Author: LolasUmbrella

I did an interview for VOYAGE HOUSTON’S ‘Bold Journey’ series.

Meet Jennifer Decker

We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Jennifer Decker a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Jennifer, so great to be with you and I think a lot of folks are going to benefit from hearing your story and lessons and wisdom. Imposter Syndrome is something that we know how words to describe, but it’s something that has held people back forever and so we’re really interested to hear about your story and how you overcame imposter syndrome.

DECKER
I was so relieved when I learned that ‘imposter syndrome’ was a real thing, and that it wasn’t just me who worried I wasn’t good enough. When I started my company, I had acting experience, but everything it took to run a theater company I had to learn on my own as issues came up. I really had no help or mentor in the process of this. Because of this, I was often very insecure about whether I should be doing what I was doing. As my company became more well-known, we began to attract some really amazing artists, and that’s when I started realizing that I was only just an ‘okay’ actor, not great like some of the people I then had access to. So I spent a LOT of time struggling with imposter syndrome, wondering if I should quit before everyone found out I shouldn’t be among them. It still creeps in at times, but I mostly overcame this by reminding myself constantly that nobody taught me anything about how to do any of this, yet I still managed to create a company from literally nothing, and that the projects I produced were good enough that people were coming to see our shows and writing about us in the press. Also, these fabulous artists were seeking me out to work with us, so that must mean they trusted what I was doing. The biggest thing I had to do was to acknowledge that I wasn’t the most talented at acting, which was the thing that had led me to theater in the first place. Once I came to terms with that, I was able to work hard to get better at the things that are more in my wheelhouse, which are leadership and directing. With my focus more on those things, I have been able to better develop those skills, and now I’m pretty confident that I have every right to be doing what I’m doing. It was a long process.

Thanks, so before we move on maybe you can share a bit more about yourself?
DECKER: I founded Mildred’s Umbrella Theater Company in 2001. We started out as an experimental theatre but evolved to find our place in the arts community into a theatre that focuses on plays by women. Before it became more mainstream to include plays by women in artistic seasons, we managed to be the first to premiere plays in Houston by playwrights like Naomi Wallace, Marina Carr, Edna O’Brien, Dawn King, Jen Silverman and others. We still focus on female artists when choosing our season, even though most theatres are also trying harder to do so in recent years. I also teach English at Houston Community College, where I recently won a student-nominated teaching award, which might be one of my most treasured accomplishments. I’m very proud of my work in both places. I am also a freelance theatre director. In April of 2023, I am directing “Photograph 51” for the Evelyn Rubenstein JCC theatre, and in May 2023, Mildred’s Umbrella is presenting the world premiere of “Tooth and Tail” by local playwright, Elizabeth A.M. Keel. http://www.mildredsumbrella.com .

Looking back, what do you think were the three qualities, skills, or areas of knowledge that were most impactful in your journey? What advice do you have for folks who are early in their journey in terms of how they can best develop or improve on these?
DECKER: I always knew I was good at running things. I have a unique talent for multi-tasking, and I’m able to juggle many things at once. Every job I’ve ever had, I’ve ended up a manager of some sort, whether I was trying to be one or not, so that was no surprise to me. Another thing that has impacted my journey is optimism. I know that if I apply myself to something and make sure I have the right people on a team, even if the other things aren’t quite in place yet, things wiil work out.

One thing I would say to people who are early in their journey is to make sure you give other people ownership and credit when they are contributing to your work, but always remember to take credit for yourself, too. One thing I always struggled with was allowing myself to take credit, even though I was handing it out left and right to everyone else. I still struggle with that, but awareness of it keeps me from letting it get me down.

What is the number one obstacle or challenge you are currently facing and what are you doing to try to resolve or overcome this challenge?
DECKER: The number one challenge when running a non profit theater is finding the money needed to keep it going. Most theatres would have to make their tickets 3 times more expensive to run on ticket sales alone, so we have to constantly find funding elswhere. I didn’t know anyone when I started the organization who could make a huge donation or be a benefactor, so we have always operated on a shoestring budget. I have learned over the years to write grant proposals, and a bit of our funding comes from there, and we have hundreds of people who give us small donations. Those add up, but it’s an ongoing struggle.

