I was born in Rock Hill, South Carolina. My parents never finished the 8th grade. My childhood was chaos — abuse, addiction, and the kind of silence that swallows kids whole. At 13, I was drinking and smoking. At 15, shipped to a Marine Institute that saved me for a while. At 16, arrested. I took the fall for a friend who betrayed me. I stood in court without a lawyer and was charged as an adult.

By 17, I was in prison. My big brother Andy — the person I leaned on — died by suicide while I was locked up. I never got to answer his last call. That silence still lives with me.

At 20, I was homeless in Florida. At 23, I stepped off a bus in New York City with $20 and a suitcase. No family. No plan. I walked into a church and said, “God, I need help.” And strangers helped me stand back up.

• Watching my mother get hit — learning too early what fear feels like.
• A stepfather knocking my teeth out — understanding how power can be misused.
• Standing alone in court at 16 — realizing the system can grind you down when you’re poor.
• Hearing that Andy was gone — promising that my pain would mean something.
• Stepping off that NYC bus — deciding to become more than my story.

New York doesn’t need another politician. It needs a survivor — someone who has seen the bottom, signed a plea just to go home, buried brothers, eaten government cheese, and still kept going. I’m running for the people who were told they were nothing — and chose to fight anyway.

This campaign is for you — the ones pushed into plea deals, the ones battling addiction, the kids who aged out of foster care, the parents trying to do right with no help. It’s for the brother sleeping outside, the mother choosing between rent and food, the worker who keeps showing up anyway.

If you’ve ever been forgotten, discarded, lied about, locked up, or left out — I’m running for you.

I’m not asking for pity — I’m asking for partnership. If I can stand here after everything I’ve lived through, then so can New York. Let’s write the next chapter, together.