The Unstoppable Preeti Dhanda - Actor, Comedian, & Rapper

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Committing to any single creative art form as a profession is a daunting task that only the relentlessly focused, or those who deeply love their craft are willing to endure. The all too frequent rejection, disapproval from family members, and financial hardship along the way make it a path that few will chase after long term. Now imagine the challenge of pursuing three artistic disciplines simultaneously as a career.

Preeti Dhanda is a Swiss army knife of creativity in that not only is she a successful actor, but has also gained a cult following as a daring standup comedian and a rapper on Instagram. She's a multi-disciplinary powerhouse that excels at all three specialties equally well. Dhanda has managed to carve out a niche for herself in Hollywood, but her journey has been anything but easy.

I took some time to speak with Preeti to find out what it was like hailing from a small village in India, to her early days in school theatre, and then eventually to working with major studios including CBS, NBC, Disney, and USA Network. And I've realized one thing is certain. No matter the adversity, Preeti Dhanda never backs down.

Where did you grow up, and how has your environment shaped you as a person?

I was born in a small town called Mukerian in Punjab, India. It was so small that, at the time, the hospital was a converted barn. I grew up in a nearby village called Bhatia Jatta, which was made up mostly of my family and the workers who worked on the farm. It was a small, tight-knit community. The parents who raised me passed away when I was little, but they were school teachers, specifically music teachers. I had a little dog, and together we ran around the farm and the village like we owned it (technically, it was owned by the parents who raised me), which made me the owner’s daughter. I spent my days exploring the farm, hanging out with cows, other farm animals, and being watched over by the community. They always said, “Nothing can happen to her; she’s the owner’s daughter.”

According to my twin brothers who I grew up with, I was always curious and loved exploring as a kid. I eventually left the farm when I was about four. I was adopted by my now parents and immigrated to Canada. I grew up in Rexdale, near Toronto, an area heavily populated by working-class immigrants and known for low-income housing, cheap labor, and crime.

Growing up, I didn’t know Caucasian people existed, nor did I understand that racism was real, or that being poor wasn’t normal. I thought people of color ruled the world, except on TV. Imagine growing up with over 200 languages spoken in your school, surrounded by kids from Latin America, Africa, Asia, and that one white kid we called “Johndeep” because he blended in with the brown kids.

I didn’t really notice the poverty, racism, or violence because the gangs felt normal, just like the hallways at North Albion Collegiate that were unofficially divided: the Gujarati hallway, the Jamaican hallway, and so on. That changed when the principal tried to break up the segregation and encourage more integration in the school.

I was socially awkward and didn’t pay attention to pop culture or social norms. I got straight A’s, volunteered in every club (or was president of them), and answered phones at lunchtime for the receptionists so I wouldn’t have to hang out with people. At one point, teachers even complained that I couldn’t keep eating lunch in the staff room. I almost had the keys to the high school—the janitor would let me in early. I would arrive at school early and leave late. School was better than being at home.

I loved leadership programs, organizing school events, and doing the morning announcements—anything to avoid home. As the oldest of four kids, I never felt like I fit in. I never felt “Indian enough” for my parents, who emphasized education above all else. I read more books than I had friends. At home, I resisted being what was expected of a “good Indian woman”—I didn’t want to cook, clean, or be trained as a future wife.

It wasn’t that my parents didn’t value education—school was mandatory, and university was a priority. My adopted mother had a master’s degree in literature but became a housewife and worked in factories. My father was a high school dropout turned entrepreneur who eventually closed his businesses and drove a truck. Both instilled in me the value of hard work, but I always knew I wanted to do more—I just didn’t know what that was until after university.

I graduated as a valedictorian and received multiple scholarships to various universities, though my dream was Harvard—but I didn’t know how to get there. Growing up sheltered from pop culture and the outside world, I lived in a bubble. My household was conservative, emphasizing family and education. My siblings rebelled more than I did.

I earned a BA Honours in Foreign Affairs and Political Science at Wilfrid Laurier University, also studying history, terrorism, and genocide. I aspired to become a human rights lawyer, fighting for women’s rights. But the more I learned, the more I realized I couldn’t save the world—even the United Nations had failed. The world was still riddled with conflict, poverty, human trafficking, and climate change.

