I remember watching Liz perform at the Yale School Cabaret, stunned by her acting ability. She was in the design program of the graduate school and created some of my favorite work, but here she had expanded herself even further – she had proposed and starred in her own adaptation at the black box theater. A talented, fierce lady and friend, years later when she told me she was pregnant, my admiration lit up yet again. Her creativity and expansion of her life knows no bounds, and her honesty in the crucial and trial-by-fire transition of newborn stage reveals the generosity of her person.

One of my favorite qualities about Liz is the multi-generational aspect to artists raising little lives. Her mother did the same with Liz and her siblings, and now Liz has already begun discovering the creative and cultured nature of her own little human. The beauty that peeks in through the wildness of life here is stunning. Enjoy!

Elizabeth Barrett Groth, DESIGNER

Name: Elizabeth Barrett Groth

Profession: Scenic/Costume Designer

Parent Status: Jo, 5 months

What surprised you:
What was really surprising was how physically demanding pregnancy was, almost right from the very beginning, and how it limited how I worked. I had awful morning sickness (more like 24/7 sickness) at first and it was crippling- I did not want to barf on the bus or the subway! And as summer and my pregnancy progressed and I got bigger and bigger I found myself doing something I never thought I would, turning down job after job. With low budgets and no way to hire assistants, I just couldn’t work physically the same way I did before. I couldn’t carry my body-weight in props and costumes on my back all over the city on the subway. Schlepping is like, 90% of the job. That realization was really hard for me. So I had to start looking for jobs I could do at home, with less heavy lifting- alterations and sewing work, and I did a bunch of illustrations for an upcoming film. In addition to working in theater, I also give educational tours of The Metropolitan Museum of Art to 4th-12th graders, and luckily I was able to continue that work until about a month before I was due, otherwise I would have gone nuts. I will freely admit I did not like being pregnant. Not many people will say that, but there it is. It was extremely uncomfortable for me, I was so, so happy when it was over. Josephine is much easier to handle out than in.

What excited you:
Feeling her move! She was a little pistol, I first felt her kick at 14 weeks. No one believed me, it was so early for that. But I was falling asleep one night and it felt like a piece of popcorn popped inside me. I was awestruck. We didn’t know our Josephine was a girl until she was born, so I was excited to see what kind of little person would come out of me. So, I guess normal pregnant-lady excitement.

What challenged you:
In pregnancy, the physical aspects. I had huge hip/back/pelvis problems which got really bad by the end. That was tough to deal with, loosing my physical independence. Now, Im trying to figure out how to be a better mom, and I’m very lucky to have a great example in my own mother, a wonderful mother-in-law, and really capable friends to look to and ask questions of. We are fortunate in that my husband’s job can support us all right now, so I don’t have to work, but going from a total focus on my career to being a primary caregiver has been tough. I’m glad to do it, I’m glad I can do it, but it was a jarring transition- one day I woke up a mom and a housewife and I had no idea what to do. I can’t go back to working as I was before, the hours were grueling and I couldn’t even pay for the childcare with what I was making. So now I am currently career-less, which is both really liberating and completely terrifying. Time to figure out a new way to keep creating. Huge challenge.

What you look forward to:
Learning more about her as a person and figuring out her tastes. Traveling with her, showing her more of the world. My husband is English and we are going on our first visit to see his side of the family in late May. I’m really looking forward to taking her to her first Broadway show, her first concert. She LOVES music. She’s very cultured already, she’s a big fan of her Uncle Patrick Groth’s paintings, and went to his gallery show downtown. About a month ago I got to take her for her first visit to the Met Museum, and she’s been back a lot since. She loves modern art, anything really big and graphic. I can’t wait to take her to some of the other museums in town to see what she likes to really kickstart her visual education. I’m excited to hear what she has to say when she starts talking. I’m also slowly starting to rejoin the creative world which is very difficult but makes me feel like a real person again, so I look forward to getting my artistic mojo back.

What you think people should know:
Pregnancy is pretty unpredictable, and so is caring for a newborn. Jo was born in early December, so between paternity leave and the holidays my husband Christopher was home with us for almost the whole first month, that was a huge help to start us off. Even when the baby is on a schedule, things shift and change everyday. It’s both very monotonous (I feel really isolated and brain dead a lot) but it’s also totally different everyday and really fun, which doesn’t make sense at all… Breastfeeding takes up a huge amount of time and is exhausting but very rewarding to me. It’s hard to find time for yourself and your own work when they are so little. I barely have time to do the things I need to do, let alone what I’d like to do. And there’s a lot of pressure to parent in certain ways, or give birth in certain ways. Screw all that judgement. Do what works for you and your family. Don’t pay attention- follow your gut and work with your baby, they are all so different. Take all the advice with a huge grain of salt. BUT THAT SAID-if you can afford it, hire a cleaning lady to come every couple of weeks. Seriously. It forces you to keep things in some semblance of order but also takes the pressure off you to care for the baby and do all the housework and it rids you of any marital strife related who swept the floors more last week. And it’s nice to have a clean bathroom for when you actually have time to take a shower.

