a Pride edition of a program called Couch to Mic—a 4-week comedy-writing workshop that ends in a live performance. I signed up because I wanted to do something different for Pride, something that felt authentic. And as someone who came out late in life—and doesn’t love in-person events—it felt like a chance to connect in a new way.
“I’m great doing it online, but I really am not good about doing it in person.”
🎭 Comedy as a Script (and a Mask)
I’ve always used comedy to survive. It’s one of my special interests. As a kid, I masked by mimicking sitcoms and SNL sketches—Dick Van Dyke, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, Get Smart, even Superman.
“I’ve always taken something from a TV show or a performance or a bit… and started to model that. I use that as camouflage.”
So when people said I was “getting out of my comfort zone,” they didn’t get it. Performing comedy wasn’t terrifying. It was familiar.
“Half the reason why I started a YouTube channel is because I go on Mrs. Maisel-style rants.”
🧠 The Burnout I Didn't See Coming
What I wasn’t prepared for was the emotional crash. After each rehearsal, I came home buzzing—senses overloaded, adrenaline firing. I’d need ice packs, cold water, walks in the dark. I didn’t plan for the cost.
“I had to unmask hard to do this thing. I was masking and unmasking at the same time. And I crashed hard that night.”
And the next morning? Meetings. Work. Masking again. It took me four weeks to realize I should’ve taken time off.
🎤 The Night of the Show
I rehearsed like my life depended on it. So worried my ADHD would have a brain freeze. I scripted my bullet points. I memorized the cadence. I practiced mic technique.
And then—the mic stand broke.
My script stand was on the wrong side of the stage.
I had to cross, reset, stall… and keep going.
“Thankfully, the audience was with me.”
And once I got into the rhythm—once I felt the energy of the room—I was calm.
I was present.
I was me.
“It felt so natural to have those laughs. It felt so natural to be able to just run with it.”
🌀 After the Show
I kept waiting for the spiral. The anxiety. The rumination of things I wish I had done better or differently, but it never came.
“I didn’t play anything back and go, ‘Why didn’t I do this?’ I’m genuinely proud of everything I did.”
What I did feel was exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that comes from unmasking in such a public and bold way.
🌈 Final Thoughts
Comedy helped me unmask in public—safely, joyfully, fully. It helped me connect to a version of myself I hadn’t been able to be before.
I would 100% do it again.
But next time? I’m building an unmasking recovery plan.