My experience with mental health has been a deeply personal and transformative journey for me. Words like "depression" and "anxiety" don't just exist on a page for me; they represent the very real, day-to-day struggles I navigate while simultaneously maintaining my commitments to work, family, and all the other roles I occupy. This is my revolution within mental health. I am an adult with autism and ADHD. I am also what the world perceives as a highly functional individual. To others, I may appear robust, successful, and resilient. They may observe that I have the ability to persevere, set goals, study, work, provide for my children, and meet my financial obligations. Inside, however, I am often at war with my brain. My autistic ADHD brain never stops or even takes a nap. It jumps from thought to thought, worry to worry, and task to task, continuing to race even when I am weary. Sometimes, my autistic ADHD brain makes even the simplest things difficult for me. I know exactly what I should be doing, yet I become paralyzed and unable to move. I often feel overwhelmed, mentally drained, or "stuck." Frequently, this leads me to feel ashamed, frustrated, and depressed. This is my revolution within myself. My experience with mental health has shown me that there are some battles people fight that are often unseen. It has also given me a new appreciation for myself and a more compassionate way of viewing others. I have come to understand that there is no shame in needing help. Needing help makes me human. Even in the midst of the struggle of my autism and ADHD, I can still find joy and peace. I learned to give myself and the world around me grace. This is my revolution within my place in the universe. My struggle has made me more patient and compassionate. I have been challenging myself to keep moving forward toward my goals of becoming Dr. Andria. I am continuing to attend school, support my family, and help others in need. I've learned that giving myself room to go at my own pace and seeking outside help are the keys to my success. I've realized that healing and managing mental health is not always a quick process. Despite my mental health obstacles, I still know that I am worthy. I still know that I am capable. I still know that I am in the process of becoming. I take solace in knowing that my revolution will not be televised. (Scott-Heron, 1970) Thank you for your time and attention. Andria Wynn

My family is what one would consider to have cancer syndromes. My maternal grandmother had esophagus cancer, my paternal grandfather lung cancer, my father prostate cancer, and my aunt breast cancer. My first cousin succumbed to soft tissue sarcoma. My family has definitely been affected by cancer. Yet it was when my 49-year-old brother was diagnosed with bladder cancer at age 47 that I felt the cancer syndrome the deepest. Even hearing the word “cancer” associated with my brother was terrifying. I was forever changed by witnessing what happened after this devastating diagnosis. In the last year and a half, my brother has had nine surgeries and ten transfusions. His body is exhausted, his heart is worn down, and his spirit has been battered. I could see the weariness in him from time to time. There were also moments when he simply did not want to fight any longer. He felt defeated. This was hard on me to witness. I wanted my brother to feel free, as he should be, in expressing himself. I wanted him to be able to live his life however he chose to live it. At the same time, I desperately wanted to grab him and yell, "Don't give up! Fight!" I wanted to hold my brother and be in a state where I could feel his pain and be scared of losing him. I had to find a strength I did not know I had. I had to emotionally support my mother, who couldn't understand. No mother should watch her child suffer. I had to physically support my brother during his medical appointments, procedures, weakness, fear, and recovery. I showed up for my brother even when I felt tired, sad, scared, angry, and overwhelmed. Sometimes, I wanted to scream, "Somebody help me!" I did all of the work for the people who needed help. My brother’s cancer experience humbled me. I have learned that life can be turned around quickly, that strength has limits, that caretakers need caretaking, and that support often looks like sitting with people or lending a helping hand. My brother’s cancer experience also taught me a great deal about faith and hope. It felt heavy. It felt unfair. I didn't know what the end result would be. Fortunately, the universe had other plans for my brother. My brother's cancer has gone into remission. My family felt a great deal of relief after this was revealed. We were able to take a big breath after experiencing so much pain, fear, and stress. After my brother's cancer experience, I have gained many lessons about caring for others and being present for them, even when you are afraid yourself. I know that love hurts. I know that love matters. And I know that life is precious and each day spent with family is one to be celebrated. Thank you for your time and attention. Andria Wynn

