There’s a running theme in my thoughts and writings: the idea that we’re all shaped by what we carry, what we keep, and what we finally decide to unpack. For me, politics has always been one of those boxes. One that was not spoken of in a military home. One that’s heavy, complicated, and full of things that only make sense once you spread them out and take an honest look.
Lately, that box has come with a few unexpected “notes” taped to the top.
Polite suggestions. Gentle nudges. A few not-so-subtle hints that maybe I should step aside, wait my turn, don’t make waves, or consider whether challenging the comfortable rhythms of the party is really worth it.
I hear them. I just disagree with them.
Because here’s the thing: Change is always uncomfortable. If we don’t change, don’t grow, we are stagnant. Making waves is what facilitates change. Nothing ever happens when we do nothing.
As for the subtleties and gentle nudges, either you have no idea what I am made from, or you are hoping I will forget. The worth being spoken of is subjective. It reeks of clinging to safety and power. That’s not the kind of worth I have ever wanted nor had the luxury of subscribing to.
There is something that’s been forgotten. There are no turns in a democracy. I’m still a Democrat, not because it’s easy or expected, but because I actually believe in what this party is supposed to stand for and the big tent that covers it.
I’m now in my fourth term in the Legislature. That’s long enough to know how the system works and be candid enough to admit where it doesn’t. Long enough to see what we get right, and long enough to see where we fall asleep at the wheel and leave the car in a ditch.
And maybe it’s because I’m finishing my master’s at 45, juggling committee work with academic deadlines. Maybe it’s the years of being a single mother of three while starting what was my “business,” defined by taxes more than revenue. Maybe it’s a healthy distrust of people in systems at face value, until they’re proven otherwise.
Maybe I can finally breathe deep enough to know that everything is figureoutable and I finally have the time and persistence to figure it out. So I’ve developed a low tolerance for contrived unity and a real appreciation for accountability.
I’m a Democrat because fairness shouldn’t be negotiable.
I grew up watching systems built to advantage some and disadvantage others. I was in the latter. In marketing, I learned how stories shape power and influence. In Augusta, I learned how policy shapes actual lives. Those lessons don’t fade. They accumulate, like boxes stacked in a hallway you can’t ignore anymore. The truth is, they’ve been ignored for too long by too many.
The truth is that the power and influence shaped by advertising dollars barely paid the rent. The truth is that the policies that could have shaped lives were just platitudes by politicians when they first stopped listening. The truth is, the consultants, hacks, and blind followers who think their words have power only strengthen my resolve.
You’d understand why I laugh at the notes if you’d known the demons I’ve faced and lived through. You’d understand that my politics are my lived experience and that can never be taken away. It can never be made insignificant. It can never not be who I am, what I’ve seen, survived, and how I’ve grown.
I’m a Democrat because rights are real things, not talking points.
Reproductive freedom, voting rights, LGBTQ+ equality, the dignity to make decisions about your body, your future, and your family, are not abstractions. They are the infrastructure of opportunity. I don’t support them because the party tells me to. I support them because I couldn’t look my own children in the eye if I didn’t. Because I would be betraying everything I hold to be true.
I’m a Democrat because working people deserve more than a pat on the head and a campaign slogan.
For seven years, I’ve represented a district full of small business owners, educators, union members, veterans, and first responders. My neighbors. The people who actually keep Maine running. They don’t need polished speeches; they need lawmakers who can translate ideas into action and budgets into values. They should know who their representation is, because their values are reflected in them. That’s why we have elections.
So why even ask the question? Why explain why I’m still a Democrat?
Because complacency is a hell of a disease.
Inside any institution, especially one that believes it has the moral high ground, complacency slips in quietly. It convinces the people, the real power, that it knows best. It tells people not to rock the boat. Not to challenge a “safe” seat. Not to ask why decisions are made behind closed doors or why some voices are welcomed and others are treated like background noise.
And when you push against that?
Sometimes the system pushes back.
Some days it looks like concern.
Some days it’s a silence that says, “Ignore it and it’ll go away.”
Some days, it looks like relief that someone else said the quiet thing out loud.
Some days it looks like gatekeeping sprinkled with faux gratitude.
Some days it looks like being told you’re “divisive” simply for wanting the party to live up to its own promises.
But here’s what I’ve learned, after four terms, countless committee hearings, and more late-night policy drafts than I can count: the purpose of a political party is not to protect its comfort. It’s to earn its relevance. Every day.
That’s why I’m still a Democrat.
I just refuse to be a complacent one.
I want a party that welcomes primary challenges, not because they’re easy, but because they make us stronger.
I want a party that rewards competence, not longevity.
I want a party that listens as hard as it talks.
I want a party that understands the difference between loyalty and silence.
If being honest about that makes me inconvenient?
My feelings are not hurt. I’ve spent 45 years learning that inconvenience is often just another word for growth.
I’m here because I believe the Democratic Party can meet this moment.
I’m here because the people I represent deserve a voice that doesn’t shrink whenever power raises an eyebrow or points a finger. A voice that will scream loud enough to silence the room… so that they can listen. One that, by life’s shaping, knows no fear when they are doing the next right thing.
I’m here because progress doesn’t come from waiting for your turn. It comes from showing up, again and again, even when the room gets uncomfortable. Progress comes from change. Sometimes that’s showing up, sometimes it’s slaying the dragon. Sometimes it’s everything in between.
So yes, I’m still a Democrat.
Still unpacking the same box, and finding new meaning in it every time. That box may look different than others, and that’s a part of what freedom is.
And if that makes some people uneasy?
Well… maybe that’s a sign it’s time.
