As part of Mental Health Awareness Week 2021 – which runs from 10-16 May – we’ve commissioned a mini series of blog posts from writers in our improv community, in the UK and internationally, on the ways improv has improved their mental health.

Nathan Dean is a copywriter and speechwriter in the cultural sector. In his spare time he writes sketches about cats and trees.

To my neighbour José, who has quietly tolerated me playing Boom-Sha-Boom in my flat throughout the last year, in a rotating cast of celebrity voices: thank you, and sorry. Listening to me shouting “we got…the RHYTHM OF THE HANDS” in my Al Pacino voice twice a week without a single complaint must take the kind of saintly patience I had previously associated only with Mother Teresa and Paddington Bear, and I am deeply grateful for your continued fortitude and tolerance.

I’m not doing it to upset you, although I can understand it must feel that way when your Murder She Wrote omnibus is interrupted by Brian Blessed bellowing about his rhythmic hips. Believe me, I would find another way to pass the time if I could, but it’s really the only way I know of holding onto my sanity. Because creativity is how I look after my health and wellbeing, both mental and physical. It’s up there with meditating, telling people I’m going to do a marathon, and asking Google whether hummus counts as one of my 5-a-Day, which obviously it does and you can take it up with NetDoctor if that’s a problem.

I know I’m not the only one. We don’t talk about the health benefits of creativity that often, but they exist, and there’s mounting evidence to back them up. There’s still a lot of research to be done, but studies have shown that creative and cultural therapies can have a variety of benefits for mental and physical health, such as reducing GP visits and hospital admissions, alleviating anxiety and depression, and helping people recover from brain injuries. People in power are taking notice too – in 2019 the Government invested £5million to establish a National Academy for Social Prescribing, and the NHS has even included helping people to access cultural activities as part of its Long Term Plan.

I don’t have any particular insight into the science of why it works, but I can talk about the role of improv in my life (and regularly do, unprompted, to anyone who will listen, like someone in a cult or people on dating apps who are into Peep Show).

I started taking classes at the FA two years ago, and, fortunately for the narrative structure of this blog, it’s been life-changing. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to creativity. I’ve always found it slightly mystifying; incredibly alluring but also unsettling, and even a little dangerous. What if I try to make something and it doesn’t work? What if I try to be funny and people don’t laugh? What would that say about me?

I suppose you could say improv class was a safe space to explore creativity without fearing the answers to these questions, but I don’t think that gets across the real wonder of it. I do feel scared in class. I still want people to think I’m funny and interesting. That might not be very improv, but I think, for most of us, it’s just part of being human.

The true lesson, I think, is that it’s so much more powerful to acknowledge these fears and work with them than to run from them. Doing an unfunny scene is painful, but it isn’t the apocalyptic catastrophe I once imagined it would be, and being willing to risk failure is the only way to reach the heights we get to when it all comes together.

Learning to be vulnerable in that way, and feeling more able to express myself creatively as a result, has had incredible benefits for my wellbeing and happiness. Being creative reminds me that I’m a part of the world, not something that gets pushed around by it. It helps me to be present and mindful, and not get tangled up in my thoughts. It makes me realise that I have some control over my life, and that I can make an impact. Over time, I’ve felt myself becoming more open to ideas that challenge my assumptions about how things should be, and more able to empathise with people whose beliefs repulse or scare me.

For all those reasons, I’ve missed improv intensely over the last year. Fortunately, however, I live with a good friend, one of the few non-improv people I’ve met who doesn’t seem to regard it as the worst thing about Western civilisation. We’ve been playing improv games together throughout the lockdowns, and I’ve felt so grateful each time for those bursts of spontaneity and creativity. They have helped me to see the potential in each day, even when they all felt the same, and brought colour to the monotony. At a time when it has been easy to feel bleak and hopeless, being creative through improv makes me feel a deep gratitude for being here.

As we transition back to some kind of normality, I feel comforted knowing there is more of that to come, and that I have the structure and community of improv to support me as I start to rebuild a more active, sociable life. I can’t wait to be fully immersed in that world again, but for now I feel grateful that I’ve been able to use what I’ve learnt so far, and to have felt part of the community over the last year. It has been a lifeline.

Which, in conclusion, is why my neighbour José must continue listening to Roger Moore clapping and stamping his way happily into the rainy May evenings.

Sorry José, again, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

If you are struggling with your mental health, you are not alone. You can find help and support at MIND – their confidential infoline is 0300 123 3393, CALM or you can visit this NHS Page for a list of other mental health charities, organisations and support groups for urgent help.

If you want to hear more about our improv classes - click here for info on our next term! We offer diversity scholarships for every level, so money is no object.

If you have an interesting story on how improv has helped or is helping you in the real world, please complete the form at www.thefreeassociation.co.uk/improv-in-real-life