I hate Papa’s birthday cards. There’s an agony when he hands them over, and it’s almost impossible to make my tears behave. I open the letters, pretending to read, but over the last few years, I’ve learned to make my eyes blur, so the words become unreadable. I hug him and say, “Thanks Papa. I love you.” Next, I “nonchalantly” head for the bathroom. I cry, but only a little. Red eyes are a give away, and I don’t want Papa to see. Before Papa’s cancer, his birthday cards were short and sweet: “Happy birthday, Bella! I love you.” Now, the birthday “letters” are longer. That’s why I despise them. They now read: “Happy birthday, sweetheart. I love you and am proud of the smart beautiful lady you’ve become. I still remember your squeals when I pushed you on the swings and the times we went fishing and you bawled every time I stuck worms on the hook. I wish we could’ve done these things more, but you’re all grown up now. The future is yours if you work hard and never give up.” Did I say I hate these letters? I’ll say it again. I hate these letters because I know why Papa writes them. Maybe he’s not conscious of it, but it’s his way of saying “what needs to be said” before it’s too late. When he was first diagnosed with cancer, things went well. I guess that’s why he talked about it. “The doctor says we’ll need to monitor it. Sometimes I’ll need chemo for weeks, and sometimes it could be months before I have it again. He said it’s manageable, but it’s not going to go away.” His words were like the letters, and I hated being able to read between the lines. Now, “tell-tale” signs are reemerging. It’s only been five months, and the sweatpants we bought him now barely stay up. We’ve built him a handrail, so he won't fall getting to the front door. We also purchased a lift chair, and are saving for a stair lift to get him to his bedroom. Papa says they’re not necessary, but the fact he eventually gives in says everything. If you love someone with cancer, you begin to know its silent language. Unfortunately, I’m getting better at reading it. Papa’s cancer taught me all about the pain it and other medical issues cause. That’s part of why I want to be a nurse. E.E Hale says. “I cannot do everything; but still I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.” I want to be a nurse because I want “to do the something that I can do.” No, I can’t heal cancer, but I can be an advocate for patients, a voice ensuring they receive superior physical and emotional care. I can’t perform surgeries, but I can hold scared patients’ hands and provide hope and reassurance. I can’t follow patients home to make sure they care for themselves, but I can empower them with the education they need to do so. I can’t stop the sometimes humiliating events patients’ endure, but I can work to help them retain their dignity. Lin-Manuel Miranda says: “Eyes up. Hearts up. Minds sharp. Compassion on full blast.” . Good nurses require these traits. I want nurses like these for Papa, and I want to be this kind of nurse for patients. Everyone deserves a helping hand, and as a nurse, I want to lend mine. Please help me get started.

“Non nobis solum nati sumus.” This quotation, my guiding mantra, translates into "not for ourselves we are born." It echoes my belief that life's greatest achievement is helping others. My decision to pursue nursing came from a family who made selflessness their legacy. My grandfather was a Vietnam veteran who chose to serve his country to preserve our freedoms. My father was a Special forces medic. My grandmother was a nurse, dedicating her life to healing others. Though their jobs brought them neither fame nor wealth, it was of no consequence. They knew they were called to sacrifice, to fulfill their purpose to God, country, and humankind. I, too, feel called to nurse. I felt this calling when I saw a nurse wheel my sequestered grandmother to a hospital window during COVID just so she could see her great-grandbabies blow kisses. I felt this calling when I heard a nurse say, "Your baby is beautiful" as she cuddled the doll my dementia-ridden grandmother thought was real. I feel it today when I watch nurses laugh at my grandfather's corny jokes during his cancer checkups. One of my greatest nursing inspirations is Civil War nurse Clara Barton. She begged officers to nurse on the front lines. She wanted to care for soldiers when they needed it most, even amid bullets and bloodied bodies. In her plea to move closer to the fighting, she stated, "Though it is little that one woman can do, still I crave the privilege of doing it." I also share Barton's craving. My motivation is to positively impact my patients’ bodies and spirits. No, I can't heal cancer, but I can be an advocate for patients, a voice ensuring they receive superior care. I can't perform surgeries, but I can hold scared patients' hands and provide hope and support. I can't follow patients home to ensure they care for themselves, but I can empower them with the education they need. I can't stop the sometimes humiliating procedures patients endure, but I can work to help them retain their dignity. These are my ambitions, and I consider it my duty to accomplish them. To achieve these goals, I focus on another family value: perseverance. However, there's a specific event I cling to during tough times. Every Sunday when he pulls into church, my grandfather lifts his heavy walker out of his car’s trunk. Neither his limp nor his seventy-seven years nor his cancer stops him. Though every bone in my body wants to rescue him from this exertion, he stubbornly refuses assistance. Once he has his walker, he rolls through the church’s doors, finds an empty pew, and parks his walker nearby. I feel proud during these moments, and they serve as my blueprint for handling life’s struggles. They remind me to fight cowardice with courage. To hold onto faith and let go of fear. Most importantly, they remind me to always be willing to lift my walker out of my car when something is truly important.