Bonus/optional: your favorite mommy-artist story:
My mother is an artist (Mary Brigid Barrett – buy her baby board books “All Fall Down” and “Pat A Cake”!) and when my brother was a toddler she basically toted him around everywhere while my sister and I were at school, she had to. So Patrick sat and played blocks while she worked in her studio, or went to her drawing classes with David Macaulay at Rhode Island School of Design, or hung out in the illustration department when she taught classes at RISD later. So he really absorbed all this amazing art and instruction from when he was tiny. We are all artists in our family, but Patrick is far and away the most talented, and I think his early exposure to it is part of that. He went on to get his BFA in painting from RISD, and got his MFA from the Yale School of Art last year, and has had his work in shows here in NYC, Miami and London. I hope I can do the same for my Jo, who knows what talents she has waiting to erupt.

My favorite quotes:

I’m glad to do it, I’m glad I can do it, but it was a jarring transition – one day I woke up a mom and a housewife and I had no idea what to do…Time to figure out a new way to keep creating.

– Elizabeth Barett Groth, Designer NYC

“Screw all that judgement.”

– Elizabeth Barett Groth, Designer NYC

“…who knows what talents she has waiting to erupt.”

– Elizabeth Barett Groth, Designer NYC

What was the biggest transition for you? Whenever it may have been – a while ago, you’re in it, or you feel it coming – don’t be afraid to make time to create or reinvent yourself. You’re already creating something incredible. Keep going.

More profiles coming soon!

If you are or you know a performing artist professional and mom who wants to share thoughts, answer these questions and shoot them to me at this contact form!

I remember traveling by subway across Manhattan then jumping on bus to cross bridge over water to New Jersey to visit my former classmate Christina and her newborn daughter. Christina and I were graduates of the Yale School of Drama and professional actresses already facing the brutal day to day of making a barely-living while pursuing a dream. And there, in her characteristically brave and defiant and elegant way, my friend added to her dream motherhood. I will never forget spending the day seamlessly conversing about plays, struggles, diapers, baby cries and music and more diapers.

I also will never forget feeling bathed in Christina’s radiance as I took the ferry back across the water that night. Still raw, still beautiful, my friend had expanded. When she replied to my request for a What She Looks Like profile, I couldn’t be more thrilled. I have to include her intro, because how else could motherhood be described but with this honesty, contradiction and simultaneous enthusiasm:

Most days I just don’t feel like I have anything encouraging, motivational, or inspiring to say about motherhood. But then I’m like, yeah, this is the hardest thing I have ever done, but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. What’s that all about?  So here goes my thoughts…I hope it’s useful. Love you!!!

— Christina Acosta Robinson

I found her thoughts absolutely inspiring in their honesty, grit, and belief. I know you will, too. Let’s dive in….

Name: Christina Acosta Robinson

Profession: Actress

Parent Status: Daughter, 3 years old

What surprised you:

I had no idea how big I can love, and how strong I can be, how quickly I can become angry, how angry I can get, how loud I can yell, how passionate I can be, how protective I am. And I am surprised at her natural and enormous capacity for forgiveness, how easily she makes friends, how bold and confident she is, how funny and witty she already is. Now that she’s 3 years-old, this is definitely the most fun I’ve had as a parent.

What excited you:

When I was pregnant I was excited about our decision to do a natural birth. I was also excited by the fact that this was the biggest leap of faith that I had ever taken. I knew my health insurance weeks were going to run out before the baby was born, and we couldn’t afford health insurance for the baby after she was born. Thanks to God and Obamacare everything worked out in the end. I actually booked a national commercial in my 7th month–and that was just one of the many miracles that brought us through. My husband kept telling me the baby would bring with her everything she needed. And that’s exactly what happened. It was my first of many ongoing tests of faith.

What you look forward to:

I am really looking forward to her being old enough to bring her to auditions and workshops and rehearsals–because babysitting is expensive! I’ve had to bring her to auditions here and there, but it’s never as much of a big deal as I think it will be. I am always more nervous about bringing her to the audition than I am about the actual audition. Just last week my husband and I each had a callback scheduled at the exact same time. Mine was a very last minute thing–I had a 10am audition and they asked me to come back at 12:30. Well my husband brought her with him to his 12:30 callback and ran into a good friend there who was also auditioning. And he graciously volunteered to watch our 3 year-old for a few minutes while my husband went in to his audition. Things always work out in the end. And if they are not working out, then it’s not the end.

