Maria Bamford Is Tough as Nails
· The Atlantic
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The comedian Maria Bamford has always been alarmingly frank about her obsessive, intrusive thoughts—imagined scenarios where she murders someone or commits wholesale genocide, for instance. In Paralyzed by Hope, the new documentary about her life from Judd Apatow, Bamford talks about faking her own suicide as a kid, using ketchup as a prop.
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In all of her work—which includes stand-up, a Netflix sitcom, a YouTube series, and a memoir— Bamford generously samples people and incidents from her own life. The documentary, co-directed by Apatow and Neil Berkeley, connects the dots in a way that reveals a deeper layer of meaning. For example, despite talking about her struggles, Bamford doesn’t like the narrative that she’s up there on stage actually struggling.
“I think it reminds me of when people say, you know, ‘inspiration porn,’ like, saying, Oh, it’s just amazing that you’re doing this,” Bamford says on this episode of Radio Atlantic. “Like, the person is so delicate, and I’m like, You don’t know me.”
Bamford explains the actual relationship between OCD and her comedy. She talks about why she doesn’t do political comedy, and why she no longer does imitations of her sister. She discusses her divorce and getting on the apps. She does all of that from a car, buzzed on nitro cold brew.
The following is a transcript of the episode:
Hanna Rosin: Veteran comedy writer Judd Apatow has taken on a kind of second job as comedy historian.
[Music]
Rosin: He’s been making documentaries about comedians who are legends or brilliant in some particular way or just not like anyone else: Mel Brooks, George Carlin, and now, coming out on Netflix Friday, Maria Bamford.
Maria Bamford: My name is Maria Bamford, and this is a gift. My gift to you.
Rosin: I’m Hanna Rosin. This is Radio Atlantic. If you know Maria Bamford’s comedy, then you already know a lot about Maria Bamford. Her OCD and bipolar diagnoses come up a lot in her comedy routines. Also, her childhood in Duluth, Minnesota, with her mother, who she does impressions of a lot.
Bamford as her mother, Marilyn Bamford: Maria, remember what we talked about. Gonorrhea; syphilis; herpes 1, 2. Watch the cold sores. Date rape is a lot more common than people think. You look so gorgeous.
Rosin: And her dad.
Bamford: My dad is really just a series of sound effects. (Coughs, hacks, wheezes.)
Rosin: And of her older sister, Sarah.
Bamford as her sister, Sarah: Maria, want something to drink? Want a Diet Coke? Or a string cheese? We could do, like, two Skinny Cows from Weight Watchers, those ice-cream sandwiches. Put two of those together, put Bailey’s ice cream on top. Make a fat cow. Come on, Maria. Seize the day, Robin Williams! What do you want?
Rosin: She recently retired that impression of her sister. We’ll talk about why later. And her parents both died in the last several years, which comes up in the documentary. Apatow interviews her mostly at her house in Altadena, California, which, at the time, she shared with her husband, Scott, and a couple of pugs.
Later in the film, we learn she almost lost that house in the wildfires in 2025. And she’s no longer married.
When I talked to her last week, she was parked somewhere in her neighborhood outside a church.
Bamford: I’ve just had a nitro cold brew, so my brain is skipping ahead light-years.
Rosin: Did they say you were sitting inside a car?
Bamford: I am inside a car.
Rosin: Hmm.
Bamford: Is that okay?
Rosin: Well, I’m just wondering what it’s like to be inside a small space having just had a nitro cold brew.
Bamford: Oh, it’s wonderful. It’s so delightful. I’m compact. I’m not out of control. I’m not driving. I’m just sort of filled with a delightful hope. And I believe that’s caffeine.
Rosin: I’ve been watching Bamford for years. I’ve seen her live, seen her TV show, her YouTube series. I’ve read her book. Bits and pieces of her life come up in all these places. And the documentary connects all the pieces in a more linear way. It’s called Paralyzed by Hope: The Maria Bamford Story and it’s co-directed by Apatow and Neil Berkeley.
[Music]
Rosin: All right. I’m gonna start in a way that one is supposed to start.
Bamford: Okay. Of course.
Rosin: Press the “Reset” button. Maria, welcome to the show.
Bamford: Thank you so much for having me on.
