J.R. Whittington

I walked in jaded. I walked out transformed. Audra didn’t belt the way I expected—but she broke me open in ways I didn’t see coming. This wasn’t the Gypsy I dreamed of. It was something deeper. Something holy.

I booked a TV show at the top of the year and thought, “Finally, it’s happening.” But Hollywood said, *“No, bish. Back to the grind.”* Still, I’m here—seasoned, sharp, and ready. Dreaming out loud. Fighting for the unseen.

These weren’t performers. These were mirrors. I saw my cousins, my aunties, my brothers in them. They reached into their souls and pulled me out of my own weary world. I wasn’t just in the audience—I was in their home. I was on that stage. I was *them.*