What challenged you:

I remember telling my husband, you know, if there were no such thing as being tired, and no such thing as being poor, motherhood would be a breeze. It’s the kind of tired that only parents understand. It is exhaustion to the point of not recognizing yourself and your reactions. If I could apologize to every parent I ever said I was tired to before I was a parent, I would–because I had no idea what I was talking about. The biggest challenge is having a bottomless well of patience while being torturously exhausted. It’s impossible. I put myself in time-out daily. And call on Jesus often.

What you think people should know:

If you want to have children, you really need to have a good reason. If you just want them, that’s not a good reason. If you want them because you feel like you should because your married and that’s just what married people do, that’s not a good reason. You shouldn’t have them because people expect you to, or because you’re pushing 30, or 39, or 42. You shouldn’t have them because you’re a woman and that’s what your expected to do.

You should want kids because you honestly want to live for someone other than yourself. And not in theory, actually live each and every second of each and every day for this person. You should want kids because you are willing to and mature enough to handle the extremes to which only motherhood can push you. You should have kids because you are honestly ready to put them before  everything except God, and your spouse if you have one.

Now, I am not saying give up on your dreams, but if the pursuit of them begins to compromise your ability to effectively guide and nurture your child, then be willing to do what you need to do. You may need to hit the pause button on the career channel. I don’t feel that we have needed to hit the pause button yet, we are making it work, but it is something that I am willing to do if I ever need to. I have said no to many auditions and jobs that just weren’t worth hiring a babysitter for–either because of the role or the money or the distance. It’s actually been a good thing because it has made me more selective about the work I take on, and I like that. My time is more valuable now than it has ever been. So saying no to auditions and offers that don’t really excite my spirit keeps me available to roles that are really worth the effort it takes to make it all work. There is great power in saying no–in being selective. And there is great power in faith–in knowing that as long as you are doing the best you can and nurturing your talents, your gifts will continue make room for you in this industry–you and your family.

I actually booked a national commercial in my 7th month–and that was just one of the many miracles that brought us through. My husband kept telling me the baby would bring with her everything she needed. And that’s exactly what happened.

– Christina Acosta Robinson, Actress NYC

There is great power in saying no–in being selective. And there is great power in faith–in knowing that as long as you are doing the best you can and nurturing your talents, your gifts will continue make room for you in this industry–you and your family.

–..Christina Acosta Robinson, Actress NYC

Things always work out in the end. And if they are not working out, then it’s not the end.

– Christina Acosta Robinson, Actress NYC

Christina Acosta Robinson, ACTRESS

What are your favorite quotes? Are you in pause or working through? Whichever it may be, power to you, mama. It’s all profoundly worthy.

More profiles coming soon!

If you are or you know a performing artist professional and mom who wants to share thoughts, answer these questions and shoot them to me at this contact form!

I had no idea how deep, diverse, and specific the worlds would be when I decided to investigate the lives of Professional Performing Artists who also chose to be Mothers with my ongoing series What She Looks Like. Some are in the beginnings of it all, some are in the throws of it, and some are seasoned professionals in both in art and mommy hood life.

As different as the decisions, lives, and disciplines of these many women may be, some common threads run through along the themes of wrestling with doubt, distraction, and division.

Doubt – can I do it. Distraction – am I doing it. Division – should I do it.

Perhaps what makes the motherhood circumstance not necessarily any harder but most definitely unique is that the answers to these questions depend on the responsibility, viability, and volatility or peace of another life. Another tiny, precious, I’m-responsible-for-feeding-you-and-keeping-you-sane-life.

In wrestling with these questions myself, I began to wonder how I would approach them if I were asking outside of motherhood. These questions, I believe, plague any artist – motherhood or not – due to the circumstances of life and the perils of the profession. We ask them when eating out of tuna cans living in rooms that are probably technically a closet in New York City. We ask them when the train is late, the rain melted our makeup, and our headshots still need to be printed on the way to a type-out audition. We ask them when “no” is heard a million times and we don’t recognize the face screaming in the mirror.

So where do we go? What truth do we turn to? 

…And does it still apply to the motherhood challenge?

I recently did a panel in NYC for a small group of women in media along with two producers. As the only actress on the panel, I was asked a specific question by someone in the audience on behalf of a friend of hers. This friend had been wrestling with receiving no acting employment in NYC yet still felt absolutely obligated to stay there, fearing that jobs outside of the city would remove her from opportunities. The question was, “what should I tell my friend?”

This question was assuredly too loaded and too distanced to provide a specific career strategy on the spot, but what I did feel convinced to offer was rooting out the underlying fear. I began by admitting that staying or going will each have their pros and cons pragmatically speaking, but the decision to stay or go should never be based on fear, or the work will be too. I continued to say that too often we convince ourselves that our value, status, or existence as artists depends on a career trajectory, feeling, or even – as in this case – a location. We cannot forget that art exists other places. Indeed, art exists all over the world, and if we convince ourselves that art only exists in New York City, or art only exists when I feel connected to myself, or art only exists when my work is a success, art will die as much as it lives, for all of these reasons die out of season, and if taken as a foundation, we fall, for none of these foundations is firm.

