A moment that changed me: I slipped in the shower, realised I was exhausted – and transformed my life

The Guardian

19 hours ago

For as long as I can remember, I have been ambitious and desperate to prove myself. It started with a competitive spirit at school sports days, then a determination to land parts in local theatre productions, then a place at drama school. I was between acting jobs when a friend suggested I try standup. One gig and I was hooked.
I quickly decided comedy was my future and I would do whatever it took to make it work. The rest of my life went out of the window. I gigged constantly – often six nights a week – determined to hone my craft and establish myself as a comedian. I was always knackered, but I revelled in it, telling myself I loved the hustle. I trod the boards at comedy clubs, art centres, theatres … anywhere that would have me. I performed for six years at the Edinburgh festival fringe – the first two to very little fanfare (and audience numbers), but after that, things started to rev up. I was booked for bigger shows, sometimes abroad, sometimes on TV. I felt as if I was really hitting my stride.
Then the pandemic happened. I had spent so long being obsessed with my job that, when it stopped, I didn't quite know who I was or what to do with myself. In the scheme of things, I was enormously lucky: I got to spend loads more time with my partner, Alice, and our wonderful daughter. All of a sudden, I was someone I never knew I had wanted to be: a homebody. I had my girls, my sofa and more banana bread than I care to remember – even my old pal anxiety seemed to have taken a holiday. It was glorious. Then, the world opened back up, my career kicked off again and my tour resumed after a two-year hiatus. The hustle was back! I could gig five times a week, alongside recording two podcasts and occasional TV and radio spots. I was working nonstop – just how I liked it.
I got booked for the Just for Laughs comedy festival in Montreal in 2022, a feather in the cap of any standup comedian. I had visions of smashing my gig and coming home with an American agent (I am aware Montreal is in Canada, but it's where US agents go to look for international talent). I boarded the plane with a hope, a dream – and a ruptured disc in my spine (L4, if you're interested). But I stocked up on strong painkillers and decided that the opportunity was too good to miss.
The shows went well but, when I got back to my hotel, I hopped in the shower, slipped and had a back spasm which, paired with the ruptured disc, rendered me pretty much immobile.
I crawled back to the room, realising it was too late in the day to call my wife, my mum, or my agent, who were all in the UK. Instead, I cried – and I mean really sobbed – into the carpet, while watching videos of Alice and our daughter on my phone. That was the moment I realised I was exhausted.
Over the following weeks I saw an osteopath, a GP and a therapist who all pretty much said the same thing: I was burning the candle at both ends and my body couldn't take it. If I kept going, I was told I could expect more injuries, more anxiety and potential burnout. Faced with the choice between a blinkered, unrelenting focus on my career, or spending time with my family, I knew that my family would win every time.
Now, I make sure I am never away for more than three nights in a row. I never miss swimming on a Sunday or family dinner on Monday evening. I don't crave the hit I used to get from performing – instead, I am more than happy reciting bedtime stories for an enthusiastic audience of one. At 39, I am no longer obsessed with gaining other people's approval. I am relieved I have time to breathe; I enjoy my job, but I also make sure I have time to enjoy life outside work, too.
I still have ambition, I still gig and tour – but currently my five-year-old thinks I am the coolest person on the planet, and I'm not deluded enough to believe that's going to last for ever. I've learned to slow down, savour the moment and, most importantly, let go of the hustle.
Am I Having Fun Now? by Suzi Ruffell is published by Pan Macmillan (£18.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
Her tour, The Juggle, runs from 10 September to 23 November.