The Death of My Hollywood Dream

I always thought I’d be the exception — that I’d be the one to make it, despite the odds. 

Now, I believe a little differently. 

I haven’t failed. Not truly. Not yet. 
But I have met an untimely death: that of my greatest dream.

I suppose it began in mid-2023, when I made the move to Vancouver with my girlfriend of 5 years. 

At the time of the move, Vancouver was a beacon of hope. 

I’d spent several years in Sydney feeling increasingly lost and restless. I attributed these feelings to my lackluster acting career, which I’d expected to be much more lucrative by that stage in my life.

Ever since the acting bug first bit at the tender age of 10, I’d dreamed of LA: the place where all your dreams come true. For several years, I held on to the idea that my career (and life) would change drastically the moment I gathered the courage to leap across the pond. 
While Vancouver isn’t LA, it got me close: ‘Hollywood North,’ with the promise of American productions and ample opportunities…  

Beacon of hope? 
The reality was something much different. 

The death of a dream

I’ve experienced many a ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ in my lifetime. The one that hit me in 2024 was no different: painful. No — excruciating.  

All of my dreams were stripped away. Opportunities were not abundant, as expected. Not only had I arrived in Vancouver during the aftermath of the Writers Guild of America 148-day strike, but during an ensuing time of pause and redevelopment in the entertainment industry. 
I couldn’t land an agent to save myself. And any auditions I did land resulted in crickets. 

Around this time, Billie Eilish’s new album dropped. I’m a huge fan — but her album was the final nail in the coffin, sending me into a deep depression. It wasn’t the music itself (though melancholic), but the grief I felt witnessing the total creative freedom of some, while I myself was invisible. 

Desperate to get away, my partner and I took our trusty van ‘Savvy’ on a five-week road trip down the west coast of the USA to LA: the city of (broken) dreams. 

I’d finally made it to LA. 

On my birthday, we hiked to the notorious Hollywood sign. 

Sharp heat and the pain of my grief meant stopping to cry every few hundred metres. So broken I felt, hiking to a place I revered, to a view I’d had stuck to my vision board for more than a decade. I’d anticipated coming to this place while riding the wave of success — not while scrambling from the depths of rock-bottom. 

The entire climb felt like a metaphor for my journey: a fight to be visible for twenty years. It was the release of a lifelong dream — one I desperately desired to hold on to. 

We made it to the top, and the view was just as good as the pictures. Black crows circled, and my partner thought they might be there for me: to reassure me, and to remind me to trust in my journey. 
I believe now that they may have represented transformation — and the death of my dream. 

Facing my inner demons

In time, I began to see that I was being redirected back to myself. 

See, a lot of my desire with acting has been tied up with a desperate need for unconditional love and validation. 

The acting seed was planted at the most vulnerable time of my youth. As a highly sensitive 10-year-old girl with big feelings and an inability to connect with others, I longed to feel seen and chosen. 

I looked at movie stars and saw the epitome of all I craved: adoration from others. Visibility. Validation. I looked to my favourite star at the time, Hilary Duff, who appeared so creatively free, and who was constantly praised for being ‘happy-go-lucky’ and ‘loveable.’ I decided: I need to be like her. 

From then on, I tried to be everybody else but me. I pulled elements from all the people I encountered who had qualities I deemed favourable. I shapeshifted constantly. Meanwhile, I held on to the dream that one day I would become famous, and everybody would finally look my way and tell me how lovable I am. 

When you spend twenty years selling yourself this narrative, it feels excruciating to have it stripped away. To realize that maybe, just maybe… it’s been wrong all along. 

I suppose my dream was a slow death. As the years rolled by without the fulfilment of my greatest need, the more desperate my hunger became. 
The deeper my feeling of emptiness. 
The more intense my despair.   

Eventually, it became too painful to ignore. I was forced to face the alternative: me — without anything or anybody to hide behind. 
Me — who I had tried for so long to escape, to make better. 
Me — who I considered worthless, irrelevant, and unlovable. 

After two decades, it was finally time to sit with the despair of my 10-year-old self.  

Coming home to myself

Healing a wound that cuts this deep isn’t something that happens overnight: I’m still unpacking the unmet needs of my inner child. But the choice to stop running and to turn and face the demon head-on became the beginning of reclaiming my integrity.  

Because while I was busy chasing a dream, I was denying my authenticity.
I was rejecting my need for connection and community. I was disowning the softer, quieter parts of myself; my desire for the simple things — a secure home base, ease, the joy of sitting with a book for hours on end.  

I was forcing myself into rooms that didn’t honour me — the real me. 

Stripping back and getting to know the true needs of my authentic self has been the gamechanger in all of this. Getting curious about the things that really light me up — things that I’ve denied myself for years in favour of ambition — gradually pulled me from the depths of suicidality. It brought meaning back into my days.

I no longer care whether or not I ‘make it.’ 
There is still grief here (after all, acting has been tied to my identity for nearly as long as I can remember). But there is also acceptance that I may never have the career I initially dreamed of. 

I now know what my authentic values are (stability and simplicity, connection, self-expression, and financial and lifestyle abundance), and there are numerous ways I can live in alignment with these values without putting pressure on my career to fulfill me. Or, more importantly, without putting pressure on my career to finally — one day — feel lovable. 

Authenticity is my true beacon of hope — my north star — guiding me back to something true and safe. By knowing who I am and what I truly value, I’m being guided back home — back to myself. 

Did this piece resonate with you?
I’d love to hear your thoughts — or for you to share it with someone who might relate.
You can email me, subscribe for new Moonlight posts, or explore similar reflections to this one:
What Does It Truly Mean to Be Successful?