They'd think I'm crazy. If I weren't doing these things myself, I'd think I was crazy, too. That's why I kept secrets. I mean, who wants to tell their friends they have to turn the bathroom door handle three times each night because they believe someone would die if they didn't? How would they react if I told them I had to ensure everyone in my house was breathing before I went to bed? How would they respond if I told them there are times Mom makes me keep my door open to be sure I don't harm myself? Even now, I find it hard to write these things down because others may read my story and judge me. Still, I have to put these words on paper. Someone somewhere needs to hear them to know they're not alone. Far too often, the debilitating symptoms of mental health disorders cause people to take their lives. Still, I think it's frequently the silent suffering and untold secrets that actually create the tragedy. For example, when those who struggle carry the weight of their problems alone, hopelessness wins, and what often follows is a beautiful life willingly given away. My mental health journey involves a never-ending fight with anxiety, depression, OCD, and Bipolar Disorder. This battle shapes my whole world. For example, my fellow seniors are already patting themselves on the back for their grades, waiting optimistically to see the college of their choice accept them. Even though I have a 4.4 GPA and have taken the most rigorous courses available, I still fear "I'm not enough." You see, when you're depressed, you're never enough. Your whole world is full of "should haves" and "could haves" that cause self-loathing and guilt. These facts are why my goal is to learn to love myself unconditionally and stop comparing myself to others. My mental health battle has also caused me to seek a closer relationship with God. Mental disorders such as anxiety and depression often block out God's voice. As a result, I'm working on listening to him more closely and seeing myself through his eyes. For instance, when depression, anxiety, shame, or blame take control, I try to remember that I'm worthy simply because I'm God's child. I try to focus on the fact that no matter what the anxiety, depression, or intrusive thoughts try to tell me, my life has meaning and purpose. While my mental health disorders have brought me a more beautiful connection with God, they have strained other relationships. After all, it's hard to let others in when you're fighting yourself. The greatest relationships are based on communication and understanding, and those like me who struggle mentally can often only open the door halfway for those who love them. For example, nothing is more beautiful than feeling loved. However, opening the door to that kind of beauty also means opening the door to potential hurt. So, what do most people with mental health problems do? They do what I do. They try to protect themselves. They retreat inward, fearing they will ultimately experience more emotional pain than they already have. This tendency to let my fear control me is why one of my goals is to open myself more to others and to say "yes" to things my anxiety and depression tell me to say no to. I've learned many things about the world through my mental health struggles. I've learned that faces lie. I've learned that smiles don't always mean happiness. I've learned that everyone is struggling, and whether they admit it or not, everyone needs a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. I've learned that the bravest thing you can do is admit you need help, and the kindest thing you can do is help others. My mental health struggles are part of what influenced me to go into nursing. Yes, I'm fascinated with the human body. However, in the medical field, treating the body is not enough. Medications are not enough. People with both physical and mental health issues need healthcare workers who offer hope, compassion, and reassurance, and that is the kind of nurse I intend to be. These lessons I've learned due to my mental illness are why I intend to use my personal and professional life to help those facing mental health challenges. I want to let them know their pain is not something to hide or be ashamed of. I want to tell them that a beautiful future awaits them if they hold on, believe, and get help. I want to let them know that, even though they may feel lost, they have a reason for living. I want to help them believe that they are stronger than their pain and to help them see other people need their story so they can be strong, too. Unfortunately, I'm aware there is no finish line when it comes to conquering my mental health issues. It is a battle I'll always have to fight. However, when the darkness sets in, I try to remember a quote from author Cristen Rodgers: "Don't hide your hurt, beautiful soul. Grab a hold of it. Run it through the purifying flame of your heart and mold it into something beautiful. Allow the depths of your pain to expand the breadth of your compassion. Gather up your stumbling stones and build a bridge for someone else. Remember what it's like to be lost in darkness so you can be someone else's much-needed light. Don't deny your pain or bury it away. Let it rise to the surface. And then transform it into something that makes it worthwhile." This is my mission: to let the pain rise and then turn it into something beautiful for myself and others. So far, I'm doing the work. I'm going to therapy. I'm letting others in because I can't fight this war alone. Sadly, neither can anyone else. That's what we need each other to keep going.

