I Quit A Successful Career To Find A Life That Was More Authentic—Here's What Happened

I had a dream job in Hollywood, but it was time to stop pretending I was happy.

By Lisa Jakub, Rodale's organic life

I had been an actor since I was four years old. I was in my early 20s, living in Los Angeles and working consistently. On the surface, it seemed like I belonged, and even, that I had a dream life: As a child, I was in blockbuster movies like Mrs. Doubtfire and Independence Day (To many, I will forever be skeptical daughter Lydia Hillard). I lived in a house that I had bought with my own money when I was 15 years old. I got Christmas cards from Robin Williams and I signed autographs for fans at the grocery store.

But something was wrong—I was deeply, profoundly unhappy.

It started with a panic attack

I was 22 and scared the day my friend Ben and I walked into an ultra-hip tapas restaurant in L.A. As we entered the place, all of a sudden, I felt like I was sinking into the floor and the walls were visibly rippling. I reached out for Ben's arm to steady myself and when he looked over at me, his eyes got wide.

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“Are you okay? You don’t look okay.”
 

I nodded and tried to mold my lips into the appropriate, Hollywood smile, but rivers of tears were starting to slide down my face. I was not at all okay.
 

I looked around at all of these cool, interesting, famous people. They all seemed to turn around to look at me and know I was a phony. A fraud. They saw through this carefully crafted mask I wore—the one that insisted that I fit in just fine here; the one that said that I was a graceful ingenue who could pose for photos without feeling like a

piece of meat. The mask that said I liked going to fancy premieres and walking the line of reporters and paparazzi. The mask that insisted that I was not weird. I was cool.
 

[post_ads]At that moment, It felt like my mask had been ripped off and it was just me standing naked next to the hostess stand. There I was: the introvert; the book nerd who would rather be cuddled up under a quilt with a novel and a cup of tea; the one who fantasized about walking out on this whole Hollywood career and happily disappearing into peaceful obscurity. But at the time, the only thing disappearing was my ability to breathe air.
 

Related: The Simple Trick I Learned To Calm My Anxiety Without The Help Of Pills
 

Ben was still looking at me, and I felt the need to say something, so I said, “I can’t….not….no…air.”
“Do you need a hospital?” Ben asked, which was stupid because clearly I was going to be dead within the next five minutes, we’d never make it to the hospital in time. Did he not know about L.A traffic?
 

I violently shook my head and looked for the door we had just walked through, but it was hard to find because the ceiling was where the floor should be. My heart was pounding so hard that it threatened to shatter my ribcage at any moment. I felt my knees buckling and resolved myself to the fact that I was going to perish right there in front of all those lanky supermodels and their handsome, brooding boyfriends.
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Suddenly, Ben had his arm around my waist and he was half carrying, half dragging me outside into the courtyard. We collapsed near a ridiculously ornate fountain where wanna-be actors throw pennies and wish for speaking parts. He put his forehead on my forehead.
 

“Lisa, breathe. Look at me. You have to breathe.”
It seemed like an impossible task, but somehow, I remembered how to breathe. I took a deep breath in, then let it out slow. Ben unclenched my hands and started massaging them, telling me I was doing a good job breathing, which was kind and also absolutely ridiculous.
 

Related: 10 Plants You Need To Grow If You're Suffering From Depression, Stress, Or Anxiety
 

We sat there for a while, on the ground of a courtyard, breathing together, until I felt like my soul had returned to my body. He brushed the hair out of my eyes and asked in the most compassionate voice,
“Lis, what the hell was that?”
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That was a panic attack.

I’ve had literally hundreds of those between the ages of 11 and 38. Sometimes I’d have a couple panic attacks a day, other times I go months without hyperventilating even once. I’ve spent enormous amounts of time pretending that I’m someone I’m not. But here’s the deal: I have social anxiety, occasional depression, a panic disorder and moderate agoraphobia. And I don’t pretend anymore.
 

Related: How To Fight Depression With Your Diet

I left everything I knew behind 

At the age of twenty-two, I left the film industry altogether. I moved to Virginia to search for a new path for myself. I wanted a life that was grounded in passion and purpose, not the constant pressures of fame and box office gross that were leaving me unable to breathe. I had no idea what that new life looked like, but I knew there had to be something outside of movies that would make me happy. So I left my eighteen-year career, my friends, my life, and stepped off the Hollywood cliff.

[post_ads] The transition to my new life was not smooth. It was painful and difficult and I questioned my choices many times. Everyone had said that I was crazy to leave my career—after all, wasn’t that the dream? What if they were right? Was I crazy to expect that I could find a job—and a life—that was more fulfilling? The Mean Voice in my head told me that I was just not meant to be happy. I’d always be weird and I’d never fit in anywhere.

