Falling with Wings

by Dianna De La Garza

  While we were at the second audition, I ran into another pageant friend and happened to remark that I was looking for someone to work with my girls so they could improve their skills. “You should try Cathryn Sullivan,” she said. “She’s one of the top acting coaches in the area.” By the next afternoon, I had already penciled in acting lessons onto our November calendar. Nothing ever came from the callback, but by being in the right place and asking the right question, we gained a valuable teacher and mentor.

  After just two sessions, Cathryn came to me and asked, “These girls are half Latino, correct?” Yes, I nodded. “I need to make a phone call,” she abruptly announced. Within seconds, she was on the phone with Jennifer Patredis at Kim Dawson Agency. “I have these two beautiful, sweet, amazing girls here that are half Latino,” she raved. “You need to look at them and send the older one to the audition we talked about.”

  And just like that, we finally had an invitation to the best modeling and talent agency in Texas. When Kris Smalling heard about our appointment, she, too, called the agency and told them to hire my girls. “Their mom is really great, too,” she stated, which I’d later learn was an important referral because the agency never wanted to work with pushy stage moms or “know-it-all” parents. I decided right then and there that I would become the easiest, most congenial, and most responsible mother anyone had ever worked with. I had no idea that my lofty goals would slowly unravel my sanity.

  * * *

  The last thirty days of 2001 were a flurry of activity. We walked into the appointment with Jennifer Patredis at Kim Dawson Agency on December 10 with high expectations, and we weren’t disappointed. Dee Ann Vernon, head of the print division at the time, took one look at my extended belly and laughed, “I’ll take that one, too!”

  Wow, I thought, not even out of the womb and she already has a contract.

  Within two weeks of that meeting, Dallas booked her first commercial. Actually, she booked two commercials, but because they were filming on the same day, she had to choose the one she wanted more. Talk about beginner’s luck! Ten more offers followed. Demi wasn’t as quick out of the gate, but she, too, eventually landed her share of commercials and print ads. Kim Dawson was all about involving the whole family, so if Dallas auditioned for something and Demi could fit the part, too, then they’d both audition for the same role. Everything went to Dallas for a while, but it was still valuable experience for Demi.

  As Christmas approached, Demi started fretting about possibly missing out on the birth of her new baby sister because of Barney. “Sorry, honey, but you can’t be excused from work for something like that,” I told her, not wanting to make any trouble with the director. “It’s a job, and you need to take it seriously.” But truthfully, I was disappointed, too. Filming was slated for a weekly rotating schedule that started with one day a week, then two days a week, and ended with five days a week before starting all over. I kept my fingers crossed that I’d go into labor during one of those off weeks when Demi wasn’t at the studio every day. One thing was certain—life was rushing at us, and I needed to start thinking about managing the demands of three children, not just two.

  A few days after Christmas and two weeks shy of my due date, I went to a doctor’s appointment and discovered my blood pressure was rising. “Time to induce you,” my doctor concluded. Relieved that I wouldn’t have to worry about juggling Demi’s work schedule and my delivery any longer, I called Eddie and told him to meet me at the hospital. “We’re having a baby today,” I exclaimed.

  Although we were hoping for a natural delivery, things didn’t work out that way. “Something’s wrong,” I shouted at one point, hours after labor had started. When the doctor discovered that my baby was trying to come out sideways, he shooed everyone out of the room, which actually was a bit of a relief, as there was quite a party going on in there. For this delivery I wasn’t just surrounded by Eddie’s family; he also had invited my grandmother, people from work, and even the mother of his best friend from high school to come over. Once everyone was gone, the nurses began prepping me for a C-section.

  Still reeling from the panic and pandemonium of being whisked into the operating room, I was more than grateful to hear the doctor say, “It’s a girl, and she looks perfect.” It was December 28, 2001, and we couldn’t have asked for a better post-Christmas surprise. After Eddie and the girls left, I held my new daughter in the pleasant stillness and looked her over from head to toes.

