I feel as if I was destined to struggle with my emotions and identity. I was diagnosed with autism at five years old, and my parents were aware of the mental health risks that came with my diagnosis. My family history especially didn’t help; things like anxiety and depression run rampant in my lineage. Additionally, both of my parents had rough childhoods, from which came trauma and trouble adjusting, and my half-sister was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder at a younger age than most. I felt like I was too much for most people, but also that I didn’t have it bad enough to reach out in ways that I should have, which culminated in episodes of uncertainty and depression. Because of how autism affects my brain, I consider myself pretty anxious, self-conscious, and sensitive. These feelings heightened when I first started middle school and began to question my identity. I was extremely socially awkward and didn’t have much interaction with others outside of former special needs classes. I knew I was a girl, but my attraction felt more complex and multifaceted than that of the average sixth grader. When I was making some progress on figuring myself out, I was rejected by a girl for the first time, which temporarily stifled my self-exploration. After all, I held a staunch belief that schoolwork was more important than relationships, even if I was lonely. I had a crush on another girl in seventh grade, but other people found out, and I was teased for it. Once again, I bottled up any uncertainty I had about my sexuality so I could at least somewhat conform, which I tried to do by dating a guy briefly, but he didn’t treat me well. I had begun to give up on understanding myself. As middle school ended and high school began, comparison was the thief of my joy. I had overcome many childhood challenges that many professionals said I would endure forever. I felt like everyone expected me to do more, since I had already come so far from my initial prognosis. Thus, I started mentally noting every person I saw who I believed had done more with their time in high school than I had, whether they were taking more AP classes than I was or in more clubs than I was. I even looked at others’ social media pages to see what they were doing with their summers while I was stuck in a volatile household. That was when I spiraled into depression. Sophomore year was already very challenging for me socially and emotionally, despite maintaining good grades. I took naps whenever I felt emotional pain rather than sitting with it, and I started to eat unhealthier. Any suicidal ideation I had was never active; I just wished I wouldn’t wake up some nights or that I could just crawl into a hole where I wasn’t burdened by the standards pushed on me by myself and others. I even tried taking expired Prozac in hopes I would feel better. Fortunately, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I moved out of my dysfunctional household to live with my loving father and stepmother. They understood my experiences and were adamant about getting me in therapy. Even though it was hard for me to adjust to a new school, my more progressive classmates have validated my journey; I am now avidly exploring my queerness. My teachers have supported me in my classes as I work to become a healthcare accountant and a future community leader in social and health equity activism.

After I had started at my new high school in Mississippi, I was incredibly uncertain of what my place in the world would be. Not only was I in a completely different environment, but I was also struggling with a ‘career existential crisis.’ I believed and was expected to work in medicine since elementary school, but after a patch of depression and burnout, I began to question how much I wanted to pursue what others thought would be a ‘good fit’ for me. My career journey would have been much more difficult if I had never taken AP U.S. History with Mrs. Boler. My schedule for the rest of the year had a few errors; for one, I was placed in regular U.S. history instead of the AP U.S. History course I was taking at my old school. I walked into the classroom not expecting much, but the first person I saw was a lady whose eyes lit up whenever she set her eyes on somebody new. I was caught off guard by how immediately she noticed me, as I felt like I hadn’t stood out in my other classes. I explained the error on my schedule, and she immediately walked me down to the office and spoke to one of the counselors about enrolling me in AP U.S. History for the next semester. I was to have a different class for the chosen period the next day until the second semester started. However, even as I simply observed the work that the class did, I could tell that Mrs. Boler cared about her students deeply and facilitated great conversations about topics bigger than themselves. My second semester began with the daunting realization that I would be taking a whopping four AP classes and their respective exams in less than a year. However, I knew history would be my favorite. Every day for our bellwork, we answered questions independently and then discussed them as a class. As Mrs. Boler went in-depth on each answer, she explained things that I hadn’t considered prior. One thing that really stood out about her was that she made connections to modern politics and global issues. I particularly remember one day when she showed us a news story of the removal of a display honoring the slaves owned by George Washington. She spoke of the impact of events like this on history education, and encouraged us to ask questions and add our own points. It was incredibly refreshing for me to have a teacher who treated us like young adults and took our future seriously. Mrs. Boler’s influence on me was more than just in education, but also in service. She has a degree in pastoral counseling, and you can tell by how nice she is to talk to, even if you’re not Christian. She could also tell how I was feeling the second I came into class each day, and asked me how I was doing if I looked more down or anxious than usual. She was the sponsor for our school’s chapter of Rho Kappa and also the AP African American Studies teacher, where she got the idea to organize yearly trips to the Legacy Museum in Montgomery, Alabama. Her unwavering commitment to engaging students, even when the topics made me angry or sad, did more than just help me receive the highest grades in the class and a 5 on the AP U.S. History exam; it transcended school subjects and helped me realize that I wanted to educate others on finances and health as a clinical accountant and a public health leader.

