There was a gut-wrenching yet incredibly electrifying feeling inside me when I nervously searched for room 192.

I had stayed in the car because I didn't want to be too early yet I didn't dare arrive late. I hadn't acted in a large role for almost a year; I hadn't even read the script. I wasn't studying theatre; I didn't consider myself good enough. But there I was, waiting in the parking lot anxiously sweating before our first read-through.

When I saw the cast list, it was through a blurry text message photo. I had to zoom in and squint, but there it was: my name. I was in the car with my then-boyfriend when my hands weren't big enough to cover my smile and my eyes began to well with tears.

I was so incredibly excited.

For the past four years, my life was intensely dedicated to theatre: acting, directing, producing, working backstage. After graduating, I had to say goodbye to my thespian family which I worked so hard to build. When I got to college, there was a part of me missing. A part of me that wasn't being exercised enough, and it was finally beginning to fill again.

I had auditioned for my first college show in the fall, only to find I had not made it past callbacks. When I saw auditions were being held again for the spring, I drove to campus on a Saturday morning with my best friend. We parked and debated whether or not to go through with it. Something pushed me to try again.

That's the moment which throws me back into my beaten gold Hyundai debating if I should wait another five minutes before leaving my safe zone to go looking for our rehearsal space. I knew of only one other name on that cast list. Everybody knew each other or knew what they were doing. I was walking into unknown territory.

Then I did it. I got out of the car and found the room.

And I survived. I was extremely meek and to myself, but I survived. We laughed reading through our script and it was easy to see individuals morph into their new roles. Nothing magically clicked during that first rehearsal — the nerves never disappeared, everybody was still a stranger. The journey ahead was nothing I could have predicted from that first rehearsal.

I can't pick a certain time, place or date where it all changed. I can't even remember a specific timeframe. There was a day where I was still second-guessing my worth of being in the show next to such incredible actors and under genius directing, and then there was a day where these actors who seemed so distant from myself became a part of me.

I'm not sure if it was the first 30 rolls of sushi, if it happened during frolf, laser tag or the hours at IHOP but some time in between each character break in rehearsal, laughing fits causing us unable to start a scene again, arguments over games at warm-ups and not knowing our lines, we unknowingly created a family.

I think where it's easy to realize you accidentally bonded with an initial group of strangers is where you get a break from your constant rehearsals and you find yourself actually missing it. Though completely incidental, you could never imagine your life without your fellow cast members.

You don't only look at your cast different but you look at yourself differently. By creating these bonds and getting more comfortable, you all begin to build each other up. You want everybody to be the best they can be. You don't just care about their character, but them. You see the talent and goodness in each individual as they find it in you. It goes past the show alone. You find yourself with a whole new group of friends, a whole new sense of self and you leave with pride in knowing you created a remarkable piece of art.

Then the journey comes to an end.

It's your closing night. Eight shows done and the last applause is heard. You look around your cast, surrounding the stage, taking one last bow. Your stage husband, who feels like your real husband, the stage bestie who unknowingly pushed your acting more than anyone, the mutual eye-roller, the one who sported leggings one too many times, the first person who ever talked to you in the cast, the unapologetic one, the one who taught you to give second chances, the one who lit up the set with their smile and laughter, the one who showed you past enemies could be great friends. Your smile has never been so big and your heart has never been so full.

It's in that moment you realize who these people have become. It's in that moment you realize it's all over. It's in that moment you wish you could rewind and relive it all. It's in that moment that your cast has turned into your family.