This years’ British Association of Dramatherapists (BADth) conference took place (mostly) online over the week of the 14th October 2024. It was titled: Creativity in Conflict; Empowering Change Through Dramatherapy and I was both an attendee and a presenter, gorging myself on all the dramatherapy goodness I could get my hands on, as well as offering my own workshop titled; ”Exploring Internal Conflict Through Creative and Embodied Approaches To Internal Family Systems (IFS).” 

This blog explores my learning during two sessions at the conference, Drew Bird’s Monday morning presentation, “To Be Or not to be a clown: Conflict on and off the stage” and my Friday evening embodied IFS workshop. It’s a blog about bringing fun into facilitation. It’s a blog about what stops us following our impulses towards connection and play. It features theory from clowning, fooling and Internal Family Systems (IFS), as well as personal reflection and ponder points for you, dear reader. It’s quite long, my Inner Academic may* have got a bit carried away. 

*She definitely did, but waddaya gonna do?

“To Be Or Not To Be A Clown: Conflict On and Off The Stage”

Drew Bird is Associate Professor and Head of Creative Arts Therapies at the University of Melbourne, Australia. He opened the BADth conference with a presentation of his autoethnographical study, exploring how he applied his learning from clowning to his work as a facilitator / dramatherapist. Here’s how he described his paper in the programme notes: “The paper will consider how clown performances has deepened the authors humanistic informed stance, brought them into conflict with their own professional conditioning and transformed their practice.”

“How exciting!” Thought I, “A fellow clown / dramatherapist / academic! I wonder what his clown is teaching him!” 

Drew outlined his project; with Fabio Motta as his clown mentor, Drew had created and performed a clown piece for a live theatre audience. Watching back through the footage, Drew and Fabio explored what was and what wasn’t working, critiquing the work through three lenses, borrowed from Jaques Lecoq’s clown pedagogy:

• Is it playful?
• Is there complicite? (togetherness with the audience)
• Is there openness?

Honing in on a moment when the audience had gone quiet and stopped laughing, Drew and Fabio wondered what had happened…

Citing theory from Christopher Bayes, Drew suggested that fun has a particular pace. Clapping his hands at regular intervals, Drew demonstrated the “speed of fun”. Fun apparently has a bright, energetic quality - around the beat of a good pop song.  As he sped up the hand claps, I could feel the energy start to rise into the edge of mania. As he slowed down the hand claps, I could feel the energy start to descend into stasis.

Ergo, somewhere between mania and stasis is the speed of fun! I love that. Drew explained that when you’re operating at the speed of fun, you’re slightly out of control and in that precarious space, there is the potential for both surprise and truth to emerge.

Zooming into the moment where the audience stopped laughing, Drew realised he’d slowed down his pace to gain back control, after something unexpected had happened. He’d asked the audience to vote on whether he should be a teacher or a performer and instead of doing what he’d asked and raising their hands in an orderly fashion, they started asking questions. He wasn’t expecting this. He felt lost and out of control and the audience thought this was hilarious, at first.

But this unexpected laughter made Drew feel vulnerable, and instead of finding the playfulness and opening to the audience to make connection through his vulnerability, he started fixating on his plan / script, which caused him to slow down his pace. In slowing down, he lost his sense of fun and got all up in his head. He said, “If I’m in my head, there’s a good chance the audience is too!” 

I know this to be true in my own experience, both on and off stage. If I radiate presence, then presence comes back, if I radiate stress, then I’m bombarded by other people’s anxiety. Is this true for you, dear reader?

Looking Through The Lens Of Internal Family Systems (IFS)

I’m not going to go into too much detail about what IFS is here, as I’ve written about it a lot elsewhere, but it's basic premise is, we are all made of many parts. I’ve put some links in to other blogs that will give you some clarity if you need it. Good luck, here we go.

