Yes, I revelled in the thrill of film-making, yet a fear of failure nagged at me. Behind it lay a truth I’d been ignoring
For just over a decade I lived on the edge of danger, leaping from cliffs, jumping out of the back of trains and even being set on fire. I was a television and film stunt performer. Think Tom Cruise without the credits, in sky-high heels and hotpants. Every job was a calculated risk, and every performance felt like a dance with death. My job demanded the spirit of a daredevil and the agility of an acrobat with the presence of an actor, tasked with bringing the heart-pounding thrills of Hollywood to life. But as my star rose and opportunities knocked on my door, I made a decision to step back, leaving behind bewildered friends and colleagues who couldn’t understand why I was abruptly extinguishing my own flame.
While I revelled in the thrill of physical activity and globetrotting adventures, there was always a nagging sense of impostor syndrome gnawing at me. Despite my prowess in executing stunts, I felt like a fraud when it came to the craft of acting. I could execute flips, wield knives and brave fire-burns, but put a script in front of me and I faltered. No matter how much I trained or rehearsed, the moment the camera rolled my lines vanished, leaving me stranded in a sea of self-doubt. Whenever I found myself in a situation where I had to deliver lines, my anxiety would intensify. I would feel my breathing becoming rapid and shallow, making it difficult to focus. As I attempted to say the words, the buzzing of the room would overwhelm me and despite being in the spotlight, all I could see was darkness. It was a disorienting experience, and it further exacerbated my feelings of self-doubt and insecurity about my acting abilities.
Janine Parkinson is a writer and former stunt performer