But perhaps, through art, I could do more.

What inspired you to pursue a creative career in comedy and acting?

I didn’t realize I was already pursuing it since I was seven. Most kids were playing sports, but because of childhood asthma, I was encouraged by my grade three teacher to audition for the school play. My first role was a tree or a tree branch. I also joined the choir. From that point on, I did a play every year and took drama classes until high school. Even then, I didn’t know that one could pursue a career in film and television. I thought only rich Caucasian folks did it for fun and for free because they had money. If I wasn’t watching Turner Classics or the movies on TV, I was watching Bollywood films. I would watch three to five films every weekend at home. MuchMusic was banned in our house. The TV channel didn’t go past 28, and my younger siblings watched cartoons. When I wasn’t watching movies, I had my nose in fictional books, living adventures that my little self couldn’t. I lived freely in my imagination.

As a kid and teenager, I didn’t do things other kids did. There were no movie theatres, no sleepovers (unless it was with family), no boys, and I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone unless it was school, the library, or with family.

Growing up in a Punjabi Sikh household, my sister and I performed Kirtan (Classical Indian religious music) and sang hymns at various gurdwaras in Toronto. Every weekend was spent at the gurdwara or Punjabi school, learning to read and write our language. My sister and I performed in front of people from a very young age. I played the harmonium. At school, I played the trumpet, drums, and piano. When we grew out of performing at the gurdwaras, my love for drama continued.

In high school, I was president of the Drama Club, Magic Club, and Video Club. I did the morning announcements and MC’d our assemblies. I videotaped school events and students, editing the footage on an old VHS wall because our school, being in a poor neighborhood, didn’t have a lot of funding. I took a media class where I learned about shot lists, different camera angles, how to edit on a Mac, how to write scripts, and how to film short films. I also learned stage lighting and sound for school assemblies and the Sears Drama competitions. I am still thankful to this day for being exposed to that technical side of stage and filming. Yet, I still had no idea it was an entire billion-dollar business. I thought it was just a great hobby. My principal even bought me a camera for all my hard work and volunteer efforts at the school. He got it for me to take pictures and to bring with me to the Park Ranger Program in Thunder Bay. Yes, I was a park ranger! But that’s a different story. I was only 17 years old.

In university, since I was paying for school myself and my scholarship only lasted a year, I did some background work on a movie set for fun. That’s when I realized that people like Mike Myers actually got paid to be in front of the camera. During a break, I approached the only brown actor on set and asked him if this was a real industry and career. He said yes. Later, I found him on Facebook and bombarded him with questions. Mind you, I was about to go into my fourth year of university and was still two to three semesters away from finishing because I was a semester behind.

Mark said, "Look, kid, the odds of you getting this are slim. But you have a fire inside of you—a hunger. You have no skill, but I can teach you the skills. I can’t teach someone to want this as badly as you do."

As soon as I learned it was a business—a billion-dollar business—I thought, "I’m not going to save the world as a lawyer, but I can inspire people, tell stories, and do something I love." That very day, I got my roommate to take a terrible picture of me (it was not a real headshot), created a resume with my community school plays, and found a low-end talent agency in Ajax (the Pomona of LA) to sign me.

I decided to fast-track school by taking extra summer credits instead of dropping out. I wanted to become a Bollywood actor while also pursuing Hollywood, though Bollywood was my priority at the time. I took Classical Indian dance classes and acting classes every Sunday. I would take the bus from Waterloo to Toronto every weekend while still in school.

I failed my acting class. They told me I would never be an actor. I almost gave up. After graduation, I was unemployed and searching Craigslist for gigs to pay me. My talent agency barely got me auditions. I booked my first non-union commercial off Craigslist. They gave me $100, but they played that commercial every year at the Franchise Show, and I never saw another dime.

I thought maybe I was foolish to pursue acting. My acting coach also got fired from that acting school. But I kept self-submitting for auditions on Actor’s Access. That’s when I got an audition for a Matt Damon film. I was working a mediocre temp admin job, and I thought, "Maybe this is a sign." The New York casting director sent me sides from Good Will Hunting to audition with. At the time, I had never heard of the movie—I had barely seen Hollywood films. I called up Mark Shoenberg and said, "Sir, I know I’m terrible. I also can’t do ballet. I know I look 16, and I know the odds are low, but can we try?"

