Someone Please Help Me… Anyone?

As an actress, you have to find a way to exist in a business that does everything in its power to say you don’t exist. You’re not good enough. You’re too fat, too pretty, too quirky. And this can all change on a dime, based on someone else’s ill-informed opinion.

I was once told my name sounded like a toothpaste brand and that I should change it immediately. I may not know much, but I do know that Jen Dede is a great name! The frustration and confusion were, at times, maddening.

I was also told to be grateful for the shitty little crumbs I got and to gobble them up before they were passed on to someone else. You are replaceable. I spent years “gratefully” choking on those crumbs until I couldn’t do it any longer. I needed help. I needed someone to pick up the phone on my behalf. I needed someone to take a chance on me. I needed someone who wouldn’t say, “Your name sucks,” but would instead get me an audition—an opportunity to make a living at what I do.

But still… nothing.

So I started asking for help for what I thought I needed in my career. At first, I was terrified. I worked up the nerve to ask in many different ways, getting better at it with each ask. I started to realize that my problem wasn’t knowing how to ask for what I needed. I asked. My problem was this: What do you do when you ask, and you get nothing?

Here’s the thing—it was like I was asking for a beautiful, delicious, ripe red apple, and someone would throw a stick of sugar-free gum at me. I felt like I was living in a bad dream. I knew I had a gift, but I also knew it needed to be tended to daily. I did everything “right.” I diligently worked on my craft. Every week, rain or shine, I showed up at one of the most prosperous acting studios in town and challenged myself to learn more.

I took every job I could. I got a few breaks. I came close to others. I said no to nudity and yes to pasties. I dyed my hair red, then brown, then red, then blonde—then all of them (this is possible). I was stuffed into the sexy category, the funny category, the one-who-could-cry-on-a-dime category. The door I was trying to bust through was sealed tight with super glue, and no one was going to help me open it.

Then I started asking myself, If no one ever helped me in the way that I needed, how could I help myself?

I also realized that the step of asking for help—which seemed so entirely fruitless—was actually crucial in my evolution, because it made me brave. And no matter the result, it always gave me clarity and moved me to the other side.

Out of utter frustration, I began to write. In my mind, I wasn’t a “real” writer, so I had nothing to lose. I took my writer friends out to coffee to pick their brains. I took their workshops and read all the books. I asked for feedback and gained champions along the way. Nikki DeLoach was a big one, by the way! We all need champions to keep us going.

I wrote and produced shorts. I wrote with different partners and in different genres. I started writing a film about a story close to my heart. I realized I had so much more to give. I ended up breaking through a massive wall—the wall that could have kept me in a small box forever. Playing the small, helpless actor wasn’t working anymore. Begging for people to help became an afterthought.

I found my worth, and for the first time in forever, all my previous struggles felt on purpose… for purpose.

I began saying a big, fat, happy NO to work that felt demeaning. I said no to projects that paid nothing—unless they added immense value to my artistic career. The liberation of each NO became a high. And then, it hit me…

All those years, I thought I was asking for what I needed, only to be ignored, dismissed, and rejected. The truth is, I was asking for what I wanted and was actually getting what I needed.

I know.
Read that again.
And again.
Now sit with that.

Opportunities and people entered my life that empowered me to know my worth as an artist and to believe in myself enough to have my own back. I got real with the fact that no one was going to come along and do that for me. This is one of the greatest life lessons we can learn as humans.

Sitting around waiting for permission—for someone to save you, heal you, or bring you success—is a door that will never open. Instead, I learned to do all of those things for myself.

Don’t get me wrong—we need people in our lives who love us deeply and care enough to catch us when we fall, offer a helping hand, or open a window of opportunity. I have intentionally filled my life with those people. But I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life waiting for the magical person who holds the one key to the opportunity door, only to be disappointed when it didn’t work.

I had to learn to swim without a life preserver.

I hated it for a while. I downright resented it. But I made it across the ocean.

At the time, I had no idea what lay ahead for my husband and me regarding our fertility journey, but I can’t help but think the path I walked as an artist prepared me to endure it—and continues to inform and empower me. The evolution of life is beautiful like that.

I learned this poem in high school, and it has always resided deep in my heart since. Maybe on some level, I knew I would be taught this lesson in a big way—and that it would lead me toward true happiness:

“Don’t wait for someone to bring you flowers.
Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul.”