The women who ran—and won

By Michael Jones

Melanie Stansbury never planned to run for office.

But after the first Trump administration, she knew she had to—borrowing the words of former First Lady Michelle Obama—do something.

So she ran for a New Mexico state legislature seat that had never been held by a Democrat. She flipped it by seven points, becoming the first woman and first Democrat to represent the Bernalillo County district.

More than six years later, Stansbury is a member of Congress representing New Mexico’s 1st District and a rising star in the House Democratic Caucus. She holds seats on the House Natural Resources Committee and the powerful House Oversight Committee, where she serves as the top Democrat on the Subcommittee on Delivering Government Efficiency.

Stansbury was part of a wave of women who ran for office in the 2018 midterms—a movement widely seen as a response to Donald Trump’s 2016 election. That year shattered records for female candidates and officeholders. And with Trump’s approval ratings consistently underwater among women currently, many Democratic strategists see 2026 shaping up as a sequel to 2018.

“I had no political experience—I ran because I believed in my community and I knew I had to step up,” Stansbury told me last week during the House Democratic Caucus’s annual policy retreat in Northern Virginia. “If you’re thinking about running for office right now, answer the call. Your country and your communities need you.”

That call was especially loud in 2018. More than twice as many women filed to run for Congress that year compared to 2016, according to NPR. The result: a historic surge in representation. The midterms saw the largest increase in women serving in state governments after a decade of stagnation, with 1,834 women winning office at the state and federal levels.

Their impact extended beyond just numbers. Research has shown that women lawmakers tend to be more collaborative, introduce more legislation, and focus on policies like healthcare, family leave, and workplace protections. Female legislators are also more likely to work across party lines and push bipartisan bills.

However, despite these gains, significant barriers remain for women interested in running for office.

Women—particularly women of color—continue to face fundraising disadvantages compared to male candidates. They also endure heightened scrutiny, and the dominance of male incumbents makes open seats harder to come by, limiting opportunities for women to enter politics.

Then there’s the issue of qualifications. Women often need to prove more experience to be considered equally competent as men. Concerns about personal safety and family privacy can deter potential candidates. The lack of policies like paid parental leave or flexible work arrangements in politics can make balancing office and personal life even harder; Congresswoman Pettersen, for example, was recently told she couldn’t vote remotely on the budget bill, so she and her 4-week-old baby flew from Colorado to DC and appeared on the House floor.

And the caregiving burden weighs heavily. While fatherhood is often viewed as an asset for male candidates, mothers—especially those with young children—face skepticism about their ability to juggle both roles.

For members of the so-called “Sandwich Generation”—middle-aged adults caring for both children and aging parents—the pressure is even greater.

House Minority Whip Katherine Clark (D-Mass.) spoke candidly about this challenge at the retreat, recalling how she juggled raising school-age children while caring for her parents—her father, who had suffered a debilitating stroke, and her mother, who had Alzheimer’s.

Despite her resources and flexibility in Congress, Clark acknowledged that most families lack similar support. She even has a new name for the experience: the “Panini Generation.”

“Because sandwiches are nice and crisp and fresh,” she told me. “And paninis—you get melted in the middle.”

Adding to the challenges facing women candidates is the fallout from the 2024 presidential election.

Democrats underperformed with male voters across key demographics—particularly young men under 30, as well as Black, Latino, and married men. Now, the party faces pressure to adjust its strategy heading into 2026 and 2028.

From de-emphasizing reproductive rights to doubling down on “tough-on-crime” rhetoric to appeal to suburban and working-class men, Democrats are exploring ways to rebuild support among male voters. Some are pushing to reframe the party’s economic message around male-dominated industries like manufacturing, energy, and construction. Others are embracing a more masculine branding or recruiting candidates who counter the perception of the party as dominated by progressive women and so-called identity politics.

But there’s a real risk of overcorrecting—at the expense of women and their legislative priorities.

This isn’t new. In the 1990s, Bill Clinton moved toward centrist policies like welfare reform and crime bills to appeal to white male voters, alienating women and communities of color in the process. More recently, after Trump’s 2016 win, some Democrats argued the party should pivot toward working-class white men, leading to messaging shifts that sometimes clashed with progressive priorities.

Yet despite these political headwinds, Democratic women say the obstacles are worth overcoming—because they’re already equipped to lead.

“People ask me how I handle the job of being in Congress,” Rep. Gwen Moore (D-Wis.) told me. “I tell them: it’s not harder than the job I already had.”

Moore believes women often underestimate their own leadership abilities. “Women need to recognize their power and expertise,” she said. “The fact is, when women run, they win.”

And more are running than ever before, thanks in part to an expansion of candidate training programs. Organizations like EMILY’s List, She Should Run, and Emerge America are preparing women with the skills needed to raise money, communicate effectively, and navigate the campaign trail.

“These programs teach valuable skills—how to raise money, communicate across the aisle, and engage with the media,” said Rep. Deborah Ross (D-N.C.). “Many successful candidates, on both sides of the aisle, have come through them.”

There’s also strength in numbers. When Rep. Suzanne Bonamici (D-Ore.) was first elected in 2012, she was the only woman in Oregon’s congressional delegation. Today, five of the state’s six members are women.

The Democratic Women’s Caucus has also grown. In January, it welcomed 16 new members, bringing its total to 96—the most ever.

“Women are stepping up, running, and winning,” Bonamici told me. “And they know we have their backs. It truly makes a difference to have diverse voices—especially women’s voices—at the table.”

Michael Jones is an independent Capitol Hill correspondent and contributor for COURIER. He is the author of Once Upon a Hill, a newsletter about Congressional politics.