Mark coached me, trained me, and we taped the audition. I even filmed myself doing Classical Indian dance instead of ballet. Mark said, "Look, kid, the odds of you getting this are slim. But you have a fire inside of you—a hunger. You have no skill, but I can teach you the skills. I can’t teach someone to want this as badly as you do."

That little spark has never died. I’ve been auditioning ever since. I knew the odds of seeing someone like me as a lead in a film were slim, but I wanted to give it a shot. I still have that same fire today, even after hundreds of silent no’s and few bookings. My resume has been built on patience, hard work, resilience, and not giving up. I continued training in Toronto. I never went to acting school, but I took many classes and invested a lot of money into my craft. The biggest lessons, though, have come from life and books.

Mark passed away since then, but he was right. I have the fire and the hunger for this. You can’t teach hunger in this business. You have to love it and want it enough to keep going, even when I didn’t book a role for five years. Talent can be learned and honed, like going to the gym. There’s some luck involved, but it’s also a marathon.

As for Bollywood, I tried it and came right back from Mumbai. The casting couch culture was so bad at the time. I made a modeling portfolio, learned Kathak, learned Hindi, got my Indian work papers, and returned to Canada. Hollywood isn’t perfect, but there is a union, rules, ethics, agents, auditions, and a system. In comparison, Bollywood felt closed off unless you belonged to a dynasty family or compromised your values. Bollywood felt more unattainable than Hollywood. I also did many music videos and auditioned for Punjabi movies, but they wanted me to work for free.

So, Hollywood it was—and has been ever since. I love the art, even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I've genuinely enjoyed watching you act, perform standup comedy, and rap as musical artist. You seem to do all three equally well, so how do you balance your time and focus when you excel at multiple disciplines? 

Well, I have spent the most time honing my skills as an actor, taking multiple classes over the last decade and nonstop training. If I am being completely honest, I didn’t know I could rap until I was doing Uber (one of my 72+ jobs I have had), and I would rap freestyle to deal with the emotions of having gone through an abusive relationship, surviving—not dying (whole other story)—and it was very therapeutic. I guess growing up singing hymns in the Gurdwaras, playing multiple instruments, always being on stage, writing poetry, doing improv… all of that made it easy to be free in freestyle and release all the emotions.

So, as much as people may not like to hear it, I have not ever tried in comedy and music. I recorded the song "Brown Silk" with the help of my friend's partner, within 2 hours in their apartment, to a free tune off YouTube. I did the song as a joke—wanting to be culturally free of the norms that Indian society puts on women, and I wanted to mostly give others freedom to say the words I use in there in Hindi, English, and Punjabi. It is trap rap inspired by "WAP" by Megan Thee Stallion. I am trying to not be that shy, conservative, quiet Indian girl people want South Asian women to be. My art is my way of rebelling.

The same for Comedy. I just get up on stage and I talk. My friend used to lecture me to write down my jokes. For a year or so, I didn’t. I just went up, recorded myself speaking. People thought I was funny on stage at the comedy shows and open mics, but I was venting. It was my therapy. It was my release to be like, "This happened to me, can you believe it?" And the laughter from the audience eased the trauma for me into, "Oh, it’s really not that bad, but it’s real. It did happen, it made me, and I can move on."

So, comedy comes easy because it’s storytelling. It’s magical to think I can stand on stage with a mic, my voice, and my stories, and people just listen and laugh. It’s ludicrous and amazing at the same time. I still do not think I am funny, but my social media has blown up from some of the funny things I say because everyone thinks them; I just say them out loud. I talk before I think, so I say things unfiltered. Indians are kind people, but politeness isn’t real. "Thank you" and "please" is a Western thing. Sure, we say thank you when we mean it, but I watched Indians not people-please. We mean what we say and say what we mean. However, most people are cautious about what they say. I just express it.

So, how do I manage it? I am at a point where I can audition with my manager in the USA and my talent agent in Toronto. Though, the stories I want to see and do are still not being made, and Asian representation is still lacking in Hollywood. And in between, I do comedy shows, and I am still itching to collaborate with someone to do more music. It’s something fun I would like to explore more because it’s something artistic to do when I am not acting. Like writing poetry, scripts, watching movies, or dancing—it’s not a career, but it’s a form of artistic expression.