Rosin: When Judd Apatow approached you, was there anything you said was off-limits? Like, You can film this dog, but not that dog? Like, anything where you said—
Bamford: (Laughs.) Not the pug chihuahua! Only with her harness on. No, as far as I know, I didn’t. I think I have pride about that, where I go: Ask me anything and that I am messy. My brand is messy. It’s all right. It’s okay. You know, no one’s gonna be surprised that there’s a layer of dust on something or my face is smudged with a little bit of cake and frosting.
Rosin: Was there any scene when you watched the documentary that you didn’t really recognize yourself? You were like, Who is that person?
Bamford: I think just being described by some of the people that I don’t know super well, like Conan O’Brien when he said I was like a lobster without a shell.
Conan O’Brien: Sometimes it feels like you’re talking to a lobster whose shell has been removed, but it’s still alive, and it’s just feeling every single molecule in the room.
Bamford: He’s an extremely wonderful person. Everything he does is hilarious, wonderful. But I think people mistake that. I really don’t agree with that. I feel like I’m tough as nails. You know what I’m saying? Like, I’ll cry and have all the feels and all that stuff, but yeah, that to me is not true at all.
Rosin: You think of yourself as tough as nails? Because you’re in control of the vulnerability? That actually surprises me. Not that I don’t think you’re tough as nails, but because you are the most vulnerable, maybe that extreme vulnerability is tough as nails. What do you mean by that?
Bamford: I guess I just feel like I have the personal sense that I’m good. There’s plenty—my God—there’s just so many things. If you go online, if you’re any sort of entertainer or anything public, there’s gonna be people telling you to kill yourself, you know?
Rosin: You’re ugly. Whatever, yeah.
Bamford: Or whatever. Or people coming up to you after whatever it is that you’re passionate about and say, Yeah, I don’t really like that at all, and I think you should be ashamed of yourself, or whatever it is. So yeah, things feel bad, of course, but I know within myself I’m good.
The parts of me that have experienced mood issues, that kind of stuff, or the fact that I have a bit of a tremor, that’s only embarrassing—where people are like, Let me take that for you before you spill it all over everything.
[Music]
Bamford: I think it reminds me of when people say, you know, “inspiration porn,” like, saying, Oh, it’s just amazing that you’re doing this. Like, the person is so delicate, and I’m like, You don’t know me.
There’s some part of me—it also, I think it brings up stuff from childhood, where it’s like I have a high voice. Always kind of underestimated, like, You’re dumb; you’re fragile. I think that was triggering me to go like, What?
Rosin: So much of your work is about intrusive thoughts. And for the blessed people out there who do not deal with those or know someone who does, can you just explain what is an intrusive thought? How does it work?
Bamford: Well, everybody has them. So if you’ve ever had something flash in my mind like, Oh, I wanna jump off this building. I’m on the Empire State Building, and I just—what if I jumped off? Like, just that’s all it is. What happens with somebody with OCD or more obsessive is that somebody says, Oh, that means something, I am gonna do it.
Rosin: Like, you take it too seriously. You talk to it. You take it seriously.
Bamford: Yeah. So for me, it was intrusive thoughts about when I was a kid, around about 9 or 10, I got a fear that I was gonna be a serial killer.
Bamford (from the Unwanted Thoughts Syndrome album): When I was a kid—I was about 10 years old—I stopped being able to sleep at night, because I was worried. I was really anxious that I was a raper or a murderer or a genocider.
Bamford: I don’t know where I got this. I think I was watching a ton of TV, and I think there were a couple things where I was like, Oh, that’s the worst thing you can possibly be.
So I’d have a weird thought like, Oh, what if I reached out and touched someone’s genitals? And instead of just going, Yeah, I’m never gonna do that. That’s not gonna happen. Interesting, but not that interesting, I took it in as Oh, it means I should isolate myself from people. I had physical tics, like gripping my fists, sitting on my hands.
Bamford (from the Unwanted Thoughts Syndrome album): I thought I was trying to control myself so I wouldn’t genocide anybody. And I would clench my fists at odd intervals and try not to make any eye contact, and then later, no human contact at all.
Bamford: Most of it was isolation, like not making eye contact with people. But oddly, the one place where I didn’t have those was onstage, was when I could perform or be in front of people where you have so much, you know, different chemicals running through your body. I wasn’t able to have those intrusive thoughts. I just was enjoying myself too much onstage.
So, yeah, but it can really devastate people. It attacks whatever you love. So let’s say you’re having postpartum depression. Many new mothers will fear that they’re gonna kill their child or somehow harm them or molest them or whatever, even though that’s the last thing, of course, they would ever do. But it’s really scary to tell somebody you have these weird thoughts.
