My name is Alexsa Shenouda, a daughter of a mixed family that has loaded family members and other family that struggles to live paycheck to paycheck. Growing up I never understood why some people didn't have homes, or why there were people living on the side of the road, with no food. My parents didn´t have to worry about me failing in school, or crying about a new toy, but running off to give people whatever I could. I remember when I was about seven years old, my dad, brother and I went to visit my mom at work and have lunch. Super excited to eat, and taking my parents' ears off, I saw an older gentleman who was bruised head to toe, wrapped in bandages, he looked cold and desperate- as if life had handed him an awful hand. I sat there for a moment, kept glancing toward him and my food. I didn't want to be rude, but I wanted him to look less... hollow. So before I could eat and when my parents weren't watching me like a hawk I walked over in my pink tutu with curly lop-sided pony tails and handed him my food ¨Here you go" I smile, shoving it in his hands as if saying no wasn't even a possibility. He looked at me confused as if kindness was a pin in the hay stack. He looked at my parents as if questioning them without words. He tried giving it back, mumbling something incoherent, but I just shook my head and waddled away to my parents who just smiled. This moment as a seven year old girl has shaped my life and became a constant habit. An action I take at every moment I can. It didn't just show up in this one action though, now I put others needs before my own on a daily basis. I started a suicide awarness and prevention club as a freshmen and have continued leading it my whole high school carreer making sure all students have resources and making them available in our community. As much as I loved doing this and it impacted my community in a heavily positive way- it also took a toll on my mental state. Taking responsibility for others emotions was a lot more draining then I thought it was, especially as someone who struggled with mental health myself. Although Iĺl never regret the choice I have made because they have benefited others in my life, I just wish I learned how to take care of myself as well.

I, Alexsa Shenouda- currently a high school student have had the pleasure of growing up in a small town; the type that typically everyone knows everything about everyone; Coming with a small town, I have gained the opportunity to be more involved in the community. As I have gotten older, I have become heavily involved in my community through multiple wonderful organizations like: Girl Scouts, FFA, Key Club, Ramona Junior Chamber of Commerce, VFW, NJROTC and the Red Cross. Starting off in my first community based event that I ever participated in was within Girl Scouts of San Diego; I joined in second grade, and have been a part of an active troop to this day,earning all three of the awards: Bronze, Silver, and Gold. From helping the community raise funding to grow and plant trees around town- and then executing that plan, to volunteering with other local organizations like the VFW to raise money and awareness for veterans and or the local Boy Scouts to help the community improvement in the long run. Though I am well rounded in my community- the largest community based organization that I have been a part of was a club I started myself during my freshmen year and used for my Girl Scout Gold Award project- Break The Silence. Break The Silence is a suicide awareness and prevention club at Ramona high school that I founded and held the title as president for the last three years-going on my fourth; but what does this topic have to do with the community? My freshmen year I entered high school struggling; not sure where I belonged and the new challenge of high school had thrown me for a loop- but I wasn't the only one; scholars all around me were struggling and having life threatening thoughts- that were labeled as unimportant or dramatic by others. 1 in 10 teenager have suicidal thoughts but 1 in 5 teenagers commit self harm and not having resources for teenagers going through change every day, and facing new challenges that no one can prepare them for seems wrong. I saw this as an opportunity to seek change; My first attempt was to re-start the Yellow Ribbon club but students saw this club more as a threat than a resource- with the stereotype that to be apart of the club you have to be struggling and after research- I realized I didn´t want to just build awareness about suicide but I wanted to create change, break the silence about everyday issues that nobody wants to talk about and give free resources to the community. Fast forward to today, Break The Silence hosts annual mental health awareness weeks, Red Ribbon weeks, and various mental health resource fairs a year that gives free resources to not only high school students, but staff and parents as well. We also do frequent meetings where we teach and learn together as a whole that it's ok not to be ok- giving a safe spot for over fifty teenagers. This club has touched not only many scholars but adults in our community even if it was a rocky start with multiple ups and downs. Being involved with my community and seeing what can be changed just by using my voice has made me who I am today, and without these experiences and the village that came with them- I wouldn´t be half the person I am today.

