When people ask me what I’m studying, I don’t know exactly what to tell them. The answer is quite simple. I study musical theater. I want to be an actor. As an actor, you need to have an excess of strength. Not just physical, but mental and emotional. You have to have the strength to get up and keep showing up, even on the days you don’t want to. But even the strongest people get strained.
Over the past few years, people from all sides of the entertainment industry have opened up about mental illness. Hearing their stories has helped me understand what I’m going through and in honor of World Mental Health Day, I’ve decided to share what I’ve learned and what I wish I knew when it comes to navigating my mental health as a performer.
Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong…
Coming up as an actress, I used to have a very linear plan for myself: I’d go to college and graduate with my BFA in Musical Theater, I’d make my Broadway debut at 22 and have a Tony by the time I’m 25. I can admire my 12-year-old self’s ambition, but I didn’t consider that I would still have a life outside of my career, and that life could still throw curveballs at me.
One of the first curveballs was a diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety Disorder when I was 13. I knew that I was someone who always thought very deeply. At that age, I would find myself pouring over fine details, possible outcomes, how things could get disrupted, and how things could improve. In some ways, this anxious mindset was a help, but more often than not, it was a hindrance. If something that I did wasn’t up to my standard of excellence, I wouldn’t let other people see or hear it, and I would start over. I had never connected the dots that these were small parts of one big issue. I used to think that was just who I was. Now at 21, I recognize that those were only the surface level symptoms I was exhibiting back then, when drama club was just my hobby.
What is this feeling?
Up until my freshman fall semester, I wasn’t particularly concerned with what my body looked like. I was always the small fry out of my family growing up, so having a bit more fullness in my stomach and thighs didn’t bother me. But being in a major that is centralized around physical strength, coordination, and technical ability, a new wave of doubt and insecurity has its way of creeping in and creating this sense of inferiority.
Suddenly, I recognized that my body didn’t look like a “real” dancer’s body. The pudge on my stomach that I had all those years before was now the thing I hated. Imposter Syndrome doesn’t limit itself to just one thing. It makes you reconsider whatever progress you’ve made and push yourself even harder. I would hear my friends sing, and I would wonder why I didn’t sound like them, why I couldn’t pick up choreography as quickly, why I couldn’t write scansion or count iambic pentameter. It might sound trivial to an outsider, but it was all consuming to me. And even with all of this hitting me for the first time, I was getting work done and attending my classes like normal. So it couldn’t be that bad, right?
I continued on like this up until the start of my junior year, when I began commuting from my hometown of Wilmington, Delaware. This was my second curveball. Commuting wasn’t an ideal situation for me when I started school. I liked that I live close by so I could go home when I needed it, but I still had the separation of my home life and school. Going home used to be a reward for all that hard work. Now as a senior, I’ve grown to appreciate being back home and having peace of mind that my life as a whole is not limited to my career. By the end of sophomore summer, life as a commuter had become my reality.
I was spending $6.25/train (now raised to $8.75) and up to an hour each way, riding all the way from Delaware through Delco and Center City to campus. My daily schedule was now not only determined by my classes, but also by public transportation. But even with the earlier wakeups and the commutes, I was still productive, so there was no way I could be depressed. To everyone on the outside, I looked like I could handle it.
The third and final curveball came last spring. I was stretched thin between school, work, summer stock audition taping, my clubs, and being in an original musical as part of Temple Theaters’ mainstage season. Throughout the semester, I had countless friends that all but begged me to spend the night if I needed it, but it was falling on deaf ears. I couldn’t hear beyond my own thoughts. I couldn’t see farther than the storm I was in, so when hiccups occurred with classes or production teams, I was dismissed. My concerns were oversimplified, and my commitment to my craft was called into question. This was both my breaking point and my redirection. I didn’t come this far to have my sacrifices boiled down. And I couldn’t keep using the “well someone has it worse” mindset to downplay how much everything affected me. I had to face it head on, but how?
Where do we go from here?
