What I learned from my Listen To Your Mother audition

23 Feb

You will try your best not to think about it so much, but in reality it’s the only thing running through your mind since you sent in your email requesting an audition spot.

It will take weeks to choose a piece to read, then when you read it for your best friend, she chooses a different one for you.

When the Producer and Director say to bring 3 copies of your piece, the third one is for you. Bringing your own copy in large print made you look like an old grandmother who needs bifocals to read 12 pt font.

You’ll practice your piece standing up, but when you get there the Producer and Director will be sitting on a couch since the audition is in a hotel room. There will be a chair waiting for you to sit and read. This will throw you off a little.

You’ll decide five minutes after meeting them, that there is no doubt in your mind that you want to be a part of their show. It is more apparent to you now than ever.

You think you won’t cry when you read. But you do. Just a little.

You’ll feel confident going in but more unsure of yourself than ever as you walk out the door and get into your car to drive home. You’ll wonder if they really liked you and your writing. Or were they just being polite?

The week after the audition will feel like the slowest week of your life. Especially since there is no school on Monday due to President’s Day.

You will try your best to focus on the normal day-to-day tasks and activities of life after the audition, but really all you can think about is whether or not you made the cast.

Five days after the audition, when the email finally arrives in your inbox, you’ll read it quickly. Because when it comes time to take the band-aid off, the faster you do it the less it will hurt.

You think you won’t cry when you read the rejection email. But you do.

You’ll wonder if you could have done something differently. Would it have changed their minds?

You’ll long to hear “I’m so sorry, honey. I know how hard you worked on your piece and how badly you wanted this. It’s okay.” while he wraps his arms around you.

But instead, he’ll say “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just one audition. There will be other opportunities, honey.” which will sting. And more tears will come.

You’ll give the kids a bath and tuck them both in, reading more books than you usually do, because it’s a distraction from the hurt.

You’ll pull out your journal and you’ll write until you feel better. Or at least until you stop crying.

You’ll want to self-medicate with a big, expensive bar of dark chocolate and a glass or two of really good red wine but instead at that moment you’ll realize you’re the textbook definition of an emotional eater and so instead you’ll choose to take a bubble bath.

In the end, you’ll realize that this just may not be your time to “no longer be anonymous” and so you’ll decide to keep your identity under wraps a little while longer.

You’ll be flattered that both the Producer and Director email you to ask you to audition next year. And to not be a stranger.

And you’ll think: maybe 2014 will be your year to share your story on stage.

You really hope so.

Congratulations to the 2013 Cast of Listen To Your Mother DC! I’m looking forward to another incredible show on April 28th. Last year I was inspired, this year I auditioned, and maybe next year will be my year.

LTYMAbout the show:

The mission of each LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER production is to take the audience on a well-crafted journey that celebrates and validates mothering through giving voice to motherhood–in all of its complexity, diversity, and humor.
LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER aims to support motherhood creatively through artistic expression, and also financially–through contributions to non-profit organizations supporting families in need.
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9 Responses to “What I learned from my Listen To Your Mother audition”

  1. Kristin Alexander (@SaidKristin) February 27, 2013 at 2:20 pm #

    I’m so sorry you didn’t make the cast. You described everything I would have felt if I had gotten that same rejection e-mail, much as I would have tried to let it roll right off my back. Rejection stings, plain and simple. But definitely take Stephanie and Kate’s encouragement to heart and try again next year. There’s a reason they’re telling you that. :)

    • BipolarMomLife February 27, 2013 at 2:23 pm #

      Thanks so much, Kristin! I am so excited for you and look forward to meeting you after the show! Thanks for stopping by to read and comment. And yes, I’m already looking forward to next year’s auditions. :)

  2. jodifur February 24, 2013 at 1:09 pm #

    I auditioned last year and I didn’t make it. I auditioned this year and I made it. So definitely try again. I’m sure whatever you read was amazing.

    • BipolarMomLife February 24, 2013 at 9:06 pm #

      I will, Jodi. Definitely. I read your post after the cast announcement and it was definitely encouraging. :) I look forward to hearing your piece at the show. Congratulations!!

  3. thebigpieceofcake February 23, 2013 at 8:16 pm #

    Sorry if this is a duplicate…made me sign in and then POOF – comment gone. Anyway – I meant every word I said. You shouldn’t be anonymous. Work on that memoir – tell your story wherever you can. And I expect to see you at 2014 auditions! (but I’ll stay in touch in the meantime)

    • BipolarMomLife February 24, 2013 at 9:03 pm #

      You can count on me to be there for next year’s auditions, Kate! Thanks so much for your encouragement and I’ll see you at the show in April.

  4. bipolaronfire February 23, 2013 at 7:04 pm #

    Beautifully written. Hell, I wanna cry now.

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. This Is How Big My Brave Is | Bipolar Mom Life - May 8, 2013

    […] an appropriate time to share this post I wrote to them last year, which I edited a bit to use as my Listen To Your Mother audition piece in […]

  2. My Time to Stand Up to Stigma | Bipolar Mom Life - April 12, 2013

    […] as that statement came out of my mouth a month ago at my Listen To Your Mother DC audition, I didn’t yet fully believe what I was saying. I still saw the faces of my parents in […]

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