This story is being shared with my daughter, Lila’s permission. I find myself wanting to share more openly here, and have felt reticent at times because anyone can see my articles. I’ve now switched my settings to private, so that only my subscribers will be able to see what I write.
I’m writing this to you from the library around the corner from a dance studio in Melbourne where Lila is auditioning for a performing role in another country next year. This role is her dream gig, and perfect for a 19 year-old who’s finishing her professional musical theatre training at the end of this year.
I want this for her. I want her to follow her dreams. I want her to be seen and honoured for who she is and what she has to offer. She has worked incredibly hard for this. Over and over, she has studied the characters she could be chosen to play. She has watched them in movies, again and again. She has learned the ways they walk, stand, speak and wave. She has done this, obsessively, for many months. She’s had her eyes firmly on her goal and has made no room for any other possibility.
I’m sitting at a desk in the corner of the library, hoping no-one will notice me, having a little cry while I write. I’m super nervous for her. I’ve done all I can to encourage her and remind her that what’s meant to be hers will be. But I’ve been on this planet long enough to know that sometimes, what’s meant to be ours doesn’t show up when we want it to. Sometimes, no matter how hard we work or try, we don’t get what we want. I know that what matters most is that we do try, but that’s cold comfort in the wake of heartbreak and disappointment.
This isn’t Lila’s first audition for this company. She did one in May too, for a potential role in a different location. The audition went for four hours and she made it all the way through to the end. She signed paperwork (in another language – when I asked her what she’d signed she said she didn’t know!) to say she’s ready and available. They asked for her passport details so they could organise a visa if a contract becomes available. She’s in their talent pool with the possibility that she’ll be called up any time. It's felt like we’ve been in a holding pattern since then.
Grief starting knocking on my door a few weeks before that audition. My body was telling me she’d make it to the end. I just knew. People who’ve known her for a long time weren’t surprised. The consensus is that she’s been playing the characters she auditioned for her whole life. She is those characters.
I’ve wanted to spend more time with Lila since then, and do more memorable things with her. I’ve felt a strong sense that everything is about to change. I’ve continued to walk the tightrope of supporting her in ways that help her to take more responsibility for herself, because she could be living alone in another country a ten-hour flight away where a different language is spoken – and wanting to hold her really close and not let her go and look after her and be her mummy.
My heart wants her to get this role. My heart doesn’t want her to go.
I’m looking at the time. The audition started 40 minutes ago. I haven’t heard from her yet, so I’m thinking she’s probably made it through the first round. This is when the panel of judges does a “type out.” That means they cut you from the audition based on how you look. This is the part Lila was most nervous about, strangely enough. We already know she has “the look” - the panel at the last audition chose her for their talent pool. This is a different panel of judges though, from a different country. Their choices are based on the character roles they next need to fill.
I keep checking my phone for text messages. I’m hoping I don’t hear from her for another three hours.
She texts me two hours into the audition. She has been cut from the audition for forgetting some of the dance routine.
She was in the final 30. One hundred other young people had already been sent home. She tells me to come and get her and that her life is over. I rush out of the library, jump in my car, and pull up out the front of the dance studio. She smiles and waves goodbye to a guy whose audition was also over, then gets in the car and bursts into tears.
She is devastated. Beyond devastated, if there’s such a thing. She’s so distressed that she’s shaking. I pull over around the corner so I can hold her hand and listen to her. She cries that she didn’t have a chance to show the panel everything she’d been practising for many months. She wanted this more than anything. She wonders what she’ll do next year, because all her hopes and energy were pinned on this. She says she hates her brain because it doesn’t process quickly enough when she has to learn new choreography. She says she can’t go back to her professional training tomorrow because everyone was expecting her to get through and she feels so embarrassed.
I’m heartbroken for her. I lie in bed that night worrying for her, while listening to her in the bathroom crying on the phone to her dad.
The next morning, after she wakes up, she tells me that she messed up the dance part of the audition and that’s on her.
