My Hollywood Experience: How I Avoided Becoming a #MeToo Casualty

17-year-old me near the CBS studios, January 2003.

(Note: I've had this post sitting in the drafts since March 9th but I've finally gotten the chance to go back and finish it.)

Some of you longtime readers might've caught the fact that I've alluded to having had a brief flirtation with the entertainment business in my teens into my early 20s. Those who've known me for years remember those days. I honestly don't like talking much about it because I really dislike who I was at the time... and who I was surrounded by during that time. The character of Candace (in the first Will and Lina novel) was inspired by the type of people who were in my life during this time. There was a lot of lying, backstabbing, and mental abuse that I endured from people who were supposedly my friends. Despite my hating going down that memory lane, I'm going to open up about certain things for this post.

I've talked how happy I was to have been able to escape Hollywood in time but I've never really talked about the harder things I faced. After reading all the horror stories when the #MeToo movement exploded, I was grateful that, by the grace of God, I was able to avoid some of the more traumatizing experiences that seem to be the norm with other young actresses and models.

Those who've known me for years -- since before my reversion -- know the obvious key to my not having been another #MeToo casualty: my parents. My father had the nickname "The Lord of the Keys" because of how strict he was. He drove me practically everywhere, even into my early 20s. Part of the reason for that was because my anxiety was so bad that they didn't want to risk having me get a license. The other part was that my parents were overprotective of me my entire life.

I used to hate it. I still cringe when I think about it. I knew they were worried about me and that they wanted to protect me but it was so uncool to have your parents drive you everywhere when you're a teenager. Let's not even talk about how embarrassing it was to still be driven around into my early 20s. Oh, sure, I went out with friends. They used to come to pick me up and then drop me off at home at the end of our outing. I always pitched in for gas money so all they had to waste was a bit of time driving me home.

When I had auditions, my father always took me. Even if he waited outside in the car, he insisted on taking me. Neither of my parents was keen on me entering the biz but they never stopped me from trying... so long as I understood they would not pay for any of it. If I wanted it, I had to work for it. If I wanted headshots, I had to keep working as a retail slave until I earned the money. Dad drove me to auditions but he did it somewhat reluctantly.

At that time, my anxiety was at its peak. The doctor had put me on Paxil which messed up my system. I dropped down to about 105 lbs on the medication, which is very underweight for someone who is 5'7". To give you ladies an idea: the day I turned 18 I was a size 00. Yes, that's a double-zero. I didn't do anything to avoid eating nor have I ever had an eating disorder (thank goodness!). The medication was just incompatible with my body and I couldn't keep the weight on. You'd think that someone that skinny would have no issues with being told to drop weight but... wrong! I vividly remember someone called me a "cow" once; telling me that I needed to lose more weight. I remember standing in front of him, thinking, "What the heck are you smoking?" (Yeah, teenaged me didn't mince words.)

I was told what I needed to change, physically. I was never perfect and I've never been perfect (thank goodness!). I needed to have this and that surgery. I don't know how that didn't bother me or send me into a state of depression but it didn't. I had parents who always made me feel like I was fine as I was. I had an amazing core group of friends who would voice how stupid they thought other people (especially those in the biz) were for wanting to change me. I even remember once, when I was a senior in high school, we all went to the local Carl's Jr to eat after classes were over. I had told them that someone had suggested I lose more weight earlier that week. They promptly told me I was too thin and to ignore them. That was followed by a major junk food feast for all of us. lol.

Things went beyond that, though. The closest I came to having a #MeToo moment was when I was 19. A well-known Hollywood writer on a (then) popular show tried to charm me... and failed. Long story short, I was on the Universal Studios backlot filming something that day. I had arrived early and hadn't had anything to eat at that point so I decided to have lunch away from the ruckus of the shoot. Being an introvert, a sought a somewhat secluded area not far from the backlot cafe to sit and take in the experience I was having that day.

Next thing I know, this guy comes over and starts talking to me. He had business propositions but my warning radar and the red flags went off from the beginning. I was flattered but, please, I knew better. He offered me his information and talked about how his office wasn't far from where I sat and ate. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. I had heard the horror stories of the infamous "casting couches" so I was always on my guard. I didn't (and still) don't think of myself as being this super attractive person but I knew guys with power in Hollywood preyed on young women trying to break into the biz. Strong pass, amigo. I politely excused myself and went back to where we were filming.

