Before I start drawing, and especially when I’m live sketching for a client and in front of a crowd, there’s often a story in my head.

Will it look right?

What if I miss something important?

Will it satisfy and honor the speakers and the client’s mission?

What if the visual doesn’t capture what they’re trying to say?

What if there is too much white space or my letters are crooked?

This is all while the room fills, I’m arranging markers and testing a few lines on the corner of the paper. That familiar stomach knot forms.

Yes, after all these years, I still get nervous before every session.

You’d think the anxiety would fade with experience. Seven years of daily practice. Hundreds of successful events. Clients who’ve booked and rebooked.

But the stories in my head, and more specifically the butterflies in my stomach, don’t always care about track records.

The Evidence vs. The Story

What’s wild about those pre-session fears: nobody has ever come to me and said, “Wade, that sheet was garbage. I wish you would throw it out.”

Nobody. Not once.

Yet I still sometimes walk away from some sessions feeling like there was more to be done. More to show. More to sketch.

Even when the client is thrilled. Even when people crowd around the boards, taking photos. Even when they immediately ask about booking again.

The stories in my head are untrue almost every single time.

Sometimes, there’s this disconnect between what I feel and what actually happens. An internal narrative insisting something might go wrong, but the external reality keeps proving it false.

I’ve got years of evidence that the work consistently lands well. But somehow, that doesn’t stop the doubt from showing up.

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When Caring Feels Like Anxiety

Maybe the nervousness isn’t entirely bad, though.

Caring deeply about doing good work sometimes means anxiety comes with the territory. Pre-session butterflies could be my brain’s way of making sure I’m prepared, focused, fully present.

I don’t necessarily want to eliminate the nerves completely. I just want to know if they are helping or hurting.

Butterflies are fine, as long as they fly in formation.

(I’m quoting Mama Forbes here, and it’s excellent advice).

Some nervousness can sharpen your focus, just make sure it doesn’t bring on a kind of paralysis.

Some level of concern keeps me from getting sloppy, from taking the work for granted. It’s when the stories spiral into disaster scenarios that they stop being useful.

Rewriting the Script

How do you tell the difference between helpful prep and harmful self-doubt?

To be fair, I’m not 100% sure.

But it would seem the stories in our head worth keeping are the ones that make you better. The ones that push you to prepare, to show up fully, making certain the markers and rolls of paper are ready to go, and honoring the trust people place in your work.

The stories worth ditching are the ones that assume the worst before anything’s even happened.

Is this story helping me win, or stopping me from trying?

If the voice in your head is making you more careful, more thoughtful, more committed to excellence, then it’s worth listening to. If it’s convincing you that failure is inevitable, then it’s best to ignore it.

The tricky part is that both voices can sometimes sound exactly the same.

What stories are you telling yourself today? About your work, your relationships, your next big challenge?

Are they rooted in evidence or anxiety? Are they pushing you toward your best work or away from even trying?

The stories we tell ourselves shape everything.

Sometimes caring deeply feels uncomfortable. That’s okay. It means the work matters to you.

Just don’t let the discomfort write a script that isn’t true.

Grateful you are here,

Wade