Full disclosure—I’m an epileptic.

As an adolescent, without notice, I’d fall to the ground and convulse, any time, anywhere. I quickly learned to find the softest spot to land, which part of my body should take the hit.

Having been knocked off my center—both literally and figuratively—I gravitated to the only high school safe space I could find, the theatre department. There I could avoid ridicule and be accepted as a late bloomer, a nerd, a homosexual, and even as the quirky kid who fell down and shook.

My ability to adapt, to embrace the random, stems directly from my epilepsy and plays into who I am as a theatre artist.

In New York, I became the Artistic Director for Readers Theatre Workshop, a company that promotes literacy through classroom workshops and live performances. This was my bootcamp, where I not only created shows and oversaw residencies, but also learned to redefine inclusivity by hiring staff and actors of different races, sexual orientations and disabilities, mirroring the student bodies we served.

Around this time, I met the man who was to become my husband. We moved to Los Angeles and adopted two children. I thought I’d be able to maintain a vibrant theatre life while raising my family, but when our son was diagnosed with autism I had to adapt one more time—acting in plays was replaced by stay-at-home writing. Blog entries became spoken word performances became one man shows, which evolved into a love of playwriting.

I’m passionate about the characters I’ve created. For me, giving voice to the underrepresented—women, the elderly, people of color, the LGBTQ community—has been imperative. Obstacles such as discrimination, dependency issues and even the familiar step-ball-change of family squabbles affect my characters’ moment to moment, knocking them off their centers and inciting them to unapologetically take space. Always with a dollop of humor, my scripts explore society’s underbelly exposing our vulnerabilities and reveling in our shared humanity.

Just starting out, if I had committed to write what you know my plays would be about white privilege. Having been an artistic director in a metropolitan city, having accepted my queerness, having married a Black man, having adopted two children of different races, one of whom is nonbinary, the other with special needs I have honed a distinctive voice informed by bearing witness to society’s hypocrisies as well as its potential.

My children are now seventeen and twenty-one, and it’s time to continue my theatre journey, starting with seeing the plays woefully living in my computer fully realized as theatrical productions.

When I was in rehearsals for Terrence McNally’s Love! Valour! Compassion! I had to learn to walk in high heels. My husband, an ex-drag queen, told me to lean back, trust the heel.

I’m adapting once again, trusting the heel and embracing what comes next.