Laura Simms is a Los Angeles-based actor who works in film, television, voice-over, theatre and print. Laura has studied with The Royal Shakespeare Company at Stratford-upon-Avon, at The Dell’Arte International School of Physical Theatre, and received an MFA in acting from UC Irvine. She has performed in every state on the Eastern seaboard, toured to international festivals in Italy and Romania, and was in a world-record breaking 70 hour improv show. TV: Castle, ER, Leverage, Criminal Minds. VO: Walt Disney Records, Sony, Mazda, Bratz 4 Real, Saints Row 2. Laura also coaches at Create as Folk, where creative career strategy meets quality of life coaching. Working with actors, artists, and creative entrepreneurs, Laura empowers and informs motivated folks for action, fulfillment, and a little bit of mischief.

I wanna talk about what doesn’t get talked about: quitting acting.

People in the industry, even coaches and teachers, won’t go there.

Because it’s scary. It’s personal. And because industry-related businesses rely on actors being actors, even if it’s time for them to move on.

I’m not here to convince you to quit acting; if you have zero doubts about your career and how it affects the rest of your life, stop reading now.

But if you’ve ever struggled, doubted, second-guessed, or questioned your career as an actor, then let’s take a minute to get real. Every actor I’ve ever spoken with one-on-one admits that at some point she’s questioned her career choice. And I think that’s a good thing.

You’re an actor because you’re the question-asking type. You didn’t go for traditional job. You had a vision, you worked your ass off to chase it, and you’re still here. That’s to be commended.

What’s not to be commended is when you keep chasing at the expense of what’s best for you. And guess what? If don’t want to act anymore? It doesn’t mean that you’re a failure or a sell-out. What no one tells you when you’re starting out: your dreams can change.

Truth:
Your priorities may change.
What’s fun may change.
What’s fulfilling may change.
What you’re willing to sacrifice may change.
Your interests may change.

If these things shift for you and you’re not willing to adjust your career accordingly? That’s the failure.

I’m not saying give up when it gets hard. I’m saying get honest. Evaluate what you get out of being an actor now. I’m asking you to entertain the tough questions.

Questions like:
Does this feel like a chore/obligation, or am excited to do and pursue the work?
Do the sacrifices feel too…sacrificial?
What are the financial returns?
Is this artistically fulfilling?
What do I stand to gain by quitting?
Does acting fit in with the lifestyle I want?
Who am I if I’m not an actor?

These can be extremely difficult questions. And when the answers emerge, they aren’t always black and white. So maybe you’re on the fence a bit, or starting to feel burned out; this could be a signal that you need a break. I asked actress Aisha Kabia (How I Met Your Mother, Knight Rider, Three Rivers) to share her experience:

“I took a break from acting from May – September of 2009. I was creatively tapped out and emotionally exhausted. I needed to check back in with myself to see if I was still on the right path. I immersed myself in yoga, reading fiction and being with family and friends. When auditions started picking up again in October I found myself full because I had nourished my artist for so many months and that fall I tested for a tv show and booked 5 national commercials in 5 weeks! I was in a space of fun, relaxation and creativity because I had given myself the gift of just being. Now instead of needing to take big breaks I know it’s crucial to schedule consistent artist dates and fill myself with what I love so I have something to give when I approach any audition or role.”

Or maybe you know in your gut that you need a change. Be assured that there’s other great stuff out there waiting for you.

Actress Amanda Randall (CSI Miami, JAG, All My Children) grappled with the tough questions for several years. She shares her decision to transition from a successful acting career to finding other meaningful work:

“I feel that a decision to change paths in the field of acting can be a very personal one — maybe more so than any other career path.  Essentially our trade is ourselves. It is the craft of materializing our deepest emotions, feelings, and reactions, and pouring them into an imaginary scenario. It is a honed skill process in and of itself; and to find yourself at a crossroads where you want to leave that comfort zone and explore other territories can be terrifying. For me, personally, it became very necessary.

When I moved to LA, I booked my first gig almost right away and got Taft-Hartley’ed into SAG. I booked another gig and really felt like things were happening quite quickly. Then I lived in NYC for a year — I booked a couple more gigs, but even with all the moderate success, the suppressed urge that ‘this just wasn’t right’ would not go away.

Once I moved back to LA I started to have some serious doubts. I began verbalizing them. I was poor. I didn’t have health insurance. I had zero financial support from my family. The acting jobs were fun when I got them, but still felt so false and unfulfilling. I constantly was going on auditions for characters and roles that I didn’t give a shit about.  And I had this aching urge inside of me that was only growing stronger. Instead of just acknowledging that the urge was there, I began exploring it. I started to journal. I made lists. I asked myself questions….over and over and over again.  “What do you want?  What do you want to do?”  The only thing that came clear to me was that I wanted to help others. To teach. To inspire. To protect. To represent. Can one do that in the field of acting and arts and performance? Of course. Was that the path that I, personally, was supposed to take in order to make it happen? Turns out, it wasn’t. I needed stability. I needed purpose. And I needed to play the most difficult role that I had yet to attempt: that of Amanda Randall.

I experimented with different options. I contemplated teaching: the passion wasn’t there. I pondered the idea of a random office job: it wasn’t doing it for me. I thought about being an astronaut: I was afraid of heights. OK not really on the last one. But it went on and on. And THEN this little thing called Proposition 8 came about…right around the same time that my darling partner and I became engaged. It gave me purpose. It gave me understanding.  It helped me to identify with the oppressed. It enhanced my empathy. And it only fueled my fire to help defend and protect the rights of individuals who have been discriminated against — in any capacity. I finally felt passionate again and was given specific direction. I was working at a law firm as a legal secretary during the day and doing plays at night. By that time I was literally turning down auditions. I also decided I had done my last play for a while and was going to apply to UCLA’s paralegal program. I wanted to pursue some legal training and knew that knowledge was power when it came to representing and defending the oppressed. It was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Will I act again? Maybe. Will it be for pay? Who knows. But what I do know is what I am doing now feels right. And I no longer have that aching urge inside of me.”

Confession: I, too, have had the aching urge. And I was astonished that there was really no where for me to go with these looming questions. So I sat with them. Chewed them, cried over them. My great (and eventual) realization was that I had put myself in a bad marriage with my career. I expected acting to be my source of income, purpose, happiness, creativity, and social life. That’s a lot of pressure for a husband. I’m still an actor–love it, pursue it–but I absolutely had to find other places to disperse some of those needs. Finding coaching has been a big part of that for me. Now I’m glad to have a more balanced, happy marriage with acting.

If you tackle your own big questions and feel at peace with acting, Godspeed. I think you’ll be a better actor for having faced the questions. And you’ll probably answer them at many stages of your career. The practice of checking in about your career satisfaction is a good one to cultivate; no one else is going to sit you down for a yearly review, after all.

But if you have the aching urge, listen to it. Aching Urges don’t go away on their own; they demand answers. You satisfy them when you have the courage to listen, question, and consider new possibilities. And as actors, we’re very good at that.