There were other minor blips along the years. I dated an actor in my late teens and there was mutual interest with other actors over the years but I gave myself a "no actors (or musicians)" rule for a reason. That one actor was enough for me. To this day, he's still known as "the evil poopy-diaper" (we were super mature 17-18 year-olds when we gave him that nickname) by those who know me during the time that I dated him. He's the reason why I had absolutely no interest in dating for a while. He's the reason why I made a vow to never get involved with actors, at least not in a romantic capacity, ever again. Cliffs notes/spoiler version: he presented himself as being one way (very morally upright) and he was completely different (read: utterly depraved) in private. This, unfortunately, isn't uncommon in the biz.

After years of "yes, no... maybe... I like acting and screenwriting but...", my moment had come. I had recently turned 20 years old when I was offered a contract with a top agency. It was offered less than a week after my meeting with them. They "liked" my look; I looked "racially ambiguous" and a lot younger than I was. I "photographed well." I could book a lot of different jobs. They wanted to make sure I was over 18 so I could go out for commercials and print ads that featured alcohol in them... and book jobs that would allow me to present myself as the adult I was. Yeah, I knew what they meant by that -- they wanted to make sure I was old enough to be dressed in skimpy, revealing outfits (or less) if the job required it.

Immediately, I was uncomfortable with that idea. Those who've known me since childhood known that I've never been comfortable flaunting what God gave me. It was never a "modesty" thing. My parents never told me what modesty was -- I didn't even hear the term until I was in my early 20s after I reverted -- but they did raise me to always keep myself tastefully covered. Not in a way that made me ashamed of being a woman but in a way that said that I was worthy of respect. That was what my parents had drilled into me from a young age: I was a young woman worthy of dignity and respect. No one -- man or woman -- had any right to any part of my body without my consent. The way I dressed should always reflect that respect I deserved.

Did I really want to disappoint my parents (and, really, myself) by signing a contract with an agency that had absolutely no problem pimping me out for jobs? Did I want to be objectified for the sake of selling something? Absolutely not! Even at that time -- and this was a year before I reverted to the faith -- I knew that those print ads exploited women; that they used women's bodies to sell products. (side note: See, everyone? That one Women's Studies course I took my freshman year of college wasn't a total waste, lol.) I didn't want to be just another piece of meat; another woman who used her body for the pleasure of others.

When they called to offer me the contract, I declined it. They were shocked. In fact, everyone was surprised because of how much I had wanted to act. It was my creative outlet (before I realized how much more I love writing). I just couldn't do it. I wasn't comfortable with the prospect of having to go out for jobs that made me uncomfortable. There was something inside of me that yelled, "Run fast and far away and never look back!"

My parents would've supported me. When I told them that I was just going to continue going to college and figuring out what I wanted to major in, they were supportive. In fact, my mom actually told me (only a couple of years ago) that they were relieved when I had declined the contract. My parents always allowed me to make my own mistakes and only stepped in when they thought I was going to make a huge mistake I'd greatly regret. One of my most prized memories is of my father -- a few days before he passed -- telling me he trusted my judgment when it came to guys and in general. That's how I know they didn't step in when I was offered the contract. They knew I would make the right decision when it came down to it.

I know that, despite being away from the Church, my guardian angel and the Holy Spirit were looking out for and guiding me. That inner voice that told me to not sign -- to walk away and not look back? I know that was the Holy Spirit. God had greater plans for me. I can see that now. He was preparing me for my return to the Church. Sure, my life was much easier back then. The only thing I had to worry about was homework for classes and having a ride back home from a concert I went to that week. And, yes, I've had to endure a lot since, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Not only was I able to keep myself from having the burden of carrying around shame for something that I would've later regretted, I've come to see just how terrible that lifestyle is.

I'm not saying that everyone's experiences in Hollywood are similar but after hearing all the #MeToo horror stories and reading Leah Darrow's book, The Other Side of Beauty, I became even more grateful for the Holy Spirit's guidance from that lifestyle and all that potential danger. I can now sit here, before the crucifix on my bedroom wall, and thank God for helping avoid being another #MeToo casualty.