My therapist introduced me to the idea of meditation but she called it “mindfulness” in an attempt to not scare me. Whatever it was called, it sounded terrible. My mind was this swirling darkness that was uncontrollable and all-consuming. It was like a bad neighborhood that I didn’t want to venture into alone. Sitting with just my thoughts—and not my phone—felt downright dangerous.

But meditation sounded like something healthy, happy people did. So I set a timer for five whole minutes and sat down to try this thing. And then The Mean Voice cleared his throat and stood up on his soap box because had some things to say: "Hey Lisa, I just wanted to let you know that I’m pretty sure you’re a giant failure. The whole world thinks that being in Mrs. Doubtfire when you were fourteen was the pinnacle of your life. So, you’re definitely all
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washed up from here. Just FYI. What else can you possibly do other than being an actor? You’ve got no skills or education. You quit the only thing you were good at. And, you’re starting to get really crinkly around your eyes."

The Mean Voice was relentless. He took the lowest blows possible. This meditation thing was supposed to be peaceful? When my timer went off, I felt like I had just been pummeled with a baseball bat.
 

I had to learn not to believe every bad thought
I told my therapist I sucked at mediation because I couldn’t stop my thoughts. That’s when she explained that meditation is not about stopping your thoughts. Thinking is the brain’s job. Your heart beats and your brain thinks—if either of those stops, you’ve got a problem. All we’re trying to do in meditation is notice our thoughts and realize that we don’t have to take every flickering idea so seriously. Just because we think it, doesn’t make it true.

I went back to my meditation cushion the next day with a different tactic. I wasn’t trying to stop The Mean Voice. I was just shifting my relationship with him. I watched how cruel and repetitive and unhelpful he really was. I started to be amused by his dramatic temper tantrums and impulsive reactions. I saw that they were all based in fear, and I started to have some compassion for that little jerk.
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Even though it was incredibly hard work, I sat every morning, for just a few minutes. I decided it was worth it to do the hard thing because eventually, I felt brief moments of calmness in between the vicious jabs. These blissful spaces started to get deeper, and wider and brighter. The Mean Voice was losing power. I could feel it. He didn’t own me anymore.

Related: 5 Meditations You Can Do At Your Desk (Yes, Right Now)
 

I learned that I could get comfortable with what is happening, right here, in this moment. Even if this moment is not really so comfortable. Even if The Mean Voice is extra loud and I have a cramp in my foot, I can choose to stay and ride out that wave of uncomfortable feelings. I don’t have to react to every little thing that happens.

Out in the world, when some challenge caused my old hyperventilating habit to kick in, I’d pause. I’d take a few deep breaths. I’d see the catastrophic thoughts for what they really were—just thoughts. I’d create some space between an event and my reaction to it. And in that space, I could choose to respond mindfully.

[post_ads]This commitment to meditation introduced me to some other methods of dealing with my anxiety and depression. I began a yoga practice, which is essentially a moving meditation that has become a useful tool for understanding the mind/body connection and paying attention to the present moment. I altered my eating habits to support my mood issues, most notably ditching refined sugar which exacerbates my anxiety. I learned that self-care isn’t self-absorbed. It’s a pre-requisite for a life full of meaning, purpose, and service. (Here's more on how to change eating habits to combat anxiety.)

                  

I found a new path through sharing my story

It took some trial and error, but I eventually found that meaningful life I was searching for. I still live in Virginia where I am a writer and a yoga teacher and a wife. My first book, You Look Like That Girl: A Child Actor Stops Pretending And Finally Grows Up, was published in 2015 and my new book, Not Just Me, will be out this fall. It’s all about anxiety and depression—and in being open about my challenges, I’ve realized that I’m not such a freak after all.

Related: 4 Simple Steps To Breaking Your Bad Habits Just By Thinking About Them Differently
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So many people are struggling with these issues, we just tend to keep quiet because we assume no one else understands. But we are not alone. When we share our stories and we’re honest about things that can be uncomfortable, we reduce the stigma and empower others. They can be themselves, too. It's also been proven that just twenty minutes of honest, emotional writing a day can positively impact those suffering from anxiety and depression. 

At age 38, I now travel around the country doing talks about mental wellness and the tools that have helped me. I’m living a life that feels authentic. And I know that this is the path I wanted for myself.

And people still come up to me, and say "Hey, you look like that girl from Mrs. Doubtfire” and I get awkward and embarrassed. I’m still not sure how to act or what to say, but I know one thing I can do—I can breathe. I know that I might be That Girl, but she is only one part of me. Sometimes The Mean Voice still decides to take my knees out, causing me to curl up under a blanket. Anxiety and depression are real issues that require constant management. This is not a summertime cold that gets cured and forgotten. But I’m much more resilient than I used to be. I know how to take control back from The Mean Voice, so I can feel more like myself.

And I remember that I have more power in my life than I think.