Immediately reading this prompt, there is one person to whom I can credit my current understanding of mental health, and without her, I would not be where I am today. She is my sister, who is currently a second-year university student studying neuroscience and mental health. Her curiosity in the field intrigued me at first, as I couldn't quite figure out what motivated her to pursue such a topic. But when I got the chance to talk with her before she left for college, I found it was because of her stutter that she wanted to help others like her. Throughout her early years, my sister was involved in a speech therapy class to develop strategies for her stutter. But as she continued in the program and in elementary school, kids and teachers would manage to poke at her because of the difficulties she had when she was called on in class. And the comments from others wouldn't improve either over middle school and the first years of high school, either. She by no means let these remarks stop her from pursuing what she valued, however; playing varsity soccer her Freshman year and maintaining a high GPA inspired me to do my best in my own ventures. Although I constantly saw my sister working hard and accomplishing her goals both academically and socially, I still could tell she was struggling with something that was deeper than the surface level. At this point in time (8th grade), I hadn't fully grasped the significance of mental health. I understood the world was defined by my experiences only, my relationships were centered only around those who were carbon copies of my personality, and my goals were to present myself as the strongest I could on my own, without help from others. And so when my sister would complain to me of the hardships she would face from others about her stutter - and it still hurts to admit this today - I would brush it off. When she would go to see therapists and specialists about her issues, I was confused, and sometimes irritated. But I never knew that the validation I lacked to show my sister was because of conflict in my own life, disguised by a couple of underlying factors. First, I was always pushing myself to be the best I could academically. But as time went on, I began to prioritize school and success over the relationships with others I had around me. This led to me feeling mentally drained, burnt out, and I felt like I couldn't speak up about it because I'd be seen as weak. And second, where I think my struggle with mental health ultimately rooted from: my own perception of mental health had been a result of my surroundings' thoughts towards men's mental health. From listening to my friends around me to the content I would watch online, all I could happen to hear was nothing but invalidating the pressures I felt as a boy with feelings of insecurity, anxiety and depression. I finally connected these dots while I watched her cross the stage at her high school graduation, and it was afterwards that I thanked her for being the role model for my success and the support she showed me, even when I didn't do the same for her. Most importantly, I thanked her for showing me why it was important to esteem mental health so highly, as the lessons she would teach me about mental health from that moment onwards have helped me grow into the person I am now. Because of her and how she impacted my understanding of mental health, my goals are now oriented towards helping others and caring for those around me rather than worrying about how others perceive me. My relationships have become more vulnerable, trustworthy, and stronger because of how she inspired me to speak to her about my daily struggles. These relationships have also become more diverse in personality and beliefs, allowing me to become more open-minded. And most importantly, my understanding of the world was no longer based only on what I thought to be real. Because of Cameron McDaniel, my sister, I know the world around me is full of people who struggle with the same things I do, and the same things that she does, and that I have the potential to be the influential person my sister was to me.

I love biomechanics: not only how they have improved me, but how they’ve enabled me to care for others. My passion began while investigating an exercise regimen in search of improved sports performance. The vast resources regarding the most niche topics of human function intrigued me unlike any other topic. For instance, observing how little biomechanical improvements in professional baseball players profited them amazing seasons, I was obsessed with how I could perform technique-focused exercises and gain the smallest advantage over my opponents to succeed. Each new article I found on the latest ways to optimize my skills kept me returning every day, knowing there was always improvement to be made. However, my understanding of the human body was most influenced when I sustained a season-ending knee injury in my junior year. At that moment, I felt defeated because I could no longer compete, and my passion seemed to come to a halt. The work that I’d invested into my mechanics felt wasted, and I lost motivation to explore biomechanics since it couldn’t benefit me —stemming from my distorted view of what growth was. During my upbringing where my passion for movement sparked, I was haunted by the pressure to be the best. Growing up, I had exclusively attributed growth and development to my own performance. But when I couldn’t perform athletically, I felt lost: a kinesthetic learner, I thought I couldn’t learn about biomechanics if mine weren’t proper due to surgery. Yet, my innate desire to compete led to an intriguing decision: my focus and criteria for growth shifted from myself to others. While this was difficult, I was able to hone my effort and research how every human body moves, instead of just mine. From this, my eyes were opened to a knowledge of biomechanics beyond athletics I hadn’t known existed. Still recovering from surgery, I continued my story as a volunteer aide at two physical therapy clinics. However, I did not expect athletic and everyday biomechanics to go hand in hand when diagnosing movement problems: just as I analyzed my own technique after surgery to improve athletically, I could also identify and treat weaknesses in common movements among elderly patients, like squatting and walking. The same competitive mindset that sought solely to improve my own function broadened to a determination that cared for all people to achieve health. This realization unlocked an open-mindedness I hadn’t experienced before. Until it affected me personally, I never grasped the concept of rehabilitation for all people with varying lifestyles. In fact, it was the vicarious experience of seeing people recover that best reinforced my knowledge: I could apply similar principles from my own athletic recovery to the rehabilitation of a non-athlete, and, despite the difference in activity, the improvement I saw in them made me confident in what I knew while feeling empowered to keep learning. Continuing to grow in and share my understanding of the human body, I realize my biomechanics post-surgery were grounds for development of more profound knowledge and even experimentation to play with principles of exercise, allowing me to benefit others and experience just as much fulfillment as through my own endeavors. My role allowed me to see biomechanics as universal to life itself rather than exclusive to me. While I observe my own body mending itself and regaining strength, my excitement grows toward the future care I will provide to others; I eagerly anticipate the fruition of my knowledge to mesmerize those around me with the intricacies of the human body - just as I am with mine - to bring care and health to others.