Goodbye LA, Hello Me

Why leaving doesn't mean you couldn't hack it—it means you're choosing yourself.

I’m sitting at an LAX terminal waiting to board a plane out of LA for an undetermined period of time.

Maybe it will be 6 months.
Maybe it will be 3 years.
Maybe it will be forever.
I’m calling it my “LA Sabbatical.”

The Shame of It All…

There is a lot of shame that an actor can feel when they make the decision to leave LA.

The shame of feeling like you are giving up on “your dream”—which I personally have issues calling this career path a “dream.” The shame of feeling like maybe you couldn’t hack it. Maybe you weren’t talented enough. Or pretty enough. Or connected enough. Or hungry enough. Or maybe you just ran out of money.

If you are reading this from your childhood bedroom because you had to move back home or from your apartment in a new city—I want to tell you that you have nothing to be ashamed about.

You are still an artist.
You are still a storyteller.

Your worth and/or validity as an actor is not determined by your proximity to LA. And we need to normalize choosing ourselves vs. continuing to sacrifice our lives for this industry.

10 Years in LA

This is going to be a long one—so buckle up.

I’ve learned a LOT during my time in LA. I’m not going to sugar coat it—LA kicked my ass the first couple of years.

I came out of grad school with big GOALS. I was going to be “The Latina Louis C.K.” (before he got canceled—this was 10 years ago, remember!). I was going to write, star, direct, and edit my own work. I was so inspired by Broad City and was desperate to find the Abbi to my Ilana.

The Agent Meeting from Hell

But in my first agent meeting after our LA showcase, the agent—dressed in all white like a fucked-up version of Colonel Sanders—humiliated me when he pointedly asked how old I was. When I coyly answered the way I was told to in school, “I play 28-32,” he rolled his eyes and said, “You actresses and your age.”

When he asked about my time in grad school and I shared how much I’d enjoyed teaching undergrads for two semesters, he looked at me dead-eyed and pointedly said, “Do you want to teach or do you want to act?” As if it was some kind of crime to try to do both.

When I started to announce the play title for the monologue I had prepared to perform in his office, he stopped me and said, “I don’t care who it’s from.” I wondered why he had brought me into his office at all. It felt like he had just scheduled this meeting so that he could feel superior to someone for an afternoon.

He passed on me, obviously, AND he also chipped away at the confidence I had built after investing THREE years into my training.

The Comedy Class That Broke Me

He wasn’t the only one to cause damage to my confidence. Eager to break into the comedy world, I was told to audit THE COMEDY CLASS IN LA. I won’t name her here, but the fact that audio leaked of her encouraging a Jewish actress to change her name to be more Latin so she could get an agent and she is STILL teaching in LA is beyond me. Google it.

During my audit session, she looked me dead in my face and told me that I couldn’t play Latina (even though I was BORN in South America and am fluent in Spanish). Moments later, I witnessed her tell another white actress that she should dye her hair darker because she could play Latina—which tells me the leaked audio was NOT an isolated incident.

She also told me that I would never work in TV because of my voice. In front of a room full of actors she declared, “I would recommend you to a voice teacher, but I actually think that this is your natural voice. You should just go into animation.” After the class, she came up to me and said, “I don’t think you are going to take my class, but stay in touch.”

I was humiliated and shell shocked. I spent that evening crying in my friends’ backyard—as they held space and tried to lift me up…but it was too late.

My Achilles Heel

She had zeroed in right on my Achilles Heel—my voice. The reason why I went to grad school in the first place was to “fix my voice.”

When I was in middle school, the most popular guy in school told me, “You could be cool if it wasn’t for your voice.” My first acting teacher told me it was “too shrill.” At a casting workshop in New York, the casting director told me they didn’t know what to do with me because my features made me look strong, but the moment I opened my mouth my high-pitched “baby” voice caused a dissonance they couldn’t get past. I longed for Kathleen Turner’s voice.

And then I thought: “Maybe I should just go into comedy! Look at Fran Drescher—her quirky voice is the reason she’s famous!”

So, you can imagine how devastating it was to hear that the reason my comedy dreams were not going to come true was because of something that was INHERENT to my instrument. Something that I couldn’t change and my 3 YEARS in school did not fix.

