Thirteen years. Almost 365 days a year. Countless hours on set, filming anywhere between 50 and 60 scenes a day. I can’t keep track of the birthdays, anniversaries and holidays I missed, all because of “Days of Our Lives.” When I look back, “Days of Our Lives” was the days of my life.
And it was worth it, because I got to do what I loved, every single day: act. Although it was a demanding and grueling job, I did amazing things while playing Gabi Hernandez — things I never would’ve been able to do on any other set, like being kidnapped eight times or causing a gas explosion that might destroy the entire town or doing my own stunts and getting tackled or blowing up a person’s wedding.
That’s what made walking away earlier this year such a difficult decision.
When I told my mom, sister and husband — who I call my “tripod” — I was thinking of leaving the show, they understood. They’d seen me come home from work crying because I couldn’t shake off something bad that had happened to Gabi. They’d seen me memorizing 60 pages a day and feeling like my head was going to explode. Their support is monumental and it’s what makes me feel safe enough to take this risk.
I did it for me and the dreams that surpassed “Days of Our Lives.” I did for my family: past, present and future. I did it for my dad, in honor of the person he thought I could be — but never could see me become.
Soon into my time on “Days of Our Lives,” I got the news no one ever wants to receive. I was in the parking lot of a dollar store with my mom, who was on the phone, when she started screaming. On the other line, she learned my dad, her ex-husband, had died by suicide.
We were shocked and devastated. My dad had been a living whirlwind and human wild card. When he was on dates with my mom, women would leave him their numbers. He was an exuberant man; everyone wanted his attention. At that point, I didn’t realize his smile masked what I now think was a lifetime of depression.
When he died, I handled it the best way I could as a 19-year-old, which was … not to tell anybody. A couple of days later I returned to set and life moved on. I buried my grief, I buried my anger. I buried my sadness. I put on a smile for a long time.
My instinct was silence. Things got better, for me, when I started talking about my dad’s death. In fact, I talk about it all the time now! Some people get weird with me because I don’t have to be very close to someone to tell them about my father’s death, but not making it taboo is therapeutic for me.
Other things that helped: Therapy. My husband, who encouraged me to think beyond guilt and my last phone call with my dad, and the memories I cherished. “Days” was impactful, too: When my character became a mom, I took a parenting class to prepare for the role, where I reflected on how the parenting done to me has molded me into the adult I became. Meeting other families impacted by suicide through my work with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention has helped me move forward as well.
I think losing my dad made me a more empathetic person. His suicide changed the way that I interact with people. I want them to know that I care. I want them to know they are wanted, important, needed.
I had always spoken to my dad about my dreams. He knew my ultimate goal is to create amazing stories and cultivate characters — to be on the big screen. That was part of why I walked away. He didn’t stay to see his dreams realized — the depression took over. I need to reach mine for him, and me, and our family.
“Days” was undeniably a dream job. But I hope it’s the first of many dream jobs. I want to leave a legacy for my family, honoring the sacrifices that my Cuban immigrant parents made for me so that I could pursue those dreams.
Now, in Florida, when I look at the water, I think of my dad. I feel his embrace. And I know: He would be so proud of me.
