Trail Reflections

Part II: Laying Bare the Past and Carrying On

In the early days of launching my campaign for the 84th district, I made a decision that would shape my journey: I created a social media presence, shared it with friends, and announced that I would be the Democratic candidate. It didn’t take long for the usual bigoted voices to try to dig up dirt on me. But I had already anticipated this and addressed it directly in my announcement. I was open about my past because voters deserved to know me, all of me, including the parts that some would use as ammunition.

The details of my past might surprise you. I was once a right-wing Republican. Why? The reasons are complex and could fill entire volumes, but here’s the brief version: I was deeply closeted, growing up in a small Southern town. If you’ve encountered terms like internalized homophobia and transphobia, you’d understand what I went through. I hated myself for who I was and tried desperately to change. Religion and conservative politics became my shield—an attempt to conform, a way to hide my truth from others and from myself. I took on many harmful political positions, driven by self-loathing and a desire to belong, to survive.

Years later, I tried to enter public service in my early twenties while still living in Virginia. This attempt at running for office came amid turmoil in my small town. I’d been incensed by the town council’s move to censure a member who was speaking up against questionable budget practices. Naïvely, I threw my hat into the ring, without a full grasp of what running entailed. At the time, I was living between my mother’s house within the town limits and my grandmother’s home outside the boundaries, in a neighboring town. Residency seemed straightforward—I paid taxes, had my car sticker, and everything was tied to my town address.

The town leadership, upset with my stance, saw otherwise. They sent a town employee to follow me and build a case. I was arrested for election fraud due to residency technicalities, based on claims that I did not spend enough time within town limits. In court, my attorney secured a deal: two years of probation, after which all charges would be dropped. That experience taught me hard lessons about political power, small-town vendettas, and the gray areas of “proof.”

This, along with attempts to publicize resolved tax debts from poverty-stricken times, became fodder for detractors. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but it was unsurprising. Yet, I also knew what I was standing for now: truth, growth, and integrity.

After this public reckoning, I set out to gather the necessary 50 signatures to appear on the ballot. For some, this number might seem trivial. But for a first-time candidate navigating nerves, doubts, and a world of political change, even starting was an accomplishment. I reached out to friends, then to local Democratic meetings, gathering support signature by signature.

The road was long, filled with echoes of past struggles, but each step reaffirmed why I was here—to represent, to stand up, to fight with transparency and resolve. It was a reminder that the tent we build for justice and change must have space for all, including those of us who have walked the winding, painful paths to arrive at truth.