I’m Glad I Lost

The part of the story that doesn’t fit in the Observer's profile.

Feb 02, 2026

Somewhere around mile two (or maybe it’s 3), when your breathing evens out and your legs stop arguing with you, the truth starts to surface.

That’s the part of running people don’t talk about much. It’s not about speed or medals. It’s about honesty. When you’re moving forward with nothing to distract you, you don’t get to lie to yourself.

That’s where I usually end up thinking about the words I shouldn’t have said, the relationships I miss, the times I’ve failed/lost.

Last week, I went for a run with the running GOAT of Charlotte, Théoden Janes. He’s a reporter for the Charlotte Observer who is currently writing a series where he interviews people while running with them—no podiums, no green rooms, no scripts. Just pavement and conversation. It’s one of the few interview formats left that still rewards curiosity.

He wrote a generous piece about my life, my career, my political losses, and the winding road that got me here (whatever ‘here’ means currently). I’m grateful for it. Truly. Théoden works for a liberal newspaper, and I’m a conservative woman of faith, but in running, friendship and fairness still matter more than anything. His ability to showcase that is among the reasons he’s so respected.

Still, a newspaper profile, no matter how well done, can only tell part of the story.

It can tell you what happened.
It can’t tell you what it cost.
And it definitely can’t tell you why I’m grateful I lost.

I’ve run for office three times. I’ve lost three times. Batting a thousand, I like to say!

That sentence alone makes some people uncomfortable. We’re trained to treat loss as something to explain away or overcome quickly. Slap a lesson on it, polish it up, and move on.

Here’s the truth I’ve come to understand slowly, painfully, and honestly:

Losing didn’t derail anything.
Losing protected my calling.

Losing hurts, for sure. There’s this weird emotional component of losing a political race that no consultant explains (because they probably haven’t lived it). It’s not just the lost money and the lost time and the sense that yes I surely COULD have done better than those who won-it’s the raw edge of rejection.

But losing is more than rejection, as it turns out.

If I’d won (whether in politics or in NAR), I would’ve had a title and a different kind of platform.
But I would’ve lost my freedom.

If I’d won, my words would’ve come with handlers, donors, and “talking points.”
Instead, I get to speak plainly. I can own it when I get it wrong and maybe crow a bit when I’m right.

If I’d won most recently, I wouldn’t have been able to go to the mountains of Western North Carolina when Helene hit. I wouldn’t have been on the ground building a team and helping families who were falling through bureaucratic cracks. I wouldn’t have been able to start Patriot Relief and actually do something instead of issuing statements or writing tweets about it.

Titles limit you. Callings don’t.

The article mentions that I’m an optimist. That’s true. But optimism is not naïveté- it’s faith. I genuinely believe people are capable of good, and that systems often fail them long before they fail each other. Just look at the stories coming out of the snow and ice blanket across North Carolina, and once again you see neighbors helping one another without regard for anything other than the value of human life.

I don’t believe everything happens for a reason.
I believe God wastes nothing if you’re willing to stay obedient.

There’s a big difference.

Jesus didn’t promise success. He promised purpose. However, purpose doesn’t always look impressive from the outside. Sometimes it looks like losing an election and gaining a clearer lane to be useful in a place and time you never imagined. I’m not a missionary or a relief worker by trade-but September 27, 2024 brought the storm that changed all of that forever.

That word—useful—has become my filter for decisions.

Not powerful.
Not popular.
Useful.

It’s the same advice I give my kids when they’re unsure of their next step. You don’t have to know what you’ll be forever. You just have to figure out where you can serve well right now. That might look like waiting tables or going to eat supper with grandparents while your friends are on a more polished path.

The world worships winning.
Heaven rewards faithfulness.

If you’re sitting with a loss you didn’t plan on—professionally, personally, spiritually—I’d encourage you to ask a different question than “How do I fix this?”

Try this instead:

“What might this be freeing me to do?”

If this kind of reflection helps you steady your footing, I write more candidly about faith, leadership, public life, and the cost of conviction on the paid side of Bricks and Grit. That’s where I go deeper—without filters or profiles.

And if you know someone who’s quietly carrying a loss they didn’t expect, feel free to forward this along.

Sometimes the thing we didn’t win is exactly what keeps us where we’re supposed to be.

Where has a loss in your life turned out to be a kind of protection—even if you couldn’t see it at the time?

______________________________

Let’s keep the conversation going.
I write here because I believe leadership means telling the truth — even when it’s uncomfortable. If you want your audience leaning forward, laughing, and leaving with something to chew on, I’m your girl.

If you’re planning your next conference, leadership gathering, or community event:
Hire Leigh Brown to speak. I’m the voice your audience hasn’t met—and the one they’ll never forget.

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~ Leigh Brown