When Politics Gets Personal:
Navigating Identity and Bigotry on the Campaign Trail
When I launched my campaign, I didn’t realize how much running for office would feel like a job—a full-time job with no set hours, a whirlwind of responsibilities, and the constant pressure to perform. It seems obvious in hindsight. Campaigning is, after all, one prolonged job interview. For me, that interview lasted 422 days. It required showing up, selling ideas, and navigating the political equivalent of red tape.
But when I first stepped into this role, I didn’t think of it in those terms. Politics has always been a passion of mine. I’ve eagerly followed State of the Union addresses, debates, and primaries. I was a cable news junkie. Yet this campaign cycle felt different. It wasn’t just because I was the candidate—it was because of what I represented.
Fighting the Stronghold of Bigotry
I entered the race with a clear understanding of my district: a deeply red area with a lopsided party registration and a significant presence of anti-LGBTQ sentiment. I knew my identity as a transgender woman would inevitably overshadow my policies in the eyes of some voters. For many, my existence as a candidate would be the issue—not my platform, not my policies, not my ideas.
But that reality didn’t deter me; it motivated me. I’ve long believed that bigotry thrives in the shadows. It’s easy to dehumanize people when you don’t know them. Part of my mission was to shine a light, to let people see that trans people are their neighbors, their friends, their fellow Ohioans. I knew that wouldn’t always be pleasant. I knew it wouldn’t be solved in one election. But I also knew that being visible mattered.
The Reality of Being a Trans Candidate in 2024
What I wasn’t fully prepared for was how transgender people would become a national lightning rod for political fearmongering. As I campaigned, advertisements flooded the airwaves, targeting people like me. They painted trans individuals as threats—in schools, in sports, in medicine.
One memory from this campaign stands out. During a local radio interview, we discussed education policy, voting rights, and farming issues. It felt productive and hopeful. But during a break, I sat there listening to an anti-trans advertisement for a Senate candidate play on the same station. It was surreal and disheartening. When the interview aired on Facebook, the comments were flooded with transphobia. The conversation we’d had about real issues didn’t seem to matter.
I want to clarify: this isn’t an attack on the radio station or its team. They were professional and fair, airing ads from all candidates. But the experience highlighted how unsettling it is to participate in an election where your identity is a target for hatred.
A Personal Truth
People need to understand that trans individuals aren’t some abstract boogeyman. We’re real people with real stories. For me, growing up in a small southern town in the ’80s and ’90s, no one talked about being transgender. I didn’t even know the word existed. All I knew was that I felt different, identifying more with the women in my life than the men.
I tried everything to conform, including years in ministry, immersing myself in faith. But no amount of prayer could change who I am. Transitioning wasn’t a choice—it was a necessity. It saved my life.
Since transitioning, my life has flourished. I’ve found love, joy, and purpose. I’ve had the privilege of running for office and representing those who feel overlooked or marginalized. None of that would’ve been possible if I hadn’t been allowed to be myself.
When You Attack Trans People, You Attack Lives
When political advertisements demonize trans people, when legislation seeks to strip away our healthcare, and when society reduces us to a wedge issue, it’s more than just hurtful. It’s dangerous. These actions attack the very decisions that allow people like me to survive and thrive.
I wish I could find the words to convey what it feels like to endure an election cycle where your identity is weaponized. I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone. But I hope those who perpetuate these attacks come to see us as we truly are: neighbors, friends, family.
We’re not the villains in a culture war. We’re people who just want to live our lives, contribute to our communities, and be treated with dignity. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.
As I reflect on this journey, I hold onto hope. Hope that the visibility of my campaign, and others like it, can challenge the darkness where bigotry hides. Hope that someday, no one will have to fight to prove their humanity in the political arena. And hope that together, we can create a future where everyone is free to live as themselves, without fear.