I remember I did tell a therapist, I wanna say, like, 30 years ago, and she didn’t know what it was. And she’s like, You know what? I’m a mandated reporter, so I need to tell somebody that you’re—
Rosin: Stop.
Bamford: Yeah. Because it was just not a known thing at that time. And especially if you go to Christian or religious counseling, they might say, Oh, you know, that’s a sin, and, you know, It’s clearly just the devil, or whatever it is.
But then I think I was 35, and I finally had money. You know when you have money and you can pay for good therapy? And I googled my symptoms, unwanted thoughts about sexual assault or violence, and up came OCD therapists all over the world, tons of literature about it.
I went and made an appointment immediately. He did exposure therapy. And it was terrifying to have that kind of thing. For me, it was like, Spend time with family and friends with a sharp object in your pocket, and see if you do kill them. And, I mean, it was just hilarious enough too.
Like, the great thing about having any kind of therapeutic support is that the therapist will laugh at some point and go, Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, I know.
Rosin: So in the beginning of the documentary, in one of the very first scenes, Judd Apatow comes into your house and hands you a pile of cash.
Bamford: Yes.
[Knocking sound]
Bamford: Oh, hello.
Judd Apatow: Hi, Maria.
Bamford: (Laughs.)
Apatow: We don’t know if you want to take part in making a documentary, but regardless, you wanted money for today.
Bamford: Yes.
Apatow: I don’t know if that’s how it works, but maybe we have no ethics here.
Rosin: And that’s, I suppose, because you need to get paid. Like, he’s taking up a huge amount of your time, and you need to get paid. Did you keep the pile of cash?
Bamford: Oh, of course. Here is my—I’m older. I’m in the back nine of life. I don’t wanna feel mad about any time that I’ve spent. I’ve done a lot of work in show business, for which I’m extremely grateful for. And at the same time, show business is drunk and will come to your house at midnight and go, We gotta do it now, or, you know, This is vitally important.
So I wanna accept the industry as it is, which is unpredictable and sometimes punishing, and say, Well, I’m gonna get paid for whatever this is and not have any expectations of it, because I think that’s where, for me, bitterness comes in—where I go, Oh, they said it was gonna become something, and it isn’t, and I spent, you know, seven years on it. So yeah, it’s sort of more of a personal emotional responsibility for myself. I want to really appreciate my own time.
And you never know when things are gonna fall apart. Los Angeles is—people say it’s flaky. I think it’s geographics. It’s that you see someone, you go, “God, wow, you’re a brilliant star of Jehovah, and you’re gonna be everything and everything and anything. But then you gotta drive home 50 minutes, and you kinda forget about it, about what you said and what you promised at a meeting at Netflix with water bottles.
So yeah, if he was gonna do it for one day, and it’s my day, Sunday, I usually have to hang out, hang out with friends, then I’d like to be paid. I’d like to be paid.
Rosin: The important lesson in there, and I and probably many people will always remember your University of Minnesota commencement speech:
Bamford (in commencement speech): Let me begin by talking about the elephant in the room at a liberal-arts graduation ceremony, and that is money. As a Minnesotan, I am ashamed to admit that I love money. I love a fair exchange of goods and services. I love to buy things.
Rosin: If you’re working, you should get paid. That’s, like, a good lesson for the youth and everybody.
Bamford: Yeah, and I think there’s especially—this could just be for women or artists or where people will say, Oh, it’s an honor, or, You’re so lucky. And it’s like, No, no, no, no, no, no, no. If somebody asks you to perform somewhere or to be somewhere, it’s because they desperately want you.
Rosin: Right.
Bamford: It’s not because they feel sorry for you or whatever. I think it’s definitely a good time to question, you know, just to go, Hey, ask for money. Because they’re not gonna miss it.
Rosin: Yeah.
Bamford: Or, if they are, if there is an issue, because people are very emotional about money, myself included, you know, people have asked me for raises or have asked me for money, and it’s like I go (Whimpers.). You know, it’s some weird survival instinct.
Might as well give it a shot. And it’s also interesting information to see what will happen when you ask for money. Just as an experiment. Like, it’s just hilarious.
Rosin: Yeah.
Bamford: Ooh, ooh, ooh. (Squeals.)
Rosin: It’s a very good way to open the documentary. You’ve talked about this way you have of workshopping new material. You do one-on-one with strangers. You pay them for an hour of their time. Why? Like, why is an audience of one? Because that feels good? That’s safe?
