Back Into The Fire

September 29, 2025

Today I wrote my statement for the recall ballot.

On paper, it was straightforward: a clear account of my work as school board president, a reminder of the crises we faced together, a call to voters to see the truth plainly. But the act of writing it was anything but simple.

It ripped open a box I had carefully sealed—the one where I put all the stress, heartbreak, public scrutiny, and exhaustion of this year so I could keep moving forward. It forced me to look again at everything I carried: stepping into leadership amid resignations and upheaval, losing my father just two weeks later, showing up for impossible votes, helping hold a fractured district together while grief threatened to take me under.

When I’m in survival mode, I don’t let myself fully feel it. I compartmentalize, downplay what I’ve done, tell myself it’s just part of the role. And then later, when I finally pause, I feel guilty for being tired.

But today reminded me: what we lived through was not ordinary.

It was crisis leadership, forged in fire.

And when the heat was at its worst, my inner gladiator stepped forward—the part of me that knows how to stand tall in the arena, armor dented, heart unshielded, still moving. She doesn’t wait for permission, she doesn’t falter in front of the crowd. She fights for what matters, even when my heart is breaking.

Writing that statement didn’t just place my words on the ballot. It reminded me of me. Of the resilience and steadiness I carry, even when I don’t name it. Of the truth that my exhaustion is not weakness—it is proof of how much I have borne.

The fire was real. The loss was real. The leadership was real.

So is my courage.