Name something comparable to the pop culture phenomenon of child stardom.
As someone whose professional career initially spiked at 11 years old and whose face is now
the cover of clickbait articles titled “10 Shocking Ways These Child Stars Died”, it’s
been a harrowing 80 years.
I’m only 27.
While traversing extreme peaks and valleys of global fame, hidden medical hospitalizations,
artistic milestones, rapid adultification, and multi-layered abuse I wish on no one,
I narrowly survived the toddler-to-trainwreck pipeline.
In fact, nothing was designed for me to end up… “normal”.
“Stable.”
“Alive.”
The toddler-to-trainwreck pipeline is a notorious and thriving industrial complex around child
entertainers.
It was first documented in 1885 when Elsie Leslie made her theatrical debut at four years
old, becoming an American celebrity at six.
Since then, a full-fledged system has emerged.
It is expertly constructed and bolted in place by censoring the harm happening behind the
scenes, manicuring aspirational lifestyles and outcomes, and then watching young lives
tragically implode.
You may recognize the pipeline by specific press campaigns (see “shocking rebellion”
or “miraculous comeback”).
It prophesies pitiful and shameful fates for little tots with big talent, while conveniently
remaining in denial of its own violent blueprint.
Instead, the damage manifests as illness or questionable behavior and gets projected onto
the child as if they are an isolated problem.
This does not dismiss their personal responsibility or negate the positives and privileges that
accompany the spotlight.
Simply, the records are consistent.
How can children unwittingly copy and paste the same horror stories, cries for help, and
humiliating spirals?
How come there have been no signs of improvement for centuries?
As someone who lived it and witnessed thousands endure alongside me, I can attest that what
is missing from the pipeline narrative are clear action plans for intervention, long-term
prevention, and accountability from studios, agencies, and guardians.
On behalf of the current children being abused right now, there is an opportunity for us
to empower each other through honest conversation and collaborative action.
I invite you to revisit this script with a broader lens.
FIRST ACT Scene I: The Audition Room
At six years old, I enter a sterile white room where a stranger stands apathetically
behind a camcorder on a tripod.
On cue, I perform the scene.
This morning, I’m being kidnapped and raped.
Ending in the fetal position under a chair with my body frozen in fear, I stand up, wipe
my tears and thank the stranger for the opportunity.
I walk to the car ruminating over my performance, comparing my screams to the other kids’
I heard from the waiting room.
As with many parents in this unusual situation, my mother is not versed in how to help me
regulate my nervous system.
I remain catatonic on the first half of the drive, until I remember we’re en route to
a second audition for a princess toy ad.
On the spot, I manually alter my mood, personality and outfit so I can win over a new stranger
with a camcorder.
I need to outperform 900 other candidates.
Suddenly, I’m “Smiling Girl #437”.
These visceral portrayals of scenarios etch themselves into my body memory and compound
with trauma occurring in real life behind closed doors.
Additionally, there is an alarming dissonance about being coached to offer my six-year-old
self vulnerably to unfamiliar adults who have power over my well-being and future livelihood.
My methodically rehearsed helplessness during the first audition will either be associated
with rejection (not getting the role), or I will be rewarded by booking the gig.
To clarify, I’ll be paid to recreate kidnapping and rape repeatedly on set with a crew of
more strangers.
If I’m especially believable, I may even get an Oscar and the praise of America.
Let’s contextualize this.
Developmentally, my perceptions of basic safety, healthy relational attachment, and awareness
of my environment are highly impressionable.
Cognitively, I’m just beginning to comprehend the difference between the real and the imaginary.
And my nervous system is imprinting patterns that will unconsciously dictate my behavior
personally, socially and professionally for decades to come.
WHAT CAN WE DO?
One immediate solution is having a qualified, third-party mental health professional on
every set, especially if minors are present.
Think “school counselor” or “sports psychologist”.
They can help monitor working conditions and be available to assist entertainers in regulating,
shifting between identities and discharging residual inner turbulence after emotional
performances.
They can provide a safe space for people to anonymously report misconduct, harassment
and mental health struggles.
Trust me, the cost of one mental health practitioner is far cheaper than the existing “damage
control” funds.
Scene II: Child Labor Laws I am 12.
I am a machine.
I’m currently contractually obligated to complete multiple overlapping projects.
I’m President of a corporation with salaried family members and multi-vertical teams.
Revenue models for billion dollar media empires revolve around my peers’ and my faces, talents
and labor.
While some companies stay within the legal range of working hours for minors, many do
not.
Regardless, set conditions are inappropriate and hazardous.
Did you know that according to the U.S. Department of Labor, 17 states still don’t have any
regulations in place for child entertainment in 2021?
Yet, all 50 have working child performers.
Adding to this, zero productions acknowledge that after their shoot, I will go to another,
record an interview during my lunch break, train for multiple hours, skip dinner, and
meet for a late night rehearsal.
After all, their responsibility is to deliver a product on time and in-budget, not to baby-sit.
Meanwhile, agents are encouraging me to look at early emancipation so I can work longer
hours.
This will increase my hireability.
