Holding Everything Together

What I Misunderstood About Being a Good Producer

Here’s the story I was telling myself about 2026.

I was losing momentum.

Projects ended. Collaborations fizzled. Opportunities disappeared before they became anything. I shifted my business model and started exploring new jobs, wondering if I was moving backward instead of forward.

Looking back, I realize I was measuring the wrong thing.

I’ve spent a lot of my career stepping into situations where I became the person holding everything together. Sometimes it was logistics. Sometimes it was communication. Sometimes it was making sure everyone felt heard. Sometimes it was believing in a project a little longer than everyone else.

I thought that was what being a good producer looked like.

I confused being valuable with being indispensable.

There’s a difference.

A producer should support the work. A producer shouldn’t become the reason the work functions.

Somewhere along the way, I wasn’t producing anymore. I was compensating.

I was compensating for unclear expectations, weak communication, and people who weren’t ready to make decisions. I believed that if I worked hard, stayed patient, and cared enough, eventually the structure around the project would become strong enough to support all of us.

Sometimes it did. More often, it didn’t.

I’ve spent a lot of time this year thinking I was grieving failed projects.

I wasn’t.

I was grieving the version of myself who believed it was her job to keep everything alive.

Holding everything together had become part of my identity, and I was proud of it. I had been rewarded for it my entire life.

Then I found this photo of me as the high school class treasurer and laughed.

Long before I managed artists or produced shows, I was already volunteering to be the person who kept things organized. The one people counted on.

Apparently, this pattern started long before I worked in entertainment.

Here's high school Christine and those old Mac desktop computers!