Brighton Showcases 2025 – some thoughts

Last week was showcase week in Brighton, when our students share what they have been doing with an audience of friends, family, and other students. And we have a lot of classes now. Five full nights worth. So, for probably the last time (next term there will be even more), I watched every single minute of every single one. They were joyful, funny and supportive. Just the right kind of weird, and very heartening. If you are reading this, thanks, AndAlso students. I like improv, and I like your improv. 

The reason we have showcases at the end of our courses is that improvising in front of an audience turns up the pressure*. You feel like you have to do something, to impress people. That happens naturally, almost biologically, when there’s an audience. Your palms sweat, and you become aware of your body. You wonder if everything you have done all term is nonsense. And if anyone else will get it. But the word showcase is carefully chosen. It is not the final exam or a finished product. It’s a snapshot of where we are and what we are doing, shared with an audience who cares about the people, the process, or both. All you have to do in a showcase is do what you have already been doing. Read that again. I mean it. 

All of this means the task of the showcase is the opposite of a marathon. It’s not to bust your gut and leave it all out on the field, but to stay as fluid and responsive to each other as you are in classes. Not to ignore the audience, of course, but to play for them and still stay with your partner. Not to show off, but show up. It’s a delicate balance, and one that takes a while to learn. 

Was it all perfect? Of course not. Some scenes laboured, and some moments missed. But that’s fine. In fact, it’s expected. We don’t spend our term polishing. We explore and challenge. Failure and risk are (and always will be) a part of the improv experience at AndAlso. A pretty key part. If everything worked perfectly, that would mean the challenge is not high enough. The challenge of the term is a compliment to our students. Who are some pretty extraordinary people. 

And you know what struck me most about the week? As a community, we’re pulling in the same direction. There is a sense of a shared endeavour, tastes which cross over, but are not homogeneous. Playing and questioning, and doing it like they want to. There are enough people in the And Also community now that many have never met. They’re doing their Tuesday thing, unaware of what happens on Thursdays. But together, they (we!) are a sprawling, powerful, connected thing. 

That involves trust, which is another word for letting go. Trust in each other, in what you have been doing all term, and also trust in ourselves. And that’s all that we want to see, people doing what they have been doing all term. And that, step by step, piece by piece, building a big thing. At the moment, I don’t have a better word. 

Who knows, maybe I will watch the whole lot next term again. It was kind of fun.

*NB if this sounds intimidating, our showcases are not obligatory, nor are they a condition for moving up to the next level. We encourage people to take part, but never insist. And from autumn 2025, we will be offering a relaxed level 1 course for those not wanting to perform at all. 

Reflections on injury, resilience, community, family & the art of saying “Yes.”

A year ago last month, I broke my back. Not metaphorically—on holiday in Croatia. We were at the end of a gorgeous tour, and the lovely guide said ‘one more surprise’, the boat pulled into a choppy cove for a spot of cliff jumping, there was a little 4 metre jump and a big 9 metre jump. I’d never done it before and thought YES AND why the heck not. 

Well, turns out there is a reason to not try new dangerous stuff, as landing like a cannonball from 9 metres causes all kinds of problems at my age! I managed to give myself a double-compressed fracture of the spine, a couple of vertebrae got squished, and I lost an inch in height! Fast forward 13 months, and I’ve just turned 46. I’m still standing (mostly), and the 24/7 back brace is long gone, I’m still managing all things AndAlso-y, and still learning—often the hard way.

🌀 Chores, Kids & Improv Are More Connected Than You’d Think

Rehabilitation meant relearning how to do day-to-day tasks: lifting laundry, pushing the shopping trolley, not wrestling with my boys, and reffing, rather than smashing my boys at basketball matches in the garden. Every movement felt precarious, like starting a scene with nothing but uncertainty, but improv had already taught me how to respond.

Because improv (and managing an arts company) is about:

• Staying present, even when your spine—or scene partner—throws you off-balance
• Saying “Yes” to reality, then making it work
• Keeping momentum, even if every bend or squat hurts
• Helping my team (and family) feel seen and supported, even when I felt weak
• Having no plan and trusting discovery

🤹‍♀️ Manager Life, Mum Life, and the Middle of the Scene

Turning 46, managing AndAlso, and being mum to two boys means life often feels like one big improv scene:

• I’m negotiating schedules while making school lunches
• Planning social media promos during laundry cycles
• Chasing venues between referee calls in our garden rugby matches

And here’s the truth: that everyday mayhem is like improv—heart-wrenching, hilarious, unpredictable—and richer because of every spill, twist, and surprise.