Everyone defines making a positive impact on the world differently. Some people dedicate their lives to saving others, while some focus on educating future generations. While I may not have every detail of my future mapped out, I am certain of one thing: I am driven by a commitment to protect, support, and serve others. From a young age, I have been deeply curious about human behavior and the pursuit of justice. What began as a family tradition of watching criminal procedurals evolved into a genuine interest in understanding the “why” behind human actions. Studying the human mind fascinates me because it reveals the emotions, circumstances, and struggles that influence behavior. This curiosity has shaped my desire to pursue a path in criminal justice or psychology—one that allows me to seek justice while also recognizing the complexity of the human experience. My goal is not only to hold individuals accountable, but to help restore dignity and peace to lives affected by harm. That same desire to serve others led me to take action in my own community. Recognizing the absence of a suicide awareness and prevention program at my school, I founded Break The Silence, a student-led organization dedicated to promoting mental health awareness and substance abuse education. Through this club, my peers and I work to eliminate stigma, provide resources, and create a culture where conversations about mental health are welcomed rather than avoided. Our mission is simple yet powerful: to remind others that it is okay to not be okay—and that help should never feel out of reach. In addition to advocacy, my passion for agriculture through FFA has shaped my understanding of service in a tangible way. Agriculture sustains every community, yet its importance often goes unnoticed. Through hands-on experience, I have learned the responsibility that comes with providing food, supporting livelihoods, and protecting the future of our world. Agriculture has taught me leadership, resilience, and the value of educating others about the systems that sustain society. I plan to use my education to connect these passions—justice, mental health advocacy, and agriculture—to create meaningful change. Whether I pursue criminal justice, psychology, or a related field, my purpose remains the same: to protect others, advocate for those who feel unheard, and contribute to a healthier, more informed society. By leading with empathy, education, and action, I aim to make a lasting impact on the world—one person, one community, and one voice at a time.

I don’t remember a time when helping others wasn’t part of who I was. Long before I could read, write, or even fully explain my feelings, I understood one thing clearly: when someone was hurting, I wanted to help. That instinct—formed before I was even four years old and has grown with me, shaping not only my actions but my sense of purpose. From a young age, I was taught that helping people in need required thoughtfulness, not just good intentions. My family explained that giving money could sometimes do more harm than good, so I found my own loop-hole to help. Whenever I saw someone sitting on a curb or standing outside a store with a sign, I gave away whatever food I had with me—whether I had just bought it or was hungry myself. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the significance of these actions or how deeply they affected others, yet this habit of giving has stayed with me and continues to guide my choices today. Though it didn’t just start there, I gave my parents a run for their money. When it came to threats to attempt to get me to behave, it was learned quickly that the threats of getting rid of all my toys never worked. One day, I remember like it was yesterday; I was being lectured for not picking up my toys (mind you, I was really young) and my mom told me that she would give all my toys to kids that not only needed them but would enjoy them- and in her words, instead of throwing a tantrum, screaming, and kicking like a normal toddler would- I stared her dead in the eyes and told her that it was okay- we could give away all my toys to kids that needed them; autimentally leaving my family and parents in a weird mixture of shock and awe. As I grew older and progressed through school, this commitment became an even deeper part of who I am. When I entered high school, I founded a suicide awareness and prevention club for students and staff with the goal of making mental health resources more accessible and increasing awareness about suicide, mental health, and substance abuse. Guided by our motto, “It’s okay not to be okay,” the club focuses not only on how to support others in difficult situations, but also on how to care for yourself when you are struggling and feel overwhelmed. Through this work, I have helped organize multiple mental health resource fairs, Red Ribbon Weeks, and Mental Health Awareness Weeks. These events encourage students to break the silence, seek help without shame, and use their voices to support both themselves and others. What began as a childhood instinct to give has grown into purposeful leadership—one centered on empathy, education, and action. All my hard work became real during an FFA trip after a long day of workshops and sessions. Another student came to me in distress after learning that someone who was not on the trip was threatening to end their life. She was understandably overwhelmed, so I stepped in to help her calm down and worked with her to contact the appropriate adults immediately. Together, we made sure the struggling student was safe and receiving support. Through this experience, I also formed a strong bond with the student who came to me—she learned the proper steps to help others and herself when struggling, and I became both a safe person and a trusted friend. Even to this day, shes made it clear how much I changed her life.

