May is Mental Health Awareness Month. At Stomping Ground, we know that improv can be a useful tool for addressing anxiety, which is a big reason we developed Improv for Anxiety as part of our Improv for Life program. We asked one of our former Improv for Anxiety students, Andrew Missel, to share his experience of using improv to navigate anxiety and make big changes in his life.
When I signed up for Improv for Anxiety at Stomping Ground in the fall of 2022, I wasn’t trying to become a comedian. I was just trying to survive a rough chapter in my life.
My wife at the time had asked me to move out of our home. I was dealing with loneliness, disconnection, and a hard realization: I didn’t really know how to be with myself—or how to make friends on my own. I had spent so long leaning on a relationship for emotional stability that when it ended, I was left with a question I didn’t know how to answer: Who am I when I’m by myself?
In that headspace, I took one of those online personality strengths tests. Out of 20 categories, my lowest two were “sense of humor” and “social intelligence.” That stung, but I couldn’t argue with it. One of the suggestions it gave to help develop those areas was Improv. So I searched for classes in Dallas and found Stomping Ground’s Improv for Anxiety program.
I didn’t know what to expect. But from the very first class, something inside me started to shift. The vibe wasn’t about being funny on command—it was about play. Not just goofing around, but truly entering a curious, present state of mind. For someone who had lived in a constant state of tension and overthinking, that first taste of emotional freedom was electric.
An exercise that I still enjoy from this program is the game “1-25.” You’re given a character and a situation, and instead of coming up with dialogue, you express that character’s emotional state by simply speaking the numbers 1 through 25. That’s it. That simplicity unlocked something for me. I was able to feel and safely express emotions I’d long labeled as “bad” or “unsafe.” I didn’t have to be clever. I just had to be real.
We also learned a grounding technique early in the program that turned out to be a huge anchor for me. It was simple and effective. It gave me something I’d been missing for a long time: the ability to come back to myself.
What surprised me most was how quickly we bonded as a group. We all shared the thread of anxiety, and that common ground created a space where it felt safe to open up. It wasn’t therapy, but it was definitely therapeutic. Since finishing the program, I’ve seen classmates go on to complete the full improv curriculum. Some are even performing now. Others just found ways to be more themselves in their everyday lives. That kind of growth is beautiful to witness.
As for me? I became an improv nerd. I perform regularly now, watch shows constantly, and have found a real sense of community in the Dallas comedy scene. But even more than that, I’ve learned to be okay with the unknown—with mistakes, with failure, with change.
One of the first things we were taught in the Improv for Anxiety program was a grounding mantra: “There is nothing to be done by me right now.”
At the time, it was a helpful phrase. Over time, it became a worldview. I don’t feel the need to control everything anymore. I’m more comfortable with loose plans, with adapting. Because things will change, and I’ve learned to improvise, both on stage and in life.
Fear still shows up. I’ve gotten better at recognizing it and choosing to move through it anyway. These days, I even seek out challenges that scare me. I’m learning that fear isn’t a stop sign. It’s just a signal. And usually, there’s something meaningful on the other side.
If you’re thinking about taking the class and you’re scared? Good. That means you care. That means you’re standing on the edge of something important. You’re not alone in that fear. Everyone feels it. But on the other side is laughter, connection, self-discovery—a chance to meet yourself in a brand-new way.
For me, Improv for Anxiety wasn’t just a class. It was the spark that started the fire.
It helped me begin again.
And I’ll never forget that.