The Woman in the Arena: A Year Later in Reclaiming the Narrative

How else can I explain my actions now if you don’t understand where I’ve been? No one could have predicted what would unfold from the moment I stepped into the council chambers in April 2024. But I knew one thing: once I felt comfortable attending, I wouldn’t stop.

Although my passion for civics has always been innate, my interest in local government began in 2019. But life had other plans. The COVID pandemic, the devastating loss of my newborn son Finnley, the passing of my Grandpa Teynor, and a new pregnancy with my son Judson all pushed that passion aside.

I started watching council meetings on Facebook Live. I was educating myself, getting involved from a distance, but I was drowning in motherhood and work, and felt inadequate in both. Even after I started working from home for OSU, life didn’t slow down.

That changed in April 2024, when my frustration finally reached a boiling point. I watched council members attack the very residents they were elected to represent. They came for the tax credit (more on that later). I watched Carolyn Shireman publicly dismiss C. Aaron Sharrock, claiming the only reason she mattered was because “her daddy was a judge.” But the final straw for me was the way Mrs. Dishon’s well-intended research was twisted and ridiculed, especially when it involved something as iconic as the Bratwurst Festival, one of the few things still putting Bucyrus on the map.

It was a norm in our household to groan and laugh at the ridiculousness unfolding at City Hall. City Council meetings were practically background noise in our kitchen. But my husband was fed up, not with council, but with my commentary. Or maybe just the boisterous yelling I did at my phone while the livestream played.

It had become routine: dinner, book, bath, bed, then a council meeting. You’d swear I was watching a football game, not local government, the way I’d shout at the screen. But I know I’m not the only one who’s built an every-other-Tuesday or Thursday routine around Bucyrus politics.

One night, my husband finally looked at me and said, “You need to go up there and tell them how you feel, or stop yelling at your phone.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

He nodded.

So I did just that. Heart pounding in frustration but swelling with purpose, I grabbed my keys and got in the car. I listened to the livestream over the speakers as I drove toward City Hall, just in time to catch the final public comments of the Finance Committee meeting.

I was so nervous. I couldn’t remember exactly what I wanted to say, but in the end, I think I spoke from the heart: I’m tired, and so is everyone else. We need to work together to address our community’s problems and secure a better future, not attack the foundational organizations that give Bucyrus its identity. I urged the council to pay attention to the online community. Many people are passionate but unable to attend in person because of work, parenting, or life constraints.

The message was well received. Councilman Jim Mee even said, “Please come back.” I sat down smiling, hopeful for the rest of the public participation.

Then Carolyn Shireman stood up. What she said felt like a direct rebuttal. She shamed my comments and downplayed the importance of the online community. But it felt like her real goal was proving her own point of view to be the only valid one.

After her, another woman stood and said we all needed to “just get along,” that the bickering served no one.

So I stood again, this time firmer. I reaffirmed that many working parents my age are apprehensive about the future of Bucyrus. We need affordable housing, real job opportunities, and a path forward for our kids.

And again, Carolyn rose. Again, she rebutted, directly and aggressively.

That’s when I realized this wasn’t just a disagreement. She wasn’t challenging my argument or concerns, she was attacking me. I had spoken to council once, and already, a sitting member was trying to chase me out.

After the meeting, she walked straight toward me. No hesitation. She invaded my personal space, pointed her finger in my face, and rasped, “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” The rest is a blur. I also remember Greg White telling me I was being misled by “fake accounts” on Facebook.

I don’t recall their exact words. But they didn’t matter.

The feeling they left me with did.

I remember how I felt: stunned, and suddenly very clear.

That moment cemented it for me. I had to see this through, whatever “this” turned out to be. If I let one rogue member chase me off, what example would that set? Who else would feel safe coming to council in a similar situation? What other mother or concerned parent would dare to speak up if this were the response?

I wanted to change that.

I wanted everyone to feel safe voicing their concerns, not just the brave, and certainly not just the unhinged.

But how could I have known, in that moment, that this wasn’t just a catalyst for civic change…

It would change the course of my entire life.

Skip to 1:46:06 for when I approached the podium.