I want to be the person I wish I had when I was younger. With my health compromised at eight years old, I was unlucky enough to be the girl whose childhood revolved around the fickleness of her cancer cells. Naive as a little kid could be, I genuinely believed others when they told me that my life would return to perfectly abled bliss — right after I simply got my right leg amputated and finished eighteen rounds of chemotherapy. I was promised a life of normalcy, but what followed was a long, quiet battle with the invisible wounds cancer left behind. Coming from a traditional Filipino background, I grew up with parents who invalidated the concept of poor mental health. After all, how could there still be something wrong with me after I had gained the inspirational “cancer survivor” title? But beneath the cancer was a child pleading for help. In public, I wore long pants to cover my prosthetic leg; in private, I wore long sleeves to cover my self-inflicted scars. My self-image deteriorated alongside my osteosarcoma cells, but I did not realize that my physical illness had ignited a mental one until a decade later, well into young adulthood. My commitment to mental health advocacy grew during my internship at the Children’s Hospital of Orange County. There, I transitioned from patient to provider, seeing myself in the children whose only understanding of health existed within the physical. I shadowed doctors, nurses, and therapists — trying to convince myself to pursue nursing, the path that many Filipino-Americans follow out of cultural tradition. But my true calling revealed itself only after I began working alongside a licensed clinical social worker in the After Cancer Treatment Survivorship Program. Together, we evaluated a teenage leukemia survivor who, while celebrating her remission, struggled quietly with anxiety, family pressure, and body image. When she dismissed every suggestion for therapy, I finally spoke up and told her I was also a cancer survivor. I resonated with her frustration at being seen as a survivor before being seen as a person. I did not have to say much after that — just letting her know she was not alone seemed to open something within her. By the end of the appointment, she was more receptive to the social worker’s recommendations for counseling and support groups. In that moment, I realized that my purpose extended beyond the hospital’s walls and beyond the physical care that defined my childhood. I felt more fulfilled in that one conversation than in all the medical procedures I had witnessed combined. Inspired by that encounter, I sought professional help for myself and began regular sessions with a cognitive-behavioral therapist. Therapy became the first time I had ever felt heard. Since then, I have made it my mission to normalize conversations about mental health in every space I occupy. In social work classes, I speak openly about my journey through disability. At home, I break cultural silence by sharing what therapy has taught me and helping my family see that emotional health deserves the same care as physical health. I will be the person I wish I had when I was younger: someone who reminds others that surviving is not the end goal, but living fully is. Surviving cancer taught me how fragile life can be; surviving its aftermath taught me how precious empathy is. My mental health journey shaped me into someone who refuses to let pain be wasted. Instead, I use it to fuel my mission to create the kind of support I once needed myself.

With my health compromised at eight years old, I became the girl whose childhood revolved around the fickleness of her cancer cells. I was told that after my right leg amputation and eighteen rounds of chemotherapy, life would return to “normal.” Instead, what followed was a long, quiet battle with the invisible wounds that cancer left behind. Coming from a traditional Filipino background, I grew up with parents who invalidated the concept of poor mental health. My parents, like many immigrants, believed survival was strength and that suffering in silence was a virtue. To them, I had already overcome the worst — how could there still be something wrong with me after I had “won” my battle with cancer? But beneath the surface of the inspirational survivor label was a child pleading for help. In public, I wore long pants to cover my prosthetic leg; in private, I wore long sleeves to hide my self-inflicted scars. For years, I equated silence with strength. I buried my anxiety and depression under layers of gratitude, trying to convince myself that survival should be enough. It was not until high school that I began to recognize my mental health struggles. In college, when I finally found the courage to embrace my disability and speak about my mental health, I experienced something life-changing: understanding. It was in community spaces and social work classes that I finally felt seen for my whole self — disabled, queer, first-generation, and Filipino-American. These experiences reshaped not only how I view myself but also how I view others. I began to understand that many people carry invisible scars that society overlooks, especially those from marginalized communities. The world often fails to make space for people like me. This realization ignited my passion for social work, where I could merge my empathy, lived experience, and advocacy into meaningful action. My mental health journey has also deepened my relationships. I learned that vulnerability is not a burden but a bridge. By opening up about my experiences, I have built genuine connections rooted in empathy and understanding. I want to be the person I wish I had when I was younger: someone who validates emotions instead of dismissing them, who reminds others that surviving is not the end goal, but living fully is. As a social worker, I will empower clients to see that, despite the circumstances, they have control over their own story. Surviving cancer taught me how fragile life can be; surviving its aftermath taught me how precious empathy is. My mental health journey shaped me into someone who refuses to let pain be wasted. Instead, I use it to fuel my mission — to listen, to uplift, and to create the kind of support I once needed myself.

