America’s Nervous System is Fried

Call me crazy, but I’ve envisioned running for U.S. President three times, each time imagining a victorious outcome.

This may sound absurd coming from a middle-aged, post-menopausal woman from a small Florida town, with a bipolar diagnosis, who once ran for local office and lost.

I’ve questioned my sanity plenty of times — and, truth be told, I’ve questioned the sanity of our entire political system too.

When I ran for Orange County Chairman in Orlando back in 2001, it was a one-woman campaign on a shoestring budget. My only donor was the owner of a mobile home park and she wrote my campaign a check for $500. I changed my party registration just to get on the ballot.

I spoke about a half cent tax for school funding, about stewardship of taxpayer dollars as the party in power used their worn-out decades-old battle cry of “no new taxes.”

I didn’t win, but I earned over 27,000 votes against an incumbent career politician with more experience and resources. One Orlando Sentinel reporter even wrote I might be too honest for politics.

Imagine that: honesty as a liability.

That campaign — combined with the shock of 9/11 and the weight of personal and professional stress — sent me down a path I never expected.

In 2003, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

For years, I saw it as a mark of shame. Over time, I’ve come to see it differently: not as a flaw, but as my nervous system’s way of telling me it feels the world too deeply.

And what I carried privately, I now see in our country itself:

America’s nervous system is fried.

We are a nation flooded with fear, outrage, disinformation, and division.

When people are overwhelmed, they grasp for extremes.

Some leaders manufacture emergencies so they can play the strongman swooping in with “solutions.” That’s not leadership; that’s manipulation.

Others soften themselves into niceness — or worse, try to please everyone — but lose the sharp edge of truth.

Too extreme, and you fracture the nation.
Too nice, and you fail to lead it.

What we need is balance.

What we need is the Middle Way: leadership that refuses to weaponize fear, but also refuses to shrink from truth.

Leadership rooted in emotional intelligence, courage, and compassion.

For me, political parties are not identities. They are dresses — outfits we wear for a reason, a season, or even a lifetime, but never the essence of who we are.

Red or blue fabric should not define the soul of a person or a nation.

The presidency is too sacred to be chained to party loyalty.

That’s why in 2024, I refused to settle for either party’s candidate. Instead, I cast my ballot for myself as a write-in — not as a campaign, but as an act of rebellion. A reminder that we don’t have to keep playing by rules written to keep us divided.

What if the president was independent — a referee, a compass, a torchbearer for the whole nation rather than a champion of one side?

This isn’t an abstract idea for me. It’s rooted in my life and lineage.

I’m the daughter of a Puerto Rican Vietnam veteran and an Austrian mother who survived the Second World War. I grew up in a military family where “no one left behind” wasn’t just a phrase — it was sacred duty.

Before 9/11, I prayed that no one be left behind — not in my family, not in my country, not in the world. That prayer has never left me.

Nearly ten years ago, I said aloud that I wanted to break the glass ceiling on women and the U.S. presidency.

At the time, I didn’t know what that would look like. I only knew that God is doing a new thing — raising up strong women not just to serve but to lead.

For too long, many women have been led to believe they can work for men but not stand over them.

I’ve lived that suppression. I’ve been no-trespassed by a church leader who I stood up to. I’ve been dismissed by bosses and coworkers. I’ve been silenced by people in power who were threatened by truth.

My life hasn’t been about ruling.

It’s been about changing hearts and minds — about calling people back to love, dignity, and wholeness. About doing the right thing even when it’s hard.

So call me crazy.

But the only office that calls me is the presidency.

Not for power, but for healing.
Not to widen the breach, but to close it.
Not to leave anyone behind, but to carry the torch forward for all.
Not for the title, but to be a referee — bringing peace and building sacred systems.