Rolling. Action. Cut.

Are you comfortable in your own presence?

Can you sit alone with your thoughts?

I can’t.

I like to bury myself in conversation, laughter, and the company of others. I like hearing reviews of the version of myself I put on display. That I’m nice, funny, energetic.

When the cameras are rolling, I am myself, but a little more. Slightly more polished, so I’m not sent back to the editing room.

I smile so I’m not deemed defective.

I laugh so I’m not seen as sad.

There’s a fear that if I stick out too much, I’ll be rejected.

I fear that if I can’t keep up, I’ll be left behind.

When the director says “cut,” I watch everyone disperse. I pretend to check my phone so they don’t see my shoulders drop.

I wonder if I’ve convinced them.

Was my laugh loud enough?

Was my smile wide enough?

Did I talk too much?

Did I listen enough?

Was I good enough?

When the cameras are off and I remove my mask, I stare at the face underneath.

The deep crease between her eyebrows and the shadows under her eyes.

The dark shadows beneath them.

The deflated look in her gaze shows me exactly who I forgot about.

The woman behind it all. Full of ideas and rough drafts of what could be performed.

The forethought and afterthought of every action, reaction, and interaction.

She is brilliant, but she is loud. She stutters. She upsets easily. She tells stories without a direct beginning or end.

She is unpolished.

She is imperfect.

She has dreams of being the director of her own movie, but the world stepped behind the camera first.

It told her how to act,

How to look,

How to smile,

How to live.

So she stepped on her mark and performed.

I performed.

Though actors are bound to mess up their lines.

So I’ve been spotted a few times. When my acting was too obvious, I was pulled aside and told: You don’t have to be everything for everyone. You can be your real self, and those who belong in your life will stay.

I want to believe that.

I want to believe that the woman beneath the mask still has a chance at running the show.

That she is brilliant because she has so many ideas and her mouth stutters with excitement trying to get them all out.

That she is brilliant because she is filled with passion and speaks loudly when someone asks about her interests.

That she is brilliant because she feels everything so deeply that she’ll tear up during a seemingly mundane moment.

That I am brilliant because I am not perfect and never will be.

I just need to stop performing long enough to find out.