The One About the Battle.

So... it's been almost two years since I last blogged. I'm sorry. Mostly for myself because lots of things have happened in life that could/should have been documented.

When we last left off, I was getting ready to move to Los Angeles to rehearse for the cruise job I got with Holland America. I was so excited. Nervous, yes, but I had a positive and excited outlook on the opportunity. I knew I would make great friends, see beautiful places, and learn a ton about myself and my craft.

Rehearsals were hard but absolutely doable. I was in great physical shape. I was loving my cast and singing everyday all day. The company had a very rigid outline, and I was doing my very best to stick to it. My voice was different from most of the other F1s, and I was being told that daily. I had a big musical theatre voice but "not a pop voice." I wasn't a dancer, and I was hardly even a mover, but I was working harder than I ever had to make that unnoticeable.

When rehearsals started to wrap up, I was getting so excited to move into my new home onboard the ms Oosterdam. I knew that it was going to be eight months of work, play, adventure, learning, growing, healing, and saving money.

After the casts board the ship, there is a two-week process where the shows we learned at the rehearsal studios are put on the stage with the scenery, props, lights, etc. Basically it's tech. I could tell the changeover director didn't like me. I was hard to teach dance/movement to. I didn't pick things up quickly, and I got down on myself easily about it. It's a flaw that I don't love about myself.

As the two weeks began to wrap up, we were working on the final show. One of the set pieces that I had to jump up onto was rickety and not bolted in. But I jumped up on it anyway. It started to rock, and I laughed (because, to be frank, I'd rather laugh quietly to myself than cry or scream for fear of falling). We finished the bows and the director dug right into tearing me a new one, telling me that I shouldn't be "farting around" onstage and to take it a little more seriously. "The rest of us are working," he said. He didn't know the facts. He didn't know that I felt like I was going to fall off of the dangerous, unbolted set piece.

I spoke up. I am not a fighter, you guys. I don't typically talk back. I can count on one hand the number of times I have spoken up about something I either didn't agree with or in my defense. It scares me, to be quite honest. And when it does happen, I get emotional. I cry. My heart rate goes nuts, I shake, and I cry. I cried as I spoke up to him (albeit in front of the cast) and tried to explain what happened. He cut me off and told me to "pull it together." After we finished the rehearsal, I was still so embarrassed and sad with the way things happened, so I went up to talk to him. I, again, tried to explain what had happened, and he wasn't hearing me. At one point he said, "This is show business, not show friends," which happened to be completely irrelevant to what was being said. And not long after that comment, he proclaimed, "This stage is too big for your talent. You are not cut out for this."

Something happened in that moment. Something broke inside. It really did. I have had so many moments when things that people have said have blessed my life, but that, I think, was truly the first time I ever felt broken by what someone said. I crumbled. My self-esteem became non-existent and suddenly I became "not good enough." Every note that I sang from that moment on while I was onboard the Oosterdam wasn't good enough for me to be there. I questioned my talent, my choice of career path. I questioned the friendships I forged, trusting only a select few and dismissing the rest. It was almost as if, in that moment, my heart had built a wall, and there weren't many ways in. I was counting down the days to leave the ship since that day. I was dreading the day I'd ever have to see that director again, and every single time I stepped foot onstage I doubted myself and my talents. It even got to the point where my heart just wasn't in the art at all.

It was a "me" that I didn't like. I was bitter. I was mad. I was sad. I was unbelievably insecure. I was unhealthy. If it weren't for the saving graces - Taylor, Kristy, Lauren, and Ben - that were onboard with me, (and if it weren't for the two weeks Mom was onboard and the two weeks Alan was onboard) I probably would have left early. I got to see some beautiful places and experiences some truly amazing adventures, I won't deny that.

My heart is in knots as I write this... mostly because I realize that it could have been so much more beautiful, adventurous and wonderful... if not for one thing...

As much as I want to blame this director, I can't. Did he say cruel words to me? Yes. That's it. That's all. He didn't set out to ruin the rest of my time onboard. I did it. I did it all. I let fifteen words DESTROY me. I let fifteen words - fifteen words of OPINION - make me a lesser me.

The truth is, I chose to believe it. I made it my truth. I cast out any positive encouragement I'd ever heard before, and I let his opinion become my fact, my life. It consumed me.

When I left the ship in January, I couldn't run fast enough from the gangway to solid, dry land. I was ready to get back to work and talk to my friends and reconnect with reality. I prepared to record an album. I moved back to New York with one of the best humans on the planet. I got new headshots. I prepped for auditions. I was ready to leave all the baggage behind. But guess what? It wasn't that easy...

In those eight months, I had created a habit of hating myself.

See, I had spent so much of my time and energy sulking and bitter-ing that I couldn't just run away from it. I had dug myself into a hole, and I had to slowly climb my way out of the dirty, deep, dark place I had put myself into.

It's been over a year since I got back, and I'm still working on it. I'm reteaching myself how to love what I know I'm supposed to do, and that is to share through song and performance. I want to love myself again. I am constantly surrounded by love from my friends and my family, and that undying support and love is something I cling to with everything in me. It fuels me. It helps me. It heals me.

I'm not telling you this story to try to get you to feel sorry for me; I swear I'm not. I'm telling this story to... well... tell the story. I'm also telling it to share where I am in the story. It's a daily struggle, but it's one that I truly know that I will defeat. I look forward to the day that I can look back on this experience and stand strong and secure.

Perhaps you can take from this one thing: let go of people and of words that tear you down. Don't let it eat you alive. Don't let it defeat you. Don't let it destroy you. Don't let anyone ever dull your sparkle, dammit, and if they try, send them my way. I'll give them a piece of my mind.