My decision to leave Chicago was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. I moved there exactly four years ago, finished my Bachelors in theatre from Columbia College, and was finally on the brink of so many artistic firsts that I’d been working tirelessly to achieve.

I had just begun my second year teaching a drama club that I started from the ground up at a charter school for African American youth.

I had begun a formal partnership with the head of Steppenwolf’s educational theatre program, bringing my students to see the shows, shadowing their teaching artists, and attending their teacher workshops. As I was packing up my things into boxes, I received an email from Megan, recommending me for a temporary teaching artist job with American Theatre Company, which hails one of the best theatre for youth programs in Chicago, and which would have opened so many more doors for teaching artist gigs.

I had just been invited to join a new Chicago theatre company with amazingly intelligent, talented actors and was cast in the first show of their season as a devious little sister with a naughty potty mouth. The founder of the company believed in me, encouraged me, and expressed his delight in my talents.

My best friend in Chicago had recently landed a job as the Television and Film agent in one of Chicago’s top six agencies. I had been hoping, praying, and submitting to agents for over a year, and now she was in, and she was ready to sign me as one of her new clients. At last, my very own agent! ……….

And instead of drinking champagne, jumping up and down with glee, and hurling myself full force into this myriad of new blessings, I was standing in a long, winding line at the post office, using the last of my teaching check to ship two giant boxes of my clothes to rainy Portland, Oregon.

I write this third blog with tears in my eyes, recalling for the thousandth time, everything my sickness has robbed me of. Being so sick that I knew with absolute certainty if I stayed in Chicago, my body would eventually give out on me. There were many days in the recent months where I thought I would faint on the train going to and from my countless activities and jobs. My brain was so foggy, I could barely keep my eyes open, my body hurt so badly I wanted to cut it up into tiny pieces, sprinkle them into the trash, and re-grow new insides from scratch. I was overwhelmed with fatigue, with dizziness and a heaviness that weighed on me physically and spiritually. I was unwell. A walking time bomb. And I needed help, I needed to focus all my energies on getting well. And that meant giving up all of the things I had been working so hard to achieve, getting on a plane, and going back to my roots.

My health problems are costly- both financially and artistically. And not a single success I just described was actually going to be a success if I was too sick to do my best. If I was too sick to rejoice in all this good news. I finally had to admit that I cannot live the life I want to live until my body heals. What a devastating realization. Leaving Chicago was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.