They'd think I'm crazy. If I weren't doing these things myself, I'd think I was crazy, too. That's why I kept secrets. I mean, who wants to tell their friends they have to turn the bathroom door handle three times each night because they believe someone would die if they didn't? How would they react if I told them I had to ensure everyone in my house was breathing before I went to bed? How would they respond if I told them there are times Mom makes me keep my door open to be sure I don't harm myself? Even now, I find it hard to write these things down because others may read my story and judge me. Still, I have to put these words on paper. Someone somewhere needs to hear them to know they're not alone. Far too often, the debilitating symptoms of mental health disorders cause people to take their lives. Still, I think it's frequently the silent suffering and untold secrets that actually create the tragedy. For example, when those who struggle carry the weight of their problems alone, hopelessness wins, and what often follows is a beautiful life willingly given away. My mental health journey involves a never-ending fight with anxiety, depression, OCD, and Bipolar Disorder. This battle shapes my whole world. For example, my fellow seniors are already patting themselves on the back for their grades, waiting optimistically to see the college of their choice accept them. Even though I have a 4.4 GPA and have taken the most rigorous courses available, I still fear "I'm not enough." You see, when you're depressed, you're never enough. Your whole world is full of "should haves" and "could haves" that cause self-loathing and guilt. These facts are why my goal is to learn to love myself unconditionally and stop comparing myself to others. My mental health battle has also caused me to seek a closer relationship with God. Mental disorders such as anxiety and depression often block out God's voice. As a result, I'm working on listening to him more closely and seeing myself through his eyes. For instance, when depression, anxiety, shame, or blame take control, I try to remember that I'm worthy simply because I'm God's child. I try to focus on the fact that no matter what the anxiety, depression, or intrusive thoughts try to tell me, my life has meaning and purpose. While my mental health disorders have brought me a more beautiful connection with God, they have strained other relationships. After all, it's hard to let others in when you're fighting yourself. The greatest relationships are based on communication and understanding, and those like me who struggle mentally can often only open the door halfway for those who love them. For example, nothing is more beautiful than feeling loved. However, opening the door to that kind of beauty also means opening the door to potential hurt. So, what do most people with mental health problems do? They do what I do. They try to protect themselves. They retreat inward, fearing they will ultimately experience more emotional pain than they already have. This tendency to let my fear control me is why one of my goals is to open myself more to others and to say "yes" to things my anxiety and depression tell me to say no to. I've learned many things about the world through my mental health struggles. I've learned that faces lie. I've learned that smiles don't always mean happiness. I've learned that everyone is struggling, and whether they admit it or not, everyone needs a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. I've learned that the bravest thing you can do is admit you need help, and the kindest thing you can do is help others. My mental health struggles are part of what influenced me to go into nursing. Yes, I'm fascinated with the human body. However, in the medical field, treating the body is not enough. Medications are not enough. People with both physical and mental health issues need healthcare workers who offer hope, compassion, and reassurance, and that is the kind of nurse I intend to be. These lessons I've learned due to my mental illness are why I intend to use my personal and professional life to help those facing mental health challenges. I want to let them know their pain is not something to hide or be ashamed of. I want to tell them that a beautiful future awaits them if they hold on, believe, and get help. I want to let them know that, even though they may feel lost, they have a reason for living. I want to help them believe that they are stronger than their pain and to help them see other people need their story so they can be strong, too. Unfortunately, I'm aware there is no finish line when it comes to conquering my mental health issues. It is a battle I'll always have to fight. However, when the darkness sets in, I try to remember a quote from author Cristen Rodgers: "Don't hide your hurt, beautiful soul. Grab a hold of it. Run it through the purifying flame of your heart and mold it into something beautiful. Allow the depths of your pain to expand the breadth of your compassion. Gather up your stumbling stones and build a bridge for someone else. Remember what it's like to be lost in darkness so you can be someone else's much-needed light. Don't deny your pain or bury it away. Let it rise to the surface. And then transform it into something that makes it worthwhile." This is my mission: to let the pain rise and then turn it into something beautiful for myself and others. So far, I'm doing the work. I'm going to therapy. I'm letting others in because I can't fight this war alone. Sadly, neither can anyone else. That's what we need each other to keep going.

