I came back to consciousness from a haze of grey clouds, feeling a familiar, urgent trembling in my arms and legs—a result of too much adrenaline. My fellow castmate stared in shock. At that moment, I was unsure what had just happened or what to do next.
“Whose line is it?” I asked. My castmate immediately broke character, yelling, “Do you remember what just happened?”
I remember supporting him with my hand, feeling my thumb bend back further than usual as he fell—a movement typically met with little resistance. I remember thinking, “If I just lie here, the pain will go eventually,” as though I was coaching my way through the discomfort.
It transpired that I’d passed out for a full minute and twitched back into consciousness to a room full of horrified actors in training. I had completely dislocated my thumb, which had gone right back in again, leaving me with nauseating pain and a panic that something had been torn or broken.
Knowing what I know now, I would have calmly stated that my thumb had bent back too far, but there was no damage because my joints can actually bend that far. Pain and damage do not always coincide. The agony I felt for the next two months, augmented by the fear of real injury, was dismissed by doctors who said, “The scans show there’s nothing wrong.” My throbbing thumb said otherwise.
That is the curse of hEDS when you are undiagnosed. It is hidden, ignored, and denied. Ultimately, you build an unhealthy relationship with your body and you beat yourself up mercilessly because there’s ‘no reason you should feel this bad’ when ultimately—there is.
If anyone has read the excellent fantasy fiction novel ‘Fourth Wing’ by Rebecca Yarros (which I thoroughly recommend for anyone who wants to read about a dragon-riding heroine with Ehlers-Danlos), she states their dragon training school “cuts away the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core.”
Welcome to drama school.
Whilst showing all the symptoms of EDS, from gut issues, dislocations, subluxations, fainting, breathlessness, headaches, bumping into furniture, and general fatigue… I had to survive what was the most gruelling four years of my life. It was a physically intensive, exhaustive, and emotionally draining experience.
We would start at 8:55 am and finish at 6:30 pm, lessons would sit in two hour blocks with no breaks and comprise of singing, acting, script study, movement, yoga, and improvisation. The long hours, stressful itinerary, and movement classes which had us contorting our bodies into every shape imaginable, or had us crawling around like a meerkat in animal studies, were exactly the opposite of what my body needed.
My list of injuries included slipped ribs, whiplash, foot sprains, a dislocated thumb and of course the dreaded stomach pains.
During movement classes, I would run to the corners of the room to let out a little air so that the cramps would ease up after lunch, hoping no one would smell it and name and shame to the room.
My body was holding on by a thread, and it didn’t take much to knock it off equilibrium.
I had always been sporty, but I found running incredibly painful and began running at weekends to build up stamina for the week ahead, puzzled at how everyone else found it so easy. Most classes were taken barefoot, and as someone with hypermobile feet I found myself enduring so much pain, which ran up through my ankles, my legs, and the rest of my torso after a two-hour lesson. I left class wondering how anyone would ever want to be a movement actor or join a company like Punch-Drunk.
During sessions when I was not on stage, I would be found curled up under the heater trying to catch a bit of warmth and get some much-needed energy for the next lesson. These symptoms were also masked by how exhausted everyone else in the year also was. Everyone was getting injured; everyone was suffering achy joints…mine were just significantly more frequent.
I discovered later that I was taking painkillers every day to cope with the pain, which my other classmates were not.
It was the first time I began to ask myself, “Am I normal, or is something else going on?”
The lack of understanding from staff was rife.
When I had whiplash, a teacher grabbed my arm and swung me around to try to evoke a grounded bellow in my voice whilst performing Shakespeare, which obviously came out as an agonised, terrified squeak. I was sent away and cried in the corridor out of frustration.
I was even marked down on my final performance of a third-year show because my ‘hair wasn’t done correctly for the time period’ (1940s) and this was entirely down to my thumb being welded into a bright blue cast. I also had to remove the cast for each show and protect it from any actors who got too close whilst simultaneously playing a 1940s care-free actress.
From reading this, you may think drama school might not be for anyone with Hypermobile EDS, but that is where I beg to differ. I owe my pain management, my visualisation, my bodily awareness, and my ability to regulate my nervous system to drama school.
An actor will leave drama school in full command of their voice and a deep understanding of their body. The voice is their most valuable instrument and the most important tool in your box.
We studied the diaphragm and learned diaphragmatic breathing from the first day. We spent hours on the floor humming into our backs to create resonance (what you need to be heard on stage).
Breath control, singing, and humming are some of the top things which help you get back into a parasympathetic nervous state and ultimately regulate your nervous system. These are tools used by hypnobirthing practitioners, professional athletes, self-healing gurus, physios…and a well-trained actor.
