Vulnerable and Volatile : Prince Rupert Drops

My self-care practices have to improve. Case in point -

@theavadavis Deploy the #emotionalsupporttiara #avadavis #actorslife #queertiktok #transtiktok #anxiety #anxietyrelief ♬ Spongebob Tomfoolery - Dante9k Remix - David Snell

I’ve started working this new job as a standardized patient. I mean, it’s not new, I’ve been there for about a year now. For me, it is incredibly rewarding. It also leaves behind a lot of residual anxiety from the trauma I’m often portraying. Medical professionals having to break bad news to a patient, and then putting my body through portraying those reactions. Imagining. And, today, I have a lot of residual anxiety residing in my body. 

But the one discovery i made, about grief, about loss, about trauma, is that the body doesn’t differentiate. That “reptilian brain” of ours responds from the most basic place (Triune Brain, basal ganglia). And our body responds. And holds onto. 

To act, according to Meisner, is to exist under imaginary circumstances. I’ll add, it is to exist under imaginary circumstances with a body that doesn’t know the difference. It’s a fine line between acting and madness. Which is why aftercare is of utmost importance. Why I’m pro intimacy coordinators - and also, pro-tip, intimacy coordinators aren’t just for sex scenes. Anything that is intimate and vulnerable, whether portraying love or hate or anger or working through emotionally charged scenes, requires intimacy coordinators who are trained to provide emotional and mental help. Coming out of emotionally charged scenes (and we really learn so much from the BDSM community) requires aftercare. One is incredibly vulnerable and raw, and so many of us lack the skills to handle these difficult emotions and sort out what we’re feeling. And often times we don’t know until a bit of time has passed. 

And, a year into this practice, this field of standardized patient work, it has made me a better actor. Of being grounded in a moment. Of stakes being high. Oftentimes, in acting classes, we talk about learning to be human. And it is learning how to operate in an artificial environment, but making it look realistic. That is the skill. Not crying on cue or huge dramatic moments. But being honest and vulnerable, and knowing how to come back from that place in a safe and healthy manner. 

I have not only learned so much from this work but this year, as a performer. 

I’ve taken part in readings this year, and experienced loss upon loss upon loss times two back-to-back this year. And another loss just as great. It was an incredibly emotionally charged year of grief and processing, and high stakes and what to do when one has poured one’s soul into a project. I have performed in readings across this city, as a trans actress. I have been able to show up fully as myself. Not masking, not pretending. But being present as the essence of myself in situations, and my most vulnerable of myself in imaginary circumstances. Working with my dear friend Skye Passmore on his oh-so-timely and wonderfully bombastic piece, including a presentation of it at the Reiser Lab at the Alliance.

From working with Topher Payne and Charlie James Cote on Rocky Horror Picture Show, and the safest of spaces they crafted. To Jennifer Boutell’s incredibly moving work, They Know Not. To a collection of monologues by Laura King, and also another collection created by writers in DC in response to the Supreme Court decision regarding abortion nationwide. To taking part in a series of vignettes filmed, also in response to this that included such an incredible array of actresses and actors across the country. And in a new movement-based piece of Trojan Women. Again, put on at the Reiser Lab at the Alliance. 

Artistically, I have seen so much growth, as a performer, as an actor. As a person. 

I feel, towards my acting, as though I have finally put in my 10,000 hours. It has also not gone unnoticed by me that this is my ten-year anniversary of starting Meisner training. 

I feel as comfortable, and as in command, of acting as I do of writing, and photography. Writing, I've been doing since childhood and I feel in command of my own voice. Of different styles. 

In high school, I started photography. Spent a couple of years in the darkroom. Spent my own time taking photos, for myself. Spent some time doing franchise portrait photography, stepped away, and realized I loved photography for me (I also love being the photographic subject).

And, now acting feels just as in my wheelhouse. And I realize I’m on another 10,000-step journey, in dance. It has also not gone unnoticed by me that when I set out to make this film, The Waltz, I don’t know how to dance. My relationship with my body. 