Looking at Drew’s moment of disconnect through an IFS lens, I can sense that his inner ’manager’ parts may have stepped in to protect his more vulnerable parts, guiding him towards the safety of structure and certainty, as they probably have been doing throughout his life. I have seen this time and time again in my clown workshops. There are a thousand ways to stay safe on stage: some people hide behind their intellect, others use jokes and puns, some choose shock tactics to repel their crowd, others transcend their own boundaries to please people at any cost. What are your go-to protection methods, dear reader?

Meanwhile In The IFS / Clown / Fool Lab

For the past year, through various IFS / Clown / Fool labs with many different collaborators, I’ve been exploring the array of protector parts that naturally pop up in relation to the vulnerability of being seen by an audience. Standing solo on the stage, the performer makes eye contact with the audience and notices which internal parts appear to help them navigate the vulnerability of being seen. One by one, the performer offers the parts a chance to take over their body and voice, so that they can better understand them from the inside. Then, in contact with the audience, the performer discovers each part’s unique rhythm of play. 

I have found in my own Fooling performances (Fooling is solo impro where the performer embodies all the voices in their head), when I tap into the energy of my protectors, I can keep the playfulness, complicite and openness flowing. For instance, when I unleash my buttoned down Inner Academic (aka Patricia, pictured at the top of this blog) on stage, rather than kill the atmosphere dead with dry facts, she demonstrates her love of psychology theory by passionately contorting her body into the strangest of shapes, as she joyfully explains the inner workings of the human psyche. My Inner Critic (who often appears as a cigarette smoking 1970’s cockney car salesman) really likes to get up close to the audience, getting them on side, asking them to collude with him to put me down in increasingly ridiculous ways. 

In embracing my protectors on stage and giving them permission to play through me, I free myself up from the tyranny of their unseen inner dissent and I get a big pallet of energies to play with on stage. This not only makes for interesting, dynamic improvised performance but also helps me to keep my more vulnerable parts safe on stage. 

I wonder what would have happened if Drew had been able to harness the energy of the part that wanted to shut down the unexpected… If he’d stayed with the feeling of overwhelm and/or displeasure/confusion at the audience’s response and exaggerated the feeling, perhaps he’d have found himself in the unbridled bewilderment of simple clown, or maybe he’d have found himself in Basil Fawlty-esque high-status-character-out-of-control territory… I wonder what stopped him from allowing himself to give over the reins to whatever parts were there? What stops any of us from following our impulses, dear reader?

Parallels Between Clowning and Facilitation

Drawing parallels between clowning and facilitation, Drew realised that during his group dramatherapy sessions, he often finds a similar quality of disconnect. He explained that when he leads the warm ups, he’s playing at the speed of fun, but as soon as he moves into the “serious” part of the dramatherapy session, he slows down and experiences that familiar disconnect. This has a similar impact on his dramatherapy participants as the effect his clown had on the audience when he shut down on stage. When he gets up in his head, so too do his participants. He mused on why this might happen in his facilitation practice; perhaps it’s his devotion to dramatherapy? He wants dramatherapy to be taken seriously, but maybe that seriousness creates a gulf between himself and the people he is trying to inspire? 

He questioned whether therapy should be fun at all, a subject that’s very dear to my heart, as explored in my 2019 TEDx talk. He credited his clown with many gifts that support his facilitation / therapy work: when he’s operating at the speed of fun, he’s more in his body, more present in the here and now, he feels less in a role and more himself, more able to include his humanity and vulnerability and less reliant on technique. Yet he perceives there to be an external expectation of what therapy should look like, which seems to prevent him from bringing playfulness, complicite and openness into the ‘serious bit’ of his dramatherapy sessions.

Although I like the simplicity of the “speed of fun” argument, it seems to me like there are many internal and external factors that influence Drew’s experience, both as a clown and as a facilitator. Seeing as I don’t know him to ask him, I’m going to hop on over to my own experience of delivering my workshop at the BADth conference to investigate some of the forces that were at play for me.