I always felt like I was doomed to have something “wrong” with me. When I was diagnosed with autism at five years old, my parents already knew the mental health risks I had outside of social experiences and development. My family history especially didn’t help; things like anxiety and depression run rampant in my lineage from rough childhoods. I felt like I was too much for most people, but also that I didn’t have it bad enough to reach out in ways that I should have, which culminated in episodes of uncertainty and depression as I grew older. I have been on medication for as long as I can remember; the first ones were Prozac and hydroxyzine. I was also enrolled in multiple types of therapy by my parents, who hoped I would become more than my prognosis. In the process, I feel as if I made my half-sister a glass child. My mother and ex-stepfather focused more on their other children than on my sister’s well-being. She had to miss school to babysit my younger brothers, which forced her to grow up earlier than she should have. The emotional neglect she had faced came to a head when she started struggling with suicidality and an eating disorder. After what was likely a suicide attempt, she was institutionalized for a while, and I missed her greatly. Even before she was institutionalized, my mother started not to spend as much time with me so she could make sure my sister, who had then been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, wasn’t hurting herself. I saw this as a sort of retribution because my needs also took my mother’s attention away from my sister. She is in a much better state now, but I have to remind myself that her illness is not my fault. As middle school ended and high school began, comparison was the thief of my joy. I had overcome many childhood challenges that many professionals said I would endure forever. I felt like everyone expected me to do more, since I had already come so far from my initial prognosis. Thus, I started mentally noting every person I saw who I believed had done more with their time in high school than I had, whether they had more APs or more club memberships. I even looked at others’ social media pages to see what they were doing with their summers while I was stuck in a volatile household. That was when I spiraled into depression. Sophomore year was already very challenging for me socially and emotionally, despite maintaining good grades. I took naps whenever I felt emotional pain rather than sitting with it, and I started to eat unhealthier. Any suicidal ideation I had was never active; I just wished I wouldn’t wake up some nights or that I could just crawl into a hole where I wasn’t burdened by the standards pushed on me by myself and others. I even tried taking expired Prozac in hopes I would feel better. It was soon before the start of my junior year that a particular philosophy caught my eye: the Buddhist principles of mindfulness. I hadn’t realized when I spiraled that I was looking for more of a purpose to life than repeating the same three steps of working, eating, and sleeping. I knew that reading a few books by Thich Nhat Hanh or Pema Chödrön wouldn’t fix everything, but the focus on mindfulness and meditation would help me process my emotions more than bottling them up until they burst when I least expected them. I also found that many Buddhist sects emphasized compassionate service for monastics and laypeople alike. I read deeper into the religion’s origins and realized the Buddhist path was just what I was looking for all this time. However, bettering your life takes initiative, and I knew that journey wasn’t linear. I needed to learn to grow more patient and understanding of myself and others. It was only about three months into the school year when a complete bombshell was dropped on me. One afternoon, my mother told my half-brothers and me that she was filing for divorce from my stepfather, and that I would have to go live with my father within the month. At first, this was kind of a slap in the face to me; I had just gotten over my self-loathing spiral, and now I was expected to pack my things, leave Arkansas, and start a new life four hours away in Mississippi. I had a good cry over the abrupt news before I realized that a stable household was the best environment in which I could put my new Buddhist knowledge into practice and become happier and more fulfilled than I ever had been. While I love my mother dearly, I recognized that a fresh beginning was the best thing possible for us and that toxic environments were holding us back. My favorite thing about the Buddhist lifestyle is that it preaches personal experience rather than blind adherence to a set of rules. Adjustment to a vastly different home and family dynamic was challenging, and there were times I thought I was sinking back into my depressive slump. But what I wasn’t entirely aware of was that there was a light at the end of this long, uncertain tunnel. I finally had a rough draft of what I wanted my future to look like. I learned from economics class that accounting would be a forte for me, but I didn’t want to completely abandon my prior dreams of becoming a healthcare professional. I did deeper research into the accounting profession and found something I loved that would benefit people: healthcare accounting. My continued following of the Buddhist faith also compelled me to work in the community on the side. I plan on letting unwavering calm and knowledge guide me through my life, career, and service to others, while my mental health experiences will make me a wiser and more empathetic leader.