Last year, as part of the Harvest Cabaret, I actually practiced for the first time with choreography with a group. And in Trojan women, I am and was learning from what felt to me like movement masters. But dance, to me, is a completely different language. It is the moment. Feeling. Passion. Your relationship to the earth, to a scene partner or dance partner or group. Of moving together. And, at first, like learning any new language, it is frustrating. I’d never felt this level of frustration towards learning French, or Spanish. Though I did have it towards Latin but that’s because I spent a week in Freshman year Latin with the teacher not even covering what it meant to conjugate a verb and throwing so much at us. 

And then I switched to Spanish, and as soon as the teacher explained the concept of conjugation, it all clicked. In acting, it took a minute to understand the concept of imaginary circumstances. And the importance of subtext and being affected by every little thing. 

Dance … it’s taken me a minute to find equal footing. 

There was also the transition from the love of structure (my apollo coming out), and how this movement piece was not about structure. It is ekphrasis,  it is jazz in movement. With certain marks hit, but also the ability to … improvise. To feel the moment. I’m so used to format, in writing. To literary structure, in storytelling. To composition, in photography. To lighting, in photography. To traditional narrative storytelling.

And this, this is all new. It is different, it is something else entirely. 

After we performed at the Alliance on Monday, I felt like my dogs feel when they get the zoomies. After being constrained for so long, by internal pressure, I had released. 

All of the newnesses of movement wore on me. Similarly, I was undertaking a different kind of case in standardized patient work, more taxing, and now included travel. 

I don’t do well with change. As much as I’d like to think I’m a Dionysus, and was an adherent for a time, I’m more Apollo. The Sun. Structure and formality. Rationality. Logic. 

Versus Dionysus - disorder, chaos. Of wine and dance. (Apollonian and Dionysian) See Also. Sacred and Profane. Madonna and the Whore).

This process, felt … Dionysian. Profane. Of the Whore. And I felt lost, especially with so much new. Learning this new language of dance and movement and how it’s rooted, and where the art comes from. When I got back from a work trip, I’d missed a whole rehearsal, and felt incredibly anxious about our performance. On the first Wednesday back, with less than 6 days until we performed at the alliance, I spent most of the rehearsal in silent tears. And I know it was incredibly palpable, to the room, to my directors. The problem, when I’m stressed, is I shut down. 

Have you ever heard of Prince Rupert Drops? Absolutely fascinating, really. But in a brief description, they are these pieces of molten glass dropped in water, that then crystallize or whatever. And, the heads of these are incredibly strong. You can hammer them all you want. They’re solid. But they’re also incredibly fragile. They’re held together by all this internal tension. The tension is incredibly vulnerable in the tail. You can hammer the head, but snip or hit the tail and it shatters. 

Under duress, this is me. This was also me, on that Wednesday, trying to hold back tears because of this pressure (it’s all self-induced). I didn’t know my lines. I didn’t know the choreography. I didn't feel like I could learn the lines because … they’re mainly chorus lines and they’re so dependent, for me, on where I am in the piece and who’s saying what. And we had one more in-person rehearsal and I felt like I was going to break. The personal finances, the work trip, the stress from still producing a feature film and finding $750K to $1MM in finance, plus another feature film and somehow making that happen, and all the various projects I’ve set on for myself. Plus auditions and helping others to produce their work. 

I will say, I remember the intentions that were set out on our first day as a group. Of our director asking for patience as we work on something new. Of asking for grace, for the group and ourselves. 

If I’m being completely honest and transparent, in no way was I going to leave my group with one person down come Monday. But, to relieve any pressure, I have to know my way out. Whether in a crowded room, or a situation, or life. I have to know that I still have a choice. That I have options to consider. And so, I was fully prepared, after Monday’s show, as a way to relieve my internal pressure, of telling the group that I had to leave, to protect my mental health. I mean, I was about to fracture. 

For more context, I had a video call with one of my executive producers about the status of The Waltz. 

Look, I’ve gone through the wringer on this project this year. I spent 7 months in preparation for a program that I had no idea if we would get into. and we made it to the second round. And when I say I prepared? Staged reading at the beginning of the year, with the crazy idea of a three-camera setup to record this reading so we could use it internally to help attract financing. A crowdfunding campaign to raise funds in the event we were accepted into this program and needed to get an entertainment lawyer, help pay for website expenses, and get a financial analysis done to help attract investors. Etcetera

Then crafting a business plan, a marketing plan, a timeline for production and release, lookbooks for key scenes for wardrobe, persons attached, and why they believed in this project. One friend looked over my materials and said, it looks formidable. 

