For most of my life, I was in a relationship that seemed almost too good to be true, and I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. As a writer and actress, I’ve always had a knack for projecting my idealized versions of people onto them, so instead of paying attention to the warning signs that were there from the start, I chose to believe in something that has since become one of the biggest heartbreaks of my life.

But it didn’t begin that way—at first, I felt so fortunate to be in this relationship that I practically committed myself to it every day. And I had plenty of reasons to feel that devoted. The love languages were all there: acts of service, words of affirmation. I learned to rely on all the promises I heard—that I would always have the best of everything, that there were people who would give anything to be in my position.

The thing is, this relationship wasn’t with a man—it was with my country. I grew up singing about the land of the free and the home of the brave, but as a teenager, instead of stars and stripes, I began to see glaring red flags. The acts of service were more accessible to some Americans than others. The words of affirmation turned out to be full of fine print, or replaced by bold capital letters on signs at hate-filled rallies. There were protests against a woman’s right to choose, attacks on immigrants, threats to queer people—and, of course, the old standby: “N-word, go home.”

But wasn’t this home? As a young Black woman, the betrayal stung just as much as being rejected by any guy.

Still, I found myself denying and overlooking the abusive parts of the relationship. Instead, I focused on the ways I could appreciate what made my country special, having grown up in a multiracial, multi-religious family, mostly in New York. The Statue of Liberty. Ellis Island. I came from proud people—African-American, Caribbean, Latine, Irish, German; both Christian and Jewish—who had built this place, sometimes without any compensation. And they believed in the promise I’d long heard about: that this was the land of opportunity for everyone.

After growing up in the unapologetic chaos of the most diverse borough in the world, Queens, New York, I found a love for diplomacy and a foundation in feminism through my education at the United Nations School and Bryn Mawr College, respectively. Eventually, all of it poured out of me, first on the slam poetry stage of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, and then into the Culture Project, an off-Broadway theater focused on social justice, where I debuted a multicultural, multi-character show called Bridge & Tunnel. I had an incredible executive producer in Meryl Streep—yes, that Meryl Streep—who had seen me perform a solo piece about global women’s rights. From that already dizzying place, my “cast” of characters, all inspired by people from my real family and community, made it all the way to Broadway and won a Tony Award. Talk about an American Dream.

The parade of opportunities that followed—a Unicef Goodwill ambassadorship, TED talks, platforms at the White House and the World Economic Forum, film and television projects—all felt like gifts (another love language!) that only America could offer. I represented progress toward a truly pluralist democracy. My story proved that marginalized people could make their way to center stage and make their mark, just like anyone else.

When the Manhattan Theatre Club premiered my second solo show, Sell/Buy/Date, which explored the sex industry, it felt like confirmation of our society’s ever-deepening commitment to all of us—a signal that we weren’t just equal under the law, but that our stories all deserved to be heard too, especially those most often ignored or maligned.

But as I look back now, 10 years later, I see the blind spots in that liberatory vision, and how strained my relationship with my country was already becoming again. Both Sell/Buy/Date and a CNN project that never made it to air coincided with the #MeToo movement, as Tarana Burke coined it, a period when America began to feel synonymous with…Exploiting women was bad enough. But just two years after the 2020 reckoning over George Floyd, the anti-DEI, anti-woke backlash suddenly brought back racist language that would have felt at home in the Jim Crow South. What happened to all that talk about doing better? The gifts I thought would last started to feel hollow and fake.

It was against that backdrop—and after watching a powerful, experienced, and qualified Black woman lose to a woefully inadequate white man in the 2024 election—that I began writing my new play, America, Who Hurt You?. It felt like the relationship was ending, and it had been the longest one in my life, aside from my bond with my beautiful, multiracial, and somewhat messy family, as I lovingly describe it in the show. I realized that, like many women, I was repeating patterns from my family history in this relationship. When putting up with less than I deserved got so bad that it made me question my own worth, I knew I had to write about it.

I knew I wasn’t alone in feeling lost and heartbroken, and that by speaking up, I might help others who are struggling in their own relationship with America see that they’re not by themselves.

I won’t spoil everything—if you’re in New York this fall, come see it for yourself!—but that’s where I stand now, both with the play and in life. I’m not at the point of saying, “It’s over, we can’t fix this,” but I’m asking, “Are we willing to put in the work? To face the messy, centuries-old truths about ourselves, our shared pain, our love, and even our laughter, and slowly find our way to healing?” In the meantime, the theater is my land of the free and home of the brave. I hope you’ll join me there.

America, Who Hurt You?, directed by Eric Ting and presented by National Black Theatre and Theatre for a New Audience, runs at the Polonsky Shakespeare Center from September 10–27. Get tickets here.

Frequently Asked Questions
Here is a list of FAQs about Sarah Joness new play based on the premise of her falling out of love with America

BeginnerLevel Questions

1 Who is Sarah Jones
Sarah Jones is a famous awardwinning actress and playwright Shes known for her solo shows where she plays many different characters often tackling big social issues with humor and heart

2 What is this new play about
Its about her personal breakup with the United States Instead of a traditional story she frames her disappointment and frustration with the country as a couple going to couples therapy The play explores why she fell out of love and whether the relationship can be saved

3 Is this a serious sad play or is it funny
Its both Sarah Jones is a comedian at heart so theres a lot of humor and wit But the humor is used to talk about very serious problems like inequality politics and division Its a mix of deep feelings and sharp jokes

4 Do I need to know a lot about politics to understand it
No You just need to have a general awareness of the news The play is about the feelings of disappointment and hope which anyone can relate to no matter their political background

5 Is this a onewoman show like her other work
Yes typically She performs all the characters herself including the therapist and different versions of herself and America as a character Its a very impressive showcase of her acting skills

IntermediateLevel Questions

6 What does it mean to put a relationship into therapy
Its a metaphor The play treats the connection between a citizen and her country like a romantic partnership In the play they sit on a couch and talk through their issues with a therapist trying to communicate understand each others flaws and decide if they want to stay together

7 Is the play just a list of complaints about America
No its more nuanced than that Its a twoway conversation America gets to talk back and defend itself The therapy sessions force Sarah to look at her own expectations and contributions to the problem making it a more balanced and thoughtprovoking piece