What a difference a year makes! This time last year I was a hot mess. I slammed into a midlife crisis like no other. I hit a massive depression that I could see no way out of. So I wrote. I wrote, and wrote and wrote and told my story of going from the bright lights of Broadway, to the mind numbing monotony of motherhood and housewife-dom. And in writing it all down, it helped me dig my way out. Slowly…. so effing slowly, I began to crawl out of the hole I was in. I saw that what I wrote could have meaning to other people like me. I made it into an actual show and booked a theater 6 months in advance, for the sole purpose of giving myself a deadline so I HAD to finish it.
I’ve alway been a performer. Always. But I’ve always been hesitant to call my self an “Artist”. An artist, in my opinion, is someone who creates. Who takes something from an idea to a reality. I’ve always been a great performer, I’m good at taking someones elses ideas and bringing them to fruition. But I’ve never done it myself. Until now. I now understand that a true artist does’t create because they want to. They create because they HAVE too. I HAD to get this story out of me. I had to tell my story, if only for myself. I had to get it out of my head and onto paper so that I could look at it and see it better. So that I could make sense of it. And in doing so, I created the best work of my life. It’s honest. It’s real and I don’t give two shits who likes it or dosen’t. It’s my life. It’s my truth and it’s perfectly imperfect just like me.
In telling my truth, I have hit a chord with other people. I can’t tell you how many emails, messages and texts I get from people who “feel the same way”, or thought they were alone. I love my show for so many reasons, but knowing my story is helping others is by far the best. If you’d like my show at your venue, let me know. I’ll tell my truth anywhere 😉
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