The entire application, I downloaded a complete copy of it, the questions, and all my materials, and it was 266 pages. Subtract 93 pages for the script, and about 35 pages for the Sundance questions and essays filled out. That leaves 138 pages of materials produced. Not just words on a page. Visually cohesive. Themed throughout. Branded. 

And the program reached the unfortunate decision, based on other strong applications, that they weren’t able to extend an offer this time. Along with another Film Independent program. 

I've spent the latter part of the year feeling incredibly despondent over The Waltz. I don’t know what to do. It feels out of my hands. I feel like I can hear other filmmakers wondering why I think this movie deserves this much. And, look, if it were just a run-of-the-mill indie film like The Decision, we could do it on a $50K or $100K budget. But rom-coms have a specific look. And feel. And … the film is worth it. It has the potential to bring in a decent return on investment. 

All of that baggage comes into the meeting with my executive producer, who says he has a few companies interested and we may possibly maybe there's a chance we could have funding in the first quarter of 2023. Maybe. Possibly. 

And I met with my cinematographer the next day. Two back-to-back meetings on The Waltz. My albatross. This project that I’m having to create self-care plans just to work on this thing. 

Along with the residual trauma I put my body through on the job, and quite often forget to release. 

Along with the newness and frustration of learning a new skill.

Along with the newness and frustration of feeling inadequate as a producer on these incredible projects I’ve agreed to help and feeling like I constantly let them down because I have no access to money or funding and how can I help them get their work made when I can’t even get my own two movies made or my show funded or get anything done. 

I’m also about to begin an incredibly difficult personal journey, in putting my finances in order after the destruction both I and COVID have wrought. But, my heart is full. 

So. yeah. I was a Prince Rupert’s drop, and the tail was feeling pinched, and in the stress of not knowing my lines or what the new blocking was, I felt as though I was about to shatter. 

And I also know so much of what I was feeling had nothing to do with the team over at Trojan Women so I’m in my head worried because I don’t want them to feel this energy, this is for me to process and also at the time I wasn't even entirely sure what I was feeling, so expressing it wasn't possible and it’s the whole thing my therapist and I went over where the reason I shut down when overwhelmed is I don’t know how to express myself and that leads to further frustration because others are trying to help and I just don’t know how to let them help. You know? 

And I knew. I could feel it. Because each rehearsal we have a check-in. And I’m silent. And I know it's awkward. But I also usually know what I need in most moments. 

I found this out with my mom and others in high school when I’m incredibly charged. I can’t remember what it was, I was upset, in my junior or senior year of high school. And my mom, whos so wonderful with consent, asked if she could hug me. And, basal ganglia brain, feeling threatened, just blurted out, Don’t touch me. 

The other time I remember that happening was at a party Eddie and I had thrown, and I was upset about something, and our friends were trying to help and one friend came in to hug me and I … again. Don’t touch me. Ne me touche pas. No me toca. I can get that point across over almost all of the North and South American continent, if need be. 

I felt vulnerable and volatile, and that’s never a good mix as a performer, because I do believe that everyone is responsible for how one responds to a situation. And I was in this weird space of not being able to communicate what I needed, and that made me feel so many ways but I felt unsure of myself and how I would respond. Vulnerable and volatile. 

I left Wednesday’s rehearsal quickly to call and tell Eddie I needed to take a bath when I got home. I also, in moments of stress, really just need to hear his voice. It’s calming and instantly sets me at ease. 

You see, we’ve installed an outdoor bathtub on our back deck. It’s really become the center of my self-care routine. 

And one thing I remember from a couple of years of dialectical behavior therapy is the grounding of the senses. And water is a great grounder. If you feel panicked or anxious, or unknown, you can hijack that basal ganglia brian. The mammalian diving response. Splashing cold water on the face. But also, in other ways, just focusing on the senses. 

And water is an immersive sensory experience. Especially all over the body. 

On a road trip that Eddie and I took across the country, there was an especially anxious afternoon. We’d checked into Yosemite, and in the process - first, it was hot. And second, Yosemite feels like it sits in a basin, and it feels like the heat can get trapped down there. It was also busy. Like Disneyworld's level of busyness at the height of the summer. We’re checking in, and there are these videos that just cycle through. Be mindful of trash. Stay hydrated. Lock up all food or else bears will break into the cabin or your car. If you see mice or any mice droppings, evacuate because of Hantavirus. 

