This article first appeared on the Buckeye Flame.

In January, I became the first out transgender person to serve on a city council in Ohio when I was appointed to fill an open seat. I ran to keep that seat in November and lost, but I wasn’t deflated or discouraged.  

I’m actually more energized and more committed than ever. And here’s why.

Back in 2023, I ran for the Ohio House of Representatives. I knew winning wouldn’t be easy. For starters, I was running in Ohio’s most conservative district. My opponent was a co-sponsor of the Ohio Drag Ban. But that wasn’t all. As a transgender woman running in that political climate, I had more than just a tough race ahead – I had to face the reality that people who didn’t want to see me or  anyone like me in politics would do everything in their power to stop us.

I wasn’t alone, though. Alongside me, two other transgender women ran for Ohio House seats. Together, we were determined to show up, fight and challenge the status quo. 

As any candidate knows, the first hurdle is getting on the ballot. Ohio requires 50 valid signatures to qualify, which might seem like a small number, but in districts as red as mine, it’s much harder than it sounds. Many Democrats in these areas stay closeted—afraid of the backlash that could come from showing support for progressive candidates. So, we worked hard, rallied friends, family and supporters and turned in our petitions. Then we waited for certification.

It didn’t take long for the trouble to begin. In January, one of my fellow transgender candidates was denied certification, despite having collected enough valid signatures. The reason? A little-known provision that required candidates to disclose former names from the past five years—a provision that wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the candidate guide or on the petition forms. Buried in the fine print, this rule threatened to knock us off the ballot.

On January 5, 2024, while I was sitting down to a birthday dinner with my husband, my phone rang. It was a reporter from a local newspaper. He asked if I was aware that a protest had just been filed against my candidacy by a Republican under that little-known provision. 

I wasn’t. 

The protest led to a hearing with the Board of Elections. Shortly after, the third trans candidate received notice that she, too, would be facing a hearing, even though no one had protested her candidacy. 

The next few weeks were among the most stressful I’ve ever experienced. The two other candidates and I were flooded with calls from local, state and national media. I was scheduling interviews every half hour, trying to keep up with the demands of the campaign while navigating the whirlwind of press attention. Bobbie Arnold – one of the other trans candidates – and I leaned on each other for support, checking in daily, making sure we weren’t just surviving the ordeal – but also staying sane through it all. We even had group calls with LGBTQ+ advocates from around the state offering encouragement and advice.

Surprisingly, even Ohio’s Republican governor spoke up, publicly stating that he didn’t think candidates should be removed from the ballot over a technicality like this. It was a strange feeling, hearing support from an unexpected place, but it reinforced that we weren’t alone in this fight.

In the end, after much back and forth, Bobbie and I were allowed to stay on the ballot. But we weren’t out of the woods. If we won, we might not be able to take our seats.

Ultimately, the protest against me was dismissed because the protestor had made a critical error – he was a member of the opposing party, and the rules stated that protests had to come from members of the candidate’s own party. He had been so focused on trying to disqualify me on a technicality that he overlooked his own.

But that wasn’t the end of the story. 

The controversy surrounding our campaigns led to dueling bills in the Ohio General Assembly. One bill sought to exempt candidates from disclosing former names if they had legally changed them in Ohio. The other bill, spearheaded by the legislators who were facing transgender opponents, sought to make it easier for anyone—regardless of party affiliation—to file a protest, which would have been a loophole that could have disqualified me. 

These legislators were so rattled by the idea of transgender women running for office that they felt compelled to change the law. Honestly, it was a little bit funny—if it weren’t so serious. 

In the end, neither bill passed. But the fact that they reintroduced these same bills this year speaks volumes about how threatened they felt by our presence.

By November 2024, our campaigns came to an end with losses in a particularly tough year for LGBTQ+ folks. 

Fast forward to November 2025, and I found myself facing another election loss, this time as I tried to hold my council seat. You might think that after all this, I’d feel discouraged.

But I’m not. In fact, I’m more determined than ever—and here’s why.

First, the media firestorm that surrounded our candidacies pushed real change. After all the attention we drew, the Secretary of State’s office updated the 2025 candidate guide. When it was released, we were stunned to see that the name-change provision had been added, and candidacy petitions now included space for former names. 

It wasn’t the solution I would’ve preferred—I would have loved a world where trans candidates didn’t have to deadname themselves at all—but it was progress. It meant that no future transgender candidate would be blindsided by this provision.

Second, the 2024 campaign gave me a chance to show what I was capable of. When the sitting St. Marys city council member retired early due to health issues, she and the county party asked me to fill her seat for the remainder of the term.

So, despite losing an election, I became the first out transgender person to serve on a city council in Ohio, was appointed to the city’s tree commission and was elected vice-chair of the Ohio Democratic Party Pride Caucus. We managed to get both the candidate guide and candidacy forms changed to include the name change provision. 

Not a bad outcome for a “failed” campaign, huh?

The point of this story is simple: even a campaign that doesn’t win can result in real, lasting change. Don’t let the fear of failure stop you from trying. Don’t let anyone tell you that someone like you can’t make a difference. You might not win every race or secure every seat, but that doesn’t mean you’re not creating the change that’s needed. 

Change happens in the struggle. It happens when you stand up—unapologetically—for yourself and for others.

Your voice matters. Keep running. Keep fighting. Keep making the world a better place.🔥

• The Victory Institute is always looking to identify out LGBTQ+ leaders to run for public office. Check out their next available training.
• To register to vote or to check your voter eligibility status in the state of Ohio, click here.
• To find contact information for your Ohio state representative, click here.