“Who am I?” That’s always the toughest question—because a list of titles can only tell you so much.

Yes, I’m a mother. A grandmother. A community advocate and grassroots organizer. I’m a furloughed federal worker at HUD, where I’ve spent years managing multi-million-dollar grant programs designed to help people live better lives. I hold an advanced degree in Human Behavior, and I’m a nationally certified facilitator on poverty and economic insecurity.

But none of that matters if you don’t understand why I do what I do.

You should know that when I see someone being evicted, I don’t just drive by—I pull over. Because I’ve seen what it means to lose everything in a single moment, and I know how hard it is to figure out where you’re going to sleep that night or how you’re going to feed your kids.

You should know that I’ve cried in my car after listening to our elders—pillars of our communities—share stories of working their whole lives only to now struggle to pay rent or afford food. And that terrifies me. Because I’m next in line to retire, and I know the numbers: senior homelessness in our area is up 101%.

You should know that I have three freezers in my basement—not for me, but for the people I meet who need food after hours, when the food pantries are closed and the bills are due.

You should know that I turned heartbreak into action. After my aunt was murdered by her own child—after years of her begging for help—I fought for legislation in Florida to ensure that parents in crisis could access the services and protection they need. I didn’t just support the bill. I wrote it.

I believe no one is disposable. I believe dignity shouldn’t be a luxury. I believe in showing up—when it’s hard, when it’s inconvenient, when no one else will.

That’s who I am. And that’s why I’m running.