My body is medically undernourished and chronically stressed, which later will evolve into severe
eating disorders, adrenal fatigue and mandatory bedrest.
The onset of puberty has turned my waist and bust into the main objects of attention and
inspection.
This will also categorize my career trajectory.
I’ve learned that it is safer to dissociate in order to survive what my mind and body
are subjected to daily.
I’ll be numb for another five years, but all you will see is the ever-highly-functioning,
Smiling Girl #437.
By now, I’ve missed months of schooling and my education is spotty at best.
I am socialized to be “on” at all times, ranging from three dozen daily fan encounters,
to grown reporters grilling me on my opinion of current events for which I’m not an expert,
to avoiding any and all authentic friendships to protect confidential information.
I try not to have an inflated sense of self, but even my church puts me on a pedestal.
WHAT CAN WE DO?
Families and young people are not properly educated on the risks, pressures, consequences,
and difficult processes and decisions ahead.
Simultaneously, there aren’t healthy standards or accountability from agencies and production
companies.
There needs to be mandatory Basic Industry and Media Literacy courses for guardians and
representatives, and to guide set protocols.
This can act as a buffer to check the guardian’s motives and level of preparedness.
It can reveal negligent and greedy behavior within agencies.
And it can establish the best practices for getting the million-dollar shot in the safest,
most ethical manner.
Scene III: The Boiling Point I’m 17.
In just over a decade, the tentacles of the industry have suffocated and destroyed my
family, every member with their own unique hardship.
This whole dynamic can distort and exhaust even the healthiest of humans.
Yet, each of us is forced to uphold a veneer, lest negative press reach our doorstep.
The show truly never stops.
Then it hits me.
My childhood is officially gone.
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen my father since I was little.
My father had all three of his daughters ripped away from him and swallowed up by a system
that would replace me in seconds.
The grief, trauma and stress overtake me like a tsunami, and I admit myself to rehab against
the guidance of my team.
(They continue to send me auditions while I’m on bedrest.)
I’m not here for drugs or alcohol.
I’m here because I’m at least 20 pounds underweight and I’m daring to believe that
my health matters, even if it feels like I’m the only advocate for it.
Unfortunately, I am reminded that taking this break risks losing momentum.
Unless I have elite representation, millions of dollars and major networks pouring into
a strategic debut into adulthood, my younger work will not amount to much in the eyes of
“serious” film and television casting directors.
After 200+ movies, shows, videos and tours, I’ll need to start over, re-train, re-introduce
myself.
Culturally, I will be reduced to my past characters and expected to fade into a nostalgic memory
or a “has-been”, even though I haven’t had a chance to learn who I am in the first
place.
I sign-in my name at the hospital, my body broken and my spirit shattered.
A young girl battling her own health crisis finds a moment of relief, laughing at the
television.
I look at the screen.
It’s my face.
SECOND ACT Maybe some have concluded that only unbalanced
people are attracted to Hollywood, or you perceive this as claiming victimhood.
This isn’t about pointing fingers, but about working together to protect children who will
be the next generation of society, many of whom have palpable influence over your own
kids.
Very few resources exist to help people unpack and navigate the implications of a child star-studded
culture, whether you’re the kid, the parent, the agent, or the audience.
Solutions like mental health practitioners and Industry Literacy courses are easy next
steps.
Though I’m not without scars and ongoing struggles, I am still one of the most fortunate
cases.
I had access to a therapist who saw past the enchantment of fame and taught me to safely
reinhabit my body.
By some inner mysterious force I committed to deep self-work and constant healing as
my rebellion.
I dared to lose everything I’d worked for and walk away long enough to gain paradigm-shattering
insight.
These privileges are not equally available, distributed or even encouraged.
The opposite is regularly enabled.
And no.
I didn’t mention the sexual harassment, stolen IP and money, paparazzi, psychological
impact of the new influencer landscape, toxic power plays, and what actually happened on
all of those sets.
If we disrupt and heal the toddler-to-trainwreck pipeline, we won’t need another cautionary
memoir.
But, by highlighting my story as any form of “exception” to the rule, we misunderstand
my peers’ suffering, and we shift attention away from the changes needed immediately.
I believe everyone deserves to feel safe, comfortable and confident in their mind and
body, especially youth who are vulnerable with fewer tools to navigate daily life.
No matter what has happened to you, there is a way to reconnect with yourself and reclaim
your story, your voice, and your authority as your own.
(This is why I work with licensed somatic psychotherapists at my company Movement Genius
to help young people improve their mental and emotional well-being.)
For the folks who click on Where Are They Now articles, I am here.
We are here.
This is your first time reading my story, but it is our millionth time asking you to
listen.
So, I’ll leave you with some questions for reflection: How might you as the audience
or outside witness be connected to the toddler-to-trainwreck industrial complex?
What are the risks of viewing these documentaries and headlines as entertainment without action?
Something I have learned is that as long as we are enchanted or complacent, we’re also
vulnerable.
This applies to families in Hollywood as well as consumers at home.
Together, we can change the narrative.
If you’d like to continue this conversation, feel free to share this with friends and connect
with me on social media. I'll link my accounts below.
And now you know.