Look at Johnny Depp—he does music, but it’s not his main career. He is still an outstanding performer, and his acting career is his main thing. He also paints and produces. Art is art, and every form is beautiful. Society needs more of it.

So, I would say I am a professionally trained actor who casually does comedy and freestyle rapping in my spare time, with no real training in either, as forms of self-expressive art that are equally fun. Art is art, and every form is beautiful. Society needs more of it.

Everyone has an artistic side to themselves; we were all kids once. I am sure if people allowed themselves to express that part, you’d notice we all have some sort of artistic talent naturally.

It's still relatively rare to see South Asian women portrayed in western media, but you're on a mission to change this. What is the driving force behind your commitment to increasing not only the visibility but also the prominence of Desi women in Hollywood, which have historically been underrepresented? 

Because why not! To see change, be a part of it. Inspire a whole new generation of Asians to pursue the arts, not just science. But also because I love it.

People like Priyanka Chopra, Frieda Pinto, and Ritu Arya have made a small dent. But people like Simu Liu are out here in Hollywood changing that for all Asians.

I am of South Asian descent; I was born in India, but I grew up in the West. I can’t relate to India or Bollywood. I can relate to being a western kid who grew up like other kids in an immigrant neighborhood with poverty. I grew up in the hood. I can’t relate to the Indian kids raised in India. When I went to India, I was like, wow, I am no Indian Indian. I may be of this culture, but I can’t relate. I do love my culture now; I am thankful to my parents for teaching me my language and instilling all those things in me back then. I am so proud of where I come from. I also recognize I can’t relate to Indian women back home.

I named three South Asian women, in a sea of film and television that still casts predominantly black or white for its leading roles. Seeing Asian faces in leading roles is like a rare gemstone, but its value is still not seen. I speak Punjabi and Hindi; Indians make up 2.5 billion in the world, and everywhere I travel—whether Ireland, Portugal, or Italy—I always end up speaking in Hindi, because Indians are everywhere except on Hollywood screens. It’s crazy that Asians make up more than half the world’s population, yet our stories or faces are the least represented in mainstream media.

So, things are changing, and I want to be part of that change. I didn’t see anyone who looked like me. Also, Asians don’t typically become actors or artists. It’s the least expected thing by our families. The narrative is we become doctors, lawyers, engineers, and tech pros, but being an artist is not normal. My parents still say, "There is no money in this business," because nobody like us gets opportunities like that. It takes luck and money. They worry because I am seen by them as a working actor. Or that being an artist means lowering your morals to take roles that portray you in a certain light or doing things to get the part. I’ve explained to them I have a team and there are rules, but they still worry.

Why? Because it’s not normal for Asian parents to see their kids become artists or actors—to give up a normal paycheque with stability and a family life for a life of struggle and uncertainty in a world dominated by people who don’t look like us.

So, let’s change that narrative and that expectation. It’s changing, not fast enough, but I know it’s hard, and I will still keep going. One, I love it, and two, I want to be part of a changing narrative so future Me’s can see someone like me… so more Asians who want to do art can! Because they can see it’s possible even where it seems impossible. It’s about giving hope and inspiration. And it is about more than just me, even if sometimes I forget that.

I actually lied about being an actor for about four years until I was on the cover of two national South Asian magazines that my parents or someone might see and tell them—or the fear they would see me on TV and my secret would be out.

Acting is a notoriously difficult profession to be successful in. What has been the biggest obstacle you've faced while trying to pursue a career as an actor and how did you overcome it?  

Aside from financially? Mentally? For real though, for some it might be the money or the mental patience to keep going in a world of more rejection than dating and being ghosted. It is my parents. Literally the biggest obstacle aside from the lack of opportunities for someone who looks like me, it’s been convincing my parents it’s a viable career and I am not just doing this as a pastime hobby that will eventually fade. I think they still really hope I will quit, find a nice Indian suitable husband, be a good wife, and go back to law school. I laugh because, yes, one day I would like to be married, have a kid, and be a great partner—maybe more naughty than good ahaha—but I’d rather be married to someone I can laugh with and have great conversations than in an arranged marriage that would only make my parents happy… shhh, don’t tell my mom that.