The more life we juggle, the deeper our ability to adapt, connect, and laugh. We stop trying to be perfect orchestrators and start simply trusting the scene.

💜 A Heartfelt Thanks to My Brighton Community

Over the past year, the AndAlso Improv family and my own family in Brighton have been incredible:

• Fabulous colleagues who’ve stepped in when I couldn’t be in the &Also saddle
• My boys—who’ve adjusted their games (& wrestling energy) so Mum could still join in
• My partner—who handled the household/kiddie chaos so I could focus on healing last summer

You’ve all taught me that life, improv—and leadership—means creating space for gentleness, collaboration, creativity… yes, and, biscuits, lots of biscuits (because I’m 46 now).

🎉 What’s Coming?

Will my back ever be “perfect”? Probably not. But something deeper in me feels more whole—because this injury didn’t break me, it rebuilt me.

We’ve got new admin systems coming, fresh classes in the autumn, upcoming shows our wonderful team are in, and—most importantly—more room for human connection. If you’ve ever wondered about improv, resilience, or just want a community that says “Yes” to life’s messy beauty, come join us.

Say yes. Show up. You don’t have to be ready—you just need to begin.

Why Embarrassment Feels So Awful—And How Improv Helps

I once did an improv show at the Edinburgh Festival with Jim Bowen from Bullseye as a guest. I was so awful that I couldn’t leave the dressing room for over an hour afterwards for fear of seeing anyone that may have been in the audience. And it haunted me for a week.

The feeling of ‘cringe’ and embarrassment has got to be one of the worst feelings there are. Something about the way the feeling clings to you and the moment itself keeps replaying in your head. But how to get over embarrassment? 

The good news is, you’re not alone—and there are good scientific reasons for why those moments feel just so painful. Embarrassment is a social-emotional reaction that the body treats as a mild threat. So unsurprisingly, our bodies go into a softer version of the fight-flight-freeze response.  

Let’s break it down. Here’s what’s happening to your brain when you’re embarrassed:

• Your Amygdala (threat detector) kicks in. This triggers a low-grade stress response, like a mini version of fear or danger.
• Your Sympathetic nervous system activates. This is your “fight or flight” mode, even if you’re not actually in danger. It’s why your heart races or you feel like hiding.
• Your Medial prefrontal cortex (self-awareness zone) lights up. This part of the brain becomes hyper-aware of how you might be perceived by others.

Here’s a more detailed article on the neuroscience of embarassment There’s karaoke involved in some of the experiments so cringe guaranteed.

Then come the physical symptoms. Sound familiar?

• Blushing is caused by blood vessels opening in your face and neck. This comes from adrenaline affecting blood flow.
• Increased heart rate—your body is gearing up to respond to a threat—social or not.
• Sweating can be another stress response, prepping your body to “do something,” even if it’s just running out of the room.
• Body tension: You might clench your jaw, hunch your shoulders, or hold your breath.
  
• For me personally, it’s always butterflies or nausea. Blood is moving away from the digestive system (because your body thinks it might need to fight or flee), which causes that weird “gut drop” sensation.

How ironic that some of these physical symptoms of embarrassment can cause more embarrassment—thanks body!

From an evolutionary perspective, embarrassment is a pro-social emotion. In theory, it exists to signal remorse or awareness of a mistake. Feeling cringe or embarrassment helps us learn what not to repeat in social situations—kind of like internal social training wheels. But unfortunately, this response can be way out of proportion.

How Improv Helps

Believe it or not, these days I am almost embarrassment-free (not 100%—I’m still human). I wasn’t always this way—I used to be much more self-conscious and had many ‘please let the ground swallow me’ moments.

Some of that shift might be getting older and caring less about what people think. But honestly? I really believe this is because of my practice in improvisation.

Improv is like anti-cringe training ground. Here’s how:

• You Practice Letting Go Fast
  In improv, you make bold, weird, messy choices constantly—and you don’t get to stop the scene and say, “Wait, that was dumb.” You move forward, not backward.
• You Learn to Embrace the Awkward
  Improv celebrates “mistakes” because they often lead to the funniest, most memorable scenes.
• You Build Comfort in Uncertainty
  Improv teaches you to feel okay in the unknown—where the fear of looking foolish can’t paralyze you.
• You Get Used to Being Seen
  A lot of cringe comes from being overly self-aware. On stage, you learn that being seen—fully and vulnerably—isn’t just okay; it’s valuable.
• You Bond with Others Over Shared Weirdness
  Improv connects you with other people who are also being ridiculous. Suddenly, your “cringe” becomes a group laugh, not a solo shame spiral.
  

