Read Online Instant Mom by Nia Vardalos - Free Book Online Page B

afraid I’d sink into a funk. I kept it all at bay and tried to press on, hungrily pursuing adoption research, but never allowing myself to digest what had happened. From fertility treatments I had quickly rappelled into the adoption world because I was so afraid I wouldn’t ever be a mother.
    But any decision made in fear is a reaction, rather than an action.
    On the way out of the office, I pondered taking time off to just think it all through. I wondered if I even wanted to be in a movie. I had said no to everything that came my way. I was so angry at myself for missing opportunities in films and on Broadway during the years of staying close to the clinic. But now I admitted I truly didn’t feel like acting in anything. I thought perhaps I should officially take some time off. I wondered if I dared step back for a bit. And grieve.
    Grief is an inevitable part of processing information. You can’t push grief down and pretend it’s not there. It will stay close by like an annoying sibling tapping you on the shoulder, saying, “Look at me, looooook at me.” Until you do.
    So I did.
     
    What happened next was completely out of character for me. I stepped back from being an actor for a while. After years of making my living as an actor, I just didn’t act in a film, put myself through clothes fittings, or pose on a red carpet.
    I said no thank you to every invitation that came my way. No to films. No to attending any press event, from the Golden Globes gift suites to Oscar parties. I said see-you-later to the sparkly life for a bit. Now let’s be clear—it’s not like Scorsese called me and I said no. It’s not like Sofia Coppola was a-begging me to be her muse. The roles I was being offered were not life changing, so it was pretty easy to slip away. The hilarious thing is . . . uh, no one noticed. It’s not like TMZ was going through my garbage wondering, wait a minute, how come she’s not acting? Nope. I just slipped under the radar.
    One thing I really appreciated is that Core friends didn’t ask questions. I never explained what I was doing or not doing because I needed respite from it all. I needed to just not be asked about fertility and adoption and what my next move was. It seemed as if we all had a tacit agreement that I was going through something and it was private. I appreciate that my friends, family, and representatives were supportive.
    And I knew stepping away was temporary and necessary.
    I was hired by several companies and studios to write, plus got to develop with Jonathan Demme. I opened my Final Draft and wrote six scripts—romantic comedies about unconditional love, dramas where things don’t turn out okay, stories about women who dared to be happy even if they didn’t achieve everything they wanted.
    I highly recommend the checkout. It brings a clarity unlike anything I’ve ever known. I realized who my true allies are. I found out although it’s nice to get a good table at a trendy restaurant, I didn’t need fame. I’ll be totally honest: I liked being a known actor. It’s enjoyable to read friendly letters from all over the world, and receive gifts from clothing and purse designers, but I didn’t go nuts without it. I just made my living by writing, hung out with good friends, and didn’t act.
    During my hiatus, I even stood up to that lifelong member of the Coven who made fun of me for getting acupuncture. Yes, the one who had called my body “defective” compared to hers because she could have kids. One day I called her up and told her to suck it.
    But all this didn’t bring a grounded feeling or some purr of inner serenity. When the phone rang, I jumped, hoping we’d been matched. It just didn’t happen.
    Grieving also means I finally let myself cry. A lot. It is truly embarrassing to let it all out like a bachelorette who didn’t get a rose. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself when there are people with real problems. However, I told myself it’s essential to