Bamford: It feels great, feels very safe. Because my stuff is theatrical, I memorize everything. I’ll practice saying things to myself, like new material. I’m starting to write new material, and it’s like I practice hitting the beats over and over again so that when I perform, it’s like muscle memory.
And the people who agree to do it are either being paid or I’m giving them a T-shirt, and they’ve agreed publicly to do this. So if they don’t enjoy it, it’s kind of on them.
I’ve definitely had people not laugh at all.
Rosin: Oof.
Bamford: I’ve definitely had people not smile or whatever, but it doesn’t worry me, because I genuinely think I’m very funny. And I’ve definitely worked very hard at it, and it’s okay. I mean, if you read The Atlantic, then you know that almost every major artist has a biography of alcoholism and nobody knowing who they are or liking their stuff for decades at a time.
So it’s like that whole thing of, like, if I was never hired again as a comedian, I wanna say that I would enjoy what I do for the few people who would enjoy it. The arts aren’t fair. It’s not fair.
And I’ve definitely gotten breaks that definitely were not worked for. You know, like at the time when I was a hot, young blonde—I think that’s a category of species—I think things were handed to me. I mean, I was good, good, but racism, sexism, ableism, all the things are in play all the time.
[Music]
Rosin: After the break: Bamford does not do politics, and she’s kind of ashamed of it. Also, the end of her marriage, the beginning of dating again. That’s in a moment.
[Break]
Rosin: What is the relationship between this flood of intrusive thoughts that you had since you were a kid and comedy? Like, is comedy a way to educate people about OCD? I just don’t understand how it rolls in with the sort of therapy or feeling better or just how they’re related to each other.
Bamford: I think the imagination. Like, the fact that as a 9-year-old, I could think of, like, Oh, I am a serial killer in a tiny little body, and they just don’t know yet as I was playing my violin for hours at a time—just the ridiculousness of that, that’s where people laugh. Going to the nth degree, where you go to something at the ridiculous level.
I have a new joke saying my husband and I, we love each other—we just had to break up because each of us thought that the other one was going to change profoundly, and instead we both just doubled down.
And I don’t know—that gets a laugh because people do do that. You fall in love with people and go, Oh, but that one huge thing about their personality, they’re gonna really tamp that down once they get to know me over time. And you take something to the nth degree. Yeah. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.
Rosin: Oh yeah. That’s the opposite of what I thought. I just realized as you were explaining that I was in the Conan O’Brien frame of mind, which is like, Comedy is healing the tragedy. But you’re actually saying the opposite, that the OCD and comedy, they run down the same track. They’re both insane acts of imagination, and it’s just sort of one tone or another tone, but they’re kind of friends with each other. They’re not that one is trying to heal the other or kill the other.
Bamford: Oh, yeah. No, no, no, no. I think it’s really [that] they’re all trying to work together, I would hope. And it’s also what you find funny.
Like, some people hate any jokes about suicide, you know, death, sad topics. But then those things are happening in the world. Like right now, what seems like the death of democracy, it’s not really a laughing matter at this point. It’s like, Oh, hey, when are we supposed to storm the Bastille? Is anyone gonna lead us? It feels like there shouldn’t be a lot of laughs.
Rosin: I think I maybe understand the title Paralyzed by Hope, which is the title of the documentary, a little better. That comes from a comedy routine you did 20 years ago.
Bamford: I never really thought of myself as depressed as much as paralyzed by hope.
Rosin: Can you explain what “paralyzed by hope” means, just so I am sure I get it?
Bamford: The thing was, being diagnosed as depressed, I never thought of myself as depressed as much as paralyzed by hope, is like—I make vision boards. You know those vision boards where you cut out things from magazines? I make those.
Like, that’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous that I make those. (Laughs.) And I think those are things only to make myself feel good on some level, because there are unhoused people in my neighborhood. There are people fighting for their lives, living on the street right outside my door, and yet I’m cutting out a picture of a baby bear and saying, “Connected.” Like, what?
And, yeah, so that those things can both be true, the possibility of change—like that maybe we’ll have a resurrection of our democracy, of a New Deal where bridges are somehow being built and everyone has health care—and at the same time acknowledge what is also happening, which is: My friends who travel on the road who are of color often have to bring guns when they’re doing the road as comedians, ’cause they’re terrified for good reason.
Rosin: But I don’t think of you as a political comedian.