Exactly that, I felt like no matter what I did, I would never make my parents happy unless I fulfilled their fantasy for me. Hence why I am the black—well, brown—sheep of my family. I am a single brown woman who’s still doing her acting more than just a hobby. I think I finally have accepted that neither my parents, nor my cousins, or other Indian strangers will ever approve of my career choice. It’s definitely not for the faint of heart. Those who want an easy, streamlined career with clear steps from A to B… find another career besides the arts.

So, I may have struggled financially, dealt with a lot of rejection, even dating drama, but nothing was harder than the obstacle of my parents not being okay with it. I think they have accepted that I am not going to change—that it is what it is, and they can’t change me—but really, they still don’t approve. I also have accepted it really does not matter what they think anymore because no matter what I do as an accomplishment, it will not be enough because it’s not the traditional things they expected of me. That is something I have accepted and come to terms with. I actually lied about being an actor for about four years until I was on the cover of two national South Asian magazines that my parents or someone might see and tell them—or the fear they would see me on TV and my secret would be out. So I had to come clean and tell them. Since then, I’ve sometimes felt like a failure because I saw other peers whose parents were like, "I am proud of you no matter what you do." I felt my parents were only proud of me if I did A, B, or C—their version of success. I was valedictorian, I had a university degree, I bought my own condo, but none of it made them happy. I wasn’t married, I didn’t have grandchildren, and I wasn’t in a "good career," so that’s when I finally gave up trying to live life to make them proud of me.

I’ve since been happier doing what makes me happy, even if it’s really, really hard and I am not where I want to be in my career yet. I guess I am my own worst critic and learning to celebrate all the wins and be proud of me. Plus, today I have a circle of people who are happy for me and remind me it’s not what I do that makes me their friend but rather who I am.

Your stand-up comedy is hilariously candid and unapologetically provocative. Why is it important for you to challenge the traditional narrative for women in Indian culture? 

Because I have for so long seen women in my life stay quiet in the face of abuse. I have witnessed women being told their place is in the home—raising children, being an obedient wife, serving her husband, cooking, and cleaning. I have watched women go to school, get an education, only to become housewives. Now, maybe that’s changing, and that was part of the older generation. Maybe it’s still happening in other parts of the world, and some women want to do that. That’s fine.

For me, I was a quiet kid until grade 8. By grade 9, I was just so vocal, and some people found me socially awkward or annoying. Or I would say the right things at the right time and in the right places. This was both at home and at school.

At home, my mom would tell me to stay quiet and not say anything foolish. I would speak straight from the heart, but because they wouldn’t expect me—someone like me—to say those things, they laughed or called me silly.

I guess I never had a filter and would say what I thought and felt unapologetically. Sometimes that cost me friends, relationships, and even family. I think if you speak from your heart, you genuinely mean it—not to hurt anyone. If people take offense, then they are offended by something within themselves, and it has nothing to do with me. So, I think it’s important to speak your own truth. You’d be surprised how many people can relate to it or are thinking the same thing.

Now, I’m wiser and more careful about what I say on stage, but sometimes it’s even more powerful to stay quiet about certain things, especially when someone’s just looking to get a reaction.

I think so many people are hurting these days, especially since the pandemic. I’m vocal about the things that I think still haven’t changed. I made a rap song that was intended to be funny, but also, why can’t I say these words or things? Just because I’m Indian and people expect me to behave a certain way? The world expects a pretty Indian woman to be nice, shy, and quiet, but it’s okay for artists in Latin and African cultures to behave in a completely different way? Whose narrative is that? Not mine. I don’t stand for that.

I grew up being told what’s acceptable to say and what’s not. Rape is still a huge issue in India, and people won’t discuss the root causes. Health education and safety aren’t things that are discussed at home or in the school system.

So, I bring up these taboo topics without caring if the audience finds it profane, too loud, too "not Indian," or too whatever. If you want to come hear me say things that you know you’re thinking, then come laugh with me. Comedy isn’t much different from acting. I’m still entertaining, still performing for an audience, but the difference is it’s my script, just me and the mic—nothing flashy. It’s intimacy with the audience. One comedian and a group of people. It’s beautiful in its own way.

