Giving 110%…

Hard work is something I value. From physical and emotional storytelling, to logistics, financing, organizing… it takes A LOT of hard work to produce anything in this day and age. And I love celebrating the effort and care that artists and creatives put into their work.

However, there’s a type of work that I’m no longer celebrating: giving 110%.

Giving 110% is to give more than what’s possible, more effort and energy than what’s needed or required. We performers are conditioned to “give it our all.” From training programs, directors, audiences, culture, even from ourselves, all encourage us to sacrifice for our art. That it is noble to do so. That’s certainly how I was trained, that a truly extraordinary performance must “cost” me something.

And this is not a bad (or good) thing! Often, we performers give that cost gladly! Be it our time, attention, sleep, comfort, energy, work/home balance, physical health… we like to stretch our artistic limits for a performance. And we want to be that altruistic, to give freely of ourselves for the well-being of the production.

Yet there is a difference between altruism and self-abandonment.

The cost becomes too high when we have given so much of ourselves that we abandon our wellbeing for a production. We’ve given 110%, more than what’s required. And when we self-abandon, boundaries break down, people pleasing runs rampant, and our work becomes unsustainable and unsafe (for ourselves and sometimes for those around us). This is a sure-fire way to burn out.

Honestly, if I’m worried about a performer’s personal wellbeing while watching them perform, then I’m not paying attention to the story anymore. I don’t want to watch a colleague destroy their health or their body for their work. No matter how much we culturally romanticize the tortured artist, it doesn't necessarily make for “better” art.

Yes, I want to see hard work, innovation, and dedication on stage and screen. Creating anything in our current arts landscape is going to necessitate hard work. Even so, we can do that work without abandoning our wellbeing. Great art can cost us, it just doesn’t need to cost us everything.

So what can we do?

First off, we can give ourselves grace. More often than not, we don’t know we’ve crossed a boundary until after we’ve crossed it. This is normal. And because it’s normal, we really don’t need to double down and shame ourselves for self-abandoning. This is particularly true if we have a habit (or training) of always putting the needs of the production over own.

Instead, let’s see this as part of our learning our artistic limits. When we work, we’re constantly navigating these limits based on what is required for a production, how much we want to give, and how much we have to give. In order to do hard work, we need to know what tools, supports, and resources enable us to sustain or stretch our limits and when to pull back. That means having grounding tools, marking the choreo, coordinating child-care, rest, time with loved ones, effective self-care strategies, building nourishing consistent habits, etc.

Even if we know our artistic limits well and plan ahead of time, we may still have to recalibrate as we go. What the show requires of us in preview #1 is different than performance #35, or day 1 on set vs day 9, if we’re recovering from injury, have a lot going on in our personal lives, how much sleep we got (or didn’t get), etc. This is why it’s also important to pace ourselves and learn how to recover as we go. When we have a habit of recovering as we go, it decreases the likelihood of burnout.

Next, we can ask for outside support! From our coaches, team, friends, family, union, and sometimes even from the production itself. Some productions might be able to hire a Mental Health Coordinator, Cultural Coordinator, offer PT, shift our start time, PTO, vocal coaching, or even just stock the greenroom with electrolytes.

Not every production has the means to provide these resources but we can ask. We can work with our team to negotiate these into our contract, plan for recovery (or a vacation) after the contract ends, or even just pass on the production. Yes, it is very hard to say no, but it is still an option. And unfortunately if our well-being is that worn-out, it may be our best option.

Lastly, I’d love for us to take a look at our own biases. What do we think about that actor that left the project due to an injury? What about due to their mental health? What about the performer that got injured and finished the show? Or the one that ended their contract to spend more time with their kids?

What would we have done? What cost are we willing (or not willing to give) to give?

While there may be some industry consensus about how much we “should” give, at the end of the day only we can decide what cost is too much for our work. And that will vary performer to performer, and even from one contract to the next. What we were willing to give as emerging performers may be different than when we’ve been doing this for 10, 20, or even 30 years. And while we might not always agree with someone else’s choices, we can respect them without spreading shame, shade, or stigma.

Prioritizing our well-being does not make us bad at our job. Our wellbeing is necessary in order to sustain our artistry and have a long career in the arts. And personally, I’d love us to get to a point where we don’t have to choose between the two.