  “Madison De La Garza,” I declared, “you are going to take after your father and become a scholar!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “After Madison was born, I quit eating to lose weight. I was dealing with postpartum depression, my need to look and be perfect, and the schedule of two teens working in the industry. Lots of things started caving in on me.”

  “Let’s go!” I hollered to Demi, who was still upstairs. “You can’t be late … not today or EVER!”

  It was January 12, 2002, the day filming started for Barney & Friends. From then on, our lives began whirling at a frantic pace. Every morning I was up before dawn because Dallas needed to be at school by 6:00 a.m. for cheerleading practice. But I couldn’t just throw on a pair of sweats and jump in the car. No, my self-esteem was so tied to my appearance that I couldn’t imagine leaving the house for any reason without first showering, styling my hair, and applying makeup, a process that took almost two hours. After I dropped Dallas off, Demi, Madison, and I would head to the studio in Allen, Texas, which was about an hour away. Once I handed Demi off to her wrangler, the person who’d supervise her on set, I’d head back home. By afternoon, I was driving back to the studio to pick Demi up. It was a grueling routine, especially because Madison was colicky and often had me up until two in the morning.

  Two weeks into filming, I was returning from Demi’s morning studio drop when I approached a red light about a block away from home. As I put my foot on the brake, my world went dark. When I finally opened my eyes, I discovered that I was drifting through the intersection. I shuddered to think what might have happened had it been rush hour. How could I have fallen asleep so quickly? What if my baby had been hurt?

  “I can’t go on like this,” I pleaded to Eddie that night. When he suggested I hire someone to help out since he worked long hours every week, I reached out to my friend Lisa, who was between jobs at the time. Agreeing to cover the night shift—arriving around 8:00 p.m. and leaving by 3:00 a.m.—she quickly became an integral part of our lives. Even months later when Lisa found another job, she still pitched in and helped when she could. Without her, I never would have survived.

  Barney, which filmed from January 2002 until July 2003, wasn’t the only thing that kept us busy. In addition to supervising Demi’s homeschooling and taking care of Madison, I also was shuttling Dallas and Demi to Cathryn Sullivan’s acting classes several times a week. On top of that, there were auditions and modeling jobs. All of it seemed exciting, especially the paychecks the girls were earning with regularity. But the costs of chasing our dreams—both the obvious and the subtle ones—were piling up, too.

  While doing Barney, Demi also landed some voice-over opportunities and starred in a few “industrials” that promoted several local businesses. Because she could sing as well as act, AmeriCredit Corporation even chose her in 2002, as she was turning ten, to host and perform at the company’s ten-year-anniversary celebration in Walt Disney World. Because I didn’t want to travel with Madison, I hired a chaperone to accompany Demi so she wouldn’t have to pass on the opportunity. It was all part of the juggling act that was now my life.

  Demi, a little chubby at the time, was also modeling plus-size clothes for J.C. Penney. (Yes, that long-ago dream had finally come true!) I was the proudest mom in Colleyville every time I walked through our local mall and saw posters of my little star hanging from the rafters. She looked so adorable!

  But Demi’s weight was one of those subtle warning signs that I didn’t pay attention to. I simply thought she
was going through a stage that would evolve into taller and thinner as she got older. But her eating issues had already begun. Spurred on in part by the unsettledness of being pulled from public school for Barney and the sting of no longer being the baby of the family, Demi turned to food, mostly sweets, to ease her anxiety. One day a plateful of cookies might disappear, the next it might be several doughnuts. I never suspected anything. After all, what kid doesn’t like sugar? I hadn’t yet learned that when mothers have eating issues, their daughters often have issues, too. It was a red flag of distress, but I missed it because I was mired in my own disease. I was also happy to focus on more positive things like helping my kids with their careers.

