“First off, I should mention that I stutter. I have a speech impediment. So, if you have plans tomorrow, cancel them.”

This is one of my go-to jokes to break the ice with audiences and to let them know that I stutter. In fact, last year when I performed stand-up at the Second City Toronto’s John Candy Box Theatre, an audience member thought I was faking stuttering as part of my set. 

“Do you actually stutter?” he asked me.

“I do,” I told him.

I actually do have a speech impediment and I start off every set with a joke about my stuttering, which is a common communication disorder that involves repetitions, blocks and other speech disfluencies. For me, it makes sense to start off every set like that. It desensitizes audiences to the way I talk. It also makes me feel better about my disability, allowing me to continue my set freely without worrying how audience members may perceive my stuttering.

Not only have I told jokes about my speech impediment in my comedy sets, but I found myself using stand-up comedy as a space to talk about other health and life struggles as well, such as coping with social anxiety, baldness and Irritable Bowel Syndrome (yes, I have a joke about my bowel movements). 

When you face mental health issues such as a crippling form of anxiety, performing stand-up comedy may be the last thing you would ever consider. Maybe it’s true. I mean six years ago, I never thought I’d be doing stand-up comedy. However, not only have I loved it, but I’ve found that stand-up comedy makes for a great space to talk openly about my mental health struggles. Stand-up has also been a great way to think about my mental health issues through a more humorous lens. 

It was 2017 when I was first hit by the comedy bug. At the time, I was exploring improv comedy, as a hobby and, more specifically, a means to get out of my comfort zone and cope with my mental health struggles.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been suffering from dysthymia, a low but chronic form of depression, and severe generalized anxiety. I’ve faced elements of hypersensitivity, depression anxiety, and intrusive thoughts. After reaching a particularly low point in my mental health, I decided to give improv a try. I had some friends who were into improv and to my surprise, Second City offered specialized classes in improv for anxiety.

Before my first improv class, I had no idea what to expect and I was extremely reluctant. I had no idea if I’d enjoy it or not. However, one of the first icebreaker games we played was called Penguin Tag, a self-explanatory game of tag, except you waddle like a penguin as you play.

And to my surprise, I loved it. I loved getting out of my comfort zone; I loved being silly without any fear of judgement; I loved being part of a supportive community of improvisers and comedians. 

Since then, I started performing improv on stages across Toronto; I joined an improv troupe (we called ourselves Coffee Breath); I tried long-form improv; and finally, last year, I ventured into stand-up comedy to further challenge myself. 

Initially, just like was the case with starting improv, I was hesitant about trying stand-up comedy and I was filled with anxious thoughts: what if my speech impediment gets in the way? What if I can’t think of any jokes? What if my jokes fall flat?  

Nevertheless, I persisted through my first stand-up comedy class at the Second City Toronto. Initially, I didn’t quite know what jokes I wanted to tell. But mid-way through my first stand-up course, I wanted my sets to be focused on me. I didn’t want to be the type of comedian that focused on politics, pop culture or topical humour. I wanted to focus on self-deprecating humour about my own challenges. Not only did I find that this made for relatable content, but I learned that stand-up comedy can be a great therapeutic space to talk about my own struggles.

This was what brought me to the place where I’m at now: using stand-up comedy as a therapeutic tool and a space to talk openly about my struggles with a speech impediment, anxiety, low self-esteem and Irritable Bowel Syndrome. 

Late last year, I was doing a set at The Fox and the Firkin, a bar in Toronto, and someone approached me after the show.

“I really liked how you shared your vulnerabilities,” they said. “It takes guts to talk about yourself in the way that you did.”

Since venturing into stand-up and improv comedy, I’ve found myself in a place where I’m taking more risks, where I feel more confident and where I can finally be myself. 

Samuel Dunsiger - @samdunsiger