Chapter 9 MY BIGGEST FEAR
To the outside world, my life seemed absolutely perfect. But there was one secret that I kept from everyone, even my closest friends and family. I was miserable in my marriage.
I tried denying it to myself, and I tried to work on it. After the pain of being a child of divorce, I’d made a commitment to never divorce. And, of course, people who follow Jesus should not get divorced. I went to marriage counseling several different times off and on for three years, but it just wasn’t working. My marriage was disintegrating before my eyes like a sandcastle when the tide comes in. Long story short, we were not right for each other, and I knew that if I didn’t get out, it would be really bad for me.
This all became abundantly clear when, in December 2005, I had a meltdown.
Women are prone to overdoing it, giving too much, trying to do it all. We take on more than we should and put the needs of everyone else before our own. I was balancing motherhood, a failing marriage, three young kids on the road with me, and an extremely demanding career. I was determined not to let country radio have any excuse not to play me. I didn’t see the signs that I was headed for a crash.
I had just made Real Fine Place and launched it, and I dove into something like 298 appearances in one year in my attempt to do everything I could to keep the success going. My goal has always been to make enough money to leave a great inheritance and legacy for my children. I said yes to everything and forgot there was a “too far.” Or maybe I just didn’t want to admit I was going there.
I was raising my three young kids with a nanny in tow while I performed and promoted my album. Audrey was a baby and Olivia a toddler, and Avery was in kindergarten. Parenting kids this age is challenging enough at home, but I felt like a single mom out on the road and living in a bus—a very nice bus, and with great people around us, but still the situation was draining. My nanny helped, and I was lucky to have her, but she was not a parent. She was a person being paid to take care of my kids, and that’s a big difference. My band was there, too, including my brother Matt, who was like a surrogate father out on the road. He’d married Kaelin, or KK as Avery would start calling her and her name to this day, who was like another sister to me. She’d later become my stylist and is still with me at every show and event. But even with their help, the demand was just too great for any human being to fulfill.
Album launches are grueling because you have to do a lot of things that are out of the normal routine of touring. In order to sell a ton of records the first week and subsequently debut at the top of the album charts, you try to get as much press as possible during that first week. This was where the details and each conversation with the press really mattered. It was a huge push, and I had to be on all of the time. This meant being able to sing and smile and be ready for any surprise question from an interviewer.
At the same time I was doing all of that, I was also on a major tour, opening up for Brad Paisley. So there were days that I would do press all day and then do my show that night, all the while trying to squeeze in moments with my babies. I mean, they were there, but I wasn’t really. I was exhausted and occupied and stressed! I had a day off from the tour in Pennsylvania, and I needed to go into New York for some publicity. The kids were settled in fine, but leaving my babies on a day off felt like torture. The plan was to stay overnight in New York and then return to them in Pennsylvania the next day. I wanted to cry when I left them, but I soldiered on.
I headed into the city to a packed day of media appearances. I did the showcase that night and finally collapsed in the hotel. I wanted to call the kids, but they would already be asleep. Sometimes calling them was added torture, because it just made me miss them that much more, and I couldn’t bear to hear them say, “I miss you, Mommy. When will you be back?” I wanted to be there, to experience their day, to put them to bed and hold their soft little hands. I craved having my babies in my arms or asleep on my shoulder.
My sister Lesley had flown to New York City with me to do some acoustic performances, and we shared a hotel room that night, and a bed. At my request. I could feel myself coming apart, and my band and crew and family could, too. I didn’t want to be alone that night, and anyone who has a sister knows that getting in the bed with her to be cozy and talk is the best remedy for stress. I told Lesley that night that I was having a lot of anxiety and that I felt like I couldn’t get a grasp on who I was. It’s a feeling that I have struggled with my whole life anytime I am stressed. I think it’s PTSD from getting hit by a car. I have this feeling of “who am I?” It tends to creep up on me after I’ve had to do a lot of interviews and be on and play the part of “Sara Evans.” I don’t even like writing about it because I am so afraid of having this feeling.
The next morning, Lesley had an early flight back home to Missouri, so she left before I woke up. I had a car service waiting to drive me to Pennsylvania to meet my bus and the kids. I was so excited to finally be done with the press stuff and just get back to the buses with everyone.
