I’m returning to acting after a decade away—a decade that completely reshaped me:
In my 20s, everything seemed to fall into place: booking theater and TV roles, working with idols, and living what I thought was my dream. But beneath the surface, something wasn’t right. The passion that had burned so brightly began to flicker. I started asking questions I couldn’t ignore: Why am I doing this? What does it all mean?
Unanswered questions from my Near-Death Experience at 19 demanded clarity. As I climbed further, I saw behind the curtain—the hustle, competition, and relentless push for recognition. I didn’t want to just “make it”; I wanted my work to feel alive, not a rat race of achievement.
By 30, I realized I couldn’t keep going. Without a plan, I walked away from the city, the industry, and the identity I’d built. I didn’t know what came next, only that I needed something real.
At first, I turned inward, meditating and searching for answers. I joined the start-up world for new surroundings. Then life hit hard. When my two best friends died in the same week, grief overwhelmed me. Everything I’d buried surfaced, and for a time, I didn’t want to go on.
That pain became a turning point. I dove into healing—deep, raw, uncomfortable healing. My life changed so much that I trained as a somatic trauma therapist and began guiding others to uncover who they are beneath the roles they play. That work cracked me open and brought me back to myself.
Somewhere along the way, the pull toward acting returned. Not for validation, but for the craft. I miss the honesty, the connection, the rawness of working with text, roles, and the camera. I feel more durchlässig now—open, transparent, letting stories and emotions flow through me without resistance.
At 40, I’m returning as a different person. I’ve lived, faced my shadows, and come out freer and more alive. Acting is no longer about being seen—it’s about playing, exploring, and telling stories that matter. I’m ready for what’s next.
