Hey friends. It's Meredith. And today... we're going to get real. Like, deeply, vulnerably, uncomfortably real. Since writing my memoirs Confessions Of An Actress - I have had a lot of people ask me about the foreword. What I seemingly glossed over….brankrupcy. Its an uncomfortable subject for some but I just put it out there….and have yet to really dive into it. I have another book to write about my journey in Hollywood and why my life went into a spiral. And this episode is a little window in.
Life of a performing artist isn't about the high-kick curtain calls or red carpets or sparkling moments under Broadway lights. It is some massive highs and lows. This episode is about what happened after the spotlight dimmed.
Buckle up.
I was 25 years old when I became a Broadway star. Peggy Sawyer in 42nd Street. A dream role. A leading lady. It was the kind of rise that movies are made of. I had worked my ass off for that moment. I'd climbed out of obscurity and danced into the heart of New York. I was living proof that if you dream big enough and hustle hard enough, the world will hand you a tap shoe and a standing ovation.
But no one tells you what happens after the curtain falls.
I started mapping out the kind of career I wanted, and began making trips from New York to pursue a TV and Film career in Hollywood. I was just 27 and my manager already told me I needed to hurry up. I was late to the Pilot Season game. I wanted to make the leap into that world so badly I just did whatever I thought it took and began paying with everything on my credit cards. I knew my dream was always to start on Broadway and get whisked off to Hollywood. I needed to have longevity and that was the way to do it. I couldn't dance 8 shows a week forever. And I was married. I wanted to buy something, an apartment or a house. I wanted to start a family and have "the life you dream about." From the outside, everything looked shiny and successful.
But inside? Behind the scenes? I began bleeding money trying to make it work. My then husband wouldn't travel to Hollywood with me. He didn't want that life so he stayed in NYC, so I was paying essentially double rent for a few months while subletting in LA. Then there was Car Rental. Gas. New Headshots. Coachings. Acting classes. Screen tests. Stylists. Submissions. Networking. And Travel, so much travel for auditions. Auditions that led to huge, possibly life altering callbacks…. that led to nothing. The grind wasn't new to me—I'd done it in New York—but in LA, the rejection felt colder. More personal. I was being picked apart physically. Not pretty enough. Needed to get rid of a mole on my lip. Consulting with a plastic surgeon at 27 - yes, really.
And the roles? I was getting incredibly close. Testing for 12 series regular roles on brand new pilots for every major network….but I wasn't booking them.
The truth is...I invested everything into keeping the dream alive. I used all my savings. I couldn't work a side hustle while auditioning for major shows and roles. So, I maxed out credit cards. I borrowed against tomorrow hoping that today's audition would be the one. That Hollywood would finally see in me, what Broadway did. I always heard of those stories "I had $35 left in my bank account and then I booked the big part" I just kept believing I would.
But here's where it gets brutal.
After years of Pilot Season, travel and investing. At age 35, I found myself sitting with my then husband in a bankruptcy courtroom.
The judge looked me dead in the eye and said,
"So... how did you rack up so much debt? Must've bought a lot of shoes."
Let that sink in. He asked ME that, and didn't say a word to my then husband who also had a huge hand in our debt.
That moment right there? That was the punchline of a decade-long drama. A bankruptcy judge, assuming I was just another woman with a shopping habit—not someone who was trying desperately to grow her career, to expand, to evolve, to thrive as an actress.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to say:
"No, Your Honor. It wasn't shoes. It was voice lessons. It was survival. It was flights to New York for callbacks. It was the pursuit of something bigger than me! You fucking asshole!!"
But I didn't say that. I just sat there. Burning with shame. Humiliated. Powerless.
That moment broke something in me. But it also... strangely... planted a seed.
Because not long after that came divorce. The career silence. The manager who told me—literally told me—I was now a liability to his company, not an asset anymore.
Thirty-five years old. Washed up. Too old for the ingénue roles. Too young for the matriarchs. Too broken to be bankable. My ex-husband telling me he actually never wanted to have children with me.
Just absolute personal and professional devastation.
I could've given up, literally with that story, no one would've faulted me. And believe me—I thought about giving it all up. But instead, I made a choice.
I decided if the industry didn't see my value anymore, I would. I started rebuilding. Slowly. From the ground up. No glitz. No glam. Just grit.
I started saying yes to things that made me feel alive, not just "important." I started creating my own work. Producing. Teaching. Sharing my voice in new ways. Eventually—yes—podcasting. (Hi.)
I learned that my worth isn't in whether or not I'm cast in a show on Broadway or TV. It's not in how many credits I have on IMDB, or Broadway shows under my belt. And it's definitely not in how much debt I've had to climb out of.
My worth is in my story. And how I tell it. And how I use it to lift others up. I wrote two memoirs in the middle of a pandemic. We all went through Covid together but I was already in a personal spiral I was trying to climb out of. Covid just pushed it all down again.
I have been rock bottom and back again. And I'm still here. I'm still hopeful.
So if you're listening to this and you're in your own rock-bottom moment—maybe you're drowning in credit card bills, or your career has ghosted you, or someone's made you feel like you're no longer an asset—I want you to know this:
You are not your lowest point.
You are the hero after the fall.
And sometimes, bankruptcy and divorce isn't the end of your story—it's the fucking beginning.
Thank you for listening. Thank you for letting me tell the truth. It's taken me years to own this part of my journey, but it's also the most powerful chapter I've lived. Welcome to Season 2 of The Meredith Patterson Podcast. I have a lot to say and this is just the beginning.
If this resonated with you, share this episode. Leave a review. Message me. And most of all—know that no matter how far you've fallen, you can rise up.
Bliss Is Your Birthright - you are meant to be blissful in this world.
Have vision for what you want and be grateful for where you are every single day.
Thank you for listening