I always felt like I was doomed to have something “wrong” with me. When I was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder at five years old, my parents already knew the mental health risks I had outside of social experiences and development. My family history especially didn’t help; things like anxiety and depression run rampant in my lineage from rough childhoods. I felt like I was too much for most people, but also that I didn’t have it bad enough to reach out in ways that I should have, which culminated in episodes of uncertainty and depression as I grew older. I have been on medication for as long as I can remember; the first ones I remember were Prozac and hydroxyzine. I was also enrolled in multiple types of therapy by my parents, who hoped I would become more than my prognosis. In the process, I feel as if I made my half-sister a glass child. My mother and ex-stepfather focused more on their other children than on my sister’s well-being. She had to miss school to babysit my younger brothers, which forced her to grow up earlier than she should have. The emotional neglect she had faced came to a head when she started struggling with suicidality and an eating disorder. After what was likely a suicide attempt, she was institutionalized for a while, and I missed her greatly. Even before she was institutionalized, my mother started not to spend as much time with me so she could make sure my sister, who had then been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, wasn’t hurting herself. I saw this as a sort of retribution because my needs also took my mother’s attention away from my sister. She is in a much better state now, but I have to remind myself that her illness was not my fault. As middle school ended and high school began, comparison was the thief of my joy. I had overcome many childhood challenges that many professionals said I would endure forever. I felt like everyone expected me to do more, since I had already come so far from my initial prognosis. Thus, I started mentally noting every person I saw who I believed had done more with their time in high school than I had, whether they had more APs or more club memberships. I even looked at others’ social media pages to see what they were doing with their summers while I was stuck in a volatile household. That was when I spiraled into depression. Sophomore year was already very challenging for me socially and emotionally, despite maintaining good grades. I took naps whenever I felt emotional pain rather than sitting with it, and I started to eat unhealthier. Any suicidal ideation I had was never active; I just wished I wouldn’t wake up some nights or that I could just crawl into a hole where I wasn’t burdened by the standards pushed on me by myself and others. I even tried taking expired Prozac in hopes I would feel better. Fortunately, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. My mother achieved a new beginning after a divorce, and I moved out of that household to live with my loving father and stepmother. They understood my experiences and were adamant about getting me in therapy. I’ve been able to immerse myself further into my interests, like music, business, reading, and gaming. I’m still in an adjustment period, but hobbies and classes keep me stable as I work to become a healthcare accountant and future community leader in social and health equity activism.