During middle school, I didn’t have the language for mental health. All I knew was the constant, crushing weight on my chest that followed me for months. I felt alone in a crowded world, convinced I wasn’t good enough to take up the same space as everyone else. Each morning, getting out of bed felt like a battle I was already losing. I dreaded facing my reflection, eating meals, and pretending everything was fine. What frightened me most wasn’t sadness or anger—it was the numbness. The passions that once defined me faded, and even that loss stopped mattering. I wasn’t living; I was merely existing, unsure how to ask for help and convinced no one would listen if I did. The bubbly, loud, and unapologetically obnoxious version of me slowly disappeared, replaced by someone even I didn’t recognize. The things that once gave me purpose no longer sparked anything inside me. Yearbook felt hollow, and the passion I had poured into NJROTC was quietly dismantled piece by piece. Inside, I felt fractured—like I was carrying something heavy that no one else could see. Yet on paper, I was thriving. My grades never slipped; straight A’s became my armor. I showed up, performed well, and excelled in every extracurricular commitment I had taken on. To the outside world, I looked successful, motivated, and completely fine. To the adults around me, I was proof that nothing could possibly be wrong. But that illusion of perfection only made the silence louder, because when everyone believes you’re doing great, no one thinks to ask if you’re struggling. When high school arrived, something shifted. I can’t pinpoint a single moment or reason, but the world felt lighter, as if I had finally been given room to breathe. For the first time in years, I sensed purpose beginning to take shape. Still, that feeling alone wasn’t enough—I wanted to turn it into action. When I realized my school did not have a Yellow Ribbon Club, I saw not a gap, but an opportunity to create change. So I did. I founded Break The Silence, a suicide awareness and prevention club built on the belief that no one should struggle in silence. Creating this organization pushed me to pursue multiple mental health trainings and certifications, equipping me with the knowledge to better support others. What began as an idea grew into a community resource dedicated to serving students, staff, and families at Ramona High School. Through education, free resources, and open conversations, my club works to raise awareness not only about suicide, but also mental health and substance abuse—topics that are too often ignored, yet affect so many lives. Through Break The Silence, I have gained not only new friendships, but also reconnected with old ones and found mentors who have guided me through leadership and compassion. I learned how to lead conversations around a subject that is complex, sensitive, and too often avoided. This experience has made me a better friend and a more attentive human being—teaching me to recognize warning signs others may overlook and to respond with urgency, empathy, and purpose. I have learned how to take action quickly and thoughtfully, doing everything in my power to provide a support system for those who need it. Yet this work is not without its challenges. Loving people who are hurting and still feeling as though you can never do enough carries a quiet, heavy guilt. Learning to sit with that feeling—to care deeply without losing myself—has been one of the hardest and most meaningful lessons of my life. Despite all of this work, I have to admit that my journey with mental health is ongoing. Saying that out loud is still difficult, even now. There are days when the weight returns, and I am reminded that healing is not linear. However, what has changed is my understanding. I now recognize the importance of reaching out, of using the resources I once didn’t know existed, and of allowing myself the same grace I encourage others to give themselves. Acknowledging that I still struggle does not mean I have failed; it means I am honest, aware, and committed to continuing the work—both for myself and for those who look to me for support.

