In 2022, my first year of high school, I entered a completely different level of education. I had a tight schedule, I was adjusting to my environment, and my main priority was always maintaining my grades. In this whirlwind of a year, I met her—my Spanish teacher, whom I'll introduce as Ms. G. It's fair to say she was just another teacher to me at this time, our bond non-existent, simply a teacher and a student, and our year together ended as such. I passed, moved up in Spanish, and she taught on—until I realized how important she would be to my journey. Sophomore year, I was now in Spanish 2. The majority of my classmates from last year still had Ms.G, as she taught both levels, but I had a completely different teacher now. This saddened me; however, this distance fueled me to keep Ms.G in my life. Every day, I started to visit her. When I came to school early and I had downtime in the halls, when the bell rang and I rushed from the 3rd floor to the 1st, just to say goodbye, almost missing my bus. She grew annoyed at my constant presence, but our bond grew strong. It became a routine, and it'd feel wrong if I didn't show up at that point. I brought gifts every holiday. She became someone I could lean on academically when school was hard. One particular day this year, I made a handshake with her. She told me she'd forget it; I told her she wouldn't. In my mind, our special handshake was enough reason to see her again. Junior year came. I was older. She was wiser than before. Early in the school year, I experienced a hardship with my physical health, which invited traumatic experiences from my past to reignite. I was in and out of hospitals, on multiple medications, and I felt helpless— depressed. Usually on the first day, I'd visit her just to mess with her. But I didn't, and when I did, she noticed the change. She'd walk me out of the building to my mother's car, check on me in the halls—it was her visiting me, now. I finally told her everything I was going through. I opened up about my past. I allowed myself to be emotional with her, and she remained by my side, in her empty classroom, just to let me cry. She sat with me and told me she cared about me, and she'd help me fight through things. This was a pivotal shift in our bond. She provided me with resources for further help, and I slowly strengthened every day. Deep down, I thought that she'd shy away from me because of our raw moment together, but she didn't. She looked at me like I was the same kid she loved, gearing up to get on her nerves. During that rough time, I lost purpose in my life. I thought about giving up, truly. Her words, her efforts, the importance she carried—it grounded me. Our experiences together, everything involving her, rushed back to me. She had changed me forever. She helped me find myself when nobody else could. She didn't influence me in a way of finding a new aspect in life; she influenced me to live it. And that made me see life can be tough, but there are people like her who exist in it, which to me made everything worth it. I approach life with open arms now, but she made sure I never had to hug myself.