You Do Not Need a Crown

By Christa Steiner

The road to Miss Connecticut was far from glamorous. It was the culmination of a life's work, in and out of pageantry.

I grew up just outside of Atlantic City, in the land of Miss America. My parents are theatre producers who produced shows in the casinos, so my early years came wrapped in glitz: showgirls, bright lights, and of course, Miss America. I always wanted to be glamorous. There was such strength in watching someone stand onstage as exactly who they were, and such power, too.

I was an awkward, tall, lanky child, and I stuck out like a sore thumb. Discovering I was gay only sharpened the feeling of being an outsider. At seven years old, confiding in my best friend felt safe. However, she did not understand what being gay meant, and out of fear, she handed my secret to the entire school. I was made to feel at that moment that who I was wasn't okay, and pieces of me would have to stay hidden in order to be successful in this world.

Acceptance never came back at school. I kept looking for a place that would welcome me, a community I could belong to. Performing in music and theatre helped to cultivate that sense of community. However, I didn’t feel fully embraced as a person, and I searched for something larger.

Then came Miss America.

Finding a community

I was sixteen and aching to belong when Mallory Hagan's interviews came across my television screen. Growing up in and around Atlantic City had never once put me in contact with the Miss America Organization beyond the spectator's seat.
My mother had a rule. You do not get to have an opinion about something unless you have seen it or done it. I wanted an opinion about Miss America, so I signed up for a local competition.

What I found was an incredible community of women spanning generations, all of them committed to empowering one another and to showing young girls that hard work and dedication could carry them anywhere they wanted to go.From there, I was invested and wanted to build myself in this program and become a state titleholder who embodied those values.

Then life happened. 

Senior year of college demanded attention, and so did paying the bills. COVID struck during the tenure of my 2020 local title, and competitions were suspended seemingly indefinitely. My own life took a turn at the same time. I stepped back from the organization to find out who Christa was. Goodbye was never the intention. It was a "see you later."

That "see you later" stretched into a seven-year discovery journey. I traveled from New York to Philadelphia, and Philadelphia to Toronto. I held several positions in several fields, and my heart was broken more than once. At the end of that stretch came an inpatient facility, a diagnosis of Bipolar I Disorder, and a need to become sober.

Those seven years, and truly my entire teenage and young adult life, had been one long search for the source of my pain. When I finally received my diagnosis, a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Finally there was an answer, and a set of steps that could actually improve my health. I spent the first year of recovery learning everything I could about my conditions, and the second relearning how to live in the world with a new perspective.

Once stability arrived, I knew my next step: make this path easier for the people coming behind me.

Resources for mental health and recovery are not as widespread as they should be, and they are certainly not accessible. Information is difficult to come by. Cost and location are only two of the many barriers. I had the privilege of an education and a family willing to advocate for me and fund my recovery, while most people do not. Even with extensive resources at my disposal, bipolar disorder and addiction are no joke. These are hard conditions to live with. If recovery was this difficult for me, how much harder is it for someone with far less access to care?

That question became my cause. What could I do that would help close this gap? My immediate thought was: "Miss America."

The Miss America Organization is the most accessible opportunity for young women in this country to advocate for the causes that matter to them. I knew that if I poured myself into this organization and into my advocacy, Miss America could help me make a real impact in my state, and hopefully in the country.

Coming home to Connecticut

I have lived in Connecticut since November of 2023, and I have been in the entertainment industry for most of my life. My mother is a stage manager, my father a three-time Broadway veteran, and now they are both theatre producers. Becoming a musician and a performer was destiny.

Stepping back onstage right after my diagnosis, though, was out of the question. I needed more time to recover before I could cross that bridge. I had taken classes in theatrical hair and makeup in college with Broadway's J. Jared Janas, currently the hair and makeup supervisor for Wicked. Working with wigs came naturally to me, and seemed a good stepping stone to get back to work in the theatre. My call went something like this: "I need help. I need a job." Amazing and gracious as he is, Jared connected me with the Goodspeed Opera House in East Haddam, Connecticut. My first show was Dreamgirls. As a fan of Michael Bennett, I was thrilled.

East Haddam turned out to be an incredible small-town community of folks that made me feel welcomed and cared for. I fell in love with the community, and the semi-rural atmosphere. It turns out I was made to live among the cows and the trees. The peace was instant. I finally felt like I was home.

Showing up as myself

Living here made Miss Connecticut the title to pursue, and our incredible board welcomed me right away. Earlier in my pageant journey, the advice had been to change who I was in order to be successful. Wear certain colors. Do not get tattoos. And certainly do not tell people you are a lesbian.

My very first conversation was with board member and forever Miss Connecticut Jillian Duffy, who heard those experiences and instantly refuted every one of them. Here in Connecticut, they wanted me to show up as me. Individuality and authenticity, as it turns out, are strengths.

I also knew that my year as Miss Constitution State would be built on radical honesty about my recovery. I had to be upfront about who I am and how I move through the world. That year belonged to people and to the connections worth making. A keynote at the Join Rise Be Youth Leadership Conference. A run of events and performances with Prism Counseling. A press conference with Governor Ned Lamont on mental health parity and equity.

By the time I reached the Miss Connecticut stage, I felt like I had already won. People here have seen that significant adversity does not have to be the end of the story, and that you can hand your lived experience forward so the next person receives the gifts you were given.

What I want you to take from this

I am humbled that the judges saw that in me and awarded me this platform to continue the work. But one thing deserves to be said plainly: you do not need a crown to make a difference.

The unsung heroes have made the most difference in my life. They are the ones who show up every single day with an open ear and an open heart, who pick up the phone and have coffee with me. I've learned the importance of service, and that it helps to keep me sober. Doing this work as Miss Connecticut is a gift. Getting to do it every day for the rest of my life is the bigger one.

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Photo by Jessielyn Palumbo

Christa Steiner is the current Miss Connecticut. You can follow her on her Instagram. You should also visit her website.

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.