Preparing My Workshop

For the days before my workshop, I was a wreck of nerves and doubts and fears. Despite having run workshops for most of my life, I still get the fear from time to time. Two of my trusted protectors, my Inner Perfectionist and my Master Procrastinator both showed up to try to help me in their own sweet ways. Here’s an excerpt from one of their many conversations:

Inner Perfectionist: OK Holly, it’s time to sit down and work on your session plan again. No pressure, but I just want you to bear in mind that it needs to be totally perfect in every way. This is Big Gig, Holly, it’s the BADth conference with all the proper dramatherapists who write books and papers, and they are giving YOU a platform for the first time. So there needs to be the perfect balance of theory and practice and the delivery needs to be absolutely spot on. OK? Let’s go!

Master Procrastinator: I’ve got an idea! Why don’t you just have a little look at what the other presenters are offering, just to check what you’re up against. Then maybe you can google some of them and watch some youtube clips of them talking about their stuff, that’ll be inspiring, won’t it? Then perhaps you could watch a few funny cat videos cos you will have earned that!

Inner Perfectionist: No, no! We haven’t got time for funny cat videos, Holly has got to spend every minute working as hard as she can! 

Master Procrastinator: OK I can help with that, let’s make a cup of tea, then let’s maybe pop out to the shop to get some biscuits…

Inner Perfectionist: Gah!

Hilariously, my workshop was about working with polarities! Oh, this might not be hilarious if you don’t speak IFS, hang on I’ll explain. In IFS terms, a polarity is when two or more inner parts have conflicting ideas about how to keep you (or another part of you) safe. The more one part pulls in one direction, the more the other tries to balance it out by pulling in the other direction and you end up in this kind of no-man’s land (exactly the impact Perfectionism and Procrastination were having on me). There now, isn’t that hilarious?

Luckily for me, I have many techniques and tools to help me deal with this sort of situation. I was able to slow down and notice my body sensations, feelings, thoughts and behaviours and through that, I was able to detect that there were parts at play. I gave those parts my pen and let them express themselves in my journal. I listened with compassion and attended to their concerns and when they’d both felt heard and seen, they calmed down enough to let me see who they were protecting.

Behind my Perfectionism and Procrastination was a little girl who grew up in the circus, all bright and shiny and able to wow audiences in the summer months, but she had a big secret: this little girl was dyslexic. She didn’t know about dyslexia, she just thought she was stupid. Not wanting anyone at school to know, she found many work-arounds, using her humour, confidence and charisma to distract, but there was always a fear that she was going to be found out.

In preparing to step onto the BADth platform, that little girl’s fear had been triggered Big Time. Perfectionism had come along to help make sure nobody could see how stupid the little girl was and Procrastination rocked up to offer a thousand routes out of the predicament. I gathered all three parts into my heart and took the lead on the preparation, inviting them to chip in at opportune moments.

Just Before My Workshop

In the hour before my workshop, I noticed a lot of parts were agitated in me, so I called them into the living room and offered them all a seat (I actually did this out loud, not in my head, despite concerns about what the neighbours might think). My Inner Academic took the big comfy arm chair, my Inner Critic took the low corner seat in the shadows, my Clown balanced on the footstool, my Little One sat on a cushion on the floor by my feet and my Stage Manager hovered around getting the space ready and watching the time. I checked in with each of them, hearing their concerns and assuring them that I’d be steering the ship and they’d all be welcome to chime in if needed, but this was my gig and I was up to the challenge.

Settling into the workspace that my Stage Manager had beautifully set up, my Academic was feeling prepared to deliver her theory, my Clown was excited to play with new friends, my Critic was happy to linger on the sidelines and my Little One chose to stay on the sofa in the living room under a blanket. Feeling ready, I logged on.

What Happened in My Workshop

As participants trickled in, my Stage Manager watched the time ticking away, she hadn’t accounted for a late start. So while my Clown connected with the people on the screen, my Stage Manager amended the session plan, taking out the formal check in - which had been designed to invite the participants’ voices into the space, to set up a precedent for an interactive workshop, rather than a passively received presentation. 

