I owe you an explanation

Dear Friend,

I went quiet. And you deserved better than that.

Here's what happened.

For six years, What's Your Story Slam lived at The Projector. Specifically, in the Blue Room — that small, warm, slightly worn cinema space at Golden Mile Tower where strangers sat close together in the dark and listened to each other's lives.

It was home.

On the 8th of July 2025, we did our Top Shelf show there. The room was full. The stories were good. I remember thinking: this is exactly what this is supposed to be.

Six weeks later, on the 19th of August, I found out The Projector was closing.

Same day you did. Same Instagram post. No warning, no call, no heads up. Just the news — like finding out someone changed the locks on a place you thought was yours.

I sat with that for a while.

Here's the part I haven't told anyone publicly.

By the time we lost The Projector, I was already gone.

I couldn't get out of bed. I mean that literally. I would crawl to reach my phone so I could text the clinic to find out when I could come in. I didn't trust myself behind the wheel.

Burning up with fever. Body aches. Just rolling over in bed hurt. Every step felt like a humongous effort.

My doctor — when she sees my name on her list — goes: "Oh no. Anna pushed herself hard again."

She's said it enough times that it's basically a diagnosis.

I needed medication just to function enough to show up to my own show. And the last show — I couldn't even host it. Someone else took the stage while I held it together offstage.

And then I stopped.

I don't say this for sympathy. I say it because this newsletter is called Behind the Slam — and this is what was behind the slam. The unsexy version. The one that doesn't make it into the event photos.

I needed to stop. So I did.

But here's where we are now.

WYSS turns 7 this year. Seven years of true stories told in rooms full of strangers who became, for one night, something closer than that.

I'm not done. Not even close.

It's Sunday morning as I write this. I've been staring at this draft for almost a week.

Next week I'll tell you about July. And after that — something bigger. Something I've been building quietly while I was getting better.

For now I just wanted to come back the way I'd want anyone to: honestly, without pretending the silence didn't happen.

Thank you for still being here.

Anna

P.S. My doctor would like me to inform you that I am taking better care of myself. She's very relieved.