I recall that story because it resonated with me as I struggled to find a firm foundation for my art in the conversation on motherhood-in-the-mix. I have absolutely believed to my core, in the deepest parts of my soul where knowledge begins, that motherhood is a cohesive and complimentary catalyst to the world of art. My entire purpose of challenging how mothers in the arts are treated and the questions that pop up in our minds during struggle is to address the fear that intends to silence the knowledge of this fruitful collaborative catalyst. And, in silencing that fear, allow my art and motherhood to stand interconnected on a firm foundation.

The two words that have come to me to form a foundation: You Are.

First, a few things you are not. You are not your location. You are not your booking rate. You are not the decades that have passed since you performed, wrote, made that whatever.

You are not your multi-tasking skills. You are not your perfectly and imperfectly balanced nut-job schedule. You are not your lack of groceries in the fridge.

You are an artist.

This fact of existence goes where you go, whether any other element of the universe is in place or not. It lives when your connection feels dead. It gives no two shites about successful career trajectories. It is who you are before you knew you were. It is the Truth about who you are. What you do with that truth is what we call the Work. How you judge the work is any of those things you wish it to be, but it is never you. Though the judgment may touch the work, touch the timeline, touch the failures, it cannot touch You if you recognize the distinction. You are an artist. I don’t care if you’re literally elbows deep in tiny human feces, only have a resume of sandwiches recently made, want to sleep more than sing or feel stretched mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually, all those traits are traits of the artist. Because she is you whether you feel her in there or not.

The reason I say this is because whatever your current declared profession or location or desire as you raise little lives, whether you’ve paused, totally stopped, or are pursuing your dream, that truth doesn’t go away. Whether you love it or hate it or haven’t thought of it in years, it stays. And do with it what you will – feel the tickle of it trickling up for your attention or hang RIP on its nose or let it shout ecstatically in your inner ear – it’s yours. And if, just if, you let yourself have permission flip off the world and declare Yourself that Artist with fecal elbows, mustard stains, audition sides with coffee and tears from restless sleep, you will be telling the absolute mother-loving truth and standing tall on a foundation that never shifts. DO with it whatever you want. You are an artist.

And now that you know no one can take it from you, you don’t have to waste a drop of energy on doubt, there’s a bit of energy to spare. And now that you know distraction can’t take it from you, there’s a bit of power there. And now that you know division can never separate you from yourself, there’s a bit of ownership there – Wherever we go, whatever we do. And if we answer the “can I do it”-“am I doing it”-“should I do it” from the standpoint of this Truth, we reduce potential for regret, because our answers will come from a place entirely ours: one of energy, strength, and ownership – whatever our decision may be.

Name: Maria Bella Jeffers

My favorite quotes:

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That being on top of it is crucial and so is commitment to being flexible…We are all intelligent, caring, educated folks and our babies are designed to survive and learn.

– Maria Bella Jeffers,  NYC Cellist

—-

I think the hand-offs of our little girl from a person with a cello to a person in a tux carrying a bass trombone are pretty wild. It has happened fairly regularly.

– Maria Bella Jeffers,  NYC Cellist

 

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Did you see adult artist parents growing up? I did. And it made a huge impact on my bravery.

More profiles coming soon!

If you are or you know a performing artist professional and mom who wants to share thoughts, answer these questions and shoot them to me at this contact form!

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Here’s the next profile of an amazing artist and mom who took the time to share a few of her thoughts. (If you missed it, the first profile is definitely worth checking out too on Stage Manager Jenna Woods!) Melissa is gifted and strikes a really special cord describing the importance of including our kids in the beauty of what we do. She offers her thoughts on working in this demanding profession with a toddler full of life and what that brings.

I love how she articulates the synchronicity between the principles of motherhood and the passions of the arts. I couldn’t agree more.

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Name: Melissa Trn

A child doesn’t need much. But they need us. They need us to be whole people with loves and passions and hobbies, and desires, and dreams…how else will they be those kind of people?

– Melissa Trn, LA Designer

The community of the theater is such a natural place for a child. Open. Free. Creative. I love experiencing that together.

– Melissa Trn, LA Designer

How do you share your profession with your family? What’s your favorite quote?

More profiles coming soon!

If you are or you know a performing artist professional and mom who wants to share thoughts, answer these questions and shoot them to me at this contact form!

Not all performing artist professionals have kids, and that’s cool! But some do. What does that experience look like for such an unpredictable lifestyle? That’s the question I want to explore. So, in honor of mother’s day, I’ve started a series called “What She Looks Like” that profiles performing artist professionals who balance work and motherhood! I’ve asked a few of the performing arts professionals/moms I know to share a brief profile of their stories.

