Trail Reflections is a series of articles, podcasts, and videos that share my experiences, challenges, and lessons learned on the campaign trail. In this first piece, I take you back to where it all began and the defining moments that pushed me into the race.
In early 2023, Rep. Angie King, newly elected and eager to make her mark, quickly aligned herself with anti-LGBTQ legislation. One of her first moves was to co-sponsor House Bill 68 with Rep. Gary Click—a bill designed to ban gender-affirming care for trans youth. This cruel legislation was another salvo in an already hostile political climate for LGBTQ individuals in Ohio. During this same period, I learned that King had met with a group of parents from Elida, known for their campaign against trans students. While the details of the meeting remained private, it wasn’t long before news emerged of a proposed trans bathroom ban, with King’s name attached.
Determined to challenge these harmful positions, I attended one of King’s small town halls advertised as “Grab a cup of coffee & learn about important state issues.” The event, hosted at a coffee shop owned by a mayor closely allied with King, seemed innocuous on the surface. But I knew this was my opportunity to question her. I wasn’t a well-known public figure then, so blending in with the crowd was easy. When questions opened up, I asked, “You claim to be pro-life. How do you reconcile that stance with supporting a ban on gender-affirming care, a move that has been proven to increase suicidality among trans youth?” Though her response was polite on the surface, it was filled with misinformation. She cited thoroughly debunked statistics, claiming over 80% of trans youth detransition—a figure with no basis in reality. When a friend of mine, a nurse, tried to correct her with accurate data, King threatened to shut down the event if we didn’t follow her rules. Unwilling to listen to more of her rhetoric, I left.
That experience left me resolute: someone needed to run against her. But at the time, I didn’t believe that person would be me. I was content with my roles as an activist, advocate, and member of the Auglaize County Democratic Party Executive Committee. However, the idea kept cropping up, and others began asking if I would consider running. My answer was always a resounding no.
That June, tensions in our community reached a boiling point during the lead-up to our Small Town Pride event. Right-wing activists flooded city council meetings with wild accusations of “grooming” and “sexualization,” hoping to shut down the Pride celebration. When their efforts failed, the hatred and vitriol only grew. Meanwhile, I was organizing a pride march in Lima, Ohio, through my grassroots group, Northwest Ohio Trans Advocacy—now known as the Rainbow Advocacy Network. Our Lima event was scheduled for the same day as Small Town Pride, so I planned for both, hoping to foster solidarity and support.
Celina’s Pride event began normally enough. I delivered a speech, and the festivities continued. Then, as the drag show was about to start, a group of men clad in black, faces hidden behind masks, appeared. They carried signs with slogans like “White Power” and bore symbols identifying them as the Aryan Freedom Network—yes, Neo-Nazis. Not far from them, another group gathered, this time in red shirts, with signs bearing the message “Let Kids be Kids: Drag shows are NOT for children!” This second group, organized by a local church’s politically active “pastor,” was an overt anti-LGBTQ protest.
In the midst of it all, I spotted Rep. Angie King in her red shirt, standing with the red-shirted religious protestors, just yards away from the Neo-Nazis. I took photos and videos, ensuring the moment was documented, and informed Pride vendors that their state representative was actively protesting their event.
The days that followed were a blur of exhaustion, anger, and resolve. Not long after, King introduced House Bill 245—the so-called Drag Ban, a poorly written and bigoted attempt to suppress freedom of expression that could easily be weaponized against trans people. I responded by organizing a protest in Mercer County, right in Angie’s hometown. Although she didn’t attend, the pastor from the red-shirt protest did, skulking around and trying to photograph attendees. Media coverage was limited, but enough to shine a spotlight.
Then, Angie King released a statement on Facebook that deeply shocked me. In it, she claimed, “Not only do these adults feel it is their right to twerk and gyrate in front of your minor children, Saturday’s protest also revealed their intent to undermine and usurp your parental rights to direct the upbringing of your children.” I was floored by how vile and dishonest the statement was, especially as it invoked the harmful and false “groomer” narrative to stoke fear and hatred.
That evening, I looked at my husband and said, “I think I’m about to do something really stupid… I think I’m running against Angie King.” I called up a group of my friends, some of the same people who had stood with me against the Neo-Nazis, half-hoping they’d talk me out of it. Instead, they encouraged me, and I soon found myself picking up the paperwork.
This journey has been anything but easy. But every step has been driven by the conviction that our communities deserve better than hatred, misinformation, and fear.
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Trail Reflections will continue to document these stories. Stay tuned for more.