She's a Dermatologist

The thing is, to people like me, who were born with a backpack of purpose, creation, drive, ambition and feelings strapped to their back, creating doesn’t feel like a hobby or you do on the side...xxA

My mom has this story that she tells me whenever I am having a rough…

I will never-ever make a living off being an artist, I will never accomplish my dreams and I will have to work jobs I don’t care about for the rest of my life and I’m going to die without really ever truly living!!!

moment.

She tells me this story about her Dermatologist.

“Well, Atlee,” she says. “You know my Dermatologist, is a Dermatologist, but she does community theater and Dermatology is her job, but community theater is her true passion. Sooooo, basically you can have a real job and then do your artist thing on the side. You know, for fun.”

What I hear when she tells me this story is a handful of depressing and soul-crushing things.

One, she doesn’t actually have faith in me as an artist and does not, in fact, think I will ever “make it.”

Two, she doesn’t think being an artist is a real job.

And three, she doesn’t have a great understanding of what small-town, community theater actually entails.

So, I was having one of these, so-depressed-I-can’t-go-on, artist moments the other day, and for the thousandth time, she started to tell me this story about her Dermatologist. I stopped her immediately.

“Mom, I hate that story. Please, for the love of god do not tell me that story ever again.”

She promised me she wouldn’t.

Now, I guess from my mom’s perspective she believes she is saying something comforting to me. Like, Atlee… you can live in the “real world” and still do your little make-believe on the side. As long as it doesn’t affect the sure things, the true things, the stable things. The cookie cutter life that society, and your father and I have decided is best for you. The life that makes us feel more comfortable and is easier to understand. You can get married and have kids and be a Dermatologist and then, when you have the time, you can fit in little bits of your passions… on the side.

The thing is, to people like me, who were born with a backpack of purpose, creation, drive, ambition and feelings strapped to their back, creating doesn’t feel like a hobby or something you can fit in on the side. It is the thing. The only thing. There are no plans Bs. Nothing else fits. Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else will quench our need for constant, unencumbered, self-expression.

At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

When I was four years old people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I would always say, actor. I was the girl who practiced her Oscar speech in her head every day from the age of about eight. Every year I tried to watch all of the Oscar nominated movies and counted down the days until the big night.

When I was 22 I finally moved down to LA to pursue acting professionally. Once there, I did what every aspiring actor does who has little money and no industry connections. I worked a million jobs. I was a nanny, a personal assistant, a go go dancer, an interior designer, a caterer, a bartender, a high-class escort (which is a story for another time…) and of course, a waiter. You name it, I did it. I had a manager and an agent. I went to every audition I could get into. I racked up thousands of dollars of credit card debt for acting classes, workshops, headshots, and photoshoots all in the pursuit of my number one dream…

to be a working actress.

After five and a half years in LA I didn’t recognize myself. Even though I wasn’t sticking my fingers down my throat anymore, I was still very much obsessed with my weight. I hated my body and I hated myself. I felt worthless, stupid and lost. One morning I found myself lying naked on my bathroom floor wondering what it was all for? I didn’t like myself at all. I didn’t feel like I was a good enough sister, a good enough friend, or a good enough partner. Hell, even my acting started to suffer. My life had lost all spirituality, all connection.

I lost myself.

So, I left.

I moved to Seattle with $27 in my bank account and $24,000 of debt. I got three jobs. Worked eighteen-hour days, seven days a week for months. I slept on couches and in cars. I accepted my sexuality, I fell in love, fell out of love, broke and was broken. I worked harder than I ever knew was possible and…

I quit acting completely.

I didn’t know how to love acting and hold her at arm’s length. Our relationship had become entirely co-dependent in all of the worst ways. I was nothing without her. To detach myself from her death grip I had to scrub her from the record, delete all of her socials, block her and move out of state. To this date, it is probably the most traumatic breakup I have ever had and I’ve had some pretty bad ones.

Now, 10 years later, two different cities, countless different jobs, new girlfriends, new boyfriends, new puppies and a new spine and a new baby I’m just now feeling strong enough to let her back in. Her being art… One baby step at a time.

I feel myself starting to crave her. Starting to lust after her once more. The difference now is,

I love myself.

I still feel lost sometimes, but I like the person staring back at me. I have built a life that has nothing to do with acting or art that needs recognition, validation. A life that I love. A life that is just for me. A life that is authentic and big and daring. A life that doesn’t need anyone or anything to validate it. I recovered copletly from my eating disorder… which I’m pretty proud of.

I am writing more, sharing poetry, being of service, becoming a mother, sketching… and simply BEING.

Now that my life is full I’m starting to wonder what type of art might find its way in. Maybe I can fit it in between my other passions. My relationships, my home, my pets, baking, cooking, crying, breastfeeding… the list goes on and on.

Maybe…there’s a world where you are a Dermatologist and do community theater and that is the dream for you.

Maybe there is a way I can love acting/art and not lose myself in her. Maybe there is a way to have a healthy life and passions? Maybe there is a way to blend the two? Maybe I can have both?

And maybe… just maybe, my mom’s story isn’t the worst story I’ve ever heard after all.

xxA