Before I end this blog post, I want to say that (small spoiler alert!) my third novel sort of touches on all of this -- what the acting world is like from the POV of those who live it. I started working on it last summer (June 2017), months before the whole #MeToo thing exploded. As many of those in the know will tell you, I felt a prompting from the Holy Spirit to write it after witnessing the intense idol worship of celebrities, particularly of young women obsessing over young celebrities. My novel doesn't really go there (there are no #MeToo situations in it because I didn't experience it and my novels tend to be cleaner in content) but it will touch on things I've experienced... and still experienced until recently. Even though I'm no longer in the biz (and haven't been since I was 20), I still have a lot of behind-the-scenes insights that most people don't have access to.

So that's my story. If you missed it: I avoided becoming a #MeToo casualty thanks to my parents and (really) the Holy Spirit and my guardian angel. Like I said, God had (and still has) bigger plans for me and that scene was not something that He wanted me to be involved with. I'm so incredibly grateful for having avoided so many potentially traumatic situations and will never take it for granted. Sure, some days I miss how carefree that time of my life was but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world -- not even all the bad I've experienced since.

OH! One more thing: please don't bother looking for me in credits for anything. I've always liked using pseudonyms to keep the craziness away. That and I'm hoping to keep the past in the past. I don't want any of that craziness dug up and brought back into my life. I spent years in cognitive-behavioral therapy due to it. Let's not add to it. lol.

Alright, I have two articles and the third novel to work on so I'll be getting back to that.

I hope you're all having a lovely start of the week.

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! :D

Grown Up Millennials and Their Parents

There's one topic I've seen come up a lot this week: how grown up Millennials are going to deal with their aging parents. Many of us are already in our mid-late 20s into early 30s and we're starting to either see parents in a new light or (if you have an older parent) you're starting to see them slowing down due to age. I fall into the latter category.

My parents were not "young" when I was born. I got to see my dad reach his 66th birthday before passing away after a 7 year battle with cancer. My mom is just starting to slow down. Her memory is not the best, which is why I go everywhere with her and why I've had to rearrange work and school schedule so that I'm able to drive her to work at 5 a.m. and pick her up when she gets off of work. She's very active but she's exhausted at the end of the day... and even goes to bed much earlier.

The topic of what I'll do when I get married has been brought up a couple of times lately with questions such as: will I take my mother with me? Will she be nearby so I can keep an eye on her? Why is it even my responsibility? Why doesn't someone else take care of her? While attempting to answer these questions myself (I do have an idea of what I would like to happen when the day that I get married arrives), there was an even bigger issue we all noticed: it's unfortunately becoming clear that many Millennials just don't want to "deal" with their aging parents.

Let's face it: we live in a world where our independence and our "me, me, me" mentality is the norm. Millennials have the sad stereotype of being lazy, selfish brats who rely too much on our parents... and (don't hate me for saying this), it's pretty spot on for a number of us. I include myself in this because I do still live at home (though this was decided at an earlier age because it's a cultural Hispanic normal I grew up with; unmarried women live with the parents until they marry) and, yes, I do contribute to the running of this household but it's nowhere near how much my mom does.

We (those who I've talked to about this issues and I; all Millennials between the ages of about 23 through 31) have all remarked how rare it is to see children wanting to take care of their parents. It's not really done. It's not "cool" and it's certainly not easy, so, of course, let's get rid of the problem. Sigh.

Just as it's weird for many Millennials to hear that I chose to take care of my parents (my dad while he had cancer, my mother as she's aging), it's weird for me that some just don't want to do it. My parents brought me up with old fashioned Hispanic values. I don't call elders by their first name; it's always "Mr.", "Mrs./Ms.", "Sir", or "Ma'am." I use the formal "usted" instead of "tu" when speaking Spanish because that's how we show respect. A coworker of my mom's made a joke about how he has to show me because I'm his elder (and I'm only 6 months older than he is.) It's just how we were raised. In the family, someone (son or daughter) takes the parents in as they're aging, whether they have a family of their own or not. Even if both parents are alive, they still live with someone. It's just how it's done (or was done; I'm not up-to-date with current Hispanic culture.) When my dad had cancer, I had no problem taking on that role. I had just turned 17 when my dad was first diagnosed with cancer and I was 24 when he passed away. With my mom, I still have no problem with the idea of helping take care of her as she ages. Like I said, this is not even an issue for me but it honestly bothers me that some people are willing to, basically, dump their parents because it doesn't fit in with their lifestyle.