When other people die, it affects us in some way, but when it’s your own life on the line, and medicine and doctors can only do so much, you have to decide: will you fight or take flight? Can you say you tried everything, or do you give up now? When it’s your own life, you have a choice to make, especially when you don’t know if there’s a tomorrow.

Where do you draw your comedic inspiration from?

Real life. My truth, my stories. There is a lot of truth in my comedy, and it’s my therapy. I laugh when I realize you all came to see me vent in a poetic or expressive way with a mic. It’s like the mic is my pen and the audience is the diary of my thoughts. Once it’s out loud, it doesn’t seem so weird—the things I’ve done or seen. It gets shared, released. I didn’t realize how many people could relate to my comedy or my own truth because, in some odd way, it’s close to their own. At the end of the day, we as human beings are all going through something. When we go see a movie, a play, a comedy show, a museum, or a painting—or some form of artistic expression—or see how people lived or are living (on social media), it’s a form of escapism for us from our own reality.

So, my inspiration is real life, my own stories, my own life, my truth.

Being active and healthy is clearly a cornerstone in your life. Tell me about the near death experience that inspired your fitness journey, and how has exercise been important in your overall wellbeing?  

I’ve witnessed a lot of people die throughout my life, starting when I was young. My 3-year-old cousin was hit by a car and died. My grandparents passed from heart failure or cancer, my aunt suddenly from a blood clot in her brain at 27, my 37-year-old cousin died of skin cancer, and most recently, one of my best friends passed away from stomach cancer at 43. This all happened over many years, and death still affects us. But nothing changes you more than when it’s your own life. The friend who passed away—I promised him I would never quit acting until my last breath. I had already begun healing when he passed.

When other people die, it affects us in some way, but when it’s your own life on the line, and medicine and doctors can only do so much, you have to decide: will you fight or take flight? Can you say you tried everything, or do you give up now? When it’s your own life, you have a choice to make, especially when you don’t know if there’s a tomorrow.

I started working out when I was 18 because I put on the "Frosh 30" in university. I learned about lifting weights and kept going until a health issue hit. I tried running a 5K—I knew I had asthma, but I struggled. When you look at me, no one would say, “Oh, she looks sick.”

I went to my doctor and said, “Doc, I think I’m dying.” He laughed, saying I looked fine, and my blood work was great. I said, “Well, I don’t feel fine.” I was lightheaded, tired, and couldn’t even do basic squats or use dumbbells. I got tired just climbing stairs or crossing the road. After trying to induce asthma (which they never could), a breathing test revealed I had 28% lung volume but 100% oxygen. The doctors were confused and referred me to a respirologist. He gave me some drugs and said I would be fine. A year went by, and I felt worse. I went back to my doctor and said, “I need a second opinion because this guy doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing.” I saw a lung specialist, who clearly laid it out for me after another test.

She said, “Either you die, get better, or you need new lungs.” I was like, “No thank you, I’d like to keep my own, please!” I asked, “What can I do outside of these drugs?” She said, “Exercise.” I said, “I can’t—I’m too out of breath.” I even tried being vegan, but that didn’t help.

I asked around, and someone suggested swimming or boxing. I was referred to an MMA gym. I couldn’t afford to pay as an artist, so I volunteered with admin duties in exchange for classes. They were so kind. I handled admin work and took kettlebell classes, boxing, Muay Thai, and some Filipino martial arts with a knife called Kali. I loved boxing and kettlebells the most.

The next breathing test showed a drastic improvement in my lung volume. With a combination of medication and exercise, I was healing! The biggest healing I needed, though, was mental. I had gotten out of an abusive 4-year relationship, which I’d only tried to make work because my parents expected us to marry, and he had met my family. It was seen as dishonoring the family for an Indian woman to live with a guy and not marry him. What they didn’t know was that he had been cheating on me for 2.5 of the 4 years, and was verbally abusive the entire time. I didn’t realize it at the time—when you're in the abuse, and have grown up with a verbally abusive father, you can't always tell the difference. I can now, but I was naïve.

