I never thought politics was for someone like me.
I grew up in poverty, raised by a single mother. Then later, as a single mother myself, I relied on programs like Medicaid, WIC, and food stamps to help make ends meet. I know what it’s like to make difficult decisions like choosing between paying the rent, paying the utilities, or buying groceries to try to give my children a healthy meal. As a single mother, having something as simple as car insurance felt like a luxury. I even know what it’s like to face housing insecurity, having been unhoused at times with two small children.
I’ve had to work hard and fight for everything I’ve had my entire life.
I took classes at night while working multiple jobs during the day in order to graduate college—becoming the first in my family to earn a degree—and from there, I became an accountant, and eventually I worked my way up to be a CFO.
I was finally able to provide my children the life I never had, and I bought into the false promise of the American Dream. I thought I had done what I was supposed to do. That’s when the illusion was shattered, and I was reminded that we are all only as safe as the most vulnerable among us.
In 2015, my 22-year-old daughter, Shalynne, died at the hands of our nation’s profit-driven healthcare system—all simply because she was unable to provide adequate proof of insurance at a local ER here in Las Vegas. As I held her in my arms while she took her final breaths, I promised her that she would not die in vain.