Cringe Survival Toolkit: Before, During, and After

I tend to think of cringe as an afterwards sensation. But I do think it helps to go into potential high-stress situations as prepared as you can.
Here are some tools that can help, depending on the moment you’re in.

Before Cringe Care

Going into something like an improv class or performance? Prepare yourself with context and compassion.
Here’s a post on dealing with nerves before an improv class.
And here’s one on how to prepare for your first class.

During Cringe Care

When you’re in it, nerves can distort perspective. These practical techniques help regulate the nervous system:

• Name It
  Silently (or aloud) say: “I’m feeling embarrassed. That’s okay.” Labeling the emotion reduces activity in the amygdala.
• Box Breathing (4–4–4–4)
  Inhale for 4 sec, hold for 4 sec, exhale for 4 sec, hold for 4 sec. Repeat 3–5 cycles. Your breath sends a direct signal to your nervous system that you’re safe.
• Shake It Out (Literally)
  Shake your arms, legs, and shoulders for 30 seconds—like an animal discharging stress after a near-miss. This helps your body release trapped tension, especially if you’re frozen.
• Butterfly Tap / Self-Soothing
  Cross your arms over your chest and tap gently left–right–left–right. Or rub your hands together slowly. This grounds you in your body and re-centers your attention.
• The “Zoom-Out” Technique
  Ask: “What would Future Me think of this moment?” or “Would I judge someone else this harshly?” Reframing helps build compassion and perspective.
  

After Cringe Care

• Normalize It
  Everyone cringes at themselves. If you don’t, you’re probably not growing. Cringe is often a sign of progress.
• Reframe It
  Instead of “I was so awkward,” try “I didn’t know better then, and that’s okay.”
  Or even better: “That was me trying something out. Respect.”
• Laugh at Yourself
  Humor is a powerful tool. If you can joke about it, it loses its power over you.
• Zoom Out
  No one is thinking about your cringe moment as much as you are. People are too wrapped up in their own worlds to care deeply.

I hope this little guide on how to get over embarrassment and surviving cringe has helped.

I’ve realised while writing this that I’m not immune to cringe—I still have many shows where I think about what I could have said or done differently. I suppose the difference these days is the acceptance.

The brilliant and sad thing about improv shows is that once they are gone, they are gone. So yes, I still get embarrassed—but with practice, I’ve learned to sit with it and let go of it much quicker.

Because improv is a sandbox where you can safely explore and desensitize yourself to that cringe feeling by playing, failing, and laughing your way through it.

The AndAlso List of Improv Edits

An edit in improv is a way to end a scene and begin another. We talk a lot about why this is important in our podcast on edits, but this article is your practical, handy list of improv edits so they’re all in one place.

The list is a collection of those I learned originally, picked up along the way, and adapted. They may be called different things in different schools, as with so many other improv games and exercises, but hopefully, the descriptions will give you what you need to understand and get going.

Whether you’re learning improv and want to use this as a reference, are in a group and want to shake up your transitions, or you’re just curious as to why people are constantly running across the stage in improv shows, this blog is for you.

The Sweep Edit

The cleanest, simplest, and most universal language of edits, the sweep edit involves one or more improvisers running across the front of the stage to ‘sweep’ the stage clean, indicating the end of the scene and leaving space for the next to begin.

My mentor Bill Arnett told us to think of edits as the different knives in a chopping block, and I have always found this to be a really helpful analogy, especially when it comes to the sweep edit. The sweep edit is the meat cleaver of edits. It’s not delicate or pretty, but it will definitely get the job done.

One disadvantage of sweep edits is that, to non-improvisers, it can look very odd. I must admit that these days, I try to avoid using it where possible as there are so many other fun options, but it’s certainly a very clear signal and can still be the best choice for a particularly rowdy group scene.

Verbal Edits – Hard and Soft

As you might surmise from the name, the verbal edit involves ending the current scene by starting a line of dialogue taking you into the new scene. I like this technique very much as it gets rid of any ‘dead air’ and keeps a show zipping along nicely.

I think of verbal edits in terms of hard and soft initiations. ‘Hard’ being coming in with a fully formed idea and maybe even calling a character into the scene (which can be particularly handy for a narrative show or premise scene in a Harold). However, ‘soft’ verbal initiations might just include emotional noises, or bridging words like ‘well’, ‘so’, or ‘here we are’ — i.e. you know it’s time for the last scene to come to an end, but you don’t necessarily have a clear idea for the new one.

