Motherhood Didn’t Make Me Brave. It Made Me Furious.

I learned how to fight from my mom.

She had four babies by the time she was 20 and raised us mostly on her own, on a waitress’s tips. We often relied on food stamps, public housing, and Medicaid to get by. The kind of safety nets people love to debate until they are the ones who need them.

Still, somehow, she never let us feel small or ashamed. My mom had a remarkable ability to create abundance out of scarcity. Her logic was simple: kindness is free, so we could always afford that.

Almost every day, as a family, we would do our “good deed of the day.” Sometimes it was giving our last dollar to someone who needed it more. Sometimes it was helping a neighbor carry in groceries. Sometimes it was opening our door to yet another kid who needed a safe place to land.

Looking back, I realize my mom was not just raising kids. She was raising fighters. Not the loud, chest-thumping kind, but the kind who understand that when systems fail, people step up.

I did not fully understand that then.

I do now.

Because now, I am the mom.

I am the one packing lunches, fielding school emails that make my head spin, and doing the late-night mental math of what we can afford and what will have to wait. I am the one advocating every day to make sure my neurodivergent children get the support they need in a public school district facing a $20 million budget deficit.

Motherhood did not magically make me calmer or more patient. It made everything sharper. Louder. More urgent.

When you’re a parent, you realize very quickly that patience does not pay the electric bill. Gratitude does not fix a broken healthcare system. And being “resilient” is often just a nicer word for being forced to tolerate things that should not be this hard.

For a long time, I believed I could make a difference from behind the scenes. I was the first person in my family to go to college. I worked in the Obama White House, helping to pass the Affordable Care Act and expand healthcare for millions of Americans. I built a clean energy nonprofit focused on helping families save money on their utility bills. I felt like I was doing meaningful work without having to put my name, or my family, out there.

But recently, I did something I never imagined I would do:

I decided to run for Congress.

I am stepping up to fill the NJ-11 seat being left open as Mikie Sherrill prepares to become New Jersey’s next governor.

Motherhood has stripped away my tolerance for a system that keeps asking families to be patient while costs go up, support disappears, and the people most affected are told to tough it out.

Motherhood has made me furious, and unwilling to wait politely for someone else to fix the world. It has forced me to reconsider what I am capable of and how far I am willing to go to protect the people I love.

Motherhood has made me strive to do more, so I can show my kids what it means to show up for your community.

I am not a politician or a lobbyist. What I am is a mom and a fighter with decades of experience getting the federal government to actually deliver for working families.

Because if there’s one thing motherhood has taught me, it is this: If you want something done, you give it to a busy mom. No matter how many loads of laundry are piling up or how little time there is, moms will find a way to push past obstacles and make things better for our kids.

Cammie Croft was raised in a small railroad town. She was the first in her immediate family to graduate from college and has spent more than two decades in public service. Cammie went from being a free-school-lunch kid to working in the Obama White House, helping pass the Affordable Care Act. Most recently, Cammie built a clean energy nonprofit from the ground up, helping families lower their energy bills nationwide. A mom of three raising her own family in New Jersey, Cammie is running for Congress to lower costs and build a stronger, fairer economy for working families like hers.