Handing over the reins to my Academic, I ploughed on into the session, outlining the basics of IFS. My Clown showed up to inject some humour, but I noticed a mild sense of panic rising as my Stage Manager tried to hurry her up, “We haven’t got time for tangents!” My Clown loves a tangent - she’s very easily distracted, especially by what is happening Right Now. Her insatiable curiosity helps me connect with people through immediate shared experiences; “Hey look at this! Here we all are, noticing this thing together! Isn’t it great?” This creates a lovely sense of intimacy and community, but my Clown doesn’t give a shit about goals or aims or timings of sessions - she’s happy to just be where she is, finding connection where she can. So it’s a good job that my Stage Manager was around to keep us on track.

My Stage Manager pushed, pushed, pushed everyone through the experiential exercises, until she got us to the main chunk of theory (the bit every part in my system had been most worried about). By this point, there was a lot of  fear, tension and contraction in my body, which activated my Critic, “They think you’re thick!” He heckled from the sidelines; “Thickie! Thickie! Thickie!” My Academic doubled down to prove my Critic wrong, offering loads of extra theory that wasn’t in the plan. My Stage Manager cranked up the push, push, push to get us to the end of the theory. Her earlier decision to skip the check-in at the start meant I was on my own, in a Zoom vacuum; alone, suffering, stuttering, stumbling and rushing. In a similar way to Drew, I found myself in disconnect. Has this ever happened to you, dear reader?

What were the factors at play?

Delivering theory is my Achilles heal. I am a dyslexic person who grew up in the circus, a kinaesthetic learner who didn't start higher education until age 30. On my own platform, I fully embrace all that and it helps me to create an atmosphere of permission and acceptance for all the other weirdoes. But presenting on the BADth platform seemed to bring an extra load of pressure.

I really wanted to do a good job, to be accepted by the institution, to be liked by the Big Girls and Big Boys. That’s clearly my Little One talking there! To save her from being exposed and ridiculed, up popped my Academic, my Stage Manager, my Critic and my Clown. They all have great strategies to keep me safe, but unfortunately, they don’t function so well as a team. Their combined efforts led to a polarization, which made it virtually impossible for me to tap into ‘Self-energy’ or flow, which is what helps me make wise, connected, creative and compassionate choices as a facilitator. 

Voice Of Reason: Hi! I’d just like to jump in here and say it wasn’t a terrible session. Holly did OK, under the circumstances. This was a huge step up - to be platformed by BADth, a year after coming back to work, following a breakdown. AND she was presenting her new IFS / dramatherapy / Fooling fusion stuff, not her tried and tested Clown-O-Therapy work. It was a massive risk and she did OK. It was a bit precarious, but it wasn’t awful!

Awww thanks, voice of reason.

Context and Expectation

I’m interested in how, for both Drew and I, the context and expectation (real and perceived) seemed to bring tension into our experiences and how that tension led to disconnect. 

With Drew’s clown piece, I wonder what he was picking up from the audience about their expectations and desires in that moment? What of his own judgement was he projecting onto the audience? How did this real and imagined expectation impact his experience? What’s in his personal rule book about what’s OK to show on stage and what needs to stay hidden? How do those rules help and hinder play?

With his facilitation work, I wonder what needs, expectations, fears and concerns he picks up on from his students as he changes gears? And what of his own needs, expectations, fears and concerns does he project onto his students? And how do these real and imagined expectations impact him? What limitations is he already carrying in himself about what dramatherapy should look like? Who are the authority figures in his mind and how come they get so much power?

During my session, I’m not sure what I was picking up on from the participants. It’s hard to gage on Zoom and quite a few of them had their cameras off. Because the timings went wonky, I didn’t get much verbal feedback, so I found myself in the dreaded Zoom Void. When I don’t receive feedback, my parts fill in the gaps. Do you get that too, dear reader? My parts imagined the participants and the people at BADth were viewing me with criticism and suspicion, scrutinising my every move and waiting for me to fall on my arse. Just like the school bullies and exasperated teachers from my childhood! Well fancy that! I’d cast my audience as my worst nightmare! This activated my Little One’s fears and my protector parts rushed into action to keep her safe. Ba-da-boom. 