While I think verbal edits are slick and clear (and if we’re using the kitchen knife analogy, I think this one is your chef’s knife), I recognize that sometimes they can put improvisers in their heads, searching for a ‘good’ line to start the next scene.

The Swarm Edit

Swarm edits are another one where your non-improviser friends might raise an eyebrow, but I love them! As the name might suggest, they involve the full ensemble ‘swarming’ onto the stage, enveloping what is already happening and then dissipating to reveal a new scene in its place.

There are several reasons a swarm edit might be appropriate and several ways to do it. Here’s a few examples:

• Something literally mentioned in the environment enters and takes over (e.g. the sheep in a shepherd scene or the zombies in an apocalypse scene).

• Similarly, a noise appropriate to the environment grows into an edit (e.g. the sirens in a detective scene).

• The swarm might come from outside the immediate environment but act as a commentary or foreshadowing device (e.g. two students studying in a quiet library talking about how they will enjoy their freedom after the exams might pave the way for a swarm of nightclubbers).

• Sometimes, a swarm might be an abstract response to a sound or movement within the scene (e.g. a character is so surprised that they exclaim ‘oh!’ and throw their hands in the air, and the whole cast mirrors and joins in, which ‘swarms’ into a rollercoaster scene).

The most interesting part of swarm edits for me is what comes out of them. Ideally, they should be very freeform and physical, and so the picture that remains at the end should be totally random. Where verbal edits might be more ‘thinky’ or planned, the best swarm edits are wild and free.

Swarm edits do not work when they are apologetic or under-committed. However, when they do work, they are total improv magic. I highly recommend experimenting. We’ll call this the utility knife — use it in lots of different ways where appropriate.

The Object Edit

This edit involves ‘taking’ an imaginary object from an improviser or improvisers and carrying it into the next scene. This could be:

• The same object exactly transported to a different setting or set of characters in the same story.

• Another one of the same object but not the same one/same world (e.g. a ball from a basketball game with the L.A. Lakers becomes another ball in a children’s playground. Still a ball, not the same ball).

• The object is taken as a point of focus but morphs into a different object altogether, perhaps inspired by the shape or action (a la freeze tag) e.g. Atlas is holding up the world, and that globe becomes someone trying on a giant hat for ladies’ day.

I’ve used this edit very successfully in classes, rehearsals, and shows where this convention is built in. Without deciding to use this edit, I rarely see it happen in shows, but it’s cool when it does. Perhaps a good one to practice for those wanting to work on their object and space work. In the kitchen knife analogy — I think this is a carving knife.

The Crossfade

A crossfade, again as the name suggests, involves one scene starting while the other is fading out. Really effective if the subsequent scene is started silently and with space work while the original scene starts to wind down. Lovely if the dialogue between the two scenes can intersect almost like a split scene for a moment. It can also be done by turning the volume down on the first scene and turning it up on the second so we see the actors miming the dialogue.

I particularly like this when it encourages the actors to make interesting use of the space. For example, two actors are standing on chairs upstage on opposite sides representing guards atop castle battlements, while two other actors take their place on the lip of the stage and begin miming throwing stones into the sea where the audience are. In our knife analogy, this has got to be a carving fork.

I first got taught the crossfade on the Summer intensive at iO Chicago in 2007 by Jet Eveleth. Since then, I have used it truly maybe a dozen times, but boy does it look sexy.

Line Steal/Cascade

Perhaps the verbal equivalent of an object edit — a line uttered in the first scene is ‘stolen’ and repurposed for the starting line of the second scene. Less easy to do if the line involves the name of a character or is full of very specific details, but really effective when it is a particularly emotional or evocative line. An example might be:

• ‘You lied in court, and you disgraced my professional name. How dare you!’ uttered by a defense lawyer in scene 1.

• ‘How dare you! Mrs. Johnson, how disgraceful for you to suggest I kiss you upon the cheek!’ uttered in a Bridgerton-type way to start scene two.

‘How Dare You’ ends scene 1 and starts scene 2 but is used in a totally different context.

In the cascade version, the line is repeated several times by several different improvisers very quickly, one after the other, with varying deliveries and intonations until the most interesting version is settled on. At the time of writing this, I could not find a video example, which I think would help a lot, so I will keep searching or ask me to demonstrate over a beer sometime.

