After my father’s auto accident and subsequent incarceration, I felt powerless and alone. I could not help my father, I could not comfort my mother or sister, and I could not understand what was happening to our family. This was the first time I realized that I never wanted to be in a position where I could give absolutely nothing. I thought about The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, which I had read many times over. I was fascinated by a simple tree; a tree that gave itself away piece by piece until it was nothing more than a stump, but satisfied with how it spent its life. I felt that I resembled none of the title character’s attributes. After the accident, I accompanied my father to every physical therapy appointment dedicated to helping him with every exercise he was required to perform at home. I helped clean up the debris that wrecked our backyard from a tornado that was gracious enough to pass by our door. I decorated my sister’s college dorm, despite our estrangement that occurred over the years we spent a bedroom apart. I would go with my mother to visit my father after he was put in jail. I stayed quiet when my back was screaming out in pain during gymnastics practices in order to avoid the imagined disappointment of telling my mother I could not compete in the season. I later found out that not only was my back fracturing, but so was my soul. I gave my body, mind, and heart to those around me until there was nothing left but hollowness, anxiety and depression. I tried so hard to be like the Giving Tree, but I discovered a hard truth instead– I was never rooted in the first place. I resented every physical therapy appointment because it reminded me of everything I could not do, for myself and for my father, but it was not until my final appointment that I realized I had been slowly put back together. No matter how bad my day was, or how defeated I felt, I was met with a smile and an opportunity to release my emotions with no expectation of judgment. The attachment I had grown to my physical therapist allowed me to grow without breaks in my branches, and she opened my eyes to the world of giving to others where the best reward was getting to watch people grow strong after being broken and frail for so long. When I see myself in the future, I see my dedication to helping those around me who just need a sturdy tree to occasionally lean on. I want to relieve people’s pains and struggles, just like the Giving Tree, and it will never cost me anything beyond my attention and compassion. If there is a place where I can learn and grow further with others who desire to give as much as I do, then that is the place I wish to root myself.

After my father’s auto accident, I felt powerless and alone. I could not help my father heal faster, I could not comfort my mother or sister, and I could not understand what was happening to our family. This was the first time I realized that I never wanted to be in a position where I could give absolutely nothing. I thought about The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, which I had read many times over. I was fascinated by a simple tree; a tree who gave itself away piece by piece until it was nothing more than a stump, but a stump satisfied with how it spent its life, and about how I resembled none of the title character’s attributes. In the following weeks after the accident, I accompanied my father to every physical therapy appointment dedicated to rebuilding his metal-plated wrist and helped him with every exercise he was required to perform at home. I helped clean up the debris that wrecked our backyard from a tornado that was just gracious enough to pass by our door that month. I decorated my sister’s college dorm and carried her couch into her first off-campus apartment, despite our estrangement that occurred over the years we spent a bedroom apart. I would go with my mother to visit my father after he was put in jail. I stayed quiet when my back was screaming out in pain during gymnastics practices in order to avoid the imagined disappointment of telling my mother I could not compete in the season. I later found out that not only was my back fracturing, but so was my soul. I gave my body, mind, and heart to those around me until there was nothing left beyond my straight A’s, state titles, and a hollowness. I tried so hard to be like the Giving Tree and gave my all to everything, but I discovered a hard truth instead– I was never rooted in the first place. I suffered terrible anxiety and depression. I resented every physical therapy appointment I attended because it reminded me of everything I could not do, for myself and for my father, but it was not until my final appointment that I realized I had been slowly put back together. No matter how bad my day was, or how defeated I felt, I was met with a smile and an opportunity to release my emotions with no expectation of judgment. The attachment I had grown to my physical therapist allowed me to grow without breaks in my branches, and she opened my eyes to the world of giving to others where the best reward was getting to watch people grow strong after being broken and frail for so long. When I see myself in the future, I see my dedication to helping those around me who just need a sturdy tree to occasionally lean on. I want to relieve people’s pains and struggles, just like the Giving Tree, and it will never cost me anything beyond my attention and compassion. If there is a place where I can learn and grow further with others who desire to give as much as I do, then that is the place I wish to root myself.

After my father’s auto accident, I felt powerless and alone. I could not help my father heal faster, I could not comfort my mother or sister, and I could not understand what was happening to our family. This was the first time I realized that I never wanted to be in a position where I could give absolutely nothing. I thought about The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, which I had read many times over. I was fascinated by a simple tree; a tree who gave itself away piece by piece until it was nothing more than a stump, but a stump satisfied with how it spent its life, and about how I resembled none of the title character’s attributes. In the following weeks after the accident, I accompanied my father to every physical therapy appointment dedicated to rebuilding his metal-plated wrist and helped him with every exercise he was required to perform at home. I helped clean up the debris that wrecked our backyard from a tornado that was just gracious enough to pass by our door that month. I decorated my sister’s college dorm and carried her couch into her first off-campus apartment, despite our estrangement that occurred over the years we spent a bedroom apart. I would go with my mother to visit my father after he was put in jail. I stayed quiet when my back was screaming out in pain during gymnastics practices in order to avoid the imagined disappointment of telling my mother I could not compete in the season. I later found out that not only was my back fracturing, but so was my soul. I gave my body, mind, and heart to those around me until there was nothing left beyond my straight A’s, state titles, and hollowness. I tried so hard to be like the Giving Tree and gave my all to everything, but I discovered a hard truth instead– I was never rooted in the first place. I resented every physical therapy appointment I attended because it reminded me of everything I could not do, for myself and for my father, but it was not until my final appointment that I realized I had been slowly put back together. No matter how bad my day was, or how defeated I felt, I was met with a smile and an opportunity to release my emotions with no expectation of judgment. The attachment I had grown to my physical therapist allowed me to grow without breaks in my branches, and she opened my eyes to the world of giving to others where the best reward was getting to watch people grow strong after being broken and frail for so long. When I see myself in the future, I see my dedication to helping those around me who just need a sturdy tree to occasionally lean on. I want to relieve people’s pains and struggles, just like the Giving Tree, and it will never cost me anything beyond my attention and compassion. If there is a place where I can learn and grow further with others who desire to give as much as I do, then that is the place I wish to root myself.