We overcame part of this challenge by giving up our permanent space, and moving our offices to a virtual environment. Lower overhead helps keep the budget up a bit for the productions and to pay the artists a bit more.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.mildredsumbrella.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mildredsumbrella
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MildredsUmbrella
• Twitter: https://twitter.com/mildreds
• Youtube: @mildredsumbrellatheatercom1022
• Other: https://vimeo.com/mildredsumbrella

I know some people think it’s cliche, but I think it’s a good thing to use the beginning of the year to re-evaluate one’s goals as a human being and set some new goals for the upcoming year. Being a human is an ongoing process, and we can all find ways to improve. 

I can personally think of a million ways to improve myself. As always, I do want to lose a few pounds, save a few dollars, and spend more time doing things I love, but like many people, I can dig a bit deeper to  find something harder to work on.

One thing that has dominated my life since I started it 20 years ago is the theater that I founded in 2001. I realize the only reason that I ever thought that a two bit actress with a working class family and literally no safety net whatsoever in anything had the ability to  start and run a theater was because I was young, and social media did not exist yet to force me to compare myself to others. Because of my complete ignorance and desire to do something genuine, it not only happened, but has existed for over 20 years now, chiefly on my own steam.  It has had its highs and lows over the years, with more successes than failures, and I’ll never be sorry that I made it happen, but it’s also been a source of a couple of significant nervous breakdowns. Not because I didn’t believe in what I was doing, but because I let other people hold power over how I felt about what I was doing. At some point, you have to admit to yourself that you are the one who controls your power, not other people.

It really used to get to me that I was the only one giving up my life all the time for the theater’s projects. Other people wanted it there when they could use it, but would often be MIA unless they were directly benefiting from it. And the people for whom I was creating a place to shine were usually the ones who always got all the credit when something was good. Often, I would take a huge risk to give a young artist a place to begin and have a real project to do, only to have them make it clear that they had no respect for me when they decided they had enough experience to move on. I took that kind of thing personally, until I taught myself that having a generous nature and giving some power to others to use is not a bad quality. Ungratefulness is. It’s not a negative reflection on me when others behave badly.  I can’t change who I am, or how people react to me. I can only control my own reaction to things and who I allow into my life. I don’t always succeed at this, but I am doing much better with it now that I have resolved to stay mindful of it.

Most of why I have taken things so personally has been because of some traumatic relationships I endured growing up. That’s true of many people, and it’s really hard to unlearn those patterns of seeking approval from people who will never give it to you, or being afraid of disappointing others to the point where you’re constantly letting yourself down. It takes a lifetime of work just to set boundaries, but I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere with that.

So my resolution this year is to not only continue the hard work of remembering my own value and not letting others define it with their words and actions,  but also to compassionately refuse access to anyone who does not treat me with respect. It is also to remember that just because I hold someone in high esteem doesn’t mean they return the sentiment. I have often thought I was good friends with someone who made it clear at some point that I wasn’t even on their B list. That’s on me, not them.   At the same time,  I don’t owe anyone a friendship or support in a project. I don’t even have to go to any show, party or event I don’t want to or call anyone back who constantly wants something from me and never returns the favor. 

My time and talents and love are all valuable, and people need to earn those things from me.  Nobody takes your personal power. You have to give it to them. 

URBAN COWBOY is on HBO. I was too young to watch it when it came out, but I remember the soundtrack on the radio. I thought I’d check it out because it was an important movie at the time it came out, apparently. Dude, this thing does NOT age well. So, this girl gets involved with and marries this dude that is uneducated and works in a factory, and his biggest talent is riding this fake bull, and he hits her. Then she does something he doesn’t like ,and he kicks her out (his WIFE) and gets another girlfriend like 5 minutes later and she has nowhere to go so she moves in with an even worse guy. And then he wins the fake bull riding thing and gets super mad that the other guy also hit her (like outraged, when he did the same thing earlier in the movie) and apparently there are only 2 men in the world she’s allowed to pick , so she goes back with him. I did not like this movie. I wanted to punch every man in that film except Uncle Bob, who was at least nice to his wife. The only thing good about this movie was Bonnie Raitt playing for 2 minutes at that bar.

sorry. I grew up around fucking men just like the ones in that movie, and I did everything I could to get away from them, and all I want is for fictional Sissy to do the same, but she doesn’t. So.. yeah, I’m triggered.

