What It’s Like to Present a Show for the First Time on Do Radio

There’s a moment right before you go on air, when everything in you wants to run away.

Your hands are slightly shaking, your heart’s trying to punch its way out of your chest, and your brain is doing that awful thing where it replays every reason you’re not ready for this. I feel so hot, like I’m blushing beetroot red.

And then the guest shows up, I press record, and there’s no turning back.

The Nerves Before the Mic

I thought I’d be calm. I’d planned. I’d rehearsed. I’d convinced myself this was just another conversation.

But it’s different when you know someone, somewhere, is listening. Even if you can’t see them. Even if it’s just one person.

There’s a vulnerability to radio that nothing else quite matches. You can’t edit your way to confidence. You can’t script your way to connection. You just have to show up, as you are, sweaty palms and all, and trust that it’s enough.

And that’s terrifying.

But that’s also the point.

The Moment You Go Live

The first few seconds were chaos.

My mouth felt dry. My words stumbled over each other. I forgot half the things I was meant to say.

But then something unexpected happened. The adrenaline didn’t kill me. It carried me. The energy that began as fear slowly turned into presence.

I stopped thinking about getting it “right” and started listening to the guest, to the silence between sentences, to the rhythm of the conversation as it found its own shape.

And that’s when I realised: this is what Do Radio is really about.

Not performance. Not polish. Presence.

When Adrenaline Becomes Flow

Somewhere in that first hour, I forgot to be afraid.

It felt like jumping into a cold sea and suddenly realising you can swim. The nerves didn’t go away (they still haven’t) but they’ve turned into something else. Something alive.

And once that happened, the words started to move more freely. The pauses felt purposeful. The laughter felt real. The whole thing stopped being a “show” and started feeling like what it was meant to be: a conversation.

A conversation that mattered.

The Joy of Discovering You Can

Afterwards, when the mics went quiet, I sat there for a while.

Exhausted. Grateful. Changed.

Because the joy wasn’t just in having done it. It was in discovering that I could. That imperfection wasn’t a flaw in the signal, it was the signal.

And that’s what Do Radio was built for.

We don’t do perfect. We do real.

We don’t perform. We connect.

We don’t chase listeners. We build belonging.

It’s a different kind of broadcasting. One that asks you to show up as a human being first.

Why It Matters Beyond the Studio

That first broadcast taught me something bigger than radio.

Every creative act feels like this. Every honest step into the unknown begins with that same fear.

You don’t feel ready but you begin anyway.

And that’s where life starts to open up.

Maybe that’s the secret: the magic doesn’t happen once you know you can.

It happens the moment you discover you can.

From Fright to Belonging

Since that first show, I’ve realised something else:

Everyone behind the mic feels it.

The nerves. The doubt. The silent question: is anyone listening?

But that’s also what binds us together.

Because somewhere out there, someone is listening.

Someone who needs to hear not the perfect version, but the human one.

And that’s why we do this.

That’s why we built Do Radio. To remind each other that showing up scared is still showing up.

So if you ever get the chance to go live, to perform, take it.

You’ll be nervous. You’ll make mistakes.

And then, somewhere between fear and flow, you’ll find the quiet joy of realising you’re doing the very thing you thought you couldn’t.

And that’s the moment everything changes.