“Non nobis solum nati sumus.” This quotation from philosopher Marcus Tullius Cicero translates into "Not for ourselves we are born," and his words echo my philosophy.  After all, there is no greater achievement than caring for others. This truth is why I have chosen to dedicate my life to nursing. It is not a job where one gains celebrity, but it is a job where one leaves a legacy of love, hope, and compassion. This legacy is my life's goal. The unfortunate truth is I will be paying for college alone. My parents struggle financially and can't afford the expenses of college. I work hard to stand out academically, so I can get scholarships. I am thirteenth in my class and have a 4.4 GPA. I am a member of the National Beta Club and National Honor Society and a recipient of the College Board's National Rural and Small Town Recognition Award.  However, regardless of cost, I know the rewards of nursing will outweigh any financial burdens.       My greatest community service and leadership act is founding an official Red Cross club at my school. It was a significant undertaking, but I can think of no better way of helping humans than through this life-saving organization. To make the club official, I had to contact our region's Red Cross advisor and inform my forty club members of volunteer requirements. For example, each member must have three hours of monthly service; as President, I must have five. However, I spend at least twenty hours a month making sure members do their part to maintain the honor of volunteering for this global source of kindness.  My responsibilities include communicating regularly with my region's liaison, initiating meetings, creating agendas, monitoring members' activities, and organizing the Red Cross's required service projects.   In three short months, my club has presented hurricane awareness projects to inform others of the needed preparation for this natural disaster. In addition, we have written letters of encouragement to those undergoing bone transplant treatment through Amy's Rays of Sunshine. We are currently creating informative posters on Sickle Cell Awareness to urge those who may have this disease to receive screening and treatment and to ask those who don't to donate blood. In addition, we are now collecting socks for veterans.   I am incredibly proud of the club I created. As each member must volunteer three hours a month, this fact means my efforts have culminated in 120 hours a month of community service. Most importantly, I have allowed members to taste the joy of helping others, and everyone knows the best gift a person can give is to inspire others to give, too. While this club is my main achievement, I am also a Red Cross Blood ambassador. This job requires attending blood drives, helping check-in donors, and giving snacks to those feeling weak or dizzy from the donation experience. Recently, I have undertaken an internship with my county's ESL lead. My current job involves making a presentation for teachers who come to teach at my school from other countries. This presentation involves giving them information on where to receive necessities in the county. I have written about grocery stores, retail shops, restaurants, thrift shops, and other community services my county offers. I am excited to help these teachers have a positive experience as new members of my school, my community, and my nation.   Arthur Ash says, "Volunteer. Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can." I'm taking his advice, and I don't intend to stop.

They'd think I was crazy. If I weren't doing these things myself, I'd think I was crazy, too. That's why I kept secrets. I mean, who would want to tell even their closest friends they have to turn the bathroom door handle three times each night because they believed someone would die if they didn't? What would their reaction be if I told them I had to make sure everyone in my house was breathing before I went to bed? How would they respond if I told them there were times Mom made me keep my door open to make sure I wouldn't harm myself? Even now, I find it hard to write these things down because I know others may read my story and judge me. Still, I have to put these words on paper. Someone somewhere needs to hear them and know they're not alone. Far too often, the debilitating symptoms of depression, anxiety, and other mental health conditions cause people to take their own lives. Still, I think it's often the silent suffering and the untold secrets that actually create the tragedy. For example, when those who struggle carry the weight of their problems alone, hopelessness wins, and what often follows is that a beautiful life is willingly given away. This reality is why it is so important that I and other sufferers make our voices heard. If we do, then maybe we can keep broken hearts beating and help wounded hearts heal. My mental health journey involves a never-ending fight with anxiety, depression, and OCD. This battle shapes every aspect of my life. For example, most of my senior friends are already patting themselves on the back for their hard work, waiting optimistically to see the college of their choice accept them. Even though I have a 4.3 GPA and have taken the most rigorous course load available at my school, I still live in fear that "I'm not enough." I tell myself I should've studied more and worked harder. You see, when you're depressed, your whole world is full of "should haves" that make you hate yourself. This anxiety is why my personal goal is to learn to love myself for who I am and not spend my life comparing myself to others. My mental health battle has also caused me to seek a closer relationship with God. Depression and other mental health disorders speak loudly. Often, their poisonous words block out God's voice, and I am working on listening to him more closely and seeing myself through his eyes. For instance, when depression, anxiety, or self-hatred start to take control, I try to remind myself that I am worthy simply because I am God’s child. I try to remember that no matter what the anxiety, depression, or intrusive thoughts try to tell me, my life has