What I like about the line steal edit is that there is no room for pre-planning or thinking. It requires the improvisers not in the scene to be totally present and listening out for lines of dialogue that really pop out. Shall we call this a pairing knife? Yes, let’s.

Narration Edit

A narration edit in improv is a storytelling transition where a performer steps out of the action to provide narrative context, time shifts, or perspective changes — much like a storybook voiceover or a film narrator. Instead of physically or thematically morphing into the next scene, the player simply narrates the shift: “Meanwhile, across town, Harold was discovering the same secret,” or “The next morning, everything had changed.” It’s a clean, efficient way to move time and space, cue the ensemble, and guide the audience without breaking the flow. This kind of edit is especially common in narrative longform formats or genre shows where storytelling structure is front and center.

This one’s a boning knife — subtle, sharp, and meant to carve out clean lines through the connective tissue of your story.

“River Becomes a Tear” or Amélie Edit

This phrase is often used metaphorically in improv circles (especially among those who favor theatrical or narrative improv) to describe a fluid, emotional, and symbolic transition. Imagine a scene ending with a river, and instead of abruptly jumping to the next scene, the performers metaphorically “zoom in” on a drop of water, and it becomes a tear on someone’s cheek in a new scene. It’s like a match cut in film (think: a bone flying up in 2001: A Space Odyssey that becomes a spaceship).

Named after the film Amélie (2001), a slight variant is an edit similar to the one above, but full of whimsy, visual poetry, and quirky narrative devices. E.g. If a character in a scene mentions they always wondered what it’s like to fly, the edit could take us into their fantasy — they flap their arms, lights shift, music changes, and suddenly they’re flying in the next scene.

Both River Becomes a Tear and Amélie edits are common in more theatrical, narrative, or cinematic improv forms (like what you’d see from companies like Impro Theatre, The Hideout, or ImprovBoston’s genre shows). They’re used for:

• Heightened emotional storytelling

• An emphasis on a character’s inner life or quirky detail

• Magical realism or imaginative visuals

• Keeping the audience immersed, rather than “snapped out” with a harsh cut

These are your filleting knives — elegant, emotional, delicate, and designed for a very specific kind of cut.

Technical Edits

I’ve written before about the importance of hosting a show as well as the show itself, so if you have improvisers on the tech desk, having them edit the scenes with lights and music can be really amazing and up the production values of a show hugely.

It’s worth thinking about the rhythm of a show and how the lights and music will best serve your edits, e.g. a sketch-type improv show working really well with full blackouts and sharp music stings between scenes, whereas an improvised play might be best served with a swell of music and a dip in the lights as chairs, etc., are moved and the improvisers get in place for the new scene.

I think tech edits are the bread knife of edits because they cut through anything in a neat way.

Song Edit

In the same way that music or lights end a scene very cleanly, the same can be said of a song in a musical improv show. Audiences just take a good song ending as the end of that ‘bit,’ so, if in doubt, sing your way out of a scene! Similar to a bread knife, this one is serrated.

The French Edit

I have heard this edit called different names, but for some reason, it has stuck in my mind as the French Edit (maybe because it’s so sophisticated?). In this edit, two improvisers transition from one scene to the next without leaving the stage or changing position, but just by becoming two distinct new characters (or perhaps characters we have seen before in the same show) by changing their vocal tone and posture, etc. This is totally magical to behold as it involves really clear connection and communication between two players. It’s really tricky to pull off, but easier in a duo format for sure. A butter knife of course – so smooth.

The ‘Leave the Stage’ Edit

Somewhere in the mists of time, an improv teacher told their class that they weren’t allowed to leave the stage. This myth persists to this day. Let me tell you, you can just walk out of a scene. In a two-person scene, you can both leave, or the whole group can, and so on — for whatever reason. Even if you, the improviser, are having the worst scene of your life, leaving the stage creates space for whatever needs to happen next and opens up new dramatic possibilities. This is an invisible knife – I’m running out of knives people!

The ‘Failure to Edit’ Edit

Perhaps one of the more common edits that happen is when the amazing transition you set up is not received in the way you intended, and something else happens. So it must be included on a full list of improv edits! Some examples of this:

• You come in with what you think is a clear verbal initiation, but it gets interpreted as a character entering the scene.

• You initiate a swarm edit, but end up becoming a sound effect of the sea in the background or a lone bird adding depth and color to the scene happening in the garden.

• You try to initiate a crossfade, but the other scene fails to leave, and you end up doing a split scene.

• You leave the scene intending for your scene partner to leave with you, thereby ending the scene, but they stay and you leave them on their own.