Now, that’s a bit more complicated to answer. Getting anyone who’s struggling with their mental health to open up can be like trying to open a safe. It takes a lot of time and precision, but there are steps to help ground you and aid you in taking charge of your mental health. And this is a shortlist of the things that made the biggest difference in my mental health journey:
- Rely on your circle
One of the worst things about anxiety and depression, in tandem, is that it can make you forget that there are people who will love you through your struggles. Opening up to my friends and family about what I was feeling was the hardest part of my healing journey. I was worried about my emotions coming across as ungrateful or dramatic, but the people I confided in have never made me feel that way.
I started with my mom. She’d observed me in those few months, and she tried her best not to worry about me until I was ready to talk about it. She and I started setting aside times for “girl chat,” times where we could get all our worries off our chests without judgement. She’s always been able to speak my language, even when I didn’t have the words to understand what I felt. Whether it was during a car ride back to the train station or on another wash day afternoon, we find time to be honest with each other; not just daughter-to-mom, but woman-to-woman.
My friends followed suit. They were more than ready to let me pop in for naps before rehearsal and give me a place to hang out for a few minutes while I waited for my train. Even if it was quickly checking in with me, asking how I was handling the load and if they could help. Same with my professors and mentors; they understood my pride, my nerves, and they met me where I was at. Community is everything and maintaining a strong and reliable one is something that will always see you through the darkest times.
- Your work is not your worth
In an industry like the performing arts, it is far too easy for us as artists to conflate the length of our résumés with our talents and abilities. Musical theater has a very small community, especially in the Philly area, where every chance is dependent on who you know and how you show up. You could audition alongside your friends, professors, and people who have never acted before. The nature of the industry is competitive enough, and it goes without saying that you will not book every show.
The hardest part of being in this industry is realizing that rejection is not personal, and you cannot let that deter your passion. And with that, you cannot put yourself in competition with your friends. They might have more credits and connections than you, but that does not diminish or undermine the ones you have. The minute you assign self-worth to your work, you lose touch with your true self. You are not a machine, but a person. People can’t help how they feel. Remembering to honor the person underneath all that work, whether it be world-renowned or a family favorite, is the most precious part of what we do, and yet we forget that so easily.
- Don’t shy away from hard conversations
One of the biggest challenges I found was that I was too passive in situations where I should have felt free to face an issue head on. As I already mentioned, theater as an industry is all based on who you know. So, when you have a bad experience working with someone, there’s a culture in the industry of letting it go and working under hostile conditions for the sake of the show. But there comes a time when issues can become too big to ignore. You can’t be afraid of saying something because there are others who feel that way and won’t.
Trust yourself and have that hard conversation. I did it and it went two ways. The first time, I was quieted and challenged about my commitment. I could’ve let that first experience shut me up, but I had a responsibility to myself and the people that trusted me enough to put me in the position that I was in. I wouldn’t go silent and I didn’t. The second time? I was met with people who understood who I was as a person and an actress and heard my concerns for what they were: concerns. Not excuses or strategic vitriols but concerns that were born from care. There are always people willing to have those conversations. Do not let those who avoid it silence you.
- Remember who you were when you started
Another aspect of being a performer that I feel is not spoken about enough is the reality of falling out of love with your work. There’s a shame and guilt that comes over you when it first crosses your mind: What if I’m not strong enough for this? But it’s a thought that has crossed the mind of every performer, whether they admit it or not.
When I was struggling with this thought, I went back and I let myself be just an audience member again. I had to tap back into why I loved theater in the first place. If you’ve kept up with any of my writing here at HCTU, you may remember my first article dedicated to my idol and absolute star of all stars: Audra McDonald. In the beginning of that article, I recounted how I felt when I first saw her onscreen, and now, a good 16 years later, I still find myself watching her performances and listening to her interviews when I’m short on motivation.
Over time, this practice has expanded. I have an entire YouTube playlist of award show acceptance speeches and lectures from all of my heroes, from before they were famous and became some of the titans that Broadway and the silver screen have come to know. But in the midst of their greatness, there are two special videos of me. They feature me in Seussical Jr. and Mamma Mia, starring as Jojo the Who and Donna, respectively. I consider these two performances to be the ones that proved to me why I was going to school for this. The girl who performed in those shows is an actress that 5-year-old Autumn would be enamored with. Every day, I strive to impress little Autumn, and I pray that I’m making her proud. Remember who had the dream first and let it carry you through.