Whatever confidence I had left, she shattered it that day. Weeks later, I had my first panic attack while driving and had to pull over before I hurt myself.

But then LA theatre saved me.

Finding My Place

My first play in LA: Collective Rage: A Play in 5 Boops at Boston Court

LA theatre welcomed me with open arms. I created a community. I found a creative home with IAMA Theater. I became their Literary Manager. They encouraged me to write and produced my solo show, The Oxy Complex, during the pandemic. I felt seen. It took me almost three years, but I found my voice and got my confidence back.

My last workshop for the Geffen Writers’ Room two days before I left LA. The Refrigerator by Keiko Green

Eventually, I did book some TV work.

At my first TV job after the ABC Showcase, I was sitting next to Lake Bell waiting to shoot a scene for Bless This Mess. I built up the courage to tell her how much I loved her movie, In a World…, and what it meant to me because I had struggled for so long to accept my voice.

She told me, “The reason I hired you was because of your voice.”

My voice was also the reason I was cast as Fake Angela in the first season of The Rehearsal. My ability to mimic the real Angela was so uncanny that the crew sometimes did double takes on set. I guess grad school wasn’t a waste after all.

Reading Nathan Fielder to filth ;)

Eventually I started coaching and teaching while also being a working actor—something that first agent made me think was impossible.

And then I realized….

They had lied. Those gatekeepers didn’t know a damn thing about me, my potential, or what I was capable of achieving.

Two Headshots, Ten Years Apart

When I first arrived in LA, I was so desperate for someone to tell me who I was. I went to all sorts of branding workshops and tried on personas that I thought would get me cast. I let people poison my well and make me feel small. So many stories and not enough time to share in one post.

But the only way out is through. There are no quick fixes. It takes time to figure out who you are as an artist—and honestly, that work is never done.

I came across my first headshot after grad school. When I look at it, I see someone who is trying to project strength but doesn’t quite own it. Who didn’t feel like she was enough. I can’t see who she is because she doesn’t know yet.

When I shared that headshot with the one I just shot before leaving LA with a friend, she texted:

Left: photo by Joanna Degeneres | Right: photo by Jackson Davis

“The lady on the left is a character that has a lot of questions. She’s reacting to the narrative. The woman on the right has the answers and is controlling the narrative. She’s driving the ship.” (I have the best friends.❤️)

That text rang true in my core. I could see it so clearly when I put the images side by side. Whatever lessons I needed to learn during my time here were completed.

Widening the Lens

I share all of this because I’m not choosing to leave LA because I couldn’t hack it—I’m proud of everything I achieved here.

I am just widening the lens. I’m controlling my narrative. I am choosing me.

I’m planning on spending some time abroad. I’m hoping to teach self-tape workshops in the UK. Immerse myself in Spanish in Madrid. Learn about the different markets in the EU and share that with our membership and students. Continue coaching and teaching actors virtually. Make writing a more consistent part of my life—so make sure you are subscribed to my Substack.

I’m going to create a GLOBAL community of empowered actors and hopefully save folks from all the shit I went through because I didn’t have a mentor and didn’t know better. Help them find their artistic voice and build their confidence in a safe space. BTW, if you want to get on The Practice Track waitlist, we will open up spots in January.

And because of self-tapes and Zoom, I don’t have to give up on my career goals. I will still be available to audition for jobs that feel in alignment and are worth me coming back to LA for.

Looking towards 2026…

Photos by Jackson Davis

This will be the year we stop asking permission. The year we stop letting gatekeepers define our worth or dictate our timelines. The year we realize that our careers don’t have to look like anyone else’s—and that’s exactly what makes them ours.

If you’ve been thinking about making a change, taking a risk, or choosing yourself over what you “should” be doing— please know that your artistry isn’t confined to a zip code.

Your voice matters. Live YOUR life.
And you are exactly where you need to be.❤️

If you want to support my work (moving is expensive) and/or buy me a coffee ☕️ —$5 goes a long way ;)

P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Share your LA story with me—the challenges, the breaking points, and if you left, what finally made you choose yourself?