The first amazing lady is Jenna Woods, a professional stage manager in NYC who I’ve worked with numerous times and know her extraordinary work and have followed her pregnancy journey via Facebook. Here’s a sneak peak into her world! Check out her thoughts on what she thinks people should know and how spreadsheets come into play.

Name: Jenna Woods

Profession: Stage Manager

Status: Due any second

What surprised you:

In the first two trimesters, I was surprised that more people didn’t visually notice I was pregnant. I felt like my shape was completely different, but no one noticed my tiny bump as much as I did! It was almost a little disappointing not to have the conversation starter when I was so excited about the news. On the flip side, there were certain times when I didn’t want anyone to notice, mainly in rehearsal where I didn’t want to be a distraction.

What excited you:

I was and am excited to talk to other moms in the theater industry about how they cope with their pregnancy and baby care. Our schedules are widely different from the “normal” American family, and often creative solutions need to be found to deal with evening baby care, where to pump, etc.

I am also excited to take a break from work in order to start a new “project” with my new baby. In many ways getting myself and my husband ready for baby’s arrival is much like prepping an event where I plan as much as I can, and then use that information to roll with the punches when the big day arrives!

What challenged you:

It wasn’t until my third trimester that I felt less physically able than usual, but when it hit it was frustrating. I’m used to being a very active and able person, so slowing down and asking others for help is a challenge. Now that I’m in week 34 and much bigger, I find that others offer help before I ask, so that makes it a little easier. But getting off my feet at work in particular is something I have to consciously keep reminding myself to do.

What you look forward to:

I look forward to meeting our little one and finding a “new normal” in our family. My husband is a stagehand and also works freelance with strange hours. Balancing our new responsibilities with our jobs will be interesting and likely a constant conversation, but I’m looking forward to making it work. We both love our careers and the freedom it gives us to plan days off or vacation time together, so making it work is worth it.

What you think people should know:

There is too much made out of “baby brain” regarding pregnant women. I haven’t had many problems at all with memory bumps or confusion, but many non-pregnant people expect that from me and it undermines my authority as a stage manager.

Bonus/optional: Your favorite mommy-artist story

I have several other stage manager friends who are pregnant at the same time as myself, and it’s been so fun to share stories and experiences. Also true to our stage manager natures, we’ve been sharing great mommy organizing tips and spreadsheets with info on baby projects!

My Favorite Quotes:

“In many ways getting myself and my husband ready for baby’s arrival is much like prepping an event where I plan as much as I can, and then use that information to roll with the punches when the big day arrives!”

– Jenna Woods, NY Stage Manager

“There is too much made out of “baby brain” regarding pregnant women. I haven’t had many problems at all with memory bumps or confusion, but many non-pregnant people expect that from me and it undermines my authority as a stage manager.”

– Jenna Woods, NY Stage Manager

How are you treating your resident pregnant professional? What’s your favorite quote?

More profiles coming soon!

If you are or you know a performing artist professional and mom who wants to share thoughts, answer these questions and shoot them to me at this contact form!

An Actor-Mom’s Guide to Transparency

When it comes to my work, I would probably break out into hives if I’m not in the space at least 10-15 min before the clock. The few times I haven’t been in early, I’ve tried to block out of memory like a trauma. I got caught in traffic once before a show and almost vomited all over the bus. I had a chaotic subway experience during tech week for a show in DC and resorted to walking an hour each way for previews and the rest of the run just to make sure I could control my time (great way to stay warm to though!). I will go to great lengths to ensure that I’m in a room where I can focus. I found that my willingness to sacrifice, however, does not have to be over-costly when there’s a group of people ready to collaborate – even when the support I need may be unconventional. Even if that means part of rehearsal is me running down the sidewalk with a baby latched to my body.

It happened like this. One of my dreams was to be a part of a theater company. A group of actors that collaborated on original work fueled by nothing but passion, relevancy, and inspiration. The dream came true when I joined a company of actors under the direction of one inspiring female writer/director and her team, and we rehearsed on our own time in rooms throughout the city, deconstructing and piecing together an incredible, original work based on Shakespeare’s women in the War of the Roses.

I played Joan of Arc in the company’s piece – a dream role – and I had long been connected to this project via readings, but for the first time ever we gathered as a team to rehearse and perform the piece as a staged workshop in New York, complete with moving elements and fully realized stage combat. Yay! ….Cue the welcome-to-mommyhood logistics: it was a few months in to my baby’s life, so she and I had been traveling as a pair for quite some time (first audition took us on a train together at 5 weeks old where in-motion diaper-explosions became a new learned skill). While the Margaret workshop offered me more infrequent scheduling to make it doable, each rehearsal and show day required not just lines worked, choreography memorized, scheduling finalized, and money (tightly) budgeted as always is asked of an actor, but also roundtrip bus tickets from another city (times two), travel smartly scheduled around both arrival and naps, multiple meals packed, diaper bag stocked, stroller and baby carried, babysitter scheduled and confirmed…and rescheduled, and an affordable location scoured in NYC for baby and sitter to stay while mommy pretended to be a historical-female-knight saving France. (Thanks, mom.)