Thanks to drama school, I am a master in them.
Would I go to drama school again knowing I had hypermobile Ehlers Danlos? In a heartbeat.
After Drama School
It was not until I had my first full-body spasm that my friend from drama school suggested I might have a condition called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. By then, we had already established my hypermobility was causing me some trouble with joint pain and lack of stamina but to consider something as serious as EDS was incomprehensible.
I flat out rejected the idea that I had Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. I’d just been to drama school, I go traveling, I am a functioning human being. I don’t have a disability. I don’t qualify. But there was a niggling thought in my head that told me I didn’t function quite as well as my friends and it was getting worse.
Ehlers-Danlos is not a degenerative condition, however, if you neglect your body the way I had during drama school, the ability to heal quickly, digest effectively, and react swiftly goes with time.
The second thing drama school gave me, was friends.
Losing friends when you discover you have a chronic illness is very easy, discovering new friends when you have a chronic illness is incredibly difficult.
The alliances I forged at drama school have become my network of support, often helping me put the pieces together of my own condition having witnessed so many of my symptoms at drama school.
My favourite moment was discovering that connective tissue affects the brain and therefore your thought patterns, thus oftentimes people with hypermobile EDS are diagnosed with ADHD. On revealing this to my circle I was met with ‘Oh 100% you have that’, ‘Georgie half the time you would start a conversation in your head and finish out loud’, ‘we now won’t reply and just wait until you explain what you mean a second time’, ‘you’re the scattiest most organized person we know’.
Outside of acting work, I spend much of my time alone. My friends are always considerate that if I make a plan a few weeks in the past on a day I feel good, it may well be the case that I won’t be well enough to attend on the day. People who know me less well are less understanding.
I reflect on drama school with true joy, it was filled with companionship, friendship, and loyalty that I could never have dreamed of. For anyone who is suffering with isolation and loneliness with this condition, I urge you to remember that the friends who understand will always be ready to accommodate their schedule to fit you in. Whilst you may feel lonely a lot of the time, it is not all the time.
I believe that drama school was a testament to how resilient the body can be. I achieved so much at drama school whilst having an undiagnosed condition. I kept up with every class whilst suffering from loose joints and muscle weakness.
I EVEN got the highest score during stage combat where we wielded swords and daggers, and I flew across the stage.
The cost I now realise was having physio appointments every week, which were paid for by my mum.
I visited the doctors every month with new pains and aches which they couldn’t figure out.
My parents put me on health insurance in my second year at drama school and I am so fortunate that they did. I would not be diagnosed had I not gone privately.
As many women learn that they are ‘not quite normal’ usually around their early twenties, it takes a long time from their symptoms first arising to being diagnosed. I believe on average it takes 22 years.
I don’t believe I would have figured out my condition without drama school. Without the introspective nature of examining your reactions and responses in movement classes and in acting lessons.
I think it is terribly sad that it took me figuring it out on my own and the doctors couldn’t see it. But I also think it taught me to rely on no one but myself to help manage this condition, a lesson which I am grateful for as it helps me lead the most fulfilling version of my life.
As actors we have an unrelenting curiosity for what drives a character. This has forged my path to healing with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. My chronic illness is a role that I play and the best way to understand a character and their motives is to learn, read and be curious with yourself. The fact that I can understand the sadness and sorrow, hold the grieving I have for an old life, work with emotions that I can recognise and release, has led to my healing and to my living well with a chronic illness.
I am able to detach the chronically ill Georgie from me and say ‘what would this character need right now in this amount of pain’. It works and it allows me to look forward to events, to know there IS a good future for myself and gives me the strength to strive for my goals.
A Message to Parents
I spoke to a woman whose 16-year-old daughter has suspected hEDS. At 14 I lost three months of school to post viral fatigue, which I believe had a lot to do with my condition, amongst other issues. She asked me whether I had a good quality of life, so she could see one for her daughter, for this I would like to address all parents.
The answer is absolutely. I have a job, I have an acting agent, I live life to the fullest. I have a circle of friends who understand my condition and I have a loving partner who is part best friend part caregiver.
I do not feel resentful that I am held back by my condition because it is fundamentally a part of who I am and I cannot change that. I can live with it, and whilst many won’t understand my condition, I don’t need them to because I understand it. That’s all that matters.
I adapt, I adjust and I grieve the things I cannot achieve anymore. But I have the best, most complete life in spite of and because of hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome.
I’d like to leave you on a quote from an author which I think truly illustrates how I approach my condition and I hope it offers you some guidance, hope and excitement for what’s to come.
“Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it.” —Michael J. Fox
I came back to consciousness from a haze of grey clouds, feeling a familiar, urgent trembling in my arms and legs—a result of too much adrenaline. My fellow castmate stared in shock. At that moment, I was unsure what had just happened or what to do next.
“Whose line is it?” I asked. My castmate immediately broke character, yelling, “Do you remember what just happened?”
I remember supporting him with my hand, feeling my thumb bend back further than usual as he fell—a movement typically met with little resistance. I remember thinking, “If I just lie here, the pain will go eventually,” as though I was coaching my way through the discomfort.
It transpired that I’d passed out for a full minute and twitched back into consciousness to a room full of horrified actors in training. I had completely dislocated my thumb, which had gone right back in again, leaving me with nauseating pain and a panic that something had been torn or broken.
Knowing what I know now, I would have calmly stated that my thumb had bent back too far, but there was no damage because my joints can actually bend that far. Pain and damage do not always coincide. The agony I felt for the next two months, augmented by the fear of real injury, was dismissed by doctors who said, “The scans show there’s nothing wrong.” My throbbing thumb said otherwise.
That is the curse of hEDS when you are undiagnosed. It is hidden, ignored, and denied. Ultimately, you build an unhealthy relationship with your body and you beat yourself up mercilessly because there’s ‘no reason you should feel this bad’ when ultimately—there is.
If anyone has read the excellent fantasy fiction novel ‘Fourth Wing’ by Rebecca Yarros (which I thoroughly recommend for anyone who wants to read about a dragon-riding heroine with Ehlers-Danlos), she states their dragon training school “cuts away the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core.”
Welcome to drama school.
Whilst showing all the symptoms of EDS, from gut issues, dislocations, subluxations, fainting, breathlessness, headaches, bumping into furniture, and general fatigue… I had to survive what was the most gruelling four years of my life. It was a physically intensive, exhaustive, and emotionally draining experience.
We would start at 8:55 am and finish at 6:30 pm, lessons would sit in two hour blocks with no breaks and comprise of singing, acting, script study, movement, yoga, and improvisation. The long hours, stressful itinerary, and movement classes which had us contorting our bodies into every shape imaginable, or had us crawling around like a meerkat in animal studies, were exactly the opposite of what my body needed.
My list of injuries included slipped ribs, whiplash, foot sprains, a dislocated thumb and of course the dreaded stomach pains.
During movement classes, I would run to the corners of the room to let out a little air so that the cramps would ease up after lunch, hoping no one would smell it and name and shame to the room.
My body was holding on by a thread, and it didn’t take much to knock it off equilibrium.
I had always been sporty, but I found running incredibly painful and began running at weekends to build up stamina for the week ahead, puzzled at how everyone else found it so easy. Most classes were taken barefoot, and as someone with hypermobile feet I found myself enduring so much pain, which ran up through my ankles, my legs, and the rest of my torso after a two-hour lesson. I left class wondering how anyone would ever want to be a movement actor or join a company like Punch-Drunk.
During sessions when I was not on stage, I would be found curled up under the heater trying to catch a bit of warmth and get some much-needed energy for the next lesson. These symptoms were also masked by how exhausted everyone else in the year also was. Everyone was getting injured; everyone was suffering achy joints…mine were just significantly more frequent.
I discovered later that I was taking painkillers every day to cope with the pain, which my other classmates were not.
It was the first time I began to ask myself, “Am I normal, or is something else going on?”
The lack of understanding from staff was rife.
When I had whiplash, a teacher grabbed my arm and swung me around to try to evoke a grounded bellow in my voice whilst performing Shakespeare, which obviously came out as an agonised, terrified squeak. I was sent away and cried in the corridor out of frustration.
I was even marked down on my final performance of a third-year show because my ‘hair wasn’t done correctly for the time period’ (1940s) and this was entirely down to my thumb being welded into a bright blue cast. I also had to remove the cast for each show and protect it from any actors who got too close whilst simultaneously playing a 1940s care-free actress.
From reading this, you may think drama school might not be for anyone with Hypermobile EDS, but that is where I beg to differ. I owe my pain management, my visualisation, my bodily awareness, and my ability to regulate my nervous system to drama school.
An actor will leave drama school in full command of their voice and a deep understanding of their body. The voice is their most valuable instrument and the most important tool in your box.
We studied the diaphragm and learned diaphragmatic breathing from the first day. We spent hours on the floor humming into our backs to create resonance (what you need to be heard on stage).
Breath control, singing, and humming are some of the top things which help you get back into a parasympathetic nervous state and ultimately regulate your nervous system. These are tools used by hypnobirthing practitioners, professional athletes, self-healing gurus, physios…and a well-trained actor.
