Resilience is not something you discover in a textbook. It is born in the crucible of trial, shaped by adversity, and refined through the fire of struggle. For me, that crucible was my campaign for mayor of Siler City in 2022.

I entered the race with a vision of a town that could embrace its diversity, expand opportunity, and govern with equity at its core. But the moment I announced, the backlash began. Some of it was the typical push-and-pull of politics. Yet much of it was uglier, rooted not in disagreement over policy, but in prejudice toward my identity and background. I faced racist attacks. I endured homophobic slurs. Anonymous letters and social media vitriol sought to silence me, to remind me of my “place” in a hierarchy that had long excluded voices like mine.

It was painful, yes. But it was also clarifying.

The experience forced me to confront the reality that progress is never uncontested. When you challenge entrenched power, when you speak for communities long ignored, when you embody the possibility of a new kind of leadership, you will face resistance. Sometimes that resistance takes the form of coded politeness, sometimes it takes the form of cruelty. In either case, resilience becomes not just a survival tactic, but a political necessity.

Resilience, however, does not mean stoicism. It does not mean pretending the wounds do not sting. For me, it meant finding strength in community. It meant drawing courage from neighbors who said, “Keep going, Nick, you’re speaking for us.” It meant remembering the poultry workers who wanted their kids to have a chance at something more, and the young people who told me they finally saw themselves in a candidate. Their belief fortified me when my own resolve wavered.

My work with CJF America deepened this understanding. As CFO, I witnessed how movements for justice and equity are fueled by resilience at every level: the resilience of grassroots organizers who refuse to be ignored; the resilience of immigrant families who build lives despite systemic barriers; the resilience of young leaders who insist on a seat at the table. Resilience is not about enduring hardship in silence, it is about transforming hardship into momentum for change.

In hindsight, the attacks I endured were not just obstacles, they were indicators. They revealed the very inequities I had set out to confront. If my candidacy provoked such hostility, it was because it threatened to upend a status quo that had long benefited from exclusion. And if resilience carried me through those trials, it was because justice demanded perseverance.

Resilience alone is not enough. It must be tethered to purpose. The purpose is justice. The purpose is equity. The purpose is ensuring that no child in Siler City (or anywhere else) has to grow up believing their voice does not matter.

November reminds us of both endings and beginnings, a time when campaigns conclude but movements endure. My journey through adversity taught me that resilience is not just a personal trait, it is a collective force. When communities refuse to yield to hatred, when neighbors insist on dignity for one another, when we continue fighting even after bitter losses, we embody the power of resilience.

To anyone who has ever felt diminished by prejudice, to anyone who has been told to shrink themselves to fit a narrow mold, hear me clearly: resilience is your inheritance. Do not relinquish it. Channel it. Use it to build, to challenge, to reimagine. That is how progress is made. That is how justice is won.