I was in it to win it. I loved my baby and I loved Joan of Arc, and – somehow – taking care of both of these gifts had to be possible. I even discovered similarities between my baby and mademoiselle la pucelle…such as their strength of will. With the conviction of Joan refusing to bend a knee to any foreign king, my powerful and precious babe refused to bend one quivering lip to a bottle. Ever. (Of all base passions, bottle-drinking is most accursed!!!!) Ok, ok, I get it. Proud as that exercise of power will always make me as a mother, a few complications arose in regard to rehearsing and feeding…such as timing and location. She needed to be hungry on my 10 minute breaks, and I needed to be close enough to get to her. (At this point in her feed cycle – TMI warning – 10 min feeds were enough because the milk production was so high and fast, as verified by our nurse consultant. Girl could drink.)

With the demands on my body with rapier, dagger, and staff came balancing the demands of speed, efficiency, and milk ducts. The full immersion into parallel but different worlds required laser focus and total investment – something actors need to exercise all the time. The intensity of the experience highlighted for me some key lessons that grew my acting and, at one point, fed my baby on the move.

1.The Task: Stay in the Room.

This phrase gets thrown around a lot in grad school, mainly because we have multiple shows rehearsing all at once. The phrase revisited me at one of our earliest rehearsals by pounding painfully through my body to the rhythm of breastmilk threatening to break out of what felt like every pore in my torso. As the seconds counted down to our break in rehearsal, milk didn’t miss a cue, so my mind and heart had to listen with every bit of strength not to miss a crucial note, reaction, or adjustment to the text we just rehearsed. On the flip-side, as soon as 10 was called, my body had to spring into action and exit physically – and mentally – quickly enough in order to make it to the baby who needed me in time to get in a good feed before heading back into the room in time to kill some English scum. Great. Simple enough. The only way to do either of these things well was to focus on them one at a time.

2. The Objective: Be Private in Public. 

A crucial planning mistake I made at the beginning here was thinking a few blocks was a travel-able distance. I didn’t account for the building elevator, slower physical body (yes, it really hurts when fluids are literally bursting through your skin, making your flesh rock hard), and people traffic. I had wasted precious minutes with this poor planning. When I reached my baby, she was unhappy, I was behind, and I already knew we would have to move out quickly – I could take a few minutes of rehearsal time, sure, but I didn’t want to worry about the trip back while I fed her…I also refused to deprive my baby of a single fractional ounce of food. So I made my move. While latched. I took off out of that coffee shop like a bat out of hell. Nursing cover blowing in the wind like a cape, action music playing in my head. Sidekick superstar sitter and friend of over a decade running by my side, baby carrier in hand. All of NY passed on numerous blocks as we tore down the sidewalk dodging pedestrians in the suits with cell phones witnessing the getaway of a dynamic duo and their precious cargo, tiny stockinged feet peeking out of blankets with quick and happy thrusts. Baby never missed a beat. Her drinks matched the rhythm of my feet hitting the concrete – a pace always safe, but fast enough to span the space. My heart raced and the cool wind hit my stomach. My loose top kept me from getting arrested as it casually draped over anything potentially revealing. For all the vulnerability of feeding in motion, I felt no shame. My private moment on public display, I cared only about her satisfaction and reaching a place of calm where we could focus. I cared only about my objective and didn’t think twice about how it made me look. I let that conviction pour generously into any searching eyes that happened to throw gaze my way and kept my eyes forward. When life happens, you gotta let it show. This allowance of visibility strangely made me feel strong. 

3. The Method: Be Messy.

We made it to the rehearsal space with hair askew, skin bare, and body gratefully draining its stock. I wasn’t late, but I wasn’t ready to re-enter the room either. For all that work, I had failed. No matter my planning, I couldn’t complete the task, I would need more time, lose precious rehearsal, and need an allowance, and I expected disappointment to set in for the people around me who would show up ready and together – so I thought. Break had yet to completely close, so other actors wandered in with their deli sandwiches and drinks and struck up conversation, kindly accepting my new accessory. The messier episodes of my life teach me the most about art and people and how my perfectionism can give me a false sense of their expectation. And apparently, these lessons come when you’re dashing down a street in the heart of midtown with your nursing cover pressed against your neck and your baby happily feeding on your naked breast while you breathlessly count the seconds with the babysitter to reach the final block at your rehearsal and thank God it’s weirdly warm outside for January because the wind is slapping your mid-drift in an attempt to get your abs to work faster. The lessons come when your director laughs at your entrance, asks you to sit and take your time while you watch the choreography from a whole new (seated) perspective. The lessons come with knowing your baby is ok in your arms while you watch the fight instruction and love every move. You don’t fix your hair. You don’t apologize. When you accept, you listen and continue to learn. So much is off in the image of a single man sitting on a mountaintop as the symbol of wisdom. At least for me. Wisdom is covered in milk and breathing deeply while humbly experiencing acceptance from the people around you. When you’re living and breathing to the fullest, no drop of energy should be wasted on preserving an image.

