I was afraid to post this

I wrote an email last week, but I couldn’t send it. I was in shock and confused, more worried than I can remember being since I was a kid. 

And then a few hours later, the Supreme Court released their decision on presidential immunity. I literally pinched myself just to make sure I was awake, which I can laugh about now, but…

Unfortunately, I wasn’t dreaming.

Here’s the email I didn’t send last week:

My employer gave me a choice today.

I could provide for my family – put food on the table, pay our bills, keep them safe – or I could run for Congress. Not both.

The way I see it, keeping my job is the safest path forward to provide for my family, to be a good dad and a good husband. 

But the people of this district need me for another job as the U.S representative for Ohio’s 12th district. 

It’s a job where I can work to help every American family, give every parent better opportunities to provide for their kids, and fix a system where one bad day can take a child’s healthcare away… or leave a family like yours homeless.

I am a veteran and an American citizen. I served my country. I strapped on the boots and buttoned up the uniform day after day, for years.

I swore to protect our freedoms from threats both foreign and domestic, and I’M NOT DONE.

I didn’t make the safer choice, but I think I made the right one, for all of us. At the end of the month, I will be out of a job because I chose to stay in the race and flip this seat. 

I have a great boss, and I work for a great company, and I don’t blame them. Candidates lose their jobs more often than you’d think. At least I was given a choice. It wasn’t a difficult one to make, but it’s going to be a difficult one to live with for a while.

Honestly, I’m nervous. If there’s ever been a day to help me in this race, it’s today. Please let me know I made the right choice.

I grew up in poverty. I know what it’s like to be a kid and not understand why the adults are so stressed or why we’re losing the house or why we’re sleeping on the floor of Grandma’s living room. 

The thought of my son being without tightens my chest… I’m not just nervous, okay? I’m terrified.

I am not independently wealthy and I never have been. To the world, that means my voice doesn't count. I learned that at a younger age than any child should. 

Unless you're wealthy, it means your voice doesn't matter either. I’ve sacrificed a lot trying to change that this year, and I just gave up my job to keep trying.

Nothing about getting into politics has been easy. This isn’t the first, second, or even third hard decision I’ve had to make to serve my country and help my people.

You don’t come from where I have and decide to run for Congress, to leave your family for a job halfway across the country, for shits and giggles. You do it because things aren’t okay, the kids aren’t alright, and no one is f— helping us!

Or you do it because you’re rich. You do it because you’re Troy Balderson, and money is all that matters. Really, why would anyone expect you to care about your family if you’re always voting to destroy their home?

My campaign is the only chance Ohio has to protect our families from a Republican that has pocketed hundreds of thousands of dollars while voting to poison our kids, destroy our planet, and strip us of our freedoms for his personal gain.

I'm sitting here, waiting for a haircut and thinking about how the $15 it costs may need to go toward groceries next month. The intrusive thoughts are coming in. Am I selfish for getting a haircut right now? Does this make me a bad dad?

The good guys shouldn’t have to worry about a haircut. So like I said, I’m nervous.

But I won’t quit.

Jerrad Christian 

Democrat for OH-12