Having one of your edits ‘fail’ can feel hard, especially if you feel you have been super clear to your teammates. But if this happens, remember it’s improvisation in action. Some of the best moments I’ve seen in improv shows have come out of failed transitions and what happens as a result of these accidental moments.

Hopefully, this list of improv edits will give you all the tools (kitchen knives, in fact)  you need to end and begin your scenes with style. But if all else fails, you can always keep going until they close the theatre.

This week marks Neurodiversity Celebration Week. It’s a time to celebrate the amazing diversity of minds that make up our world, from those who have ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia, and other neurodiverse conditions. At AndAlso Improv, we’re especially proud to highlight how neurodiversity is a fundamental part of what makes us unique and strong.

As the General Manager of this improv company, a mum of two smashing 9-year-old boys, and someone who has learned to embrace my own neurodiversity since a late diagnosis at 40, I wanted to take a moment to share why this week is so important to me personally and professionally, and why I believe that understanding and celebrating neurodiversity is key to creating an inclusive, thriving space for everyone — on stage and off.

Neurodiversity: What It Means to Me

As a mum, (step-mum, auntie, god-mother), I’ve witnessed firsthand the joy, the challenges, and the magic that neurodiverse children bring to the world. Some of the incredible kids in my world have unique ways of processing it, problem-solving, and interacting with others. As any parent/guardian knows, it’s not always easy to navigate those differences, but it’s so rewarding to see their strengths shine when they embrace who they truly are. The way they think, move, and express themselves is nothing short of incredible. Our family motto (before any of us were diagnosed) ‘Be Kind, Be Happy, Be Yourself’, is truly fitting for me & my team and something we all strive to embrace in our daily lives.

In my role as General Manager, I have learned that the world is not a one-size-fits-all place. Neurodiversity is like an improv scene — there is no wrong answer, no single way to express an idea, and the most unexpected twists can lead to the most brilliant moments. It’s all about creating space for everyone to bring their true selves to the table. Whether it’s the spontaneous energy of someone with ADHD or the methodical brilliance of someone on the autism spectrum, every mind has its own way to shine.

Neurodiversity and Improv: An Unlikely Pair?

Some might think that improv — with its reliance on quick thinking, adapting to situations, and interacting with others — could be an intimidating challenge for those who think and process differently. But the truth is, neurodiverse individuals often excel in improv settings because they bring fresh perspectives, problem-solving abilities, and creativity to the stage. Improv values the ability to think on your feet, adapt to unexpected situations, and bring energy to a scene, all qualities that many neurodiverse individuals naturally possess.

In fact, at AndAlso Improv, we’ve seen how different minds enhance our practice. We embrace the unpredictability that comes with being neurodiverse, just as we embrace the unpredictability of improv. The beauty of improv lies in the diversity of voices, personalities, and styles. It’s a perfect fit for anyone who doesn’t quite fit the traditional mold — and that’s something to celebrate!

My Superpower: Juggling It All with Compassion

When I think about my own superpower, I’m reminded of the balancing act that comes with managing an improv company whilst being a mum. My role as General Manager requires me to juggle multiple tasks, often at breakneck speed, all while maintaining a sense of calm and compassion. This is where my neurodiversity shines. I have a unique ability to prioritise, adapt to rapid changes, and find creative solutions in high-pressure situations. 

It’s not always easy (as you know, I work with Jules & Heather! 😉 ), but the resilience I’ve developed through my own experiences as a late-diagnosed spicy woman, and as a mother to spicy kids, helps me stay grounded and bring empathy into everything I do. It’s this compassion that I try to bring to our company’s culture — understanding that everyone’s mind works differently, and that is exactly what makes our team and our growing improv community so special.

Why Celebrating Neurodiversity Matters

During Neurodiversity Celebration Week, I encourage everyone — both inside and outside our company — to take a moment to reflect on how we can better support and include neurodiverse individuals. It’s not just about making space for differences; it’s about recognising the value those differences bring to the table.

Whether you’re an improviser, an audience member, a colleague, or a friend, we all have something to contribute to this wonderful, diverse world. By fostering inclusivity and celebrating neurodiversity, we create richer, more engaging experiences for everyone.

I’m proud to be part of a community that truly values what makes us all unique. At AndAlso Improv, we know that diversity — including neurodiversity — is our strength. It’s time to celebrate that strength and the superpowers we each bring to the table.

Happy Neurodiversity Celebration Week! Here’s to embracing the beauty of our minds, and all the incredible things we can create together.