By Conrad Stokes.
Interview with Jonathan Mark.
The Cost of Chasing a Dream.
From the moment I first held a camera, I knew filmmaking was my calling. There was something magical about capturing a moment and transforming it into a story that could make people laugh, cry, or see the world in a different way. I lived and breathed cinema, idolizing the great directors, studying their work, and dreaming of the day I would see my name on the big screen.
The fire inside me was unshakable, and I was convinced that if I worked hard enough, made the right connections, and poured every ounce of my soul into my craft, I would achieve success.
But what I didn’t realize was that the very industry I loved so much would become the force that nearly destroyed me. The sacrifices, the unrelenting pressure, the constant need to prove myself—all of it took a toll that I failed to acknowledge until it was too late. The road to success in filmmaking is rarely a straight line.
It is a maze filled with false promises, financial instability, emotional exhaustion, and the creeping feeling that no matter how much you give, it will never be enough. My story is one of passion, self-destruction, and ultimately, a painful realization that my mental health was worth more than any dream.
The Early Days: Passion Fueled by Pressure.
Like many aspiring filmmakers, I started from the ground up, taking whatever opportunities came my way. I said yes to unpaid internships, low-budget projects, and last-minute gigs that required me to stay up for days on end just to meet impossible deadlines.
I convinced myself that this was the price of entry into the industry—that hard work and sacrifice were the keys to success. And so, I threw myself into every project with an almost obsessive dedication.
At first, I thrived on the chaos. The adrenaline rush of working on set, the camaraderie of late-night brainstorming sessions, and the sheer excitement of seeing a project come to life kept me going. I felt alive, as though I was finally where I belonged. But beneath the surface, the cracks were already beginning to form. My life outside of film started to disappear.
I missed birthdays, holidays, and important family moments. My friends stopped inviting me to events because they knew I would be too busy to come. Relationships withered as I prioritized my career over personal connections.
The idea of balance seemed like a foreign concept. I was told that in the film industry, you either gave everything or you didn’t belong. And so, I gave everything.
The Anxiety of Never Being Enough.
The deeper I went into the industry, the more I realized that success wasn’t just about talent or hard work. It was about who you knew, how well you marketed yourself, and whether or not you could withstand the brutal mental strain of constant rejection. For every small victory, there were ten failures. Projects fell apart due to lack of funding. Promises made by producers and investors were broken. I would spend months working on something, only for it to never see the light of day.
The pressure was relentless. There was always someone more talented, more connected, or simply luckier than I was. And because film is such a public art form, every failure felt magnified. I couldn’t just create something in isolation—it had to be judged, critiqued, and measured against the best in the industry. The weight of that expectation sat on my shoulders day and night.
I developed a constant, gnawing anxiety that I wasn’t doing enough. If I wasn’t working, I felt like I was failing. If I took a break, I felt guilty. The industry thrived on the idea that filmmakers had to suffer for their art, and I had fully bought into that mentality.
Isolation and the Disappearance of a Personal Life.
As the years passed, I found myself withdrawing further and further from the outside world. My personal relationships had suffered so much that by the time I looked around, I realized I had very few real connections left. Friends had moved on with their lives, building careers in more stable fields, getting married, starting families. Meanwhile, I was still chasing an elusive dream, one that seemed further out of reach the harder I worked.
I stopped engaging in hobbies that had once brought me joy. Music, reading, even simple things like going for walks—all of it faded as my life became consumed by film. Even when I wasn’t actively working on a project, I was thinking about it. I was strategizing my next move, worrying about funding, editing in my head before I even shot a scene. My mind was never at rest.
And then came the loneliness. The kind of loneliness that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like a ghost in your own life. I was surrounded by people in the industry, yet I had never felt more alone. Everyone was too busy hustling, too caught up in their own struggles to truly connect. Conversations revolved around work, success, and ambition. There was no space to talk about burnout, depression, or the deep exhaustion that came with constantly proving yourself.
The Breaking Point: When Everything Collapsed.
The breaking point didn’t come in a dramatic, movie-like fashion. There was no single moment where I realized I had to change. Instead, it was a slow, suffocating collapse.
One evening, after finishing a grueling 18-hour shoot, I sat alone in my apartment, staring at my computer screen. I had a pile of work waiting for me—editing deadlines, emails, a pitch deck that needed refining. But for the first time, I felt completely and utterly numb.
I couldn’t bring myself to open a single file. I couldn’t even move. My mind, which had always been racing with ideas and plans, was blank. I had nothing left to give. And that terrified me.
For years, I had told myself that filmmaking was my purpose, my reason for existing. But in that moment, I realized I no longer felt joy in it. It had become a prison of my own making.
Rebuilding My Life—Outside of Film.
Stepping away from the industry was the hardest decision I ever made. It felt like admitting defeat, like giving up on the only thing that had ever defined me. But I knew that if I continued down this path, I would break beyond repair.
I started therapy. For the first time, I confronted the years of perfectionism, anxiety, and burnout that had been eating away at me. I began to understand that rest was not a weakness, that my worth wasn’t tied to my productivity.
I reconnected with old friends, slowly rebuilding the relationships I had neglected. I explored other creative outlets that had nothing to do with filmmaking—painting, music, even just sitting in silence without the constant need to be “working” on something.
Most importantly, I gave myself permission to redefine success. I no longer measured it by industry standards, by awards or recognition. Instead, success became about balance, about being able to create without destroying myself in the process.
The Lesson: Your Mental Health Is More Important Than Your Career
To any filmmaker or artist struggling under the weight of this industry, I want you to hear this: Your dream should never cost you your well-being.
The world will always tell you to work harder, sacrifice more, push yourself to the limit. But if you burn yourself out, there will be nothing left of you to give.
I almost lost myself trying to “make it.” But I chose to walk away. And in doing so, I found something I had lost a long time ago—myself.
Call to Action: A Message to Filmmakers
To any filmmaker or artist struggling under the weight of this industry, hear this: Your dream should never cost you your well-being.
The world will always tell you to work harder, sacrifice more, and push yourself to the limit. But if you burn yourself out, there will be nothing left of you to give.
[Storyteller’s Name] almost lost themselves trying to “make it.” But they chose to walk away. And in doing so, they found something they had lost a long time ago—themselves.
If you’re struggling, reach out. Talk to someone. Seek help. Your mental health is worth more than any film, award, or recognition. If you want to get your story heard,just contact us at team@imaffawards.com.
I am a highly experienced film and media person who has a great deal to offer to like-minded individuals. Currently working on several exciting projects, I am a film and media practitioner for over a decade. I have achieved a great deal of success in my professional career.
