Allowing yourself to
be an injured artist.

Injuries aren’t fun, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to avoid them for the most part. Unfortunately, I haven’t been so fortunate. Growing up dancing, I’ve encountered multiple injuries in my life. Tendonitis, plantar fasciitis, displaced shoulder blade, severe back injury, and I believe there was a broken toe somewhere in there. Also, this summer, I displaced a rib in my sleep – that’s crazy! Today I’m going to share one of my injury stories hoping that it helps you evaluate when you should take a step back and take some needed r and r.

The show must go on.

I feel whenever you try to push through an injury, it all starts with that familiar saying, “the show much go on,” which is very much the mantra of the performing arts community. No matter what happens, there will be a show to perform when the curtain goes up. Growing up, I lived that mentality; it’s what everyone said, so it’s what I did – even when it wasn’t in my best interest.

I find it interesting that as artists, we put such an extraordinary burden on ourselves to push through an injury, whether that be mental or physical, for the sake of a show, for the sake of pleasing others. I’m not sure how many other professions do that?

Storytime.

September

I started my degree at the U of A with quite a severe back injury, but I was too scared to mention it. I was already struggling with confidence about “why they chose me” I didn’t want the fact that I had an injury to make people judge me (which looking back, is ridiculous). So, I pushed through all of my movement and acting classes and for the first couple of weeks, and I was fine. It wasn’t until the end of September until I started to notice how bad my back was flaring up.

I didn’t like people worrying about me, and because of that, I didn’t share as much as I should. I thought telling people about my injury people would view me as weak, as not good enough. I didn’t want to be introduced to new peers that way because that’s how people always saw me in dance studios. I was never the girl with the highest kick or the the best turn out, so I was beneath everyone. So, when I started acting, I wanted to remove that image from myself altogether. So, I didn’t tell anyone about my back… until I couldn’t hide the pain anymore.

October

It got to the point where I couldn’t sit for long periods of time, do a roll down or even bend over to tie my shoes without being in pain. I felt so incredibly broken, and alone in a city I just moved to, so I had to ask for help. I couldn’t live my life or do my craft anymore. So, I went on the hunt for physiotherapists, which unfortunately didn’t go so well. I ended up seeing four different therapists, and none of them could figure out what was going on. So, I gave up looking for help and found yet another mentality to push through so I could get my work done. The show/education had to go on – I worked too hard for it, not to.

November

I continued doing movement and dance classes and did everything I could to get the most out of my education. I saw a physiotherapist, but it seemed to only make things worse, but I was convinced that it could only get better over time. Then I got a call to be a part of The Pasadena Rose Bowl Parade. I had performed with the Calgary Stampede Showband in the past, and they called me to see if I was interested in joining them in Pasadena, which by the way, is a 3-hr parade, a car ride from Edmonton to Calgary, 3 FREAKIN hours on dancing. ON CONCRETE. I didn’t want to miss such an incredible opportunity, plus I love band. I love marching band so much, but I had to think about it. But I just love band so much so, in the end I ended up caving and said, “count me in” .

December

I had a week to learn and review six dance routines that I would be performing during the trip to Pasadena. Learning them wasn’t the difficult part. The difficult part was putting my body through an intense week of choreography and prepping, In order to be “performance ready” for the end of December. Sure enough, I learnt all of the dances, but my body wasn’t feeling too hot. But I thought, “push through – the show must go on,” – “this is the life of an artist” I thought, so I did.

January

The big day, The Rose Bowl Parade. My body was angry with me because the band had already performed at several smaller events in Pasadena, but that also means I was used to a certain degree of pain. So I thought, no biggie, what is a three-hour performance really going to do??

Before we stepped off, we were reminded that during this parade, you could not take breaks. If you needed to stop, go to the bathroom, or get injured, a scooter man would come and take you away, and you would be unable to re-join the performance.

“The show must go on.”

So, I stepped off, and we were going. I was able to perform in front of millions of people, and it was such incredible fun. We were hitting the halfway marker, and sure I was in pain, but it was my choice, so I was okay with it. This is what artists do. I made my peace.
Then I remember I kicked my leg in second, and something just snapped. There was a major muscle spasm on the left side of my body.

“The show must go on.”

From that point on, I was in severe pain.

“The show must go on.”

All of my kicks were no longer at my face but right in front of me.

“The show must go on.”

But after 20 minutes its seemed to subside, it got back to the old familiar pain that I was used too, and I finished the parade.

“I let the show go on.”

After the parade, I felt normal, we got back to the hotel, and I stretched out for injury prevention’s sake. I went to the hot tub to chill out my muscles and decided to take a nap to rest up for the rest of the day.

“I let the show go on.”

I woke up in tears. I had no idea what was going on. I tried to get myself up, and then I discovered I could not move, not even my neck. I was paralyzed by pain. My roommates weren’t in, so I figured out how to roll off my bed, onto the ground, rip my phone from out of that charger and called for help.

I let the show go on, and I paid the price. It took me months to recover from that choice, and I am still working on strengthening my back every day. That being said, that was my choice, and if I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I had so much fun, I got to travel to a beautiful place, and performed in front of millions. Before accepting the job, I assessed all of the risks, and I knew what I was getting myself into. Would I do it again right now though… no, no, I would not.

Injury prevention.

Long story short: if you seriously injured yourself, stop what you’re doing and take care of yourself. There will always be other shows, but there is only one you. That being said, make sure your injury is justified; having a stomach-ache vs breaking a limb are two very different exceptions.

Also:
– Just because you have a high pain tolerance doesn’t mean you should put yourself through the pain.
– Just because you have a high pain tolerance doesn’t mean you’re stronger than everyone.

It takes strength to know when to stop.

When an injury comes up now, I get it assessed if it’s still there after a week. A week is a good span of time for something not serious to go through the motions and pass on. But if it’s still around after a week, you should get it checked out.

Epiphany.

The show can only go on if you can.

I had this fear of losing opportunities, of saying “no” and disappointing people. I had this fear of disappointing myself. I was, and sometimes still am, such a harsh critic of myself. I think most young artists are, but we need to be better at saying no. We need to be better at looking after ourselves, so we can do this for the rest of our lives and not burn out in 10 years. So I’m working on saying no, of taking care of my body, and knowing that there will always be jobs because I work too hard for there not to be. And if there aren’t any jobs, I’ll make myself a new one, because that’s the gig, the show does go on. You have to decide if you can be a part of it.

Think

– If you do this show, will you still be able to do tomorrow’s?
– If you take this gig, will you need a month of recovery time before the next one?

“You only have one body.”
That was the most common advice my mum gives me, and I wish I took that advice more seriously sooner. Take care of yourself, don’t do anything that would possibly limit the rest of your career. There will always be more shows – it may not seem like it at the time, but it’s true.