What is ‘connection’?

The transition from professional acting to what we might call ‘ordinary life’ has been an unexpectedly complex journey, particularly when it comes to human relationships. As I navigate this new world, I’m discovering that the intense, passionate connections that were not just normal but celebrated in the performing arts can sometimes create awkward moments in everyday life.

During my years as an actor, relationships were characterised by their intensity. We were encouraged to dive deep into emotional waters, to form instant intimate connections, and to express ourselves with uninhibited physicality. This wasn’t just acceptable—it was essential to our craft. A rehearsal room was a space where boundaries were different, where exploring emotional extremes was part of the daily routine.

But now, in the corporate world of clinical psychology, I’m learning that such intensity can be jarring. The passionate friendships that developed overnight in rehearsal rooms aren’t quite as welcome in office or lecture theatres. I’ve had to recognise that when I approach relationships with the same fervour I once did, it can make others uncomfortable, particularly those of the opposite sex who might misinterpret my theatrical openness for something more personal.

The physical aspect of connection has been particularly tricky to navigate. As performers, we’re used to expressing ourselves through movement, touch, and close physical proximity. We hug, we hold hands during emotional scenes, we literally trust our bodies to one another during movement work. But in the non-performing world, such physical expressiveness can be misread or seen as inappropriate. I’ve had to learn that not everyone is comfortable with the casual intimacy that comes so naturally to those of us from a performance background.

There’s also the matter of emotional depth. Actors are trained to access and express deep emotions at a moment’s notice. We’re used to having profound, soul-bearing conversations with virtual strangers because that’s what the craft demands. But I’m learning that in the wider world, such emotional intensity can be overwhelming. People typically prefer to build trust gradually, to reveal themselves slowly over time.

This realisation has led me to consciously re-evaluate how I approach relationships. I’m learning to modulate my energy, to understand that not everyone wants or needs the kind of immediate, intense connection that was so familiar in my acting life. It’s about finding a new way to be authentic while respecting different boundaries and social norms.

The process has been humbling but enlightening. I’m discovering that there’s beauty in slower, more measured relationships too. While I often miss the immediate intimacy of the theatre world, I’m beginning to appreciate the subtle joy of connections that develop more gradually, with people who might never understand what it means to ‘be in character’ or ‘find their motivation’.

This isn’t about completely changing who I am—it’s about learning to adapt while staying true to myself. Yes, I still feel emotions deeply, and yes, I still value genuine human connection. But I’m learning to express these things in ways that make sense outside the rehearsal room, in ways that respect the comfort zones of those who haven’t spent years training to be emotionally available at the drop of a hat.

For anyone else making this transition, know that it’s okay to feel like you’re learning a new language of human interaction. The skills we developed as performers aren’t wrong—they’re just different. And while it might feel like we’re holding back sometimes, we’re actually learning to connect in new and equally meaningful ways.

The stage might have taught us one way of being, but life outside it is teaching us another. Both are valuable, both are real, and learning to navigate between them is perhaps the most important role we’ll ever play.