Growing from patient to provider at my CHOC internship, I started working with a licensed clinical social worker in the After Cancer Treatment Survivorship Program. There, I collaborated with her on an evaluation of a teenage leukemia survivor. I admired how the social worker validated the patient’s struggles with anxiety, family, and body image. But after the patient repeatedly dismissed every piece of advice, I revealed I was also a cancer survivor. I understood her frustration with people viewing her as a survivor before viewing her as a person. All the client needed was the knowledge and comfort that she was not alone. The patient appeared to be more open towards the social worker’s recommendations about therapy and support groups. I felt so much more involved in that one appointment than I did in all the blood draws, surgical procedures, and cancer checkups that I observed on a daily basis. As a cancer survivor myself, I realized that I want to expand my passion for helping others beyond just the physical healthcare scene that enveloped my childhood. The social work profession rests on a foundation of respect. An advocacy-based profession focuses on assisting people to achieve a higher standard of living. Social workers may have a position of power, but we need to wield that power with compassion. It is not our place to judge our clients for the mistakes they have made; instead, we treat them with respect and help them realize that they are worthy of becoming better versions of themselves. It is my place to be a source of hope in a client’s life. Although I may not relate to every client’s situation, I have the empathy to grasp the emotions that people feel during times of hardship. I have the approachability that better prepares me to form lines of dialogue with different people, ranging from coworkers to families to large-scale communities. My ultimate goal in my social work career is to collaborate with other social workers to form youth organizations, group therapy sessions, and survivorship programs at children’s hospitals. Before I can achieve this, I hope that I can become more educated in assisting individuals from different backgrounds. I will use my career in a manner that is healthy for both the client and myself. Only then can I become the role model that I wished for myself and for future children as a social worker.

With my health compromised at eight years old, I was unlucky enough to be the girl whose childhood revolved around the fickleness of her cancer cells. Considering the naivete a little kid would have, I genuinely believed others when they told me that my life would return to perfectly abled bliss—right after I simply got my right leg amputated and finished 18 rounds of chemotherapy. I am a disabled, first-generation Filipino-American queer woman who understands the intersectionality behind social work and societal inequalities. After earning my cancer survivor title, I faced the psychological aftermath of my disease; unfortunately, my traditional Asian upbringing stigmatized mental health. Only in high school did I experience the psychosocial issues common among childhood survivors. Growing from patient to provider at my Children’s Hospital of Orange County internship, I saw myself in the kids whose only perception of health existed within the physical. As I shadowed different medical professionals, I was also trying to convince myself to become a nurse—a career that many of my fellow Filipino-Americans choose at the expense of their own passions in order to satisfy tradition. However, my true professional interest revealed itself only after I started working with a licensed clinical social worker in the After Cancer Treatment Survivorship Program. There, I collaborated with her on an evaluation of a teenage leukemia survivor. As the patient applauded her survivorship while overlooking her declining emotional state, I admired how the social worker validated the patient’s struggles with anxiety, family, and body image. But after the patient repeatedly dismissed every piece of advice, I decided to reveal that I was also a cancer survivor. I resonated with her feelings of being a burden to her immigrant parents and to her able-bodied friends. I understood her frustration with people viewing her as a survivor before viewing her as a person. I didn’t even really say much after that; all she needed was the knowledge and comfort that she wasn’t alone. After our conversation, the patient appeared to be more open towards the social worker’s recommendations about therapy and support groups. I felt so much more involved in that one appointment than I did in all the blood draws, surgical procedures, and cancer checkups that I observed on a daily basis. As a cancer survivor myself, I realized that I want to expand my passion for helping others beyond just the physical healthcare scene that enveloped my childhood. Learning to embrace my disability in college gave me the clarity and strength to combat injustices and educate those who perpetrate them. Social workers must understand that their role is to help clients become happier versions of themselves by offering them the help and resources to overcome systemic inequalities. I am a headstrong advocate for disenfranchised communities, especially my fellow women, people of color, disabled, and queer individuals. My passion for social justice is the driving force behind my leadership, organization, teamwork, empowerment, and self-assessment skills. Thanks to my life experiences and training, I have the perseverance and empathy needed to enter the social work profession. My ultimate career objective is to become a medical social worker in children's hospitals, just like the medical social workers that helped me in my own upbringing at children's hospitals. I look forward to combining my knowledge in micro- and macro-level practice to provide holistic care for children. I want to deliver more inclusive case management to disenfranchised communities systemically disadvantaged by hospital policies. As an LCSW, I plan to form youth organizations, facilitate group therapy sessions, and develop programs that extend mental healthcare resources.