I was born into a loving, basic family. I had a mom, dad, and brother. We all had our family challenges. My dad’s side didn’t like my mom, and my mom’s side didn’t like my dad. Both my parents had to work two jobs to make a stable income, and we were homeless for weeks on end. Like I said, the basics. But that never mattered to me because I had everything that I needed with three simple people.  Adversity came in two forms for me. The first was school. I hated it—not because of disinterest, but because I struggled. I couldn’t read or write, and no matter how hard I tried, I failed. Teachers didn’t help; their disapproval and my classmates’ awareness of my struggles made me extremely embarrassed. However, my brother excelled. He was a genius, solving complex math problems effortlessly while I struggled even to start. The school once called my parents in, suggesting I should be held back a grade while my brother should skip ahead. That moment marked the first time I felt like a failure, even without understanding the word. I wondered why I had to be the “dumb” child, why everybody always had to worry about me. Family members, with condescension masked as concern, would say, “Bless her heart. Let’s hope she grows up pretty to marry rich.” One person stood by me though: my dad. I remember when he would try to help, sitting down to read Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman. He believed in me when no one else did. But then came my second adversity—losing him. At nine, I witnessed him having a stroke. I did my best to explain it to my mom over the phone as she rushed home. My dad, just 39 when he passed, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Watching him in the hospital was terrifying, but there were beautiful moments too. Once, after weeks of silence, he spoke again—his first word was my name, Alivia. When he passed away, I was shattered. I didn’t even understand death, but I felt his absence deeply. Puberty brought the full weight of that grief. After his death, life forcefully moved me forward. We moved to a new state, and in sixth grade, I met Ms. Jalensky, my history teacher, my fallen angel. She helped me grieve, process my emotions, find my voice, and stand up for me when nobody else did. My brother supported me too, teaching me math and science. My mom remained a pillar of strength. And I learned to persevere, asking for help despite the difficulties. Their support and determination transformed my life. I graduated in the top 11% of my high school class with distinction and highest honors. I was president of multiple organizations including the National Honor Society and Student Government Association. I earned enough credits in high school to begin college as a second-semester sophomore. It has taught me to never give up. Never. No matter what anybody says or how hard it may be. I still have my challenges, but that has never once stopped me and won’t. The advice that I have to anyone in similar circumstances would be that it’s okay. That's it. It’s okay that you don’t know. It’s okay that it hurts. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to not know the right answer. Everything will be okay. Life is not meant to be easy, but just know that everything will fall into place when it needs to fall into place. I’m going to do my best and so should you. And you.

Something that has always interested me would be Lucy in Charlie Brown. She has a stand that has "The doctor is in/out". That would be my unique contribution, minus the ten cent fee. I feel that when people think about mental health, there is always a negative connotation around it. That mental isn't real or it is for "crazy" people. This feeling is especially evident in the Black communities where there are typically low-income households or the same negative connotation around it. I feel like if there were a "doctor is in" program that would allow more people to feel the need to get help. Growing up, I never got therapy even though I desperately needed it for a couple of reasons. Some were the two I mentioned above and another was the fact that I was scared. I was scared that my therapist would tell other people, especially my mom, or they would think that my problems weren't "significant enough". It wasn't until later that I realized I was drowning in my own thoughts and needed to get help. I think that if there were a site or a place(s) where people can go freely and anonymously talk about their problems there would be a significant mental health increase for those people who need the support. I think as a community we need to educate the importance of mental health more and learn to make yourself a priority to see growth.