Stories are written by people who don’t necessarily work or study in fields related to sexology. They convey emotions, perceptions, and subjective perspectives. Opinions voiced in the stories are those of their authors, and in no way represent the position of Les 3 sex*.

Ce témoignage est aussi disponible en français [➦].

Translated by Gabrielle Baillargeon-Michaud.

My name is Geneviève, I’m 34 years old. I’m the mother of a two-and-a-half-year-old child and another one growing inside me for almost six months now. I’m an actress and a sexology student.

I graduated from theatre school just over ten years ago, filled with dreams, hope, and a hunger for the profession. Anything seemed possible. Three years ago, a producer noticed me in a theatre show. This woman allowed me to audition for a leading role in a youth series, a rare opportunity in an industry where access to auditions is very restricted. And bang! I landed it.

After years of enjoyable times with people I loved in theatre but also tough labour that barely pays, I finally had the opportunity to create a role and perhaps even make a name for myself as an actress on the small screen. Because here lies my first love: the profession of acting. A passion for which I still work hard today to earn a living. And sometimes, I still catch myself dreaming of proving myself once more. But something has changed.

It’s a strange profession… As much as it becomes essential to the hearts of those who practice it, it can also be painful. Like a romantic relationship.

In my case, unfortunately, it caused me pain. At a time when, paradoxically, I was experiencing my greatest joy: I learned I was going to be a mother. Bang.

Often an ungrateful profession, especially for actresses like me, who are expecting a child and must contend with a life-filled belly. Who have a leading role in a series, who make a decent living, and who, suddenly, lose their job. Because the delivery does not coincide with the filming dates, because it would be too complicated to conceal the growing belly. Hide that belly that I cannot bear to see… 

The baby is seen as an obstacle to the “proper functioning of the production,” while it’s supposed to be the most beautiful thing in the world for women. Their greatest pride.

An actress with a belly as big as a soccer ball is not the most sought-after casting choice, let’s say. I learned this the hard way. I experienced it.

Bang. Overnight, I lost this role and the year’s salary that came with it.

But most of all, I lost the oomph. That oomph that makes you hope for the best and makes you say: finally, we’re breaking through, it’s happening! But no.

There.

Take that, big-bellied woman.

The big one who isn’t even big yet, who chose to be honest and announce her pregnancy at only three months, while still having a flat belly.

The big one who gained only 23 pounds during her pregnancy, who could have fit in her loose costume until the end. No. You will no longer film. You will no longer embody this character that you created.

In two days, without even calling you, they replace you, despite all the kind words they had for you, despite your appreciated work.

That’s what the producers of the series did.

You are pregnant. You are no longer good for anything. That’s the message I received. From producers, no less. Women, like me. Who have surely carried life too. Like me.

Even more ironic: it was a children’s show. Bang. Thanks, ladies. Thanks for allowing me to hate my state of being a pregnant woman for a few seconds, after your rejection. Just a few seconds. No more. But still. You made me hate it one second too long.

I quickly realized that this is not normal. A woman should not lose her job because she is expecting a child. On the contrary. She should be praised, given a trophy, you name it, for maintaining the strength to excel in her profession, while carrying a child, while raising it. She should not be forced to choose between her career and her child.

Wonderwomen, wondermommies.

I love and admire you. I would award you all the trophies, in all categories combined. I am dazzled by your strength, your courage, your patience, your resilience too. When I gave birth to my son two and a half years ago, and when I embarked on university studies in sexology a few months later (while continuing to fight for acting contracts), my partner bought me a little Wonderwoman figurine.

Thank you, my love. You saw it right, unlike the producers who brushed me aside. Because an actress who is expecting a child is a better actress. I’ve already noticed this in other actors/actresses. The infinite richness that a son or daughter brings. I understand, however, that in some cases, replacements are inevitable. In cases of nudity, for example. But my case was not an exception. And for the second time, since another actress experienced roughly the same thing as me on this same show a few years earlier. Bang. But hey, that’s too bad… for you, producers.

I want to give thanks to these women producers. For real. THANK YOU. Because thanks to you, I realized that this profession, extraordinary as it may be, can sometimes be the most unfair for a woman.

I had my heart broken from that day on, felt betrayed by this profession to which I had given everything. My first big heartbreak. Oh, how it hurts. But so much the better.

Finally, I was able to break free from the utopia I had created for myself. Finally, I understood that this profession would never allow me to freely experience one of the most beautiful things for me, motherhood. Some have been luckier than me; sets that accommodate them and allow them to breastfeed between takes, productions that postpone filming dates, etc. Yes, they exist. Thank God! Some progress has been made. But I wasn’t so lucky. And there are a bunch of actress-mothers who have experienced the same thing as me.

Don’t think that I am bitter. Disillusioned, yes. But I just realized that it was a one-sided love, with someone who calls me only when they want to “get together”, while I have feelings for them. Period.

Laurent, my son, is the most beautiful thing that has happened to me. No role could equal him, no contract. And also… I have somewhat met my second love, profession-wise: sexology. A bit like a rebound, it was my plan B. It accepted me as I am. “We’ll accommodate you so you don’t fail your semester, don’t worry,” I was told by two teachers who will teach me in the fall. Relief. Sigh… which shouldn’t even be necessary, actually. Thank you, ladies. If only you knew how happy I am to live this second pregnancy completely freed from dictates or fears of losing. Rebounds are sometimes more than just rebounds…

I wish all women, actresses or not, to experience their pregnancy and motherhood in this feeling of complete freedom and acceptance.

I also have a gentle and welcoming thought for these friends and colleague actresses who have felt like me, who have been afraid of losing their place, of being too big… Who did not dare to ditch the condom or the pill for fear that it would harm their career; bad timing as they say… Or for those who dared, but who unfortunately now pay the price in a certain way, career-wise.

I wish for them to make peace, but not to remain silent.

I wish for them to find a second love that soothes the old wounds, but without those wounds being forgotten. I wish for them to remember, but with a light heart because they are fulfilled by something other than this strange profession.

We are in 2017. It is time that motherhood be seen not as an obstacle to a career, but as a launchpad. As a plus. That plus that distinguishes us, us women. Pregnant actresses, actress-mothers, actresses-who-want-to-have-a-child, you are brave and strong, whether the profession is on your side or not.

I, for one, am on your side.