Meet Benai Boyd of Los Angeles

Today we’d like to introduce you to Benai Boyd.

Hi Benai, please kick things off for us with an introduction to yourself and your story.
I’m incredibly proud of the life I’ve built and the work I get to do today. But none of it happened the way I imagined it would. In fact, to understand how I got here, you have to understand everything that came before it. Before I take you back to where my story began, I think it’s important to share a little about where I am today, because the road that brought me here was anything but conventional. Today, I wear many hats: actor, director, disability advocate, public speaker, podcast co-host, nonprofit co-founder, and perhaps my most important role, mother. I’ve been honored by the City of Long Beach for my disability advocacy, and I proudly co-host “The castABLE Podcast” alongside Jennifer Kumiyama, who voiced Dahlia in Disney’s Wish (2023). Together, we challenge ableism, confront misconceptions, and work to change the narrative surrounding disability. I also serve on the boards of “Able Arts World” and “ARTCO Theater Company”, advocating for authentic representation, accessibility, and meaningful opportunities for artists of all abilities. Beyond the arts, my husband and I co-founded “Homemade Thursdays” during the pandemic, right out of our small apartment, with one simple mission: to make sure people experiencing homelessness felt seen, valued, and remembered. What began with a handful of meals has grown into a grassroots nonprofit through which we’ve personally prepared and hand-delivered more than 53,000 meals to individuals and families experiencing hardship.

I was born and raised in Los Angeles, California. My story has been anything but conventional, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that sometimes the life you never imagined becomes the life that gives you the greatest sense of purpose. My love for the performing arts began early (at age 3 to be exact). The stage became a place where I could find my voice, tell stories, and play dress up. Growing up I danced my way through life. I spent my childhood inundated in dance classes and performing arts groups. Despite being a heavy child, that is where I felt completely accepted. Growing up, watching the classic musical theater movies and performing them FULL OUT in my living room, I was always on a stage. Up until the age of 14, that was where you would find me.
I took a little break (more on that later) and then found my way back to Musical theater and discovered my love for singing in a Vocal 101 class at Harbor Community College. That is where the seed that had been planted so many years ago started to sprout. With the nurturing of the entire faculty and my beautiful voice teacher Susanne Aultz. I blossomed into a force of creative nature that had completely outgrown the small pond of the Harbor Music Department and I was pushed out into the Ocean. I found my way to the American Musical and Dramatic Academy (AMDA), graduated in 2006 and went on to build a 20-year international career as a professional actor and singer. Throughout my career, I had the extraordinary privilege of traveling to 22 different countries doing what I loved most: performing, telling stories, connecting with audiences, playing dress up and getting paid for it. But among the many highlights of those 20 years, one of my greatest honors was being part of the original cast and creative development of Disney’s “Frozen – Live at the Hyperion”, where I originated the roles of “Queen Iduna” and “Bulda”. I had the opportunity to collaborate with creative visionaries including Bobby Lopez, Bob Iger, Liesl Tommy and Jason Michael Webb in helping to bring Disney’s first live theatrical adaptation of “Frozen” to life.

While performing in “Frozen” live at the Hyperion, I sustained an injury that would permanently change the trajectory of my life. and after more than two decades of performing, I was forced to take my final bow. I didn’t just lose my career. I lost the identity I had spent my entire life building. Becoming disabled in my forties meant confronting not only a new physical reality but also my own internalized ableism, grief, and the uncomfortable question of who I was without the thing that had always defined me.

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
A smooth road…….. HAHAHA. Not even remotely. But I think that’s what makes my story worth telling. I lost my father three days after my 14th birthday, and because of that I spent much of my adolescence navigating psychiatric institutions, trauma, abuse, and systems that were supposed to protect me but often caused more harm. I learned how to survive long before I ever learned how to feel safe. For most of my life, I was really good at surviving. Seriously. If there was an obstacle, I found a way around it. If life knocked me down, I got back up. I became incredibly skilled at pushing through pain and proving that my circumstances weren’t going to dictate what I could accomplish. At one point I weighed 375 pounds then lost 200 of it. I experienced devastating loss, struggled with my mental health, and carried more emotional baggage than I even knew what to do with. And somehow, despite all of it, I built a pretty damn magical career. I traveled the world doing what I loved. I made a name for myself. I worked alongside extraordinary people and created a life that, at one point, I could have only dreamed of.

I had climbed the mountain. I had done the impossible. And for a moment, I got to stand at the top and look at everything I had created. And then the whole damn mountain collapsed. That injury left me permanently disabled and ended the career I had spent over two decades building. And just like that, I found myself having to figure out who I was without the very thing I had spent most of my adult life becoming. Imagine spending your entire life fighting to become something, finally arriving, and then having to figure out who you are when that part of your identity is taken away. I wasn’t just grieving my career. I was grieving my body, my independence, my friendships, my community that I thought supported me, my sense of purpose, and the future I thought I would have.

What made that transition even more difficult was confronting the ableism I had unknowingly internalized. I had spent more than four decades navigating the world as an able-bodied person, and suddenly I was experiencing firsthand how differently society treats people with disabilities. I had to unlearn the idea that my value was connected to my productivity, my physical abilities, or what I could contribute to others. And then there was the challenge of reinventing myself in an industry that still struggles to recognize disabled artists as artists first.

Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
I believe everything happens for a reason. That doesn’t mean I understand every reason, agree with every circumstance, nor believe that the pain was fair. Some of the things I’ve experienced were devastating, unjust, and never should have happened. But I believe there can be purpose in what we experience, even when that purpose isn’t immediately clear. Looking back, I can see how the very experiences that nearly destroyed me have also shaped my compassion, strengthened my voice, and led me toward a life of advocacy, service, and storytelling that I never could have imagined. I may not have had a choice in everything that happened to me, but I do have a choice in what I do with what happened.