Hmm. Interesting. I know as a clown, how I perceive my audience has a direct impact on how I feel, and how I feel has an impact on what I do, and what I do has an impact on my audience. When I treat the audience as my friends, I have a much easier time on stage than when I cast them as my critics. I used teach that in my Intro To Clowning Weekends, inviting performers to pretend the audience were their friends and see what happens next. It tended to create a much warmer, more spacious atmosphere.

Advice From My Friends

I spent the days after the conference reaching out to my friends, who helped me unpick what had happened. They said things like:

“Don’t let your inner voices rule you!”

“Keep pushing the envelope (in INCREMENTS) of being on other platforms but only for things you’re really, really intrigued by, and where you already know some individuals who offer a solid sense of holding?”

“Factor in the time and triggering involved in any venture”

“When speaking at events just try to hang onto the fact they want to hear from YOU about your ‘knowledge derived from experience’ and you don’t have to be a conduit to some other knowledge in another format. Do whatever you need to do to own it. Frame it as action research, grounded theory, lived experience, whatever but go girl and storm that castle! Make the audience interact, close their eyes, sniff their elbows, think of lemons, whatever is needed to get them into the kinaesthetic learner/listener mode.” 

“Just use the clown wisdom of allowing yourself to be as shit and weird as possible whenever that fear energy arises … You got this!”

“I guess the thing to remember is they've invited you in on your strengths, and are asking for more of the same.”

“How about a separate costume/wig for the part of you that is trying to protect you from pain/seek love by controlling the show with theory? Another costume for the inner child part of you? And another costume/wig to welcome a part of you that is your love and kindness that welcomes all the insecurities and responds with compassion.” 

“I try on a regular basis to learn the lesson, 'not to worry so much about what other people think' and I continue to forget it. Most of us are most likely worrying about what other people may be thinking, at the same time. Which is absurd. Maybe we can all try to forget it at the same time?! “

Aren’t I lucky to have such great friends?

To Conclude

Through these conversations with my friends and then later with my supervisor, I’ve realised that when I’m facilitating or presenting on my own platform, I am able to set the boundaries, create the culture and call in support, which not only provides safety for the people who enter my spaces, but also provides safety for me and my parts. When my parts feel safe, I am able to meet my audience / participants with compassion and curiosity, I am able to see them as complex humans with a range of needs and desires, which helps me carefully craft experiences just for them. When I feel safe enough, I am also able to access the energies of my parts, to help me out with delivering theory. My parts help me to release tension, name the unseen voices at play, stay connected with the audience and demonstrate the theory in real time. When I am safe enough, my parts can help me to tap into the speed of fun.

I guess, like Drew, I let the perceived seriousness of the occasion inform my choices about what was appropriate and what was not, and banished my parts from being seen at the conference. This sent them underground where they burned the house down in an effort to try to keep me safe! I wonder what it would take for me to feel safe enough to  let my parts do their thing, regardless of how serious I perceive the platform or audience to be? Well now, I seem to have thrown down a gauntlet for myself, Parliament here I come!

I’m really grateful to BADth for having me at their conference, to Drew for his generosity to share his experience so openly, to my friends and supervisor for holding me through the fall-out and for my parts for keeping me alive for 45 years!

If you want to know what happens next with this work, sign up to my newsletter at the bottom of this page.

I have a hunch that this exploration will make it into The Well-Held Space Creative Facilitation course in spring 2025.

Other related blogs:

• Internal Family Systems and Me, where I lay out my journey to IFS.
• Playing With Parts, where I describe a day in the IFS/fool/clown research lab.
• IFS + Fooling, a 2-day Therapeutic Process, where I describe a one-to-one process that I facilitated.
• Fool + IFS, a 5-day lab, where I describe what happened when a bunch of Fools met IFS