I learned a great lesson when I started writing: “Specificity creates relatability”. It was a concept that, at first, seemed almost oxymoronic. How could sharing our individual quirks make us relatable? And then it clicked. It’s not the “thing” that is relatable, but our feelings about the “thing”.

Humans are hardwired to want to conform. To fit in, we have to survey our surroundings and decide which things don’t align with our peers… and then erase them, or keep them in.

I vowed from a young age to enter the world with all my oddities on display. It was difficult to find validation, but I figured I couldn’t be the only one who felt that. And so if I stepped into the world offering an unfiltered version of myself, perhaps it would encourage others to do the same, and we could both find validation by seeing each others’ oddities.

Offering the world a version of you that’s not polished and rehearsed is a tall order. You open yourself up to a huge amount of scrutiny. The negative voices often get amplified.

When it came to my career, I’d been so unfiltered for so long I didn’t know how to do anything else. And that was terrifying. I still feared being too different, too much, too out there. Entering a space where my career’s success would be measured by how “liked” I was only added to that pressure.

Talking about those fears became the way I allayed them. I allowed my quirks to take centre stage, letting people know I felt just as weird about being weird as they felt about hearing how weird I was. I’ve told stories about my feelings about myself, my body, my sex life, my identity – all the personal things. It was so freeing.

At the core of my attitude towards my career is one single principle: creativity is generosity.

I had an incredible mentor, Kevin Kropinyeri, once tell me that performing is about loving your audience. If you love them, they’ll love you back. He’s right. Art of any kind is about offering the audience an opportunity to leave their mind and perceive a different perspective. I know how brutal the confines of my brain can be, and sharing that with my audience allows them to process their own experiences through a new filter.

In the most dramatic sentiment, I view art as bleeding publicly to show others where they’re bleeding and let them know they’re not bleeding alone. It’s the best way I can live my life. Sure, it leaves me open to icky missteps and fears of not fitting in. But it also gives me control of my story, and there’s nothing stronger than that.