I never wanted to run for office. I never had real ambitions of stepping into the political fray. But I have always believed in service—to humanity, to community, to the people and causes that shape the world around us. My path has been one of advocacy, guidance, and showing up in spaces where change is needed. And now, as I exist in this moment, I realize just how much my experiences have prepared me to help guide, to push forward, and to be part of shaping a future where all of us—especially those on the margins—are seen, heard, and valued.

For years, I’ve worked at the intersections of identity and advocacy. As a Black, queer, immigrant, parent, and leader/guide, I have navigated a world that often seeks to compartmentalize identity—forcing people to choose which parts of themselves they can bring to the table. But I’ve refused to conform to those limitations. Instead, I’ve embraced the full spectrum of who I am, knowing that my lived experience is not just a personal reality, but a lens through which I can help shape meaningful change.

In college, long before many institutions were ready for discussions on intersectionality, I created my own major: “The Psychological Development of Gender Across Cultural Lines.” My senior comprehensive project? Developing a course on queer theory. I immersed myself in the study of identity, power structures, and the ways in which society shapes and polices who we are allowed to be. And though I didn’t know it at the time, that academic foundation was laying the groundwork for my future work in advocacy, community, and coalition-building.

Fast forward to today, and I find myself helping guide an LGBTQ+ organization during a time of immense change and challenge. I’ve stood before elected officials, securing historic funding to support the community I serve. I’ve spoken to corporate leaders about the importance of inclusion and equity—not as buzzwords, but as necessary components of a thriving and just society. I’ve built bridges between communities, knowing that the fight for justice is not siloed; that Black liberation, LGBTQ+ rights, immigrant justice, and economic equity are deeply intertwined.

And yet, I know this work is far from done. The landscape of advocacy is shifting. LGBTQ+ organizations across the country are being forced to restructure and reimagine their futures. Political hostility toward marginalized communities is escalating. The very concept of equity is under attack. But if my journey has taught me anything, it is that we must not waver. We must adapt, push forward, and continue to carve out spaces where all of us can exist fully and freely.

In a recent conversation with one of my “mothers,” she told me she was glad I had stepped into the political arena—because more people needed to see me, hear my message, and benefit from my work. However, she also said that the LGBTQ+ community may need me more in this moment. That affirmation sat with me. I’ve always believed in the power of showing up, but who am I meant to be showing up for? Who needs that voice, that fight, the most right now?

And maybe she’s right. Maybe more people need to see and hear me. And yes, perhaps it’s not in politics—because if I’m being honest, as I’ve been, I don’t feel deeply inspired by the political arena. What does inspire me, what has always driven me, is the work of community. Of creating space for people who too often go unseen, unheard, and unprotected. Of lifting up queer people, Black people, immigrants, those whose identities sit at the crossroads of marginalization and resilience.

So maybe the next step isn’t elected office—thank goodness. Maybe the next step is doubling down on what has always called me: strengthening advocacy, expanding impact, and ensuring that the people who need the fight the most have someone standing with them, for them.

Because leadership isn’t about a title or a position. It’s about purpose and showing up. And my purpose, as I’ve always known, is to be in service—to my people, to my community, to a future where we all get to thrive.

I don’t do this work for accolades or recognition. I do it because I believe in the power of action. I believe in the responsibility we have to one another. And I believe that my talents—both innate and acquired—can and should be leveraged to uplift, support, and fight for those who need it most.

So no, I never really wanted to run for office. But I have always wanted to be in service. And in many ways, I have been preparing for this moment my entire life.

The question is not whether I am ready. The question is: What more can I do? And how do we—together—build a future where everyone, regardless of identity, is empowered to thrive?

Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that the work is not done. And neither am I.

.d.