To me, selflessness is using your time, money, and knowledge to help others and better your community. I’ve always loved buying gifts for others and donating to local charities, but after moving from Arkansas to Mississippi due to a family disruption, I had to quit my previous job and figure out ways to give while conserving my last paycheck and tax returns. Something that I wish more people would understand is that being selfless doesn’t require a leadership role or already being well-known in a community; it just requires planning, compassion, and a mission you’re passionate about. My mission was to dedicate my community service to creating more aware communities in health, research, and business as I work to become a clinical accountant and a future adult participant in community service. I have already contributed to this mission through my continuing blood donations. I first donated in January of 2026 at my high school through Mississippi Blood Services, which is essentially a blood bank that provides blood to rural areas and inner cities in the state. My blood is a gift to someone with gunshot wounds, anemia, and even cancer, in that I took time out of my day to donate it, and I don't expect anything in return. My positive experiences with blood donation have increased my chances of donating in the future, especially since I know the blood is going to a Mississippian in need. Some may be afraid of needles or seeing blood, but I put my anxieties aside to give; that is how I embody selflessness. I volunteer online for the nonprofit Cancer Kids First, which builds awareness of pediatric cancer and supports the affected. Most activities I participate in are passive, such as making digital and physical cards and curating wellness and toy baskets for holidays. I know I cannot cure kids’ cancer, but I, along with the thousands of other volunteers for the organization, want to help give them the best, most rewarding life possible when fighting their condition. When giving, I dedicate special time to creating, and I focus only on what I can do rather than what I cannot; that is how I embody selflessness. I contribute to professional research on Zooniverse, a citizen science platform that gives results to projects that would have been difficult to conduct otherwise. It is a fantastic way to immerse and gain experience in various subjects, whether you’re identifying redheaded woodpeckers from camera footage or transcribing documents from the Civil War. I recognize that all fields need contributions, and I give such research attention so that initiatives can continue to benefit our world; that is how I embody selflessness. There are also opportunities for me to give back in the foreseeable future: not just blood donations, but fundraisers and other public events. I am planning to register for a 5K run for Memphis's Le Bonheur Children's Hospital, which raises money for the treatment of children in their hospital. When I return to school for my senior year, I plan to establish a local chapter for Cancer Kids First and host drives for toys and care packages. I am also planning to host my city’s business and leadership podcast to give business owners and community leaders more traction and success. Even through times of uncertainty, I take initiative in matters of giving; that is how I embody selflessness.

When I was growing up in suburban Arkansas, I lived around and met a lot of people who worked in healthcare, were in conditions where they needed more access to healthcare, or both. My observations increased substantially when I moved to Mississippi, specifically the Greater Memphis area, at sixteen. It is unfortunate that people of various ages and backgrounds die because they don't have the money to go to timely doctors' appointments or receive life-saving medications and disease screenings. My experiences regarding healthcare access have motivated me to help expand healthcare and treatment outreach in both urban and rural areas through paid work in clinical accounting and additional volunteering on the financial sides of health events. I lived most of my teenage years in a low-income background with less-than-ideal mental health. Whenever school was out, I was stuck in a house with a dysfunctional family and nothing to keep me busy. I knew that because of my autism, if I were to find a goal for myself, my hyperfocus would ensure that I could reach that goal. This was at a time when I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with my future. It wasn’t until I left that environment and moved to live with my father and stepmother in Mississippi, where more opportunities arrived than I expected. That was also when I took my first economics class and had an epiphany about what I wanted my life to be dedicated to. The people who inspire me most in my goals are volunteers for organizations, including larger, more well-known ones such as American Red Cross, Doctors Without Borders, and UNICEF, or smaller, more local ones, like Mississippi Blood Services, Church Health, and Mid-South Lions. Not only do these people have the compassion to help others, but they also have the strategic skills to determine the best ways to satisfy their mission. I am also influenced by the owners, officers, and medical professionals of clinics and hospitals; they are talented people whose help and expertise are constantly sought after by their communities. I want to help them expand their care with my higher education. After high school, I plan to attend university for a bachelor’s degree in accounting with a minor in public health or healthcare administration, and possibly a certificate in nonprofit management. With my bachelor’s degree and later MBA, I will work as an accountant in a clinic that utilizes direct primary care over insurance. Working in this kind of environment already shows a commitment to personalized and affordable healthcare. This job would entail tracking patient billing and membership while complying with HIPAA regulations. On days when I am off work, I plan to help businesses and nonprofits with health-related events, such as vaccination campaigns, disaster relief, free clinics, and blood drives. It is extremely important to acknowledge that even if event attendance and its benefits are free or low-cost, accurate and detail-oriented financial records are essential for the event’s success. Health events and services are meant to be gifts to our community, and gifts often require money, so accountants like me should be appointed to manage them responsibly and determine how they can be used to benefit the most people. However, I am also open to regular volunteering depending on the event. My vision for the future is a healthier world. It would be difficult to make an equal impact everywhere, but if I could hold informative webinars and workshops about healthcare finance and outreach that taught just a few people around the world how to better their communities, the positive change would spread faster and further.