We do a little hike to the base of the waterfall, and back and Eddie is like, we have to go. Like, we just checked in two hours ago and paid for a night, but we had to go. And I agreed. I was also incredibly anxious. Eddie was on the verge of a panic attack. We load back up, and I drive. We’re off to Reno, from Yosemite. Which means, crossing the Sierra Nevada. The Mountains. We’re going up in elevation, and Eddie’s panic is getting worse. We smoked like chimneys back then. But also, elevation sickness was really kicking in. Combined with the verge of a panic attack. Although now it’s starting to break through. And I’m trying to guide Eddie through my own panic attack rituals. Breathing. I keep a ring on my finger, and that is specifically to sensate, to ground myself. To feel the texture of it. That’s not working for Eddie, and neither are the ravenous sides as we’re scaling these mountain peaks. 

We finally reach a clearing, and there’s a pond. Lake. Somebody of water. Fed by glacial waters. I tell Eddie I’m going to pull over, and I want you to take off your shoes and go put them in that water. And at this p[oint, I think he’s in a state of panic and he listens. I park, and he gets off his shoes and takes off to the water. 

And he settles. And I do the same. And I settle. Shortcircuit the nervous system and make it focus on the five senses. The things you know. Instead of the scenario one’s mind creates that induces the panic, or trips the flight or fight response (which we now know includes freeze or fawn).  

I leave rehearsal. I go home to settle, and I take a bath. It’s become not only self-care but incredibly spiritual to me. 

I go into Saturday’s in-person rehearsal, half of a mind to quit, and half unsure. I know, logically, I’m making a decision from an emotional place. And rational mind told emotional mind we will make a decision after the performance on Monday. 

On Saturday, we do our check-in. and I have words this time. Between the water/bath reset, and journaling, and getting to cry with my standardized patient work, and being told five times in a row I had a miscarriage and had no baby, I let go of all of that tension - from the stress of The Waltz, from the stress of finances, from the stress of feeling inadequate, and not knowing lines - and at check-in I’m able to use my words. 

But also, I felt I owed it to my team, to my group, to let them know where I was at. And I talk about my recovering perfectionism and letting go, and my own frustrations in learning this new language of dance with a room full of strangers to see me stumble. Even typing all of this out now, I can feel my body reacting to the emotions that still dwell in those memories. It didn’t start off wanting to share, but one performer expressed what this group meant to them, and another shared, and finally, I opened up because … trust is also built by reciprocity.  And often we short-circuit building that trust via gossip, but really - and especially - as performers, trust is crucial. 

So, I shared. And others shared. And then others shared and it was beautiful and … Monday happened. And Monday was beautiful.

The end of this story is I decided to stay. I decided to trust my team on Saturday, and they held me and reinforced that trust, and that reverberated. And I also opened up about past trauma from trusting those in performing spaces, or group spaces, and fears of being hurt again. 
And that was not only heard, I was held and honored in sharing that vulnerability. And I stayed. And I share this, not only with y’all, dear reader, but also in helping myself to find the words to express this to my Trojan Women castmates and team of how grateful I am. I left Monday’s performance unlike ever before. Like I had completed another segment in my 10,000-step journey.

I’m proud of myself for honoring and making space for my own emotions, and what I needed in the moment. And the work I’ve put into that. But also, in taking the time to give myself what I needed (which feels incredibly selfish in the moment) it allowed me to give back to the group beyond measure. And to me, that is one of the foundations of a healthy community, a healthy group. A respect for the individual and the community. And taking what one needs, and finding ways to give back. 

So, it appears my self-care habits don’t need to improve. They have improved. And I’m constantly learning how I’m putting skills I’ve learned in therapy to use, and the dividends they’ve paid. 

I end this year, most years, a lot of years, in a period of reflection, and really, this long ass entry, post, and journal, is a reflection of how far I’ve really come this year. And next year, as I continue to get some other things in order, will present new challenges. But I think the lesson I’m taking away from this and into the new year is … Lean on me. The Power of vulnerability and how community can help hold us. And I look forward to seeing how I open up next year and try to do less on my own and allowing myself to trust others to help me when I need it.