My family and I first moved to the Sunshine State when I was three years old. At the time, it was a perfectly rational decision. The weather was beautifully temperate, the people were friendly, and it provided my father with the ability to work from home. As a toddler, I was able to wake up to the warmth of the summer sun year round, and chase geckos and ladybugs across the hot pavement. Truthfully, those simple, innocent Floridian pleasures remain some of my favorite memories from my childhood.

When I became old enough to begin school, we relocated to Marco Island. “Paradise in only four miles,” the locals called it. I remember one of the first times we visited the island, I found myself fascinated with the same wonder that any five year old girl has about the world. As we walked along the beach, kicking our feet in the white sand, I recall looking at the assemblage of condos, hotels, and apartments composing the skyline. At that moment, I observed that Marco had a rhythm, a pattern. Everything about it felt so familiar, as if we had belonged there all along, and it was just waiting for us to drop into our places. It was then that I fell in love with the small island on the Southwest tip of Florida.

That was thirteen years ago. 

After what felt like only a few warm summers, I am now 18, and graduate from high school in less than a month. I am the Editor-in-Chief of my school’s student newspaper, and the president of our Girls Learn International chapter. While I feel that the young girl inside of me should be beaming with pride at these accomplishments, I can’t help but wonder what she would say if I told her that we are leaving Florida, and never returning.

When people question why I’m leaving Florida to attend school in Chicago, I find myself fabricating mindless stories, worried of the possibilities if I were to reveal the true answer. However, if that feeling of fear is a direct reflection of the reason I’m leaving, I believe that I have no choice but to raise my voice in defiance.

In truth, there is no single answer as to why I’m fleeing Florida. 

I understand that the nature of the word “flee” paints a cowardly image. Maybe to some, I am a coward. However, if there’s one thing that I will never allow myself to be, it’s a young woman who remains complicit in a state that dangerously dictates the rights of herself, as well as others. 

Perhaps my greatest concern surrounding the state of Florida is not only what it is in the present, but what it has the ability to become. Moreover, I fear Florida’s growing ability to take what we have and distort it until it’s nothing more than an unrecognizable fragment of paradise. 

Over the past thirteen years, I have witnessed the friendly, curious community I once knew become a disheartening hotspot for intolerance, anger, and adversity. I have seen the once kind and caring faces I’ve grown up with become individuals that carelessly tease the matters I care most deeply for, spewing bitter, despicable jokes all for a few laughs from their friends. Sailing out on the gulf for a day of boating, an activity that I once loved, I’m unable to pass more than a few kayaks before sighting cruel and absurd flags waving proudly in the wind, asserting ideations that betray any sense of empathy.

I’ve spent the last few years coming to terms with the fact that the island which raised me no longer exists. In its place, a haven tainted by the toxicity of extremism thrives. And though I occasionally find myself questioning whether things will get better if I give it a few years rest, when the idea of abandoning my hometown brings me more comfort than the idea of staying, I know I must leave. 

In complete vulnerability, I desperately fear for the future that would await me if I remain in Florida. I fear for the future quality of my education, and I fear for the future certainty of my rights as a woman in this current environment. 

Two weeks ago, Florida passed one of the most severe restrictions on reproductive health care since the overturning of Roe V. Wade in June of 2022. Preventing the termination of a pregnancy after only six weeks, a time in which many patients are still unaware of their situation, Florida’s government has once again demonstrated where their priorities stand when it comes to whose rights they protect, and whose they neglect.

As for the state of our education system, the fight for diverse representation persists.

Within the past 10 months, we have seen the extremities of Florida’s fight for “liberty” – a word that’s newfound meaning has become synonymous with suppression. Upon experiencing limitations on material allowed to be taught within the halls of educational institutions, it has become increasingly clear that a distinct motive dictates the material they most heavily target.

But when students are conditioned to practice monthly school lockdown drills from the age of six, I question the ability to believe that literature and lesson plans discussing civil rights, sexuality, and gender studies are the largest threat to Florida students. 

As Governor Desantis continues to pass reckless bills loosening the restrictions on firearms, I think of the thousands of victims and families impacted by gun violence across the United States. But I am especially reminded of the twenty first-grade students from Sandy Hook Elementary that should also be busy making arrangements for their senior prom, relaxing on the beach during their skip day, or trying on their caps and gowns, but are instead eternally memorialized as a heartbreaking reminder of the change desperately needed in firearm legislation.

I don’t believe that I’m hysterical for wanting to escape this environment. But I am incredibly lucky to be able to do so. 

I understand that removing myself from the calamity doesn’t resolve the reality at hand, and that those left behind will remain impacted by the state’s influence. I also understand that running away to a different environment doesn’t guarantee that the same fate bestowed upon Florida won’t eventually unfold there.

However, sometimes you must fight the battle from the sidelines.

Attending DePaul University, I will soon be receiving my education in an environment that listens and responds to the distinct needs of its students. Enrolling in a Vincentian school, I especially look forward to observing the difference in religion when it is viewed as a compassionate, humble component to the human experience, rather than a weapon of mass destruction.

 In Chicago, I will be given the opportunity to live and work in one of the most culturally vibrant communities in America, where diversity is not only embraced, but encouraged. Professionally, I look forward to developing new perspectives through authentic experiences, no longer bound by the political limitations of my location. I anticipate a sense of relief, knowing that the publication of a single article will no longer hold the power to jeopardize my future.

Florida is an environment which coddles those who claim to speak their truth, yet lie in the process. As a young journalist, I hold the responsibility of curating reliable, honest content, and fighting the spread of misinformation. To remain in Florida and submit to the deceitful, partisan culture of modern media, I will have betrayed the waning sense of dependability left in my field. Valuing my sense of dignity, I find it difficult to discover my maximum potential in an environment that encourages suppressing myself down to fit a predetermined mold.

I’ve seen the reality of power when it’s placed in the hands of the ignorant. I’ve witnessed the terrifying truth of indoctrination, and its impact seen spreading across Florida’s education system. So, as a young girl who has spent the final chapter of her familiar life exclusively witnessing the downfall of her country’s liberty, I refuse to remain silent and watch it crumble around me. And though I can’t guarantee that I’ll be successful in recovering an already broken democracy, I never intend to stop trying.

Because if there’s any piece of knowledge that receiving my education within Florida’s final breaths has taught me, it’s that what I say matters – and what I don’t say matters just as much. 

So, while I’m sure that naive little girl that once loved to count the clouds in the sunny Florida sky would be devastated to hear that she would eventually leave, I hope she’d be proud, understanding that we chose to do it for ourselves.