Four years ago, I was nursing the wounds of a break-up that forever changed my view of the world and rattled my faith in my judgment. And although I had pride in the few short films I had made, when they finished, I was left feeling my voice was a single drop of water in the ocean of voices around me.

The best gestures of my heart felt romantically insignificant, and my most honest pieces of art fell culturally insignificant. To add insult to injury, I struggled with my finances. I was in my thirties, and I had to decide which bills I would pay and which ones I wouldn’t. Every aspect of my life had me heartbroken.

Someone in my acting community recommended "Frances Ha" on Facebook and I decided to watch it on one of those many lonely nights I seemed doomed to experience for eternity. I sobbed. I watched it the next night and sobbed again. Followed by a third and a fourth.

Not only did I identify so completely with Frances, the title character in the movie, but I also saw Greta Gerwig, the writer, and star of the film, succeeding in what I wanted to do. Frances and I shared painfully similar failures, while Greta Gerwig transformed those failures into the success of the film. The similarities between Frances, Greta, and myself merged into a melancholic hope.

Greta Gerwig is only a year younger than me, she grew up a half an hour away from where I did, and she wrote about the things I was interested in writing, finding significance in adulthood. “Frances Ha” showed me hope in the darkness and I’ve been a fan of Gerwig ever since.

A couple of months ago my mother called me on a Friday evening, an unusual time for her to reach out. “I just want to make sure,” she told me, “that you feel loved.” She had just seen “Lady Bird,” Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut, and called me on the drive home. “Lady Bird” is set in Sacramento, very close to where I grew up, so my mom and a couple of her friends went to see the film.

The film is a female creative’s coming of age story, a niche Gerwig has perfected, and the central relationship is of an imperfect mother and an imperfect daughter. Imperfections we’re afraid we might be guilty of ourselves. I love that! That is what good art should do: inspire self-reflection and encourage self-improvement.

My mom is not in danger of making me feel unloved because she’s the type who calls her daughter immediately after she’s seen a movie like “Lady Bird.” When I came home for the holidays, my mom took my dad and me to see the movie again. Half due to hometown pride and the other half due to the subject matter.

Is it too much to share my mom and I held hands throughout half the movie? At any rate, it gave us a reason to appreciate each other.

I recognize myself in Gerwig’s intimate personal stories. Her pieces come from a feminine perspective, without overwhelming the entire narrative. She writes real people who happen to be female. She also has a beautiful way of celebrating the female creative. Recognizing my own voice reflected in her stories, I feel bigger than that single drop of water. She includes me in a bigger part of the ocean of voices.

I feel a sense of pride in her nominations not only as a member of the Sacramento community or even as a woman in her thirties, but as a female artist. Please do yourself a favor and watch “Frances Ha,” “Mistress America,” and of course “Lady Bird.”