Today, I am an Actor, Singer, Director, Disability advocate, Podcast host, Nonprofit co-founder, Board member, and mother. But if I had to identify the common thread connecting everything I do, it would be storytelling, humanity, and creating spaces where people feel seen, heard, and valued.
In a particularly meaningful full-circle moment, I made my directing debut with “Frozen Jr.” at an inclusive theater company in Thousand Oaks, during the 10th anniversary year of Disney’s “Frozen – Live at the Hyperion”. Ten years after helping bring “Frozen” to life as a performer, I returned to the very story that had changed my life, this time as a disabled director helping create opportunities for other artists with disabilities.

Today, my work has evolved from being onstage to helping shape what happens behind the scenes, and within the communities we serve. As a disabled actor, director and advocate, I specialize in inclusive storytelling, disability representation, accessibility for all, and challenging the deeply ingrained ableism that exists within the entertainment industry and society. I’m passionate about moving conversations beyond simply including disabled people to recognizing their artistry, talent, leadership, and humanity.

What I’m most proud of is that I’ve taken my lived experiences and turned them into opportunities for connection, education, and meaningful change. Whether it’s co-hosting ‘The castABLE Podcast”, where we challenge ableism through candid, sometimes uncomfortable, and often humorous conversations, or serving on the boards of “Able Arts World” and “ARTCO Theater Company”, my work is rooted in creating spaces where all people are not simply included but genuinely valued, respected, and empowered. I’m equally proud of “Homemade Thursdays”, the nonprofit my husband and I founded. We’ve recently expanded our mission through a partnership with Ronald McDonald House of Los Angeles, providing meals to families whose children are receiving critical medical care. My philosophy is simple: Just humanity. I don’t believe in saving people. I believe in serving people, recognizing their dignity, and reminding them that they haven’t been forgotten in any capacity.

What sets me apart is the perspective I bring to all my work. Having spent more than four decades navigating the world as an able-bodied person now 8 years later a disabled person, I understand both the privilege of access and the barriers that exist without it. I understand that society can cast people out for their circumstances at no fault of their own. I don’t believe advocacy is about making people feel guilty for what they don’t know. It’s about creating opportunities to listen, learn, challenge assumptions, and grow. I’m not interested in simply being part of the conversation. I’m interested in changing the conversation—and making sure the people we’re talking about have a voice in shaping it. Another thing that sets me apart is that I’ve experienced life on both sides of that societal divide. I’ve also navigated childhood trauma, institutionalization, profound loss, 2 major physical transformations, a successful international career, and the challenge of rebuilding my identity when everything I thought defined me changed. Those experiences have given me a perspective that cannot be taught in a classroom or learned from a textbook. I understand what it means to be overlooked, underestimated, and misunderstood. But I also understand the power of being given an opportunity, being treated with dignity, and having someone recognize your potential before you can recognize it yourself.

And while I’m incredibly proud of my professional accomplishments on stage, the recognition I’ve received, and the communities I’ve helped build, I’m most proud of the person I’m becoming. For much of my life, I measured my worth by what I could accomplish, what I could overcome, and how much I could do for others. Today, I’m learning that my value doesn’t disappear when I’m not performing, producing, advocating, or helping someone else. I used to believe my purpose was to prove that I could overcome anything. Today, I believe my purpose is to use everything I’ve experienced to help create a world where fewer people have to fight so hard just to belong. And if there’s one thing I hope people remember about my work, it’s not simply what I’ve accomplished. It’s how I made people feel seen.

At 49, I’m still unpacking life, redefining strength, and learning that healing isn’t about fixing every broken piece of ourselves. Sometimes it’s about honoring the person we’ve become because of those pieces. I’ve been an actor, a survivor, a woman who lost everything she thought defined her, and a woman who discovered that purpose can exist beyond everything we lose.

How do you define success?
My definition of success has changed dramatically throughout my life. For a long time, success meant survival. It meant overcoming the circumstances I was born into, proving people wrong, building a career, and accomplishing things that once seemed impossible. And by those standards, I was incredibly successful. But when that injury ended my performing career and left me permanently disabled, I was forced to confront a question I had never really considered: If everything I’ve worked for disappears, am I still successful?

Today, I define success less by what I accomplish and more by how I live, who I become, and the impact I have on the people around me. Success is watching a disabled actor recognize their own potential because someone finally gave them the opportunity to be seen. It’s handing someone a warm meal and reminding them that they haven’t been forgotten. It’s creating spaces where people feel valued, respected, and included without having to justify their existence.
But success is also deeply personal. As someone who spent much of her life navigating trauma and operating in survival mode, I’m learning that success doesn’t always look like fighting harder, accomplishing more, or being everything to everyone. Sometimes success is setting a boundary without guilt. Sometimes it’s allowing myself to grieve without trying to fix the feeling. Sometimes it’s choosing peace over proving a point. And sometimes it’s simply being present for my family and most importantly myself.

I believe some of my greatest accomplishments have emerged from the very experiences I once thought would destroy me. Now, success means building a life I don’t have to survive. It’s being able to serve others without abandoning myself. It’s finding purpose without sacrificing my peace. It’s understanding that my worth isn’t determined by my productivity, my physical abilities, or anyone else’s expectations. And perhaps most importantly, it’s knowing that the people whose lives intersect with mine walk away feeling a little more seen, a little more valued, and a little less alone.

Ultimately, I don’t want my legacy to be how much I overcame. I want it to be how much humanity I contributed along the way.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.homemadthursdays.org
• Instagram: @benaiboyd
• Facebook: Benai Alicia Boyd
• Youtube: @thecastablepodcast