Music from one of Apple Music's "for you" stations blared in my ears as I vacuumed, dusted, and decluttered my room. I didn't care much what was playing, since none of the prior songs really interested me. Now, I'll concede I'm usually not the biggest fan of mainstream pop, but one of the songs playing while I was cleaning caught my attention; it spoke viscerally about embarrassment and awkwardness. When I finished organizing my desk, I looked at my phone as the song's chorus began to play: "I broke a glass, I tripped and fell, I told secrets I shouldn't tell; I stumbled all over my words, I made it weird, I made it worse..." I rarely saw songs portray social mishaps authentically (but not cringy) before I heard Olivia Rodrigo's "ballad of a homeschooled girl." Olivia's experiences with social blundering are parallel with my troubles with socializing and making friends as an autistic person. I feel as if being diagnosed earlier made me more aware of my differences. My disorder was so noticeable that I was placed in special needs classes until I was around eight or nine years old. Much like Olivia's homeschooling, my special needs classes were fairly sheltered; I rarely left the same classroom since it had its own restroom, and our lunches were brought in there. I didn't know how to speak to students who weren't like me or teachers who didn't deal with autistic kids every day, which greatly disadvantaged me in my later elementary school and middle school years. The lyric "I broke a glass, I tripped and fell" relates to times when I wanted to be social or try something new but failed miserably. When I was in sixth grade, I knew I was fairly intelligent, but I was lonely and wasn't entirely sure who I was. I also wanted to be noticed more and gain more friends. As such, I had the not-so-bright idea to sign up for my school's intramural basketball game, although my autism impacted my coordination, and I was never picked first in gym. The day of the game came, and I couldn't play two minutes before I realized I was completely embarrassing myself; this game had the whole school watching. I started crying and immediately hugged one of my classmates, who, although confused, started comforting me. Immediately after I withdrew, I began becoming more cautious about what I chose to participate in. The rest of the chorus encapsulates what most of my social life was and sometimes still is like. As I got older, I learned some social cues from experience and kept to myself whenever I could. Therefore, when I break a social rule, I usually realize it immediately afterward, which is similar to Olivia's almost ruminating tone in the song. Notable examples of this are when I try to explain things to someone, but my brain is faster than my mouth, when I make unintentional eye contact for a second too long, or when I ask a question that's slightly too personal for the situation. On the brighter side, I learn from all of my social experiences. I can reflect on uncomfortable experiences honestly instead of shoving them aside to appear perfect and the most socially adept I could possibly be, which helps me learn about proper communication and socialize with increasingly different people. Even if friends leave or I'm viewed as weird after one mishap, I leave a situation with a better idea of the person I am, even if it's not growing popularity amidst concerts and new album releases.