  Dallas kept me busy, too. Right out of the gate, she took off like a racehorse because she had such a commercial look. Voice-overs, commercials, and industrials all came her way. In many ways, it seemed like she was the one destined to become a star. One of her early hires was for Arlington Recycling, where she costarred with our friend Brent Anderson, who had made appearances in Walker, Texas Ranger and who’d go on to star in the 2015 TV series American Crime. She also did so many commercials for Mattel’s Hit Clips, one of the first media players on the market, that she became an “unofficial” spokesperson for the company.

  Even Madison, at four months old, jumped into the fray by booking her first modeling job and appearing in a flyer for Dillard’s department store. Needless to say, we weren’t exactly a conventional family, but by then we weren’t interested in being normal. My girls wanted to be successful. They wanted to be discovered. They wanted to be stars. Having been down that road myself, I knew the earlier they got noticed, the more likely it was to happen. Whatever doors I could open for them, I would. Besides, we were having the time of our lives. That is, until bouts of depression suddenly crushed my world.

  Why? I wondered. It seemed completely illogical, considering I was happily married and thrilled to be helping my girls. The symptoms—crying spells, dark thoughts, and obsessive fears—were similar to those I had encountered after Demi’s birth, but this time they were more intense. With alarming frequency, I found myself holding Madison in my arms as slow-motion movies played in my head, detailing my failings as a mother. In one disturbing sequence, I saw myself carefully bathing my baby in the sink, only to watch her slip through my fingers and crash headfirst onto the floor. With every scary frame flashing through my mind, I grew more distraught. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. Neither Eddie nor Lisa had a clue about the darkness circling around me.

  I knew that I was exhausted and hanging by a thread, but admitting that I was struggling with my motherly duties would have meant disturbing that all-important perception that my life was perfect. Hadn’t I already confessed about my failed marriage? Surely I could handle this problem on my own. Besides, Eddie and I had established a set of rules when we first started living together, and I wanted to uphold my end of the bargain. He was the provider, which meant he worked sixty-plus hours a week at the car dealership and handled our finances. I was in charge of raising the kids and making decisions at home. Leaning on him wasn’t my style. I was strong, independent, and fully capable of handling details such as making sure our girls got fed, went to the doctor when they needed to, completed their schoolwork, and arrived at auditions on time and prepared. In my mind, asking Eddie for help would have been a sign that I was falling short on my responsibilities.

  Determined to carry on like nothing was wrong, I doggedly tried to fix my life. Instead, old patterns returned, especially my obsession about being thin. My dark moods, I decided, came from all those extra pounds from pregnancy, so I stopped eating, which made breastfeeding nearly impossible. I can’t worry about eating properly, I told myself. I’ll simply give Madison a bottle. After that, everything started caving in on me.

  “I can’t seem to stop crying,” I bawled in my doctor’s office one afternoon. “I need help!” My doctor was the only person I was willing to confide in because I trusted him to keep my visit confidential. He listened to every word I said, suggesting that, once again, postpartum depression seemed to be the cause of my problems. Then he prescribed some medication. I’m not sure if it was Prozac or Wellbutrin, but it did the trick—at least for three or four months. Once I felt I was back on an even keel, I stopped the meds, telling myself that I was fine. Besides, I was pretty sure those pills were keeping me from losing weight. It was a foolish mistake.

  One of the sad and frightening things about dealing with mental-health issues is that making excuses, living in denial, and deferring treatment often become acceptable life strategies. I kept telling myself that I could tough it out. Over time, I carried that logic a little further and convinced myself that if I could just guide my family to stardom, my problems would disappear. The formula in my head looked something like this: stardom = money & recognition = less anxiety & more satisfaction = less depression & more happiness = fairy-tale life. And I wasn’t about to let tiredness or sad thoughts stand in our way.

  * * *

  By the time Madison turned two, our lives ran like a cassette that kept being rewound. Each week, we’d schedule practices, classes, filming, photo shoots, auditions, and schoolwork. The following week we’d hit “replay” and do it all again. Whenever the pinpricks of depression needled my mind, I’d focus on the activities of the day and push forward.

