Momentum That Doesn't Look Like Momentum

On paper, my race is absurd.

I’m running against a 17-year incumbent whose grandmother held the seat before him and was a state legislator prior. That’s 45 years of political legacy and name ID.

I expected a slow burn: people calling it crazy at first, then taking it more seriously over time, with some moment—maybe early 2026—where insiders quietly start admitting, “Okay…he might actually pull this off.”

Instead, that moment came early.

People took the campaign seriously from the jump. The incumbent did too—enough that on multiple occasions he’s doomscrolled my Instagram in the middle of the night and accidentally liked posts before un-liking them.

You don’t do that if you’re unconcerned.

But the bigger shift is quieter.

People who attacked me early have reached out privately.
A woman who publicly criticized me wrote to say: 

 

“You’re right about what you’re saying. I just can’t be loud about it.”

Elected officials, community leaders, longtime Democrats—all pulling me aside with a version of: 

 

“I can’t say it publicly. But keep going.”

They’re watching the door-knocking.
They’re watching the volunteer growth.
They’re watching how we’ve used this campaign to rebuild infrastructure, to help families during food stamp lapses, to combat redistricting.

They’re not ready to get loud yet.
But they’ve stopped dismissing.

That’s its own kind of momentum.