To the Former Broadway Performer Who Feels Forgotten

by Chris Peterson

This column was born over dinner. A friend of mine, whose show closed last year, said it plainly between bites of pasta: “I didn’t realize how many people were only interested in me when I had something to post about.”

That sentence hasn’t left me. Because I’ve heard versions of it from so many artists, people who lit up stages, who poured themselves into storytelling, only to feel completely invisible the moment the spotlight shifted.

You booked the role. The texts flooded in. Congratulations from people you hadn’t heard from in years. Suddenly you were “so inspiring,” “so deserving,” “killing it.” People bought tickets, showed up, tagged you, toasted you. For a moment, it felt like your hard work had earned you not just a dream job, but a village.

And then, as quickly as they came, they disappeared.

The contract ended. The show closed. Or maybe you stepped away to rest, to regroup, to survive. And the group chats went quiet. The Instagram DMs stopped. Those same friends who once bragged about knowing you? Now they barely like your posts. They still follow you, but only when you’re winning.

You are not imagining it, and you are not alone. This business can be generous and glittering. It can also be transactional in a way that stings. People who want the proximity to your success, not the intimacy of your struggle.

And that kind of grief is uniquely painful. Because you start to question your instincts. Was it ever real? Were those laughs, those selfies, those after-show drinks just comps? The loneliness that follows isn’t just about being between jobs, it’s about feeling discarded by people who once made you believe you mattered to them.

But here’s what matters: your worth is not tied to your Playbill bio. You are not only valuable when you’re onstage. You are not only loved when the lights hit your face just right. You deserve friends who stay, who check in when the credits stop rolling, who know the human behind the headshot.

Let this be your reminder: the temporary applause of fair-weather fans will never compare to the quiet loyalty of people who show up when no one else does. The friendships built on career proximity will fade, but the ones built on shared values, mutual care, and depth, they’re the ones you can count on.

So rest. Rebuild. Reconnect with the parts of yourself that have nothing to do with casting announcements or press mentions. Reach out to the people who make you feel seen outside the stage door. And when the next opportunity comes, and it will, walk into it with your head held higher than before. Because now you know the difference.