It was only when I started to dig my heels in that I started to realize that's what I needed to do - that nobody was going to open the door for me, that I had to make some space.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
When I started out, the idea of comfort in shoes was almost a dirty word.
I was shying away from acting for the longest time - because of having such big shoes to fill.
I can't say that I knocked on every door, but the few that I did didn't respond the way I wanted them to, so I think it was kind of disenchanting enough for me to go back to being subterranean.
I just can't do heels any more. At least not when I'm working. I travel a lot.
It took me a long time to realize that to walk around without a certain amount of belief in myself, to walk onto a job with my tail between my legs, wasn't behooving anyone else.
When I was 22, I thought I couldn't wear heels because of my height.
When I moved out, my mom and dad came to help me get settled into my apartment - a place I ultimately got hooked up with in Coach Nelson's building. We had to figure out how to get all my shoes over here. That was a little stressful.
I was so busy climbing up this ladder, staying above the water. If there was only room for one woman in a room, I wanted to be her. I'm not proud of it. I certainly don't feel that way now. It was an absolute evolution for me.
I know that my foot is firmly wedged in the door, and I'll be damned if I pull it out, even for a second.
When I feel there's a door open, you always walk through it.