Mental health has been a deeply personal and transformative journey for me. Words like "depression" and "anxiety" don't just exist on a page for me; they represent the very real, day-to-day struggles I navigate while simultaneously maintaining my commitments to work, family, and all the other roles I occupy. I am an adult with autism and ADHD. I am also what the world perceives as a highly functional individual. To others, I may appear robust, successful, and resilient. They may observe that I have the ability to persevere, set goals, study, work, provide for my children, and meet my financial obligations. Inside, however, I am often at war with my brain. My autistic ADHD brain never stops, or even takes a nap. It jumps from thought to thought, worry to worry, and task to task, continuing to race even when I am weary. I experience a lot of painful tension. I have goals. I have deadlines, assignments, and expectations to raise my kids well, manage my house, and excel at my job as a special education teacher. Sometimes, my autistic ADHD brain makes even the simplest things difficult for me. I know exactly what I should be doing, yet I become paralyzed and unable to move. I often feel overwhelmed, mentally drained, or "stuck." Frequently, this leads me to feel ashamed, frustrated, and depressed. I struggle to convey the totality of this reality to the doctors I see. It seems like they don't know how to fully address the symptoms of depression and anxiety simultaneously without over-medicating me. Despite the fact that I'm a functional adult, I've been told by doctors that my anxiety is a byproduct of my autism, which is also what is feeding my depression; it's almost a circular process. Expectations, sudden changes, deadlines, and my own racing thoughts are often what trigger my anxiety. My anxiety persists and eventually leads to exhaustion, hopelessness, and ultimately, depression. This is precisely why I find these challenges so frustrating. I can be a fighter and yet be strong. I can be energetically enthusiastic and also be overwhelmed. I can be successful and yet still feel, some days, like I have barely enough resources to hold it all together. Mental health has shown me that there are some battles people fight that are often unseen. It has also given me a new appreciation for myself and a more compassionate way of viewing others. I have come to understand that there is no shame in needing help. Needing help makes me human. Even in the midst of the struggle of my autism and ADHD, I can still find joy and peace. My struggle has made me more patient and compassionate. I have been giving myself grace to keep moving forward toward my goals of becoming Dr. Andria. I am continuing to attend school, support my family, and help others in need. I've learned that giving myself grace and seeking outside help are the keys to success. I've realized that healing is not always a quick process. However, I still know that I am worthy. I still know that I am capable. I still know that I am in the process of becoming. I take solace in knowing that my revolution will not be televised. (Scott-Heron, 1970) Thank you for your time and attention. Andria Wynn

Three years ago, I lost my younger sister, Monica. She had a heart attack while running on the last Friday in June 2023, and she never made it back home. Just a few weeks before that, I had also lost my father at the beginning of June. My father’s passing was painful but somewhat expected. Monica’s was not. Losing both of them so close together felt like the universe was kicking me while I was already down. Her death shocked me, hurt me, and changed me. If I could start a business with Monica, it would be a children’s ABA camp. ABA stands for Applied Behavior Analysis. This camp would be for children with autism, like our nephew, and children with other special needs. I believe this kind of camp would honor who Monica was and what she loved. She loved running, motorcycling, children, and most of all, she deeply loved our autistic nephew. The camp would be a place where children could move, play, learn, and feel accepted. I would want it to include fun activities connected to movement and adventure, because those were things Monica enjoyed. There could be outdoor play, sensory activities, social games, calm spaces, and maybe even fun motorcycle-themed activities that teach safety, confidence, and courage. I would want the camp to feel joyful and welcoming, not cold or clinical. The heart of the camp would be ABA. ABA helps children learn important skills that can make life easier and more independent. Children could work on communication, social skills, safety skills, emotional regulation, and daily living skills. They could learn how to ask for help, take turns, follow directions, make choices, calm their bodies, and interact with others in a positive way. These skills may seem small to some people, but for many children and families, they can change everyday life. What makes this dream even more special is that Monica already used some of these same loving and helpful strategies with our nephew, even if she may not have called them ABA. She supported him with patience, care, and understanding. I believe she would be proud to see those same kinds of supports used to help other children grow. My dream would be for this camp to turn grief into service. I cannot bring Monica back, but I can carry her love forward. If she could see children with autism learning, playing, making friends, and feeling safe, I believe it would make her happy. Starting this camp would allow me to continue her heart’s work in a meaningful way. It would be more than a business. It would be a tribute to Monica, our nephew, and every child who deserves to be seen, supported, and celebrated.