Thanks to drama school, I am a master in them.
Would I go to drama school again knowing I had hypermobile Ehlers Danlos? In a heartbeat.
After Drama School
It was not until I had my first full-body spasm that my friend from drama school suggested I might have a condition called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. By then, we had already established my hypermobility was causing me some trouble with joint pain and lack of stamina but to consider something as serious as EDS was incomprehensible.
I flat out rejected the idea that I had Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. I’d just been to drama school, I go traveling, I am a functioning human being. I don’t have a disability. I don’t qualify. But there was a niggling thought in my head that told me I didn’t function quite as well as my friends and it was getting worse.
Ehlers-Danlos is not a degenerative condition, however, if you neglect your body the way I had during drama school, the ability to heal quickly, digest effectively, and react swiftly goes with time.
The second thing drama school gave me, was friends.
Losing friends when you discover you have a chronic illness is very easy, discovering new friends when you have a chronic illness is incredibly difficult.
The alliances I forged at drama school have become my network of support, often helping me put the pieces together of my own condition having witnessed so many of my symptoms at drama school.
My favourite moment was discovering that connective tissue affects the brain and therefore your thought patterns, thus oftentimes people with hypermobile EDS are diagnosed with ADHD. On revealing this to my circle I was met with ‘Oh 100% you have that’, ‘Georgie half the time you would start a conversation in your head and finish out loud’, ‘we now won’t reply and just wait until you explain what you mean a second time’, ‘you’re the scattiest most organized person we know’.
Outside of acting work, I spend much of my time alone. My friends are always considerate that if I make a plan a few weeks in the past on a day I feel good, it may well be the case that I won’t be well enough to attend on the day. People who know me less well are less understanding.
I reflect on drama school with true joy, it was filled with companionship, friendship, and loyalty that I could never have dreamed of. For anyone who is suffering with isolation and loneliness with this condition, I urge you to remember that the friends who understand will always be ready to accommodate their schedule to fit you in. Whilst you may feel lonely a lot of the time, it is not all the time.
I believe that drama school was a testament to how resilient the body can be. I achieved so much at drama school whilst having an undiagnosed condition. I kept up with every class whilst suffering from loose joints and muscle weakness.
I EVEN got the highest score during stage combat where we wielded swords and daggers, and I flew across the stage.
The cost I now realise was having physio appointments every week, which were paid for by my mum.
I visited the doctors every month with new pains and aches which they couldn’t figure out.
My parents put me on health insurance in my second year at drama school and I am so fortunate that they did. I would not be diagnosed had I not gone privately.
As many women learn that they are ‘not quite normal’ usually around their early twenties, it takes a long time from their symptoms first arising to being diagnosed. I believe on average it takes 22 years.
I don’t believe I would have figured out my condition without drama school. Without the introspective nature of examining your reactions and responses in movement classes and in acting lessons.
I think it is terribly sad that it took me figuring it out on my own and the doctors couldn’t see it. But I also think it taught me to rely on no one but myself to help manage this condition, a lesson which I am grateful for as it helps me lead the most fulfilling version of my life.
As actors we have an unrelenting curiosity for what drives a character. This has forged my path to healing with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. My chronic illness is a role that I play and the best way to understand a character and their motives is to learn, read and be curious with yourself. The fact that I can understand the sadness and sorrow, hold the grieving I have for an old life, work with emotions that I can recognise and release, has led to my healing and to my living well with a chronic illness.
I am able to detach the chronically ill Georgie from me and say ‘what would this character need right now in this amount of pain’. It works and it allows me to look forward to events, to know there IS a good future for myself and gives me the strength to strive for my goals.
A Message to Parents
I spoke to a woman whose 16-year-old daughter has suspected hEDS. At 14 I lost three months of school to post viral fatigue, which I believe had a lot to do with my condition, amongst other issues. She asked me whether I had a good quality of life, so she could see one for her daughter, for this I would like to address all parents.
The answer is absolutely. I have a job, I have an acting agent, I live life to the fullest. I have a circle of friends who understand my condition and I have a loving partner who is part best friend part caregiver.
I do not feel resentful that I am held back by my condition because it is fundamentally a part of who I am and I cannot change that. I can live with it, and whilst many won’t understand my condition, I don’t need them to because I understand it. That’s all that matters.
I adapt, I adjust and I grieve the things I cannot achieve anymore. But I have the best, most complete life in spite of and because of hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome.
I’d like to leave you on a quote from an author which I think truly illustrates how I approach my condition and I hope it offers you some guidance, hope and excitement for what’s to come.
“Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it.” —Michael J. Fox