“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood.” Look past the gendered language of its time, and Theodore Roosevelt’s famous oration echoes down the decades: a rallying-cry for the people who dare greatly, and a slap-down for those who sneer at efforts they cannot understand. With this show, as in much of her story, Jen DiGiacomo enters the arena. Hers is a life lived on hard mode: she’s neurodivergent, a stutterer, from a sometimes-violent home. There’s something else too – something that forms the backbone of this monologue – but that particular secret is hers to share, not mine.

DiGiacomo’s show isn’t theatre in the ordinary sense. It’s more reminiscent of a TED talk, complete with keynote phrases projected onto the wall behind her (which she explains as a work-around for words that make her stutter, but are really a clever metaphor for everything left unsaid). Yet there is drama here, a rewarding narrative arc, and one recreated scene in particular whose heart-stopping intensity will linger long in the mind.

It’s delivered with a kind of restraint which, DiGiacomo tells us, doesn’t come naturally to her: with her form of neurodivergence, “words just tumble out”. Perhaps it’s because of that, perhaps it isn’t, but there’s a powerful undertow of emotional honesty which few performers can achieve. It comes through most strikingly in the happy parts, when she describes a moment of empowerment simply as “nice” and backs up the thought with a high-wattage smile. But it’s there too in the darker times, when the rabble in the cheap seats make it their business to mock, or when the people she truly values begin to push her away.

Her search for true self leads her to some risky places, but she shares hard-won wisdom in the later scenes – about the futility of burning bridges, and the dignity of allowing others a second chance. There are lessons here about accepting others, but also about living our own best lives. And though this is a highly personal show, about a particular type of self-actualisation, it recognises that all of us face arenas of our own.

Some moments of well-judged humour help manage the intensity and, if I had one suggestion, it would be to add a couple more. But most of all it’s a privilege to witness such a quietly moving performance, and to spend an hour in the company of an inspirational woman. Her place will never be with cold and timid souls. Book your place now.