In a world that is becoming more driven by technology, I believe we must work harder to protect real human connection. Phones, computers, and artificial intelligence can help us send messages, learn information, and complete tasks faster. However, technology cannot replace the feeling of being truly seen, heard, understood, and cared for. Human connection happens when someone takes the time to notice another person’s needs, listen with patience, and respond with kindness. This is one reason I am passionate about Applied Behavior Analysis, also known as ABA. ABA can help strengthen human connection because it teaches people how to communicate their needs, understand others, build relationships, and take part in everyday life. For many children and young adults with special needs, connection may not always look typical. Some may not use spoken words. Some may avoid eye contact. Some may scream, cry, hit, run away, shut down, or refuse tasks when they are overwhelmed. ABA helps us look past the behavior and ask, “What is this person trying to tell us?” One important method in ABA is the ABC method. This means we look at what happens before the behavior, what the behavior is, and what happens after the behavior. For example, if a student screams every time reading starts, we do not just say the student is being difficult. We look closer. Maybe the work is too hard. Maybe the room is too loud. Maybe the student does not know how to ask for help. Once we understand the reason, we can teach a better way to communicate. This is where ABA builds human connection in a real way. If a child learns to say, “Help me,” instead of screaming, that child is now connected to the teacher. If a student learns to ask for a break instead of running away, that student is now safer and better understood. If a child learns to wait, take turns, or ask a friend for a toy, that child is learning how to build friendships. These are not just behavior skills. They are life skills. They help a person become part of a classroom, a family, and a community. ABA also uses positive reinforcement. This means we notice and encourage the behaviors we want to see more often. When a student uses words, follows a routine, shares with a peer, or calms their body, we celebrate that success. Over time, students begin to feel successful. They also begin to trust the adults around them. That trust is a major part of human connection. ABA cannot be used well from a technology-only approach. Technology can help collect data, show visuals, track progress, or support communication devices, but it cannot replace human care. A computer may record that a behavior happened, but a trained person must look deeper and ask why it happened. ABA depends on real observation, body language, tone of voice, patience, and relationship building. Without human connection, ABA can become too cold or too focused on numbers instead of the whole person. My pursuit of a doctoral degree connects directly to this mission. I want to build on my background in special education and ABA so I can better serve students, families, teachers, and communities. As a future doctoral-level board-certified behavior analyst, I want to help people with special needs communicate more clearly, grow more independent, and feel more confident in who they are. To me, the future of human connection is not about choosing people or technology. It is about making sure technology never replaces compassion. ABA reminds us to slow down, observe, listen, teach, and support. It helps turn behavior into communication, frustration into understanding, and isolation into belonging. That is how I hope to preserve and strengthen real human connection in my work and in my community. Thank you for your time and attention. Andria Wynn

I am Andria Wynn and I would like to thank you for the opportunity to submit this essay. I am applying for the Kathleen Lehman Memorial Special Needs Scholarship because I am continuing my education and my service in the special needs community. This scholarship honors someone who cared about helping people with special needs. That mission connects deeply with my life, my work, and my future goals. I have worked with students who receive special education services for over 15 years, and they have taught me so much. I have learned that every student has value. Every student has different needs. Some need help with behavior. Some need help with communication, reading, attention, sensory regulation, or personal care skills like toileting, eating, and dressing. Some students need support in many areas at the same time. Through this work, I have learned to look past the disability and see the child first. Special education is my purpose and passion. It has taught me patience, structure, compassion, and the importance of meeting students where they are. I have learned that behavior is often communication. I have also learned that with the right support, every student can learn, grow, and become more independent. Even small steps matter. A student using words instead of screaming, calming their body, following a routine, transitioning with less resistance, or learning a new classroom skill is a success worth celebrating. My goal is to continue supporting students with exceptionalities while combining my background in special education with applied behavior analysis. I plan to become a Board Certified Behavior Analyst at the doctoral level and eventually a special education advocate. With this degree, I hope to support students, families, caregivers, teachers, school staff, and communities. I want to help children and young adults build communication skills, reduce disruptive and maladaptive behaviors, increase independence, and develop a stronger sense of who they are and what they can do. This degree will help me serve others in a stronger way. It will give me more knowledge, better research skills, and more tools to use in schools and communities. I want to better support students who struggle with behavior, communication, learning, attention, and sensory regulation. I believe this education will help me make a positive difference in my school, my community, and my profession. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue my doctoral program without carrying the full financial burden alone. Earning a doctorate is a major goal and a serious commitment, especially at this stage in my life. This scholarship would help me stay focused on my work as a teacher, my family, and my studies. It would also help me continue working toward my goal of serving and mentoring students, families, educators, and communities. I am 57 years old, and I believe age is just a number. This degree is not my beginning. It is my ultimate academic culmination. My life has taught me that we never stop learning, growing, or serving. There is no deadline to learn, lead, give, and become better. If I receive the Kathleen Lehman Memorial Special Needs Scholarship, I will be truly grateful. I will use this opportunity to keep serving others and to encourage people to continue their journey, no matter their age or stage in life. Thank you for your time and attention. Andria Wynn

