Krista Knott lives in Los Angeles with her better half, their two small children, and one orange cat. Currently, she works as the Managing Editor ofThe Bright Side Project and she keeps a personal blog called my life as i see it where she blatantly ignores capital letters, grammar, and proper punctuation. (Yes, she is a mom who blogs. I know.) She realizes as she gets older that she is becoming her mother and it makes her happy. Krista will be performing in our upcoming Expressing Motherhood show here in LA next month.
since i was a small child, i have had a recurring dream. i am underwater in the ocean, in about three to four feet of water. i sense the waves coming and i lay my stomach against the sand with my arms and legs stretched out. as the currents come in, i dig my hands into the sand and hold on as the water moves across my back and massages my hair. sometimes, if i concentrate hard enough, i can breathe underwater by carefully inhaling only the oxygen molecules through my pursed lips. (do not attempt this in real life. i’m no scientist, but i’m pretty sure you’ll choke.) as i got older, i came to the understanding that this dream is a metaphor for my connection with my creative subconscious. (thank you, tattered copy of dream analysis from 1975!) and that my ability to stay underwater, breathing, exists in direct correlation to how much i nurtur her, my creativity.

i have always been a writer. my first journal, at age six, was filled with some amazing creative spelling and the beginnings of numerous short stories that always had something to do with a dog saving a baby. curious, considering i never owned a dog, but there it is. at one time, i also used to fancy myself an actress. sort of took it for granted that it would happen at some point, that i would “make it.” even redefined my definition of “make it” to mean “get paid to work. even if no one knows my name.” i spent two nights a week at acting class because that was where i felt the most free. because it was where i actually did the work of acting. it was my gym. and i loved working out.

my first feature audition landed me one small role in an independent film (pre-babies) and i was Taft-Hartley’d and became SAG-eligible. i tasted success in the back of my throat and my feet felt like down pillows. i hated myself in the film and think it is some of my weakest work but i’m sure that’s somehow related to the self-deprecating narcissism of every artist and is quite annoying to hear. ironically, what i feel was my worst work was also the peak of my career.
when my daughter was six months old, i brought her with me to an audition. sat in a room full of other people looking at me with disdain and feigned optimism that perhaps they were inspired by my refusal to lay down my dream just because i had a child. i felt buoyed with hope and fierce with maternal pride and ambition. it didn’t last long. truth was, i was sweating in the summer heat with my extra 40 lbs of baby weight and clothes that didn’t quite fit and the audition was a non-speaking role in a pizza commercial. living the dream!
once home, i emailed my manager and agent and let them go.
i still write. i will always write. i look at my children and i feel like slaying dragons and curling up into a fetal position. i want to write letters to strangers and cut my arms open and let the letters bleed themselves all over blank pages and i think that maybe painters have a better understanding of love, all that blending and mixing of colors and textures. i have come to the conclusion that the only way i can be a good mother and partner is to allow myself the freedom to be creative, to actually pursure creativity. that i am a writer and that i am less of a person if my only creative outlet is cutting food into shapes for lunch. that i owe it to my family to be the fullest version of myself. that it is my duty to grab handfuls of sand, lay my body out flat, and breathe.