She tells me she wants to go to Sydney to audition again - in two days’ time. She says she remembers the dance now, and she’ll practice it and embody it and is confident she’ll get through the dance round if she has another go. She tells me this is her last chance because there won’t be more auditions for this particular location, which is where she has her heart set on working, until September 2026. She tells me if she does the Sydney audition, and gets to the interview stage and the judges ask her why she came back, she’ll say:
“This is my dream. I’m not giving up”
She tells me she’s happy to fly to Sydney alone if she has to.
My immediate reaction is that I’m busy on Friday. I have appointments booked and tickets to a show that night. Then I stop for a moment, and take in this 19 year-old girl for who she is. She wants to give it her best shot. She’s strong and clear about what she wants and what she’s prepared to do to get it. She’s asking for my support, and not pressuring me in any way at all. I’m blown away by her courage, tenacity and persistence. It’s not something I’ve experienced in her in this way before and I can’t say “no” to it. I feel so proud of her. I tell her I’ll book flights.
Her “Thank you” carries immense meaning for me. I appreciate a moment of gratitude and hold it close to my heart. I remember when Lila was a baby, and I was getting up several times a night to breastfeed, and I’d think, ‘Are you serious? Is this what mums do? Is this what my mum did for me?’ From then on I experienced an entirely new level of appreciation for my own mum.
I book the flights (and remind myself that, even though they’re the most expensive domestic flights ever, it’s worth it). I book an airport hotel. We’re flying to Sydney tomorrow night. Oh, and I buy some Rescue Remedy - for me.
We wake up in our hotel on the day of the audition and I focus on how I can best support Lila. What’s happening today feels like it’s bigger than the sum of its parts. I feel like I’m in service to something greater than Lila having another go.
I decide to approach it as an offering to courage and tenacity. More of that in our world can only be a good thing when it’s for a purpose aligned with our hearts, hopes and dreams.
I tune in and today feels different from the energy of Tuesday’s audition. Tuesday was heavy, and Lila said afterwards that she didn’t have a good feeling going into the audition. She was extremely stressed and felt a lot of pressure, mostly because other people’s expectations were so high. Today is lighter, and there’s flow, and I’m sensing grace too.
She spends the morning getting ready while I do some work and my best to only say things that are supportive. This is difficult when she freaks out about not having glue for her fake eyelashes that she was certain she’d packed. I tell her she won’t be cut from the audition because she’s not wearing fake eyelashes (this is a mistake on my part. Apparently her eyes need to look larger and she won’t feel comfortable if they don’t).
We leave the hotel earlier than planned to go to the supermarket to get glue on the way to the audition. We end up at a Woolworths depot (not a supermarket) because I chose the wrong address when I ordered the Uber. We divert to the supermarket and Lila glues on her lashes in the toilets nearby. Then the next Uber drives straight past the dance studio where the audition is happening because his map is wrong. Google Maps and I firmly guide him to where we need to go, and I do my best to be kind and also tell him we’re in a hurry and and stressed and thank him for his patience.
I’m glad I brought the Rescue Remedy with me.
We still arrive 30 minutes before the audition starts, with enough time for Lila to register and line up with 100 plus other hopefuls. The dance studio is in an industrial area and I’m not sure what to do to fill in time. I want to be close by. There’s a bench outside the building near the front door, so I decide to camp there.
I connect with my guidance on how I can best support Lila during her audition. I feel like I’m holding vigil, with a direct line to power and grace. I’m alert only to my inner voice, telling me which energy to send Lila’s way next. I do everything I’m told to do, as I watch dozens of young people at a time walk out after having their hopes cut short. I can’t help but think that anyone who makes it past the first round is doing exceptionally well. I’m also aware that making it past that round is based solely on how they look, and there’s nothing they can do about that. These auditions are brutal. Lila tells me the judges are kind.