4. The Safety: Find your People.

As my lungs returned to their calmer pace, I watched the room come together and rewrite the rules of what the the next few moments of rehearsal should be without hesitation or grudge. Each person showed ease in accepting where I was and what I was doing. Their graciousness taught me in real-time what true generosity looks like. With an exhale of relief and wonder, I realized that many fearful questions about how this actor-mom thing would work had burrowed themselves so deeply in my heart that I hadn’t acknowledged them until they were confronted by the generous behavior in front of me. I had been holding on to questions like:

“Would my double-responsibility create a problem for the people I work with? Would anyone find the commitment distracting? Would a few of my special needs make me too much work and not worth the time? How can I make myself seem as put-together as possible and make the extra work invisible?”

These questions could have been answered differently  by a lesser group to negative results commenting on my value if not for the quality and confidence of the artists I had chosen to work with. My questions evaporated like mist as I witnessed life, and rehearsal, move forward inclusively and seamlessly. I was a part of it – and taken care of at the same time. Where I was willing to over-stretch myself, the company compensated willingly. In that moment, I didn’t need to lessen a single thing about myself.

I’ve heard it said many times in our profession that theater is family, but too often that’s said to mean the people who are willing to drink and cry with you. That may not be left out completely, but any shallow acquaintance or sophomoric colleague is capable of indulging in liquor and emotion, hardly a hard sign of real intimacy. Real friends endure discomfort for your betterment. A few steps further, family is willing to sacrifice something of themselves to aid and support a member who’s momentarily over-stretched. A company, in order to be successful, must have all these elements. What I experienced at that rehearsal was all these things and more. The discomfort for my betterment, the willingness to sacrifice, give aid and support, and beyond that – gladly and willingly – lead me to embrace unapologetically the gift they gave. I was able to hand my happy and sleeping baby into open and caring arms of a sitter while stepping into open and caring arms myself as I re-joined my friends in the fight – all with a changed confidence I hadn’t known before: I had let people help me. For all the casts and classes I had been a part of, it was in this embrace that I found my people. And the art we made was great. What I had hoped for in being a part of a company was growing as an artist. What I found was a family that helped me grow larger than my insecurity. 

5. The Closer: Thank the Crew.

God bless my sitters. And every nearby coffee shop, diner, block, and spare hallway or room in the rehearsal space where they rocked, strolled, and played with my little one while I visited, fed, and returned to no-pay stage-blood letting. Trust me, more on them later.

I remember the first audition I came out as pregnant. I had been auditioning for months in flowy tops. My personal aesthetic of yoga pants and hippy tops lent itself beautifully to the physical transition. For a while, there was not much to conceal anyway. I accepted auditions by keeping in mind performance dates that wouldn’t conflict with the upcoming birth. Five months in, I let out the big news with caution to a surprisingly enthusiastic and supportive agent who proceeded to shout it with joy to the rest of the office. I blushed. I assumed “practical artist mom” strategy and encouraged him to only tell artistic staff in auditions on a “need to know” basis – for me it was to maintain control of my personal narrative. I had visions of the pregnancy news dominating any mention of my name, obliterating the potential for referring to me in a strictly professional context. I didn’t trust the artistic community not to overwhelm my public identity with the small detail of procreation. Besides. This was mine. My business. And that’s ok. I liked it that way. He complied, albeit a bit confused, and about a week later I embarked out to my next audition, assuming they had been told…

I marched confidently into the room, my top less flowy, boxy, perfect for the pants role. I moved athletically, let my body bend and ebb, and after nailing the first scene, I glanced over to the table of wide-eyed director, NY casting director, and local casting director:

“Rachel, that was great. Yeah. But. Uhm. Can I ask. Are you. Pregnant?”

The words sputtered out from the NY casting director. Her words held less judgment, more shock. “Surprise!” my body beamed back, “Brought my own GUEST-STAR…Hope that’s OK.” My stomach continued to shout through my shirt while my brain and mouth made a clicking sound or two. Scene forgotten.

I knew it. Distraction.

My fears were beginning to materialize. I needed to get the room back on track. I knew how to focus with another body growing inside me, but I didn’t know how to get everyone else to do it. It was my business. I was ok with that. No one talks about the loneliness of pregnancy. I had been a creature fueled by it. I had loved every moment of the intimacy, the privacy. Once it’s shared – you can get…protective.