My path has not been the traditional linear one that most take; however, it has been purposeful. I did not receive my undergraduate degree at what some people would deem the "typical" age. Rather, I did so at the age of 44. Later, I did likewise for my master's degree at the age of 51 and my educational specialist degree at 56. Now, at 57, I am deciding to go after my doctorate degree. All of this while teaching special education and working with students in need of the love, structure, support, and patience that I, myself, have received from others. Returning to school during a later stage in life has taught me many lessons: it is never too late to learn, dedication counts, and despite all that life can throw at us, we can find a way to do both—work and school. There were moments where I had little time to give to either one; some days I struggled to find a way to balance work with the needs of my family, my work needs, my personal challenges, etc. Yet, at each step along this journey, I have kept moving forward, reminding myself that I could complete whatever I started. In working with children that require special education services, I have realized the value of every student and their individual needs. Students that I have had the pleasure of working with have had a variety of needs that required a variety of support, needs that ranged from behavioral, communication, reading, attention, sensory regulation, and personal care routines and everything in between. In all of that, I have learned to see past the disability and see the person. My ultimate goal is to continue working with students with special exceptionalities combined with applied behavior analysis. As a board-certified behavior analyst at a doctoral level, my wish is that I can provide support to students, families, educators, and communities. I want to help special needs children and young adults develop communication and behavioral tools to reduce the use of disruptive and maladaptive behaviors while increasing their independence, self-awareness, and sense of self. Through the acquisition of this degree, I will be more successful in helping others because I will be armed with more skills to utilize in my practice. It will allow me to be better informed on the research, the needs, and how best to support students with disabilities in schools, especially those that are struggling in academic environments due to behavior, communication, learning, and sensory regulation issues. Receiving this scholarship will help me continue my education without the burden of paying for the entire degree myself. Earning a doctoral degree is a major undertaking, especially at my age. Receiving this scholarship would assist in allowing me to be more present with my work as a teacher, my family, my work as a doctoral student, and my commitment to be able to provide support and mentorship to students, families, educators, and communities in my area. At 57 years of age, I am not starting over; I am simply continuing. My life has taught me that the need for purpose is ever present at every stage of our lives. I want my journey to show others that there is no deadline to learn, lead, serve, and be the best you can be. Thank you for your time and attention. Andria Wynn

There was once a little boy who yearned to read to his grandfather. Because of his grandfather's Alzheimer's disease, he could no longer recall how to read the stories he once loved to the little boy. He wanted to help his grandfather remember those stories again desperately. Unfortunately, reading the book was very frustrating for the little boy. He had sensory processing issues that made it difficult for him to focus on reading when the book had large, bright letters, the room was noisy, and there were lots of people around. He also had executive functioning issues that made it difficult for him to stay focused, remember the steps of a process, and persist when he didn't feel like it. Surprisingly, the universe granted him a fairy godmother. She had no dust and no wand, yet she had the magic he needed in the form of patience, love, and teaching. She provided him with visual supports, movement, breaks, calming strategies, phonics instruction, and reading support to teach him how to break words down, blend them together, look at pictures for context, and make progress bit by bit. Eventually, the boy learned to read. The path was sometimes slow and difficult, but his fairy godmother showed him the value in making even a small bit of progress. Soon enough, the boy read a book to his grandfather, who did not recall the book and the words but was happy because he could feel the love in the boy's voice. That's the kind of teacher I want to be. I want my students to be seen, listened to, and valued. I want them to know that learning might not be easy, but it can still happen. I want to help students with disabilities because I believe that all children deserve someone who sees their ability, not their disability, first. I have seen the value in providing students with the proper support, patience, and teaching methods that can help the student be proud of themselves. Students with disabilities don't have to miss out on learning. When taught in a way that works for them, they can grow and learn like everyone else. Professor Harold Bloom once said, "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her presence. " I believe this means that, yes, I want to make sure my students are acquiring information, learning skills, and meeting standards, but I also want my students to learn that they have presence. I want them to believe in themselves, that they have something unique to share. To students with disabilities, this is even more pressing. Sometimes they feel like they are known only for their challenges. They may not be able to read well, speak well, pay attention, calm their body, or complete assignments. The first thing I will work on with my students is their strengths. I want them to feel safe, respected, and capable. I will teach my students in specialized ways and using tools like visuals, sensory supports, movement, breaks and routines, positive reinforcement, and differentiating my lessons. I will also teach them how to advocate for themselves, how to ask for help, how to express themselves, and how to see and celebrate their accomplishments. I would like each student to realize they are not a diagnosis or a struggle but a learner, thinker, helper, friend, and person.