Bamford: No, no, which I feel ashamed about, too. Like, part of the reason I’m theatrical is that I don’t speak very well off-the-cuff. I don’t know the facts.
I wasn’t raised in a debating household.
Rosin: Hmm.
Bamford: I remember I tried to do parliamentary debate in college, and I was like, What if I just agree with everyone at Brown University? It seems like at Brown, everyone seems like they know what they’re talking about. So it’s not my best skill.
I’m definitely very good at being passive-aggressive.
Rosin: Hmm.
Bamford: But having well-thought-out arguments that include facts, not so much.
Rosin: You mentioned this, so I feel like I can ask about it: A big chunk of the documentary focuses on your marriage. Was it weird to see it in the documentary, since you’re—
Bamford: Oh. Yeah. I mean, it’s always that sense of, like—I don’t know if you’ve felt this, but that shame of, like, Oh, you know, could’ve worked it out. You know, the love for the person but then also the truth of, like, it not being tenable.
And I think we really found that out after the fires. Yeah, that was really, really, really tough.
Rosin: Because you dealt with it differently, or just because?
Bamford: Yes. Yeah. Yes, we dealt with it very differently. And I don’t talk too much about it. It just, I think that one thing I told you, that we both hoped the other one would change profoundly.
And so, ’cause he’s delightful. He, Scott Marvel Cassidy—he’s so many cool things, does beautiful painting, is a fine artist, very funny, and is an excellent co-parent of our two doggies. But it doesn’t mean that it’s good to stay together. So yeah, it was good.
I think the most meaningful part for me was, I think, seeing my sister and my mom and dad, and that was just wonderful.
Rosin: That was my next question. It was interesting to see your sister talk for herself. I mean, you tell the story that she actually wanted you to stop doing impressions, but you didn’t take her seriously.
Bamford (from the Ask Me About My New God! album): My sister has become a life coach, and so I’m trying to challenge her with negative thoughts.
Bamford doing an impression of her sister: Hey, Maria, you got one for me?
Bamford as herself: Sure. I’m worried I’m too old to be in show business.
Bamford doing an impression of her sister: Mm. Betty White. Dame Judy Dench. Joan Rivers. You’re not old enough. Hit me.
[Crowd laughter]
Bamford: Oh, God, no, I didn’t. Well, I took her seriously, but I was like, Yeah, but you’re my older sister, and you’re great, and you get to have everything awesome. So why can’t I, why can’t I still? And Scott, that’s actually part of our divorce agreement, is to not talk about our marriage, and which I totally understand now.
Like, I go, like, my sister finally told—she was like, Hey, I don’t tell you a lot of things, because I’m worried it’s gonna become something. And I was like, Oh, I’m missing out. Oh, I’m such a jackass. And, you know, that’s sad that it took me around 25 years to realize that. But oh well, I finally did.
And now we talk to each other every day. We have a really wonderful close relationship I’m really grateful for.
Rosin: And she tells you all the things?
Bamford: Yeah, she tells me, I think, everything.
Rosin: Like what? No, I’m kidding.
[Music]
Bamford: No, you can’t! I can’t. I can’t possibly tell you.
Rosin: One last question: I heard in another interview that you’re now exploring online dating.
Bamford: Yeah, so I’m on three sites: I’m on Facebook Dating, I’m on Match.com, and I’m on Hinge, and I only date within the 90042 zip code. But if you do live within 90042 or -41 and you wanna ask me out, I’m available. I’m 56. I do not date anyone below the age of 50, over the age of 65. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Rosin: And how should this man get in touch with you?
Bamford: Just through those sites, or DM me on Insta. No problem.
Rosin: Okay.
Bamford: I’m avails.
Rosin: We can end on an ad. That’s perfect. Thank you, Maria, so much for joining us from your car.
Bamford: Thank you so much for having me. Have a great day. Bye.
[Music]
Rosin: This episode of Radio Atlantic was produced by Rosie Hughes. It was edited by Kevin Townsend. Rob Smierciak engineered and provided original music. We also had music from Breakmaster Cylinder. Fact-checking by Sam Fentress. Claudine Ebeid is the executive producer of Atlantic audio, and Andrea Valdez is our managing editor.
Listeners, if you enjoy the show, you can support our work and the work of all Atlantic journalists when you subscribe to The Atlantic at TheAtlantic.com/Listener.
I’m Hanna Rosin. Thank you for listening.