Thank you, Philadelphia. It’s been a privilege to tell your stories.

OK, I’m just going to say it. This is goodbye.

Forgive me if that feels abrupt. I was equally blunt when I told my boss that it was the right moment for me to bring my time as a columnist at The Inquirer to an end. But I knew that if I didn’t just jump, I’d find a million reasons to hold onto a platform that I’ve been privileged to have at three different newspapers.

It’s time.

My gut has been telling me that for a while now, but then there was always another community organizer to learn from, another politician to keep honest, another neighborhood that deserved attention, another pressing issue to drag into the light, and — always — another story to share. Because while it’s brutally hard to step away from this position, it’s even harder to step away from all of you.

I am so proud of so much of what we accomplished together. Yes, we, because no one — no single activist or politician or columnist — can have any kind of impact if their community doesn’t have their back.

And Philly, you’ve had my back for more than a decade now — from the moment I walked through the doors of the Daily News in December 2012 and declared war on “The Philly Shrug.”

Writing those words blows my mind because I figured I’d stay about a year at the Daily News, maybe two. I was in search of a new challenge after 17 years at the Hartford Courant, another paper I planned to call my professional home for a year before heading back to my native New York City.

(What can I say? I’m apparently a serial newsroom monogamist.)

When I landed in Philly, I had just about convinced myself that I was done — done! — with journalism. But then the Daily News always kept finding ways to warm my journalistic heart.

And now 13 years later, more than half spent at The Inquirer after the papers merged in 2016, and after so many changes to our industry — some of them inevitable, many of them painful — I know that I am incredibly fortunate to be able to leave on my own terms.

At first, some of you had little patience with a Nuyorican newbie pointing out that Philadelphians have made a habit of accepting the worst elements of our civic status-quo — even if she did happen to have a point.

But a lot more of you understood that I was trying to shake off the musk of complacency hovering over a city with so much going for itself, filled with people who on any given day deserve so much more love, respect, and care.

Over the years, I was endlessly amused when I would hear “Philly Shrug” used in conversation, in other writers’ articles, or even in political campaigns.

If I would have known it would catch on the way it did, I might have copyrighted it. But I’d much rather it remain in the public domain, an open-source Helen jawn.

One of my favorite Public Enemy songs has always been, “Fight the Power.” But I hope our weekly conversations helped remind people how important it was for all of us to use our own power — by writing, by speaking, by marching, and sometimes, just by simply showing up for one another.

I’ve seen just how powerful Philadelphians are when they come together, especially when rallying behind someone or some community in need. Do me one last solid as I head out the door: Don’t ever tolerate anything but the best for one another.

We’ve had some lows — none more awful than the relentless gun violence in our city that, even when the numbers of shootings and killings are trending downward, still takes our breath away, still breaks our hearts.

Mine broke wide-open recently when Azir Harris, a paralyzed gun violence survivor whose recovery journey I followed for years, was shot and killed in yet another senseless shooting.

I’ve been overwhelmed by so many of you asking about fundraising efforts for the young father, so here they are. I know his family would be deeply grateful for contributions from anyone who is able to give.

Please, please don’t forget about the people and neighborhoods who don’t get a respite from the violence and the neglect that others get to pretend doesn’t exist.

We’ve also had some highs — way too many to include here, but I’ll be lifted up by each and every one of them as I start writing my next chapter.

I’ll share more about my plans at a later date, but for now let’s just say that I’m hoping to enjoy a little bit of time living life off deadline and diving into a bunch of long-postponed projects.

I mean this with all my heart: Every joy, every triumph, every win both big and small, that I experienced while writing this column was because of all of you. You surprised me, you schooled me, you challenged me and, yeah, sometimes you danced on my very last nerve. But even if you didn’t always get me — or my opinions — you treated me like one of your own. I’m going to miss that.

You helped me make city workers whole, bring some justice and peace to countless families of victims of gun violence, and locate a dignified final resting place for a brutally murdered transgender woman.

You rallied to save Hakim’s, the oldest Black bookstore in Philadelphia that is now thriving.

You showed up every year that I called on Philadelphians to Fill The Steps of the Art Museum to demonstrate how committed we are to ending gun violence.

You let me pull up to your blocks, your schools, your churches, and even your favorite city pools with my Pop-Up Newsrooms. Just me, a borrowed company banner, and a bunch of branded pens, sunglasses, and chocolates in the somewhat naive belief that showing up on a random day could help grow and repair relationships with communities who didn’t always trust the people and publications who too often came knocking only on their worst days.

You rooted for all of my guys in the support group for paralyzed gunshot victims.

And you’ve supported me in an ongoing dream of mine, The Ñ Fund for Latinas in Journalism, which has so far funded internships for three Latinas in less than three years thanks to your generous donations.

In addition to working on my next chapter, I’m looking forward to dedicating some time to turning my fledgling Ñ fund into a foundation, and, in the process, growing the number of Latinas in journalism. More than three decades after I walked into my first newsroom, there are still too few Latina reporters sitting at the keyboard, and even fewer Latina columnists.

We need to keep pushing for representation and respect not just for ourselves but for the next generation of Latina journalists, especially at a time when our people, our friends, family, and neighbors are being targeted — when now more than ever our stories need to be told, and our voices amplified.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for allowing me the great honor of being a steward of such a privileged platform in such a special city. I’ll see you around, Philly.