  My job was getting everyone where they needed to be, and my number-one rule was: BE ON TIME! Sometimes I was so worried about being late that I’d make everyone leave two hours early when only one was necessary. We spent endless trips together in our Ford Expedition, often logging more than a hundred miles in a day. With a toddler in tow, I knew I had to be prepared. Eventually, I had the routine down to a science.

  “Do we have everything?” I’d ask the girls before I left the driveway. “Food? Water? Diapers?” The girls would look around then shout, “All here!” To be sure, I’d ask again. “Really? How about those Elmo and Dora DVDs?” I was obsessive about being prepared, yet I always seemed to forget something.

  “Crap,” I shouted more than once as I backed out of the driveway. “We need head shots and résumés!” Even if we didn’t, I wanted them, just in case. Leaving things to chance wasn’t part of my playbook, so I constantly tried to anticipate every stumbling block or pitfall that we might encounter. Sometimes, though, I drove my girls crazy, especially with all my questions.

  “Dallas, did you study your lines?” “How’s that science project coming, Demi?” “Where are the auditions tomorrow?” When the girls grew weary, a round of drama always followed.

  “Mom, really,” Dallas would sigh in exasperation, while Demi rifled off, “I know! I know!” like she was a parrot. When they both started rolling their eyes, I’d lose it. “Do you want me to stop this truck right now?” I would screech. Lord, we were noisy.

  Of course, I didn’t really mind. It was all part of staying connected with my girls. Amid all that shouting, we also did a lot of talking. If someone was worried about forgetting her lines or messing up, we talked. If someone was excited about an upcoming birthday party or needed a new outfit, we talked about that, too. No topic was off-limits, though we rarely got into anything too deep. More often than not, I’d glean little insights about Dallas’s new boyfriend or Demi’s latest music idol. Every mile traveled was an opportunity to learn something new.

  Madison, still a bit shy, was included, too. “Show me happy,” Dallas asked one day, showing her a big smile. When Madison smiled back, we all clapped and cheered. “How about sad?” Demi asked, putting on a big frown. Before long, Madison was making exaggerated faces to please her sisters and becoming quite the little actress in the process. But when Dallas and Demi were busy at a studio or in someone’s classroom, I knew I was in charge of entertaining Madison. That’s when I decided to turn our truck into a playground.

  With three seats in the back of the vehicle, I folded two completely down and folded the third halfway, which made a perfe
ct sliding board. Throw in a potty seat and some Legos and we had everything we needed for an afternoon’s worth of fun. As crazy as it sounds, those years spent in the car were some of the best bonding times ever—though I do believe we spent more on gas than some folks do on college tuition.

  * * *

  We doled out time and money during those early years like we had an endless supply. We didn’t, of course, but that didn’t stop us. I was a mom on a mission, determined to assist my girls in any way I could. With so many gifted teachers in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, I couldn’t resist signing them up for more and more classes.

  Cathryn Sullivan, a tough, no-nonsense kind of woman who could command attention just by snapping her head of long blond hair, was a godsend when it came to teaching acting skills. My girls loved her and so did I. Since I had three girls and Cathryn had as many boys, we always joked that someday we’d play matchmaker with our offspring in hopes that we could live out our sunset years together, rocking our grandchildren to sleep. It never panned out that way, but we all remain close friends to this day.

  One thing is certain—Cathryn made our dreams take flight. As she taught, pushed, and cajoled my girls to become better actresses, more and more opportunities came their way. Today, Cathryn is recognized as one of the top acting coaches in the nation and her impressive list of successful students includes not only my girls, but also stars such as Selena Gomez, Cody Linley, and Madison Pettis.

  But Dallas and Demi weren’t merely aspiring actresses. I knew they also had musical talent and ambitions, which meant they had to learn to use their vocal cords properly. So, I looked up an old acquaintance from my own performing days, Linda Septien, who was becoming recognized for her highly competitive “master classes” in vocal and instrumental training. “I’ll gladly let your girls audition,” she told me, “but I can’t guarantee I’ll accept them.”