So there I am. Christmas. Sold-out Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Telling dick jokes. Pretending I’m still in a relationship I’d just left. And suddenly, without planning to, I blurt out, ‘I just left my boyfriend.’ The audience goes quiet. He was violent and abusive but I can’t say that out loud, I’m meant to make people laugh. Comedy is not the place for me right now, so I cancel shows and quit.

A few months later, my ex soft-launches a new boyfriend on Facebook. Which, honestly, was so upsetting. He still uses Facebook?! Heartbroken and trying to free myself from the insidious damage of his actions, I begged Free Fringe for a last-minute slot. I ended up in a basement smelling of chips, reading feelings from crumpled pieces of paper to strangers. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes I was too drunk to cry. Sometimes they cried too.

As a gay man, I know the power of comedy. Drag queens disarm prejudice for a living. And as a comic, I know that laughing = surviving. But domestic abuse? It was way too messy. It was sad. Silent. And I was still trying to give myself permission to be a victim. That started to shift one night, when a woman came up to me in tears and whispered ‘I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to be safe.’ That changed everything.

A year later, in 2024, I returned to Edinburgh with my hour but I wasn’t ready. Some nights I was angry. Some nights I was too sad to hit the punchlines. I had beautiful audiences but I was still broken and the reviews held up a mirror. They told me what I already knew: this show wasn’t finished.

Since then, I’ve performed it across the UK and Australia. I’ve worked with incredible directors (Madeleine Parry, Chris Gau, Dec Munroe, Dan Wye) and received a brutal-but-kind note from Russell T Davies that cut right to the truth. I won’t share it here, but what followed was a completely new direction. I stopped waiting for permission to be a victim, to be a survivor or to be funny, and rebuilt the show from the ground up, just like I’ve rebuilt myself.

This year, I’m coming back to the Fringe not just with a stronger show, but as a stronger version of myself. It’s still scary. The costs, the competition, the pressure to debut something new, the reviews and, of course, the Scottish weather. I believe in my story more than ever. I’m stronger, funnier and I’m finally ready to replace my ex’s punches with punchlines.

James Barr: Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex To My Mum), Underbelly George Square, Wednesday 30 July–Sunday 24 August, 8.15pm.