Thank you for reading my film review.

I wrote this essay for THE HOUSTON CHRONICLE about the 2 year process of creating a show called THE MOTHER PROJECT: A COLLABORATION TO HONOR BLACK MOTHERS AND THEIR CHILDREN. I learned a lot. Including that many of my friends, the mainstream theatre going public, and a lot of theatre press don’t pay attention to the work of black women like they do other things. If I didn’t realize how invisible black women feel before, I can see it now.

Anyway, here’s the link: https://www.houstonchronicle.com/opinion/outlook/article/Essay-I-didn-t-respect-motherhood-as-a-choice-17154349.php

TEXT IS HERE:

Essay: I didn’t respect motherhood as a choice until working on this show

“In his last breaths, he cried out for his mother.” Those were the words that stuck with me on May 26, 2020, when the murder of George Floyd dominated the headlines.

While I was reading this news, a cup of coffee in hand, my own mother called me. That day happens to be my birthday, and she was calling to wish me a happy one. I don’t call her, she often complains, but my brother does, and she’d just talked to him. He was having some troubles, again, and he needed her. From the time he was a teenager, she’s been bailing him out of crisis after crisis, often at great expense to herself. When I tell her to stop sacrificing everything to jump to his aid, she cries, “You don’t understand. I am his mother! He will never stop being my child!”

She’s right. I can’t possibly understand. I’m not a mother, and I’ve never wanted to be one. I grew up in Houston watching my mother struggle against the world just to keep her kids alive. To me, motherhood always looked like heartache and sacrifice and losing your own identity in the process. Unless you had money and family support, nobody was going to help you with it, either.

But that morning I was inspired to attempt to understand the woman who raised me. For the past two years, through my work in theater, I’ve taken a journey that began in personal inspiration, through race and class, bringing me to a new outlook on what it means to be a mother. I have learned how deep is the mother’s well of heartbreak, and joy.

My mother didn’t always choose the punishing path she found herself navigating. There was an abusive and often violent stepfather, followed by poverty when they divorced, leaving her suddenly without financial support when he disappeared in order to avoid paying child support for my younger siblings. My mother was suddenly plunged into single motherhood and, despite having little prior work experience, worked two jobs to keep the rent paid. One missed paycheck would have left us homeless.

Nobody was traumatized more by these experiences than my brother. The popular, seemingly happy boy stormed furiously into adolescence as a “troubled teen.” It was the late ‘80s and my mother knew little about mental illness; nobody else seemed to know much, either. Kids who acted out were labeled “problem kids” and thrown into a place where they could be contained. At least that’s how it happened in our world, where there wasn’t any money to do anything else about it. I watched my mother fight to save him in a society that does not help unless you can pay. I stood by, helpless as she burned her few hours of spare time every week to visit her son in a juvenile jail or attend meetings at a rehabilitation center, desperately trying to learn what to do to help a child who probably needed therapy, instead of just one cage after another.

I found motherhood a terrifying prospect after what I’d seen my own mother go through. I didn’t think I had the capacity for the kind of self-sacrifice or unconditional love that motherhood required. I’m also ashamed to say now that there was a time when I didn’t even respect it as a choice.

Instead of pursuing motherhood, I’ve poured all my time and energy into a theater company I founded called Mildred’s Umbrella Theater, whose mission is to focus on the theatrical work of women. We produce plays by female writers, and often those plays involve issues of specific concern to women. That morning in May 2020, as the world grappled with the video of Derek Chauvin killing Floyd, I decided to focus on single mothers by creating a performance piece using real experiences of different women whose children had been failed by the same systems in America that were supposed to protect them.

I sketched out a basic idea for how to gather material to create a script, and received a National Endowment for the Arts grant to help make it happen. But I knew I couldn’t create this alone. First of all, I’m a director and producer, but I am not a playwright. Second, I am a white, Gen X woman with no children. A play about the experience of motherhood couldn’t be told only from my point of view. So I brought together a small group of Black, Latina and white female theater artists into the conversation.