I said hello to the driver as I slipped into the car. I noticed him glance at me as we took off. I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with the guy. I told myself this again and again. Surely car services like this did background checks on their drivers. But what if? What if he wasn’t a good guy? My anxious mind started creating story after awful story in my head. As we drove out of the city, my terrifying thoughts were building. Did he recognize me? Did anyone know where I was right now? If I disappeared, how long until they’d start looking?
I wanted to get to my kids so badly. They were just babies. What if this guy drove me off into the woods and killed me? What if he had a gun or a knife under his seat? What would happen to my babies then? My mind was going crazy with anxiety. The truth was, I was falling apart and didn’t fully realize it.
The farther we drove, the more terrified I felt. I flipped down the fold-down mirror from the car celing and looked at the eyes staring back at me. My eyes. I knew they were supposed to be my eyes, but I did not truly recognize them or my face or anything about myself. I stared, and that person stared back. It had to be me in the mirror, but who was “me”? I could see my hands moving, but I didn’t recognize them. I wanted to cry. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
I rolled the window down and stuck my head out, trying to draw in deep breaths. The driver said, “Are you okay? Do you need me to pull over?”
“No! I’m just having a little anxiety. I’ll be fine,” I said.
I had about another hour in the car to get through, and I’m sure the driver was nervous about whether I’d make it to our destination without him having to make a turn into the nearest ER. Most of the drive I was gasping for air or had my head sticking out the window, my cheek resting on the door.
Somehow, I made it to Pennsylvania. I saw the bus and got out of the car, but my body felt drained and strangely not my own. The kids were so excited to see me, and somehow, I went through the motions. They were too young to notice. My sweet nanny, Katie, instantly saw that something was not right.
I told her I’d just had a panic attack and still felt like I was panicking. The bus felt too confining, so we decided to go straight to a Christian bookstore in the mall, because I wanted to get a Bible. I didn’t know exactly what was happening to me, but I knew that whatever it was, I needed to reach out to my heavenly Father for help and healing. So my tour manager arranged for all of us to go to the mall.
I also hoped the mall might ground me in normalcy and give the kids an outlet to move their little legs and pick out some toys, maybe get ice cream—anything to take my mind off the inexplicable fear and dread that I was feeling. I tried to act like everything was fine, but I had this sense that I wasn’t really there, as if I were a wisp of air and nothing more. I felt completely disassociated from myself.
That evening before I went into hair and makeup, I called my mom, and as soon as I heard her voice, I started crying. It’s amazing how much comfort a mother can give. I said, “Mommy, I need you. I am so exhausted and overworked and stressed, and I’ve been having such horrible anxiety, and I have that feeling again that I don’t know who I am.” I had told her about these feelings throughout my life. She was always great at talking me off the ledge. “Tell me about being born,” I said.
She immediately knew what I needed to hear. “You were born on February fifth, nineteen seventy-one. I promise,” she said. “You are real and you know who you are. You are just exhausted and stressed, and you are about to get a good long break, right?” I said, “Yes, we have the show tonight and then two more shows and then we are off until the new year.” Mom also suggested that I get Brenner to find a doctor who could prescribe something for my anxiety. We were able to find someone, and that helped me get through the performances. But I still had to keep turning and looking back at Matt during those last three shows to remind myself that I was real, that he was real, and that this awful feeling was all in my head.
Finally, we headed back home to Nashville. I was hoping that just being home and having some much-needed rest would make it all better, but it didn’t. I went to see a doctor and he prescribed me an antidepressant (which I never took, because I knew I wasn’t depressed; I was exhausted). He also prescribed an anti-anxiety medication that is non–habit forming and was really perfect for me. It really helped calm the anxiety and panic, but I knew this was a much deeper issue. For about ten days straight I was afraid to leave my house. Actually, I was afraid to walk from one room to another. All I did was sit in front of the fireplace with the girls playing around me and read my Bible. I was totally consumed with fear. And for no reason. I remember just dreading the hour when Avery was going to be getting off the school bus from kindergarten, because I knew I would have to pretend that everything was fine and it most certainly was not. The girls were both babies, so they had no idea. But I was so afraid that Avery would catch on and then start being afraid himself.
