When I think of Judy Garland, here's what comes to mind:
Ruby Slippers
🎵 Clang clang clang went the trolly. Ding ding ding went the bell. 🎵
Tragedy
But as soon as that last thought surfaces, I’m struck by a wave of guilt. Here’s a brilliant woman with a voice that defined an era, and yet, like so many others, I instinctively frame her through the lens of tragedy.
Judy Garland spent 45 of her 47 years performing. Working.
At 12, she signed her first MGM contract, where she was drugged and starved. At 17, she received a "special" Oscar. At 22, she was on her second marriage. A year later, she welcomed her daughter, Liza. And by 24, she was forcibly hospitalized for the first time.
A lifetime compressed into a mere quarter-century.
The next two decades were a whirlwind of personal and professional highs and lows. Garland married three more times. She endured more hospitalizations, both involuntary and voluntary, and had two more children, Lorna and Joey. Yet her career continued to soar with two Academy Award nominations and a legendary performance at Carnegie Hall, hailed as “the greatest night in show business.” She broke television records with the highest-rated television special in network history and captivated 108,000 people with a live performance on the Boston Common.
Looking at this history, I struggle. If I focus on the yellow brick road and sing-alongs, am I ignoring the horror? If I only see the splatters of abuse and pain, am I diminishing her triumphs? My mind, despite its proclaimed love for duality, sometimes runs on a narrow code.
It’s a lot to hold, and I see so clearly how tragedy rises to the top, drowning out the rest.
And perhaps even Garland would have described certain elements of her life as tragic.
But when her life ended on June 22, 1969, the world mourned. Over a 24-hour period, 22,000 people filed past her casket. This outpouring of grief, while a testament to her impact, has, I believe, inadvertently contributed to a misery-tinged eulogy that has come to define her legacy — a narrative of sorrow. A narrative she never echoed.
But that’s not the whole story.
Not by a long shot.
The biggest misconception people have about my mother is that she was unhappy. I think people enjoy thinking that way — some of them, anyway. They see the tragedy as opposed to the fact that she understood how to play tragedy.
~Liza Minnelli
These words from Garland's daughter Liza Minnelli cut to the heart of our collective misunderstanding. We’ve been so caught up in the misfortune — the drama — that we’ve failed to see the artistry much less the human behind it. Garland wasn't just living a tragic life; she was portraying tragedy with the skill of a master.
Consider for a moment what it means to “understand how to play tragedy.” It suggests a level of control, of artistic interpretation. What if Garland wasn't simply swept along by the currents of a difficult life? What if she actively shaped how she presented herself to the world, both on and off stage? What if she was the author of her own story, even if that narrative was later co-opted and abridged by the public and the press?
Take her legendary 1961 Carnegie Hall concert. Garland didn’t just show up and sing. She weaponized her reputation for unreliability — “I’m still here! I’ve still got it!” Each song was a deliberate brushstroke, painting herself as an artist in command of her comeback. The audience’s thunderous ovation wasn’t just for her voice, but for the story she'd written that night — one of tenacity and calculated risk.
Yet, despite such nuanced performances, we’re addicted to oversimplification. We scream: “Give me an easy explanation, and give it to me now!”
But when we reduce Judy Garland (or anyone) to a “sad” figure, we strip away her agency. We cast her as a victim of circumstance rather than recognize her as a woman who navigated incredible challenges with resilience and talent. This distortion doesn’t just do a disservice to Garland’s memory, it obscures the complexity of her lived experience and the depth of her contributions.
By focusing solely on the jagged edges of Garland, we miss the nuance — her performances, the joy she brought to millions, and the strength it took to persist in a terribly cruel industry.
We overlook the woman. Her wholeness. Her gritty, unconventional path.
And in our rush to paint Garland as a cautionary tale and our well-meaning urge to pity her, we forget to celebrate her.
I don’t have the talent of Judy Garland, but we shared a lot of the fear of sharing the talent; of taking care of the talent that had been left in our possession. God, we were both so scared, all the time. And we both loved to perform. We both loved talent, and we talked about it like thieves after a good heist. We both craved and idolized talent, and we wanted to be so good — so damned good — but we were always terrified of the next rehearsal, the next challenge, the next performance. What we enjoyed was the conclusion — when we knew we had gotten it right or fucked it up or gotten a little closer to that special place where the work becomes as good as we can manage it.
~ Elaine Stritch
To truly understand Judy Garland, we must look beyond the tragedy and see the full, vibrant spectrum of her life and career.
She was a mother, a friend, a wit — quick with laughter, quicker with love. Her children thrived in her warm, if turbulent, wake.
On stage, Garland was a force of nature. She didn’t just sing; she reached into souls, bending over the footlights to grasp hands and hearts alike. She cradled people in the moment. Each performance a tightrope walk between fear and reverence, vulnerability and power.
Unseen by adoring eyes, she grappled with her gift. Every note, every gesture, a relentless pursuit of that “special place where the work becomes as good as we can manage it.” This struggle wasn't weakness, rather the mark of an artist striving to honor her extraordinary gift.
And she was fucking tough. Knocked down by life, she’d rise to reclaim her spotlight. Not luck. Not mere stubbornness. But the fire of raw talent and indomitable spirit.
To define a life solely by its tragedies is to miss the point entirely. Judy Garland's legacy isn't one of failure or devastation — it’s a melody of human complexity. It’s a place where happiness and sorrows bleed into each other like watercolors.
Just like my life. And yours.
And only by acknowledging the bliss that flowed into pain, and the successes that slid into setbacks, can we honor her memory more truly.
When you have lived the life I've lived, when you’ve loved and suffered, and been madly happy and desperately sad – well, that's when you realize you'll never be able to set it all down. Maybe you'd rather die first.
~Judy Garland
Judy Garland lived her life out loud — volume turned way up.
She sang with abandon, loved fiercely, and cried freely.
She stumbled, often.
This was a life lived in technicolor, brimming with emotional engagement.
A life imbued with such richness and weight that it’s impossible to distill.
And that’s not a tragedy. It never could be.
Garland’s legacy isn't in her final bow, but in every note she sang.
In every heart she touched. Continues to touch.
She wasn’t a star — she was a supernova.
Burning brightly and bursting forth.
Pouring every ounce of her soul into her winding, glorious, complicated 47 years.
And she got to the place she loved: the conclusion — sometimes right, sometimes fucked up, and often as magnificent as it could possibly get.
That’s all any of us can hope for:
A life so vivid it can’t be neatly summarized or easily set aside.
P.S. ~ This exploration of Judy Garland is part of my monthly series, “Flippin’ the Script.” In each installment, I aim to challenge our preconceptions about women — both real and fictional — who have often been viewed through a narrow lens. If you missed it, check out last month’s piece on those Glamorous Gabors and how they, like Garland, laid their own path.
If being a paid subscriber isn’t the right fit for you, that’s OK. I’m grateful for your presence in any and every capacity. You can always buy me coffee. It fills me with the excitement-induced energy I need to function as a human. Click below!
I appreciate this reminder that life is never all or nothing. Every one of us is neither good or bad and grief and joy can co-exist. The last few decades have ingrained the message that we must be all the things and none of them include sadness, confusion or grief so I love reading excellent essays like this that demonstrate all the facets of being human. Thank you so much Caroline, well done!
Ummm so glad I saved this and why did I start tearing up???? JUDY FOREVER!!!