While I’ve never felt more physically myself than when I carried around another literal human around in my torso,

I didn’t trust other people to see my new form as acceptable right away.

I stood my ground, ready to stand alone. My business. My happiness, in spite of it all, couldn’t be squashed. I never regretted letting my own personal victory and joy determine the course of a room before, and today was no exception. I felt a proud smile slip onto my face and a warm pulse run over my belly skin, “Yeah. Thought my agent may have told you!”

Ready to take on the next scene (or get kicked out of the room – you never know – it was my first time), I saw the NY casting director, a woman, burst into a huge smile:

“CONGRATULATIONS!!! No!!! He didn’t tell me! How exciting!”

The local casting director joined her,”You look amazing! How far along??”

Before I could gleefully hop on my float in this feminist pride parade that erupted before my eyes, a gravelly voice ripped through the conversation.

“Yeah, but could you do it?”

We women celebrating in the room felt a pause as pregnant as I was stomp on our exchange with an elephant-like defiance. Slowly, our heads turned to the end of the table. There, arms-crossed, the aged director furrowed his eyebrows like shut curtains shading his confusion.

I had to ask, “Do….what?”

“The show. But could you do the show?”

A beat. I blinked three times to clear my mind and reset. I made a mental check list of things that typically happen to you after you have a baby; decapitation, illiteracy, and vocal distress didn’t jump out at me right away. Those couldn’t be it. I did quick math. Two months. “I’d have two months to recover,” I found myself saying. (In case I was wrong about the decapitation part).

“Yeah,” he drawled, “But will you want to.”

Now on pace with his line of questioning, I readied myself again to stand alone, defend myself alone, remembering, My. Business.

“I believe I would–” – and just as I had resigned to chalking up the initial support in the room to premature luck, I was joined by other voices again:

“Of COURSE she would! She’ll be fine! PLEASE. I cast [actress] in Ragtime two weeks after she had her baby, and she was incredible.” The NY casting director couldn’t throw her hands up fast enough. She turned to face me and assign to me the leading pronoun, “SHE’ll be fine.” The vote of confidence was punctuated by genuine pride, and the local casting director erupted in unflinching agreement:”Yes!” End of discussion. The director tried to mutter “You don’t know until you know,” but I think he sounded foolish to himself even at that point, so allowed his voice to trail off and went back to what he knew:

I was asked to do the next scene.

Justice is sweet. I began the text, and the narrative of a girl with a secret in disguise trying convincing her partner not to judge her by appearances – and that was just the text. The parallel sifted through each heart in the room. After doing the second scene, even the director was won over by the story, and he engaged with me on the character, my thoughts, and small adjustments to the piece. It was a beautiful, regular, electric audition. I was an actress again, just one who happened to be growing another person in her belly. It took a woman behind the table to help make clear to everyone in the room that that’s all actresses are anyway. So what are we so worried about?

Actors are just people who grow other people in their bellies. 

On that day, I received confirmation that the conflict I feared was not between my body and my art, as the cultural pressure would have me believe. It was between my internal understanding of “capable” and the lack of understanding I felt from the other side. People talk a numbers game when discussing female statistics and absence of women in superior roles, but from a personal standpoint I cannot emphasize enough that I’ve never felt more supported than when I was ready to stand on my own but found support instead from a woman behind the table who was able to see a different form and – instead of being afraid – label it “capable.”

I cling to this memory and its principles because I want it to haunt me when the artist in me is challenged by other evolving forms – age, disability, distress, distance, or grief. It motivates me, no matter my circumstance, no matter my condition, not only to dig my heels in deeper when stepping into the room, but to make it My Business to find my own tables to get behind.

Don’t let changing your form in any way, including something as preciously normal as giving birth, make you doubt that you are capable. The problem isn’t you. So much of that belief or doubt has to do with who we have behind the table.

How much can our art change if we let our own physical forms evolve too?

Epilogue: Largely pregnant, I very late to term came across a director whose exchange with me was “How far along? Oh, great! I did my first play back when my twins were three months old. It went great. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. How about we try the first scene?” Done and done.

Let’s add that to the notes, shall we? “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

How an auditioning mom prepares her auditioning-focus.

This lesson came early on while on my way to my first audition post-birth when Biscuit was about 5 weeks old.

The problem-solving I used in the infant catastrophe should have been a distraction to the audition shortly afterward, but in fact it liberated my mind to deliver some great work. Below are the steps to changing a diaper on a moving train, that – much to my surprise – translated beautifully when stepping into the room. Apparently, a little poop and movement was what my process needed that day. Who knew?!

How to Change a Diaper on a Moving Train
Level of Difficulty: High
Skill equivalent: Bomb-Squad Diffuser
Soundtrack: MI Theme Song