The first time I told someone I wanted to hurt myself, they told me it was normal and went to sleep. That moment didn’t just hurt; it rewired something in me. I realized that the person I thought would protect me failed, and if I wanted to survive, I had to be there for myself. My journey into high school was far from exciting. Everyone was still adjusting to life after the COVID-19 quarantine at the time. But my struggles didn’t begin at school; they began the moment I got home. Behind my mask, literally, I was living in an unstable and unsafe environment. My parents had split up, but the fighting never ended. My dad felt betrayed, my mom felt done, and my siblings and I were caught in the middle, bearing the weight of their broken relationship. I spent nights listening to the noise, watching for signs things might get physical, and bracing myself for the next argument. But the hardest part wasn’t the noise; it was the silence. One night, I told my mom I was afraid I might hurt myself. I didn’t know what I was hoping for—comfort, maybe, or just someone to acknowledge how heavy everything felt. But instead, she said, “It’s normal,” turned over, and went to sleep. That night changed everything for me. Instead of shutting down, I made a choice. I decided I would not let that silence define me. I would protect my siblings the way no one protected me and become the person I needed in my darkest moments. Eventually, I convinced my parents to let me transfer schools. I needed space to breathe, to grow, and to just exist without feeling like I was drowning. Walking into Westbrook Senior High School felt like stepping into a new world, one where I could finally imagine a future. I threw myself into schoolwork, clubs, and volunteering—anything that gave me purpose and kept me busy. And for the first time, I felt hopeful for the future. I graduated with honors and memories I never imagined I’d create. That chapter of my life taught me that I’m not defined by where I come from, but by what I choose to become. Because of what I went through, I’ve learned to choose people who see me for who I am and care enough to ask the hard questions. I’ve let go of relationships that drained me, like a boyfriend who never asked why I had to move into an apartment to escape my dad. Spoiler alert: we didn’t make it. That showed me how important it is to surround myself with people who truly listen and care. Now, I lead with empathy in every relationship—whether it’s with friends, classmates, or the people I serve in my community. My career path was shaped directly by my mental health experiences. I’ve always wanted to help people, but it wasn’t until I started volunteering and interning at hospitals that I found my direction. I remember the first time I got to compound medication in a pharmacy by measuring, mixing, and labeling. It was quiet, technical work, but all I could think about was the person on the other end of that prescription. That moment made healthcare feel personal. Now, I want to become a pathologist. I will work behind the scenes helping people find answers, especially those who feel invisible. Whether it's diagnosing a disease that no one could explain or giving closure to a grieving family, I want my work to mean something. I know what it’s like to suffer in silence, to feel like your pain isn’t real because no one validates it. That’s why I’ve made it my mission to bring understanding and compassion into everything I do. My mental health didn’t just influence my goals. It gave them purpose. In the end, I want to be the person who shows up when others feel alone, who listens when the world is quiet, and who helps others heal. My past shaped me, but it doesn’t define me. I define myself, and I choose to be someone who makes a difference!

I never saw my direct impact on the community, not until I volunteered with Sleep in Heavenly Peace (SHP), an organization that builds and donates beds to children who don’t have one. My team of CTEC ambassadors and I helped build 22 beds in one day, and it's still one of the most meaningful things I've ever been a part of. When I first got there, I wasn't sure what to expect. All the volunteers aside from us were older, and I had never worked in a warehouse before. But everyone was kind, patient, and ready to help. We worked side by side, sanding, drilling, and putting everything together, and before I knew it, we were really making progress. It wasn’t just about beds, though; it was about giving kids a place to feel safe and get good sleep, something so many of us take for granted. It was powerful to see just how many people showed up to help the cause. No praise, no pay—just people coming together to make a difference in a child's life. It reminded me that kindness is still out there and that when a team puts in a little effort, they can create something big. Overall, I learned from being part of SHP that day that community isn’t just who you know; it’s who you show up for. And if we keep showing up for each other, even in small ways, the future will bring sweeter dreams.