An Open Letter to the Theatre People Who Were Told They Weren’t Good Enough

by Chris Peterson, OnStage Blog Founder

To the actors cut after one audition, the designers told their work was “too much” or “not enough,” the stage managers overlooked until everything fell apart, the tech crew thanked only when they weren’t blamed, the choreographers labeled “too green,” the playwrights encouraged to “write something more commercial,”

To every theatre artist who walked away not because you stopped loving it, but because someone made you feel like you didn’t belong: I see you. I hear you. And I hope you’ll come back.

Let’s get something out of the way first: this industry hasn’t suddenly become a safe haven. It still has sharp edges. It still plays favorites. And it still—too often—tells people like you that you’re not the right fit.

But you? You were never the problem.

The problem was the narrow definition of talent you were measured against. The problem was the bitter director, the close-minded casting team, the rigid professor, or the system that didn’t make space for your story, your skillset, or your identity. The problem was that they made you feel like your dream didn’t matter.

And maybe, for your own health or your sanity or just to breathe, you stepped away.

Maybe you found something else—a career, a different creative outlet, a life where you didn’t have to defend your worth every time you walked into a room. And maybe it’s good. Really good. But if there’s even a tiny part of you that still thinks about it—that wonders what it would feel like to stand in a spotlight again, or build a set from scratch, or call cues from the booth, or tell a story that only you can tell—this is your invitation.

Come back.

You don’t need to prove anything. You don’t owe this industry a comeback story. But theatre still needs you. Your voice. Your imagination. Your heart.

Let me tell you something personal: I’ve been there.

I remember sitting in a post-show “feedback session” during college. One of those conversations that’s supposedly about growth but really just felt like an ambush. A faculty member looked at me and said, flat-out, “You’re not leading material. Maybe just stick to small roles or support jobs backstage.”

I nodded, smiled, took the note. But inside, I cracked a little.

I didn’t speak up. I didn’t argue. But I also didn’t let that be the end of my story.

I worked harder. I kept showing up. I learned from better leaders, better directors, better collaborators. I started a theatre blog. I grew—and I failed—and I tried again. And now I’m the one in the room helping to build productions, guiding teams, mentoring students. Not because I proved them wrong, but because I proved myself right. I did have what it takes. I do. So do you.

So if you’re reading this and something in your chest is tightening—because you remember the moment someone told you that you weren’t good enough—please know this:

They were wrong.

You were always enough. You are still enough. And this art form is still better with you in it.

Come back. Come back and stage manage the chaos into something beautiful. Come back and costume a show that makes the audience gasp. Come back and build a set, run a board, rewrite your old monologue, take the audition, direct the reading, pitch the weird experimental piece you’ve been dreaming about. Come back not because the theatre deserves you—but because it missed you.

There is room for you here now. We’re building a better room. A bigger table. A stage that fits all of us.

With solidarity,

A fellow theatre artist who didn’t give up—and hopes you won’t either.