Mental healing meant finding a therapist, journaling, or freestyle rapping my pain away. Eventually, comedy helped. At the time, being sick wasn’t the hardest part—it was empowering to work out and heal my body. The hardest part was that no one in my family knew I was sick. One or two friends knew, but I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want their pity. I only had to come clean to my family when, just when I thought I was getting better, I got worse. The doctors put me on a biological drug that my body rejected, and I developed the worst side effects—chronic pain from head to toe. It felt like I’d been hit by a bus over and over again. I got off the meds and spent the next 2 years seeing every doctor I could find to figure out the pain. I was diagnosed with everything from arthritis to diseases I hadn’t even heard of. One doctor even suggested immunosuppressants for the arthritis. She was an obese doctor, and I thought, “You don’t even know what’s wrong with me, and you want to give me pills?” I wasn’t taking health advice from someone who didn’t take care of their own body. I called her the “hippopotamus doctor”—mean, but I wasn’t taking random pills again.

I turned my life around when doctors thought the only solution was medicine. Western medicine has its place—those meds helped reduce inflammation—but the real deal was working my lungs, building muscles, consuming nourishing food, and taking care of my body from the inside out.

I was depressed and in constant pain. I couldn’t work out. The pain was so bad I took naproxen to numb it. I still went to auditions despite the pain. The worst part was... my family didn’t believe me. They thought I was making it up for attention. I said, “Well then, I must be an Oscar-worthy actress for keeping up this act for two years!” But I was in real pain. Even doctors started to think I was faking it. After 2 years of seeing doctors and hospitals, not being able to work, I finally saw a specialist at the Environmental Clinic at the Women’s College Hospital.

Mind you, I had gone from 135 lbs to 100 lbs and looked extremely thin. They ran every blood test possible, and it turns out... get this... I was just Vitamin D3 deficient. After one month on D3, all the pain was gone. I was happy again because I wasn’t in pain, and I could work out again. My lungs needed me in the gym.

That’s how my real fitness journey began. I started learning about vitamins, minerals, and food. I learned about the importance of sunlight, sleep, working out, and nutrition. The combination of food and fitness has saved my life.

Today, I have a VO2 max of 92%. I did the bike test. My lungs are stable and healed. I’m alive, well, and out here living. I still take D3, I love the California sun, and I take other supplements. I ensure I get enough fruits, veggies, and my favorite sources of protein. Today, I’m proud of my 5-pack—getting the 6-pack is really hard! I’m built, with chiselled arms, big glutes, and strong legs. My core is strong.

I work out 4-6 times a week, and my doctor tells everyone my story—how the gym, working muscles, and focusing on breathing are everything. Your health starts from the inside out. Mental health is important, too. I meditate every day and try to motivate people on my Instagram stories. I encourage everyone to work out, even if it’s just walking. Take certain supplements—check with your doctor first, but I love Magnesium, D3, probiotics, a multivitamin, Iron, Maca, and B-complex. I get the rest of my nutrients from food.

Working out is important, but I’ve also learned: don’t lift heavy and incorrectly. Workout technique is far more important than how much you lift. Don’t injure yourself. Do what you can, start slow, and grow. But my favorite workout is still just walking, running, or boxing. Bodyweight workouts are the best!

So today, I’m happy, healthy, and thankful to be alive. No more body pain, and the only medicine I need is fitness and food. I turned my life around when doctors thought the only solution was medicine. Western medicine has its place—those meds helped reduce inflammation—but the real deal was working my lungs, building muscles, consuming nourishing food, and taking care of my body from the inside out.

I’m not just fit because I’m an actor—I’m fit because I owe my life to working out. It literally saved me. Plus, the happiness hormone! Try it.

Where can we see more of you?

Hopefully, at a screen near you, and maybe on some stages too! But for now, catch some of my acting work in the films I’ve done. If you’re looking for a comedy show in your town, ask for one—or just invite me to do a show! 😊

I’m active on social media, so you can find me on Instagram and YouTube.

I’m out here living my dream as an actor. When I’m not acting, I’m living what I preach. I motivate myself to be 1% better every day and strive to inspire others to do the same. Through my social media, comedy, art, and stories, I aim to encourage everyone to be a better version of themselves