I Thought Theatre Kids Were Annoying—Then I Became One

I didn’t start community theatre until I was 41—and I used to find theatre kids annoying. What began as one impulsive “yes” turned into a creative home, lifelong friendships, and a reminder that it’s never too late to step into the spotlight.

Before I Ever Said Yes

I consider myself a pretty average person living a pretty average life. I’m a wife and mother, blessed with a healthy family and good friends. I’m also a Creative. I love crafting, fashion, theatre, and music—especially singing.

The most interesting thing about me is that I didn’t start community theatre until the ripe old age of forty-one.

Eight years later, I’m still here.

What makes this especially funny is that theatre was never on my radar.

Growing up, I was a choir kid. And to be honest—I found theatre kids annoying. They always seemed so…dramatic.

(Yes. I see the irony now.)

My First Musical

In 2018, I worked for a small company run by a husband-and-wife team. During one of our casual conversations, I mentioned that I sang in my church choir. The wife, who had a degree in Theatre Arts, lit up immediately and told me about auditions for Hairspray happening in our town.

She planned to audition and suggested I try too.

Without overthinking it, I said yes.

That yes marked the beginning of what I now call my Yes Era.

I was cast as one of the singing Dynamites and had an absolute blast—from rehearsals to showtime. My oldest daughter auditioned and was cast as well, sparking her own love of theatre. Most importantly, I formed friendships with castmates that are still strong years later.

That one yes didn’t just lead to a show.

It led to momentum.

It Really Is a Small World (Especially in Theatre)

The music director from Hairspray encouraged several of us to audition for Sister Act at a larger theatre company in a neighboring city—just thirty minutes from my hometown.

A theatre that had existed since the 1990s.

A theatre I had somehow never known about.

I walked into auditions with only one musical under my belt and a whole lot of nerves. I walked out cast as one of seventeen singing and dancing nuns.

From there, the dominoes kept falling.

The bandleader from Sister Act invited us to audition for The Buddy Holly Story. Still firmly in my Yes Era, I auditioned and landed a role as a sassy 1950s singer and one of Buddy Holly’s backup vocalists—my first jukebox musical with a live band.

It was intimidating. I was surrounded by seasoned musicians. But I held my own—and even received my first positive review in the local newspaper.

A newspaper. Wow. That feels ancient to say out loud.

Next came Steel Magnolias. No singing this time. Just dialogue. Lots of it. That terrified me.

I auditioned anyway and was cast as Clairee Belcher, working alongside an all-women cast. Learning from other talented female artists was powerful, affirming, and unforgettable.

All of this happened within two years, leading straight into 2020—the year theatre, like everything else, went dark.

Shades of Talent

The pandemic forced artists to adapt. Quarantine gave us time to grow, reflect, and imagine new ways to create.

During my whirlwind of productions, I couldn’t ignore how few African-Americans I saw represented in local theatre. I reached out to former castmates from Hairspray—all Black women like myself—and we began talking about how to encourage more People of Color to participate and how to create space for our stories.

We didn’t have a master plan. We had a need.

From that, Shades of Talent was born.

Since then, we’ve produced a dramatic play by a Black woman playwright, two musical cabarets celebrating Black Broadway, and continue to spotlight local artists of color and underrepresented opportunities in our community.

Burn out and Re-Entry

After surviving the worst of the pandemic, I had several productions on my résumé and a network of incredible artists I never expected to know.

But my Yes Era eventually ended.

I needed rest. I needed space. I stepped away from the stage for three years.

In 2024, feeling rusty and unsure, I checked audition listings at the theatre where it all began. I saw auditions for a musical called Disaster. I wasn’t familiar with it, but once I learned it was a quirky jukebox musical packed with ’70s hits, I signed up.

I left the audition feeling less than confident.

I was cast anyway.

I played Levora Verona, a sassy retired disco diva—and that production became one of the most joyful theatre experiences I’ve ever had, gifting me yet another set of lasting friendships.

The Trifecta of 2025

Disaster woke something up.

The following year, I performed in three productions.

The first was Ain’t Misbehavin’: A Fats Waller Musical—a bucket-list show celebrating Black musical history with an all-Black cast.

Next came Hits of Broadway: A Celebration of Color in Musical Theatre, my second opportunity to both produce and perform an original cabaret.

And finally, Beautiful: The Carole King Musical.

This was the first time I truly felt my age, surrounded by younger cast members bursting with talent. Instead of feeling discouraged, I felt humbled and inspired.

What Theatre Has Taught Me

Theatre taught me that magic is never a solo effort. Every role—onstage and behind the scenes—matters.

It taught me that there is always more to learn, especially when you start later than most. I’ve learned techniques, tips, and wisdom from performers of every age and experience level.

It taught me about my own strengths, insecurities, and how much I’m willing to stretch beyond my comfort zone.

And finally, it taught me that those theatre kids I once found annoying often grow up to be some of the most compassionate, hardworking, and passionate adults you’ll ever meet.

Turns out, they were just practicing.

My Advice to Anyone Curious About Theatre

Go for it.

I’m living proof that it’s never too late to start. Study the craft. Stay open. Build genuine connections. And if you ever get the chance to encourage another artist—be that light.

End scene.

Author’s Note:

To my fellow former choir kids, late bloomers, and anyone who ever side-eyed theatre kids from afar—I see you. Turns out, there’s room for all of us under the stage lights. Even if we arrive fashionably late.