If you think I'm being harsh with my assessment, I'd invite you to go visit a convalescent hospital to do volunteer work. I guarantee that you will meet patients whose family have abandoned them. My mom has worked at a convalescent hospital since before I was born so I've grown up around that environment. I've seen patients whose sons and daughters have left their parents at the hospitals and then do not return to see them until they get the call that their parents have passed away. I have had so many adopted "aunts," "uncles," and "grandparents" in my lifetime because of this.

While I know that not everyone has the means or time to personally take care of their parents themselves, it doesn't mean that they should be abandoned just like that. I'm honestly worried that that is what we're going to see with my generation: many people dropping their parents off at convalescent hospitals, senior living apartments, etc and basically forgetting about them. If you need (or will need) help taking care of your parents as they age, there's nothing wrong with that. Seeing that they get the best care they can get (with help from others who are trained to do it) is still noble; just don't abandon them because you think they're "just fine" with the help they get. Trust me, you still need to make sure they're getting the best care possible, even if it's at a nursing home; not all nurses or places are the best fit for the patients. From my experience, I know some nurses have no business being nurses. I still think of that awful nurse who made my father cry in the final weeks of his life, telling him he was there because he was an undocumented illegal who caused pity -- said this to my father who was a naturalized U.S. citizen.

If you still think you don't have a duty to your parents when you grow up, remember the fourth commandment: honor thy father and mother. I know this opens up a whole can of worms when brought up because I do know some who don't have a close relationship with their parents due to family friction that is irreparable. Some people have chosen to separate themselves from a parent (or both parents) because it's not a healthy relationship for them... but that doesn't mean we can't still, in a way, attempt to take care of our parents. You don't get along with your parents? You live too far away? Pray that God will put the right people in their path so that they can be taken care of. My mother, who didn't really know her birth mother, added her to the All Souls Day list. You don't have to like someone to wish the best for them. I know some parents are horrible to their children growing up but they can still try to forgive (which is not easy, I know) and pray for them. Want to work on reaching Heaven? Pray for your parents even if you aren't their biggest fans.

Anyway, these were my thoughts on the subject since it's come up a lot (like, a surprising amount of times) this and last week. Millennials, I dare you to defy the expectation that our generation (being so stereotypically selfish) won't give a hoot about what happens to our parents as they age. I dare you to pray for your parents, even if you don't get along with them. While my mom and I are pretty close, we don't always get along. I've prayed for her when I've been upset with her over typical mother-daughter breakdowns. Differing temperaments (she's very much an extroverted open book and I'm very much an introvert who is a lot more reserved) make it hard for us to communicate at times but, when it comes down to it, I'm always going to be there for her and make sure that she gets what is necessary as her needs change with age, no matter what. Just some thoughts for y'all since, let's be real, we're going to start seeing our parents aging soon.

Alright, I need to go do some beta reader email reading. ;)

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! :D

Unable to Find the Right Words

This past week (and especially the last couple of days) have been a little strange for me. I've found myself speechless more often than not for a multitude of reasons. The two biggest reasons have something in common -- the potential loss of a parent.

A few days ago, the mother of one of my oldest friends had a hemorrhagic stroke and today the doctors said she was brain dead. Right now the family is waiting for guidance (and/or a miracle) to make the decision on whether or not to "pull the plug." At the same time, the father of another good friend is not doing too well (he has a brain tumor that can't be treated with chemotherapy) and he may have days to live. I've found myself not being able to come up with anything to say other than they're in my prayers (which they are) and that I'm there for them (which I am). I've been in their shoes before but I find myself unable to say the right words.

Are there any right words to say in these types of situations? I had some incredible friends who knew the right things to say 5 years ago while my father was living his last weeks. Other friends gave me my space and I suspect some of them did it because they (like me, right now) didn't know what to say. I feel like everyone says the same thing (or are more eloquent) so all I can say is what I've already mentioned ("you're in my prayers", "call/text me if you need me.")

I know myself well enough to know that if I speak exactly what I feel, I'm going to end up sobbing or making them (unintentionally) cry. I feel things very deeply and I'm sensitive to seeing others in any type of pain. If you don't believe me, read the article I wrote for Envoy Magazine about my experience with my father's death; I've never had so many grown men tell me that my words made them tear up. I'm actually sitting here, trying not to tear up as I type this out. Just knowing that my friends are going through one of the most difficult things (losing a parent) is hard.

