I’ve never found it easy to talk about myself. For most of my career, I’ve let my characters speak for me—especially Hank Voight, a man who carries his pain behind clenched teeth and forward momentum. But today, I can’t hide behind him. I owe you honesty, and I owe you clarity. You’ve been with me for years, through every twist of this journey, and you deserve to hear this from me directly.
The truth is… I’m facing something difficult—something heavier than any storyline, any stunt, any challenge I’ve taken on set. I’ve recently been diagnosed with a serious medical condition. It’s something that demands my full attention, my strength, and my energy. And because of that, I have to step away from Chicago P.D. for a while. Maybe longer. Maybe in a way I never expected.
Saying those words out loud still feels unreal. This show has been my home for over a decade. The cast and crew have become family. And you—well, you’ve been my heartbeat through it all. You’ve supported me through personal challenges, through career pivots, through long seasons, late nights, and stories that pushed me to my limits. Walking away, even temporarily, feels like I’m leaving a piece of myself behind.
When the doctors first told me what was happening, I felt something I haven’t felt in years: fear. Not the fear we stage on screen, but the real, quiet kind that creeps up your spine and forces you to confront your own fragility. I sat with it for a long time. I asked the questions we all ask when life shifts suddenly: Why now? What next? How do I fight this? There were no easy answers—there never are.
But there was clarity. I realized that if I wanted a fighting chance, I had to give this battle everything I have. That means rest when I’d rather be working. Treatment when I’d rather be shooting. Vulnerability when I’d rather be tough. Healing when I’d rather be charging forward. It means choosing life—my real life—over the one I portray.
I want you to know something important: I’m not giving up. Not on myself, and not on this family we’ve built together. I don’t know exactly what the road ahead looks like. Some days will be harder than others. Some moments will test me in ways I’ve never been tested. But I’m approaching it the only way I know how—head-on, with grit, with stubbornness, with the same fire Voight brings to every case.
I also want to say thank you. Thank you for letting me be part of your living rooms, your routines, your Thursday nights. Thank you for embracing Voight’s flaws, his darkness, his intensity, and his rare moments of tenderness. Thank you for seeing past the edges and finding the human being behind the badge.
You’ve given me more than you know. And I carry that with me now more than ever.
This is not goodbye. This is a pause. A detour. A moment to focus on the fight in front of me. I fully intend to return—to my work, to my character, to all of you. And when I do, I want to come back strong, focused, and ready to give you everything you deserve.
Until then, keep me in your thoughts. Keep the Intelligence Unit alive in your hearts. And remember: we don’t give up. Not in Chicago. Not in life.
With gratitude,
Jason
