09/12/2026
The hidden side of performing.
Pulling myself together when all I want to do is fall apart but not knowing how to fall apart and being afraid of what that looks like.
So I put on a face. And I perform.
I cried nearly the entire day. Moments of overwhelming sorrow followed by moments of numbness and disassociation. Feeling guilty for choosing to continue with the show tonight. Feeling sad. Feeling like I should be doing something, anything, other than sitting in the overwhelming sorrow that threatens to take over every time I stop moving. So I don’t stop moving. I don’t let the grief catch me longer than I have to.
So I put on a face. And I perform.
Today, we had to say goodbye to Chip. My Chip-doo. Chipperrooni. My shadow and my biggest fan.
And somehow, the world keeps going. There are things to do. There are acts to perform. An audience to dazzle and charm.
So I put on a face. And I perform.
I search for connection with people who don’t know I’m in pain.
Maybe that’s part of the hidden side of performing. Sometimes the person making you laugh, smiling for the photo, or celebrating the success of the night is carrying something so heavy they can barely breathe underneath it.
They put on a face. And they perform.
Tonight, I’m proud of the performance I gave.
And tonight, my heart is broken.
Both things are true.
And the truth is, my face is coming off. The performance comes to an end for the night.