For me, going to college is not about proving that I am capable—I have already had to prove that in real life. College represents choice. It is the moment where survival turns into intention, and where I get to decide what kind of impact I want to make with the voice I have worked so hard to find. I grew up watching my mom sacrifice pieces of her own happiness so that I could have stability, opportunity, and the freedom to dream bigger than our circumstances. Because of her, I learned early that education is not guaranteed—it is earned, protected, and valued. College, to me, is a way of honoring those sacrifices by refusing to waste the opportunities she fought to give me. There is also another, quieter motivation behind my drive to pursue higher education: the need to prove wrong the one person who never believed in me. My biological father was never present in my life, never supportive, and never willing to see my worth—no matter how hard I tried to earn his approval. I spent years believing that if I achieved enough or became “good enough,” I might finally be worthy of his love. Over time, I learned that his absence was not a reflection of my value, but it did ignite something powerful in me. College represents reclaiming my narrative—choosing self-worth over validation and building success not to impress someone who left, but to empower myself. What I am trying to accomplish through college goes far beyond earning a degree. I want to sharpen my ability to advocate, to lead, and to speak with purpose. Through my involvement in leadership organizations, mental health advocacy, and public speaking, I have learned that words can change outcomes—but only when they are backed by knowledge, credibility, and discipline. College is where I will gain the academic foundation to turn passion into effective action. I am particularly drawn to higher education because it challenges me to think critically, listen to perspectives different from my own, and defend ideas with both empathy and evidence. I do not want to be the loudest person in the room; I want to be the most informed. Whether in classrooms, debate settings, or future professional spaces, I hope to use my education to speak up for people who feel unheard and to address issues others are uncomfortable discussing. Ultimately, going to college means building a life that is not defined by what I overcame, but by what I chose to become. I am working toward a future where I am educated, confident, and prepared to lead with integrity. I want to graduate knowing I did more than complete assignments—I want to leave knowing I used my education to make space for others, challenge silence, and create change. College is not the end goal for me. It is the foundation.

Throughout my life, I have been fortunate to be surrounded by inspiring and hardworking individuals who have shaped the person I am today. My FFA advisors, track and field coach, and the advisors of my Suicide Awareness and Prevention club, Break The Silence, have all played meaningful roles in my growth. However, when everything feels overwhelming and life seems determined to knock me off course, there is one person who consistently gives me the strength and motivation to keep going: my mom. My mom is more than just my support system—she is my role model. Together, we have navigated challenges that forced us to grow up faster than expected, including divorce, single parenting, and the difficult balance of protecting my stability while rebuilding her own life. Time and time again, she put her own happiness on hold to ensure that I was supported, safe, and given every opportunity to succeed. She never hesitated to place my needs above her own, even during moments when her life felt uncertain. Watching my mom persevere taught me the value of resilience, sacrifice, and education. She has always emphasized that education is something no one can take away from you, and she encouraged me to push myself academically and personally, even when it was uncomfortable. Her unwavering belief in me is a major reason I am motivated to pursue further education—not only to build a successful future for myself, but to honor the sacrifices she made so I could have that chance. One of the most important lessons my mom taught me was to stand up for what I believe in, even if I am standing alone. That lesson directly inspired my involvement in speech and debate–based activities. I found my voice through public speaking, realizing that words have the power to educate, advocate, and create change. I was drawn to speech and debate and mock trial because they challenge me to think critically, defend my beliefs with confidence, and advocate for others—skills that align closely with the values my mom instilled in me. As a result, I actively sought out opportunities that allowed me to grow as a speaker and leader. I advanced to the state level in Impromptu Public Speaking through FFA, earning recognition as one of the top twenty-four competitors out of approximately twenty-five thousand sophomores in California. I have also competed in public speaking and debate activities through organizations such as Girl Scouts, Key Club, Break The Silence, and various agricultural leadership events. Each experience strengthened my confidence and confirmed my passion for advocacy and leadership. My mom’s strength, sacrifices, and belief in education inspired me to pursue higher education and to use my voice with purpose. Through speech, debate, and mock trial, I strive to become someone who not only speaks up for myself, but also for those who may not yet have the confidence to do so—just as my mom has always done for me.