a meaning and a purpose. While my mental health disorders have brought me a more beautiful connection with God, they have made other relationships strained. After all, when you're fighting yourself, it's hard to let others in. The greatest relationships are based on communication and understanding, and those like me who struggle mentally can often only open the door halfway for those who love them. For example, nothing is more beautiful than feeling loved. However, opening the door to that kind of beauty also means opening the door to potential agony. So, what do most people with mental health problems do? They do what I do. They try to protect themselves. They retreat inward, fearing they will ultimately experience even more emotional pain than they already have. This tendency to let my fear control me is why one of my goals is to open myself more to others and to say "yes" to things my anxiety and depression tell me to say no to. I've learned many things about the world through my mental health struggles. I've learned that faces lie. I've learned that smiles don't always mean happiness. I've learned that everyone is struggling, and whether they admit it or not, everyone needs a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. I've learned that the bravest thing you can do is admit you need help, and the kindest thing you can do is help others. These lessons I've learned are why my final goal is to help those facing mental health challenges. I want to let them know that their pain is not something to hide or be ashamed of. I want to tell them that a beautiful future awaits them if they hold on, believe, and get help. I want to let them know that, even though they may feel lost, they have a reason for living. I want to help them believe that they are stronger than their pain and to help them see other people need their story so they can be strong, too. The hardest thing for me to accept is that there is no finish line when it comes to conquering my mental health issues. It is a battle I will have to fight for the rest of my life. However, when the darkness sets in, I try to remember a quote from author Cristen Rodgers. She states: "Don't hide your hurt, beautiful soul. Grab a hold of it. Run it through the purifying flame of your heart and mold it into something beautiful. Allow the depths of your pain to expand the breadth of your compassion. Gather up your stumbling stones and build a bridge for someone else. Remember what it's like to be lost in darkness so you can be someone else's much-needed light. Don't deny your pain or bury it away. Let it rise to the surface. And then transform it into something that makes it worthwhile." This is my mission--to let the pain rise and then turn it into something beautiful for myself and others. So far, I'm doing the work and seeing beautiful results. Here's to believing they'll only get better with time.

Thirty minutes and a nurse named Angela. That's all it takes to make me absolutely certain I want to be a nurse. My father and I wait in the pre-op room with Mom while she's prepared for surgery. A nurse named Angela enters. She hands Mom a gown, and within seconds, she stops her as she heads into the bathroom to change. "Honey, let me get you a different size. That thing will swallow you whole." Mom changes and gets back into bed. Then, Angela asks Mom if she wants a blanket. My mother says yes (she's always cold), so Angela grabs one. "Give me just a second. I want to heat it up for you. It's cold as ice in here." When she returns with the blanket, you can see the tension leave Mom's body as the warm blankets envelop her. What's more, Angela doesn't just hand the blanket to Mom; she gently pulls it over her and tucks it in at the sides. She then tells Mom it's time to get an IV going. You can see Mom's fear. She hates needles. Angela inserts the IV, and Mom's eyes water. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I know it hurts." Even though Angela's time with my mother was short, her words of understanding and acts of kindness spoke volumes. "This," I think, "is what it means to be a real nurse." In her interaction with Mom, you could tell Angela wasn't just prepping a patient for surgery in some hospital "production line." She wasn't speedily going through the motions so she could slip in the coffee she hadn't had time for that morning or keep the surgeon happy with her. Mom truly mattered. It was obvious that for Angela, nursing wasn't just a paycheck. It was a calling. I've always felt called to nurse as well. One reason is I'm fascinated by the human body. However, it's so much more than that. The world is full of suffering, and while I cannot change that fact, I can be someone's Angela. That's the beauty of nursing. It's not just about healing the body but also about treating the spirit. Writer Ralph Waldo Emerson says success is "to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived," and to me, that is what it means to be a nurse. As for the type of nurse I want to be, I hope to become a trauma nurse. My father was a medic in the Special Forces, and I was always intrigued by his stories. After all, trauma nursing is the ultimate test. It requires courage, composure, and emotional strength. It's also necessary to have extremely strong skills. For example, trauma nurses must be ready for anything, and I believe my passion for nursing makes me up for the challenge. One of my role models is Clara Barton, a famous nurse of the Civil War and founder of the American Red Cross. Barton begged military officials to nurse on the front lines. Knowing seconds could mean the difference between life and death for soldiers, she wanted to care for the wounded when they most needed it–then and there–even as bullets whizzed past her and bloodied bodies littered the ground. In her plea to move closer to the fighting, she stated, "Though it is little that one woman can do, still I crave the privilege of doing it." I share Barton's craving and her belief that nursing is a privilege. After all, human life is a precious thing, and to people like Clara (and Angela), every action matters—every single one.