I don't live close enough to my friends to be able to physically be there for them. If I could, I would be there, at the hospitals or helping in any way that I could. They're in my heart and on my mind all day. They're in my prayers and in the prayers of my friends whom they don't know. I still hope and pray for miracles but I don't know what else to do. Why don't I feel like that's enough? Before my father's death, I didn't have much experience in this field... and I still haven't had much since. I'm at a loss of what to do. I'm just "typing out loud" at this point.

Can y'all please pray for both of them and their families? I may be unable to find the right words to say but I can, at least, help spread the news so that we can all storm heaven with prayers.

That's it for now. Sorry this post is kind of a bummer but this is what's been on my mind lately.

As always, thanks for reading and God bless. :D

I Don't Regret Taking Care of My Parents in My 20s

This week I had a fun (well, fun for me) freelance writing assignment about having compassion when taking care of aging loved ones. Even though I may still be in my 20s, most of you lovely readers know that I have my fair share of experience in this department. The assignment triggered memories about what it's like (and how much I've have to give up) taking care of my parents. Naturally I thought: hey, blog post! And now here we are. lol.

For those who are new to the blog, here's the gist of my story: I can't exactly pinpoint when my parents became a priority of mine. My dad was first diagnosed with cancer in my late teens. I ended up finishing part of my junior year and all of my senior year in a single semester. Yes, I completed 13 classes in 3 months, a year and a half ahead of schedule. I helped as much as I could while my dad did chemotherapy and went into remission. I didn't start college until I was 19. When the cancer came back (or I would get sick; anxiety/PTSD relapse), I would either go to school part time or take a semester off. The third and last the (now terminal) cancer returned, I fought Medi-Care and Medi-Cal from their constant threats of discontinuing my father's chemotherapy. I spent hours on the phone arguing with them instead of studying. I took a year off after his death to finish my degree. Somewhere towards the end of my senior year of college it became obvious that I would need to begin to take care of my mother. With her failing memory and health problems, I am going through my second round of taking care of a parent at a young age... and I don't regret it.

What I gave (and am giving) up: I gave up my "youth" in order to take care of my parents. From my late teens until now (my late 20s), I had to give up being "young" in the "young and irresponsible" sense. To be fair, a lot of things never appealed to me. Getting drunk? Going to Vegas? Staying out until the wee hours of the night? Going to parties every weekend? Nope, sorry; never my cup of tea. I also give up sleep on a daily basis as my mom doesn't drive and she starts work at 5 a.m. Yes, I get up that early to drive her to work.

I gave up my dream of attending school abroad. I never did make it to UBC (my dream school), Bath Spa University (where I was headed to prior to my father's second cancer diagnosis), nor Oxford where I was encouraged by a professor to apply. I gave up dating because I knew it wouldn't be fair to anyone to be put into that situation.

I am currently giving up my dream to move out of L.A. (seriously, someone get me out of here!) for grad school because of how things are with mom. If she hadn't started getting lost in our own neighborhood, I would've applied to UBC's Audiology and Speech-Language Pathology grad program... in a heartbeat.

Yes, I've given up (and will continue to give up) a lot... but it doesn't even matter to me. Everything I've ever given up doesn't compare to what I've gained.

I've learned how to differentiate between wants and needs. I've learned that, though it's harder, putting others needs before my own has made me happier. I think about it this way: I am only going to get one set of parents in my lifetime. I had a great father for the first 24 years of my life. I hope to have my amazing mother with me for many more years to come, even if that means giving up more in order to help her. I only have (and had with my father) one shot to thank them for everything they've ever given me and I can't think of a better way to do that than by helping them when they need it. I know a lot of people were disappointed in me for choosing Speech-Language Pathology instead of Theology because it was a way to help my mother instead of following my desire to immerse myself in Theology, but that's just how it has to be.

I sometimes think about my vocation. Though I have been pretty certain that it's being a wife and mother someday, I sometimes get these little moments of doubt. I start thinking "what guy is going to want to marry me when I have my mother to take care of?" We're sort of a packaged deal at this point. Where I go, she goes. While she won't interfere in that department (she has never meddled in any of my relationships), it's going to take some super amazing fella to accept me with her.

I get asked a lot of questions about my relationship with my parents and having had a lot of tough decisions to make as a young woman and I hope this post has answered many of them. :) P.S., Yes, I'm such an INFP... lol.

I should go eat something now. I haven't had lunch and it's almost 3 p.m. Oops. :)

I hope you all have a great weekend!

As always, thanks for reading and God bless!