🕯 The Darkness of Politics and the Tenacity It Takes to Survive It
For the last five years, I’ve walked a road that most people wouldn’t survive—much less talk about.
And honestly? I haven’t talked about it. Not fully. Not until now.
Because when I first started speaking up about what I was seeing in long-term care, politics, and the insurance industry—they didn’t listen.
They put me in the hospital.
Five weeks. Locked away. Told I was “out of my mind.”
The truth? I wasn’t out of my mind.
I just saw things most people didn’t want to admit were real.
I was on the board of a historic senior care facility in Maine when everything began to collapse—not just the care system, but the leadership, the politics, the humanity. The warning signs were everywhere—and no one wanted to deal with them. So when I raised my voice, they silenced me.
Because that’s what happens when you get too close to the truth in American politics.
This is the darkness I’ve seen:
A Medicaid system that’s completely corrupted and unsustainable.
Democrats too deep in bed with the insurance industry to move real reform.
Republicans with their own agendas—sometimes more honest, sometimes not.
A state—Maine, the oldest in the nation—on the edge of economic and eldercare collapse.
A political system that chews people up the moment they challenge the status quo.
And still, somehow, I survived it.
I left the board. I walked away. I lost friends. My family was torn apart.
My business was gutted and rebuilt—and gutted again.
I was discredited by powerful people.
My former husband—influenced by those powerful people—tried to use the chaos to separate me from my children.
All of this because I knew what I was talking about.
And I dared to say it out loud.
But here’s what else is true:
I see the President right now, and I’m not here to slam him.
In fact—I’m deeply impressed.
He’s caught in a storm that few people can understand.
I imagine he’s torn between two screaming factions:
One yelling about Medicaid abuse, the other clinging to Obamacare.
And he probably knows—just like I do—that both things can be true at once.
Because the truth isn’t partisan.
It’s just hard to stomach.
We need to talk about the old guard.
The people holding power? They’ve been in the game too long.
Their ideas aren’t evolving. Their vision isn’t sharp enough.
They’re not responding to the way real people—people like me, like you, like our aging parents—are struggling to survive this broken system.
And we can’t afford to pretend any longer.
Not when our elders are being failed.
Not when families are going broke.
Not when businesses rise and fall based on whether or not someone powerful likes what we’re saying this week.
So here I am.
I’m 38 years old.
I’ve been silenced.
I’ve been gaslit.
I’ve lost.
But I’m still here.
And I’m still telling the truth.
Because even in the darkness of American politics, there’s something stronger.
And it’s people like me—people like you—who have the tenacity to walk away, come back, and speak louder than before.
I want to be clear: I don’t hate the system.
In fact, I benefit from it.
My health insurance premium is $1.97 a month through the ACA.
It’s one of the only reasons I’ve been able to keep my business alive.
That coverage gave me space to heal, to work, to stay in the fight.
And I am grateful for that.
But this isn’t just about how insurance is delivered.
It’s about how it’s operated.
What I’ve seen over the past six months has shaken me:
Insurance is not just an industry—it’s an influence machine.
It operates less like a safety net and more like a gatekeeper.
It profits from confusion.
It thrives on delay.
It’s tangled in political power in ways most people have no idea about.
And what scares me most is this:
American society is being bought.
Piece by piece.
Policy by policy.
Life by life.
I don’t blame the President.
Honestly? I think he’s doing better than most give him credit for.
I believe he sees the cracks.
I believe he understands the stakes.
But I also believe the old guard around him is holding us all back.
They’re entrenched in outdated ideas.
They’re loyal to institutions instead of innovation.
They don’t understand how the world is moving—how we’re moving.
And we’re running out of time.
Here’s what I’ve lived:
💥 I’ve watched a senior care facility go under—and survive only through last-minute, bipartisan collaboration.
💥 I’ve had my reputation trashed because I asked questions people didn’t want to answer.
💥 I’ve lost friends, clients, even time with my children—all because I refused to stop talking.
💥 I’ve been discredited by political donors with influence that should scare every American.
💥 And I’ve rebuilt myself, again and again—because that’s what people like me do.
We don’t fold.
We pivot.
We document.
And when the time is right—we speak.
So here I am. Speaking.
I’m 38 years old.
I’m a business owner.
I’m a mother.
I’m a survivor of political suppression.
And I’m telling you: This system is failing our elders. It’s failing our families. And if we don’t wake up, it will fail all of us.
I’m not asking you to pick a side.
I’m asking you to pay attention.
Because what’s happening in Maine is just the beginning.
And I’ve got the receipts.