I knew that something in my subconscious was causing this fear and that I needed to figure out what it was. So I called my pastor, Dave, and explained what was going on and told him that I needed him to come to my house and pray over me. He came over every day for several days in a row, and we prayed and read Scripture and talked. He knew me well because he had done some marriage counseling for us as well. He encouraged me just to stay at home for the time being and get rest and let God do the rest.
My sister Ashley had struggled with postpartum depression after the birth of her second child, and she completely understood what I was going through. Anxiety is something that is so real and yet so baffling; you know in your reasonable mind that there is nothing to be afraid of, but you are afraid. You’re terrified of nothing. I had a feeling, though. I knew what it was.
Musicians regularly end up in the hospital, and it becomes a big media flurry. People balk at the diagnosis of “exhaustion,” but I can attest to the truth of it. Thankfully, mine never made the news, although little did I know I would have plenty of that ahead.
I knew I had to address what was happening in my life. I couldn’t push myself that hard anymore, especially not while being a mom and wanting to create a wonderful life with my children. I knew that my marriage was beyond repair. But how in the world could I even contemplate divorce when my parents’ divorce had hurt me so badly? I didn’t want my children to come from a broken home. I wanted them to have an idyllic life within the perfect family. This was so important to me—essential to the vision I had for my life. But sometimes things are simply out of our control.
I know now that what I was experiencing is called depersonalization. There were signs I could have noticed if I’d known what to look for. There were signs my family and friends could have noticed. But none of us really knew how to spot them, and I was very good at pretending I was fine.
Looking back, I know that my breakdown was also God telling me to stop and examine different aspects of my life. I know that what happened to me in December 2005 was a blessing in disguise. I learned a lesson through that season, but I have to admit, I didn’t learn it well enough. In 2014, I went through a similar experience. This time I thought I could push beyond my limits because I was in a great marriage and my kids had a stable home. This deceived me into thinking I could do everything that was expected of me to be successful in my career. I couldn’t.
Today, I’ve learned to be smart about myself. I know I can convince everyone around me that I’m okay. I now can pull myself together and put on my game face when underneath, all is not well. But the only person who is responsible for my health is me. Not my husband, not my friends, not my mother or my manager or even my doctor. I have to be responsible about my own health and well-being. I need to pay attention to the signs of burnout. I need to listen to God about what I should and shouldn’t do, and trust Him when doors close or open. I know God took care of me and my kids during those dark times, and He’ll take care of me always. But understanding my limits is an important part of being my best and being able to perform at my highest ability.
Today, I’m much more into self-care, and it’s something I encourage you to look at in your own life, too. A woman is such an anchor inside the home, setting the emotional climate, whether for good or for bad. If you think you can be stretched beyond your limit, or that continually sacrificing yourself will bring good to your family, you’re wrong. If you want your home to be nurturing, warm, loving, exciting, and stable, then you have to care for yourself so you can care for everyone else.
In 2006, I was back on my feet, still working with marriage counselors to try to keep my marriage going, when I received an invitation to be on Dancing with the Stars.
I was so excited! I had already become a fan of the show and couldn’t believe that I was going to be one of the stars competing. One of the first things that happens is that they schedule a day for their camera crews to come film you while you meet your dance partner so they can get your true reactions. I had decided that the best thing for our marriage during this time would be for us to stay at our little farmhouse in Oregon, so I asked if we could rehearse for the debut show out there. They found us a dance studio in Salem, Oregon, and that is where I met Tony Dovolani for the first time.
We immediately became best friends. He was so funny and just about eighteen months younger than me, and we looked good dancing together. Both dark, with dark hair. They matched us perfectly. We had a lot of work to do, so I would meet him at the studio every morning around 9:00 a.m. and we would dance until I started getting antsy to get home to my babies, which wasn’t a very long time. I’ve always been such a hands-on mom, and I HATED being away from my kids for more than a few hours at a time. At this time Avery was seven, Olivia was three, and Audrey was two. I was also the only mom competing that season. So I couldn’t rehearse as long each day as some of the others. But I busted my butt when we did rehearse.