When I was growing up in suburban Arkansas, I lived around and met a lot of people who worked in healthcare, were in conditions where they needed more access to healthcare, or both; my mother sometimes didn't have enough money to pay for urgent care appointments for younger me during flu and pneumonia season. My observations increased substantially when I moved to live with my father in Mississippi, specifically the Greater Memphis area, at sixteen years old. It is unfortunate that people of various ages and backgrounds die because they don't have the money to go to timely doctors' appointments or receive life-saving medications and disease screenings. My experiences and things I have witnessed regarding healthcare access have motivated me to work on initiatives that expand healthcare and treatment outreach in urban and rural areas alike. I have already contributed to this mission through my continuing blood donations. When I moved to Mississippi, I had to quit my job as a dishwasher, and I had less money coming in. I wanted to find ways to give without spending money that would benefit large groups of people. I first received the opportunity to donate blood in January of 2025 at my high school through Mississippi Blood Services, which is essentially a blood bank that provides blood to rural areas and inner cities in the state. Although I was somewhat incentivized to donate by the fifteen-dollar VISA they offered, I was more motivated by the fact that this was the kind of giving that I was looking for. I loved giving gifts in the past with money I received from work, but it was getting harder and harder for me to do that. My blood is a gift to someone with gunshot wounds, anemia, and even cancer, in that I took time out of my day to donate it, and I don't expect anything in return. My positive experiences with blood donation have increased my chances of donating in the future, especially since I know the blood is going to a Mississippian in need. There are also opportunities for me to expand healthcare access in the foreseeable future: not just blood donations, but fundraising and other public events. I am planning to register for a 5K run for Memphis's Le Bonheur Children's Hospital to raise money for the treatment of children in their hospital. Additionally, I do online volunteering for a nonprofit called Cancer Kids First, which recognizes the need for treatment of pediatric cancer. Some activities I participate in are passive, such as making digital and physical cards and curating wellness and toy baskets for holidays. However, when I return to school for my senior year, I plan on establishing a local chapter for the nonprofit and hosting drives for toys and fundraisers for cancer treatment for children. People forget that you don't have to be a doctor, nurse, or politician to help expand healthcare outreach; you just need a compassionate heart that can take a little time out of your day to help others. My prospective career in healthcare accounting can help me further understand the role of money in healthcare access, and college and certifications can give me the experience I need to conduct financial work for events I previously mentioned, plus more. Health campaigns, even with talented hosts and doctors, may be set up to fail without proper financial management. After all, money is essential when discussing healthcare equity. All in all, I can create positive change in healthcare access through both volunteering and accurate financial reporting for events I choose to work for.

Many scholars and leaders throughout history have emphasized the importance of active and continuous learning, from business consultant Peter Drucker to physicist Albert Einstein to Founding Father Benjamin Franklin. I wholeheartedly agree with sentiments that encourage lifelong learning, and I will project this agreement into applying to and attending university and business school to give myself more opportunities to find higher-level management and administrative careers in the financial sectors of healthcare locations. I am an upcoming high school senior and am starting my college application journey, so I am undecided and not currently committed to a university, which will change as I start submitting applications and receiving letters in return. I am currently gaining experience in financial work, including, but not limited to, accounting shadowing, bookkeeping courses, and tax certificates from Intuit Academy. Although these focus less on application and more on learning and gathering information, they will give me a practical foundation for activities like internships and business competitions. Accounting was not my first choice for a career; I only realized that it was what I wanted to do late in the first semester of my junior year. As a result, I've had less exposure to the business world than I would like, but I'm focusing on what I can control and what will be useful to me later in my education and career. Now, we go back to my applications, where the fees are $935, which I got by adding application fees for the twenty colleges I'm interested in applying to. Because I am undecided, to create a tuition, I created mean and median tuitions using the tuitions of the aforesaid schools (accounting for out-of-state or in-state/prestige); my prospective colleges have a mean tuition of $38,172.80 and a median tuition of $36,033.50. To cover my application fees, I will take money out of my savings account that currently has around $2,000, and the rest of that will likely be dedicated to buying textbooks and other materials for my university courses. To account for tuition, I'm applying to scholarships mostly in the range of $1,000 to $50,000, and I am taking any scholarship money that any colleges offer me. Scholarship money can also pay for housing, meal plans, and other expenses. According to the price insight website Latest Cost, as of March 2026, average costs are as follows for common costs outside of tuition: $6,500 for on-campus housing, $4,000 for an annual meal plan, $120 for utilities and internet, and $900 for furnishing and setups. If I add these amounts to the median tuition I calculated, my tuition and fees would amount to around $47,553.50. However, I also have to remember that some of the costs may not be monitored on a yearly basis; for example, furnishing is usually a one-time cost, while utilities and internet may be paid monthly. To supplement my scholarships, I will also obtain a part-time job, preferably on campus. Furthermore, my annual costs will likely be in the range of $43,000 to $47,000, which I will pay with scholarships and job earnings. I would have a similar calculation process with business schools after a few years of work experience. Not only could these fund direct, in-person college education, but also online courses with certifications that could help me when earning larger certifications (ex. CPA) and looking for my future job in healthcare accounting in locations such as hospitals and clinics and further financial work in public health outreach events such as free clinics, blood drives, and vaccination campaigns or possibly working in other industries if healthcare becomes less appealing to me.