She sends me this text message one hour and 15 minutes into the audition:
I keep receiving the message that she’s making it all the way through to the end of the audition. I watch a few more girls leave the building. At 5pm, my guidance tells me that the audition is over. The energy lifts and I know there’s nothing else I need to do other than wait for her to come out. She’s made it.
She walks out the door at 5.30pm and confirms that the audition was over at 5pm, and the last 30 minutes were spent with the head of talent casting and booking explaining to the five selected performers just about everything about the role and what’s required, and where they’ll live.
Lila is so happy that she made it to the end. I’m excited for her and feeling even prouder; after the devastation of being cut from the audition three days earlier, she quickly picked herself up and found the courage to try again, to not give up on her dream. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if she didn’t make it to the end of the audition. What matters is that she tried. She believed in herself and she tried 🩷
Lila rings her dad from the airport. Then he sends me this message afterwards:
It’s rare that we communicate. I give his text a red heart because it feels like some kind of healing has happened.
Contract offers will be made in the next two months. In my bones, I know there’s one with Lila’s name on it.
Since we left our life in Bali in 2020, Lila has experienced a lot of significant changes and challenges. Her teenage years were tough. I think just about every grey hair on my head is the result of me worrying about her, for her, and whether I’ve “got it right” as her mum.
Now, after this audition experience, I know she’ll be okay. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to know that. It feels like a big hug of grace and every time I think about it I cry.
I’m feeling an enormous amount of respect for Lila. The love I’m feeling for her right now is beyond words, as is my grief at the prospect of my only child leaving for another country in January.
Bali retreat update
A few of you have contacted me asking if I’ll be running other retreats or opportunities to work together next year. At this stage, all I have planned is the Held Retreat in Bali in June.
The way I work isn’t governed by a planner full of things I should do. I do my best work when I’m aligned with my guidance, joy, and right timing, and I trust that. I want to ensure that everything I offer comes from that place, which means I launch new offerings… when I decide to launch them.
I’ve been reflecting on a retreat I went to in Bali in June this year, and what has unfolded in my life since then. In the spaciousness of being close to myself in Bali’s magic for just a week, with everything being taken care of for me, and spending time with a group of wonderful women, I “got more done” than I had in years (I’m not exaggerating). What I mean is that as I returned to myself, with distance from my ordinary life and its influences, responsibilities and distractions, some big – and a few long overdue - decisions were made with clarity. The retreat wasn’t necessarily designed to do that, but that’s what I took away from it. Implementing those decisions in the past two-and-a-half months has created extraordinary shifts in my life for the better, and they continue.
When I booked that retreat I wasn’t sure how I’d make it happen. Life was exceptionally busy, with a lot of commitments - personally, professionally and financially. I just knew I needed to make it happen, and trusted that I would. That week away reminded me that it’s crucial to take space for myself, and that the gifts are priceless. Always.
If you’re sitting on the fence about the Held retreat, I encourage you to lean in and say yes to yourself, and to what you want more of in your life. The women who come have different reasons for joining, and everyone gets exactly what they need.
When we tend to our hearts - which is what we’ll do - we unleash more vitality, fun, and joy. We reconnect with the sacredness of life. We receive clarity about what’s next. I promise you, it doesn’t end when you get home.
There are two bungalows left. You can find out more and book your space here. And, if you have any questions, or are feeling yes but no, or would like to have a conversation, please reply to this email.
Life will sometimes seem long and tough.
And you will sometimes be happy
and sometimes sad.
And then you’ll be old.
And then you’ll be dead.
There is only one sensible thing to do
with this empty existence,
and that is;
fill it.
From “You don’t have to have a dream” by Tim Minchin
What are you filling your existence with?
With love,
Tricia x
Isn't it wonderful what your children can teach you?!
Dear GOD!! I'm sitting here glued to my seat reading this through floods of tears. Feeling a million things all at once for you and Lila - and me! Thank you for sharing this so beautifully. What a massive, massive time this is for you all. Sending love.