I woke up to a sea of concerned faces staring down at me.

I didn’t know what was going on. Someone, a stranger, picked me up and helped me get to somewhere quieter.

We were in the theatre. I was in a play: Half a Sixpence.

I was a terrible actor, so I was in the chorus. Specifically, I’d had to stand very still in a big dress under a hot stage light pretending to be a shop mannequin. Somehow I’d agreed to this, despite being about 14 (you know, universally the awkwardest time of your life so you don’t want anyone looking at you).

It was the Saturday matinee and it was summer.

It was packed, a full house, including many of my friends from school.

Did I mention how hot it was?

Like, really, really hot.

So hot that I had fainted.

I’d fallen off the stage. Into the audience. Making the piano and drums clang loudly as I landed, just for the extra drama.

Clearly, I survived this ordeal. It spread around school like wildfire and people took the piss, but in the affectionate way that only British teenagers can.

This, along with countless other embarrassing stories, showed me that rather than negatively defining you, sometimes a red face and wounded pride is the best way to get noticed and be remembered. Embrace the embarrassment!

If something goes completely perfectly to plan, it’s usually boring and easily forgotten. You likely learned nothing new from it.

If you want to grow you’ve got to take risks and put yourself up for things that will challenge you and you might fail at.

What have your cringiest memories taught you?