When we started planning the actual show, the energy was strong, powerful and feminine. Everyone had plenty of ideas for mothers we could ask to be part of the interview process. I fully imagined my mother would be one of them, since she was the one who inspired the idea in the first place, but theater is a collaborative process, and as we collaboratively worked, our conversations moved away from single motherhood in general, to the experiences of mothers of color specifically. The consensus was that children of Black mothers are the ones who are most consistently failed by the American system. Black mothers are roughly three times more likely than white mothers to die in or just after pregnancy. Doctors are more likely to undertreat them for pain. The differences continue after birth. To cite only one example, researchers at Children’s National Hospital found that Black children are far more likely than their white peers to die in gun violence, including police encounters.

I let the vision evolve away from my own story. It was uncomfortable for a short while, and it even hurt a little to do so, but I realized it was the right choice. As hard as my mother had to work, often at jobs with crappy pay, nobody would have ever decided not to hire her because of her race. She was not, as far as I know, treated as subhuman by hospital staff or looked at with suspicion when she was shopping, even though she was pretty much broke at times. It’s easy to forget your privilege when you know that you did suffer, but listening to other people can often put a sharper perspective on that suffering.

These Black mothers had a different experience where race was concerned, but they still had a lot in common with my mother. We set out to highlight the joys and heartbreaks of American motherhood and that’s exactly what we were doing. In fact, the process that followed helped to make my original idea even clearer.

Every mother we interviewed was eager to tell her story to people who wanted to hear it. It was heartbreaking to discover that some of them seemed surprised that anyone even cared. One mother said that she was used to feeling invisible. Her son was the best thing she’d done in her life, and she sometimes questioned her own purpose, now that he’d been taken from her.

“I raised him to be a kind, generous man,” she remembered, “And he was. He lived to help others.” Her voice shook as she tearfully told us the story of her only son being gunned down by a police officer. “How can someone just kill your child?” she cried, bringing us to tears with her.

A single mother of five, a full-time nurse, was exhausted with guilt over missing the signs that her beautiful, artistic son was suffering before he killed himself at age 13. “He put on a brave face for me,” she said, looking at the photos of her son and his art that graced the walls of her living room. “He didn’t like to burden me with his troubles.” She was angry that the staff at her son’s school had failed to protect him from the bullying that drove him to desperation, but after his death, she turned her anger into activism and was spending her energy to help others. Her young daughter sat beside her as she spoke, studying the pain on her mother’s face in a way that dragged me back many years, as I watched my own mother unravel, clinging to my brother in a desperate attempt to keep him from a similar fate.

Along with the pain, all of the mothers also recalled ecstatic joy. Even the mothers who had lost their children beamed when asked about the experience of giving birth and meeting their children for the first time. “I looked around, seeing everyone else with theirs, and I could now say, ‘This one is mine,’” one of them remembered. “What a beautiful thing that God has created for me.”

They each proudly related tales of triumph where their children had done something extraordinary, whether it was a major gift or accomplishment, or simply a touching act of kindness. One son had given his mother a single, perfect rose every Valentine’s and Mother’s day, from the time he was a small boy until his death in his 30s. “He never forgot,” she said, smiling at the memory. The youngest mother we interviewed, a new mother with a toddler and another on the way, was excited to give her girls the life she never had herself. Her dearest hope is for “each to have their own identity and be confident.” She never wanted them to feel unseen.

Not one of those women regretted her choice to have children. Whether they had stumbled into motherhood as a teen, or struggled to conceive for years before it happened, they all fiercely defended their identity as mothers. My own mother sometimes laments lost opportunities, and I certainly see that it would have been much easier to navigate some of the obstacles she was forced to encounter if she hadn’t had three children clinging to her the entire time, but she never expresses anything but joy about her choice to be a mother.

When she called me that morning on May 26, 2020, she said to me, “The day you were born was one of the best days of my life. I am so proud to be your mother.” I realized I needed to do better to deserve her devotion. I should definitely call her more.

I don’t regret my own choice, but I have changed my judgment about motherhood. For some, it is a choice, and for others it is something that happened to them, but to be a good mother takes incredible strength. Mothers are superheroes. There is no shame in calling on them when you need them, and we should also remember to call them when we don’t.

Jennifer Decker is the founder and artistic director for Mildred’s Umbrella Theater Company and English faculty at Houston Community College. “The Mother Project: A Collaboration to Honor Black Mothers and Their Children” will run May 19-28, 2022 at the DeLuxe Theatre in the Fifth Ward. The show is “pay as you can,” which hopefully will make it accessible to everyone who wants to see it.