Tony was born in Kosovo to Albanian parents, and he is Muslim. I was fascinated when he told me all about his childhood and also how dancing was so popular and considered to be very manly. He has a beautiful wife—I remember meeting her for the first time and just being in awe of her beauty and thinking what a cute couple they were.
After the few weeks spent in Oregon rehearsing, we all moved to Beverly Hills, into the house that DWTS had rented for us. It was gorgeous, and I was on cloud nine. I still had shows booked that I couldn’t cancel, so the schedule was rigorous. The kids and I would either get on the bus or fly to do the shows, and then come back to LA. There were a lot of requirements from DWTS, like interviews for the packages they would put together for each episode, a dress rehearsal/camera-blocking day, and then the actual show day, with a string of interviews after each show.
It was absolutely exhausting and totally invigorating at the same time. I loved every minute of it. At first the judges were not nice to me at all, and I think this inspired my fans to pick up the phone and vote for me. After the very first dance, one of the judges told me I moved like Barbara Bush. The second week they were still very critical—they kept telling me I was too conservative and needed to loosen up. And then it was time for the dance that really changed the way the judges saw me, the jive! If memory serves me, the show also chooses the song that you get to dance to each week, and for our jive they chose Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.” We thought, “This is perfect! We will dress up in cowboy and cowgirl clothes and put that spin on it.” So Tony had the brilliant idea of having the camera start on his boot, with my nail-polished hands slowly moving up the boot until it reached his hairy leg, and then the camera would show us with a “we’re just kidding! That was Tony’s leg, not Sara’s!” kind of look on our faces, and then the song would start and off we would go.
Tony choreographed the perfect dance for me. I grew up doing country dances like the two-step and the triple, and of course I spent hours watching people do these dances, so this was in my wheelhouse. My outfit was a white button-down bedazzled shirt with a blue bedazzled bra, and a blue bedazzled skirt, with brown bedazzled boots and a brown bedazzled cowboy hat. I wore my hair super-long with a bunch of added extensions, and board-straight. I looked amazing and the outfit was sexy. Very sexy. We killed it! I mean, the crowd was absolutely on their feet before the last note was struck! You could just tell by the feeling in the room that I had changed the judges’ and the fans’ minds. I was now legit in this competition. The judges sang my praises and we got all 10s that night. We were so happy.
After that, I kept making it week after week to the next round. It was really getting intense. But it was getting intense at home, too. It was becoming increasingly clear that my efforts to repair the marriage could not hold off the inevitable. There were times that I would sit in the chair in the makeup trailer and they would almost have my makeup completely done, and someone would say, “Are you okay?” and I would burst into tears and they would have to fix my running mascara and tear-streaked heavy foundation. With the competition and the work and my babies, I had made it easier to avoid admitting what was really going on. Then one night it all blew up between my husband and me, and I knew that I would not be able to finish DWTS. I had to quit working altogether, focus on my children, and really figure out what I was going to do. I had some tough decisions to make. So I called Brenner and said, you need to get me out of the show. I can’t do this anymore, because my kids need me right now, every second of every day. The show couldn’t have been more understanding—all they asked was that I do a short interview with host Tom Bergeron to explain my departure.
After dancing the jive with Tony Dovolani
Divorce is one of the hardest things a person can go through. In marriage, life is so intertwined with another human being, especially if you have children together. In divorce, you begin the process of untangling the thread that was holding you together. I had no idea how hard it was actually going to be, and being famous while going through it was excruciating. I had so much fear and anxiety about the future and what the divorce would do to my kids. Those next several weeks were a blur. And I still had touring dates that I had to fulfill.
I called my sisters, Lesley and Ashley, and asked them if they could come out on tour with me and start singing harmony, and just be there with me. I don’t know what I would have done without my family during that time. There were a few times when I had to be on stage at 9:00 p.m. and I couldn’t get out of my bunk to even get ready. I remember calling Brenner and begging her to cancel a show because I was too sad and scared to go on stage. But somehow I forced myself to get up and do my job. Every day got a little easier, and every day I got a little bit stronger.