To me, legacy is not just about what you leave behind—it is about the values you carry, the people you impact, and the way your actions ripple far beyond your lifetime. Legacy is the strength to stand back up after life knocks you down, the kindness you extend even when you are hurting, and the determination to make things better for the next generation. My upbringing was a mixture of unexpected challenges and unwavering love. In elementary school, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, my first symptom being Alopecia Areata—patches of hair falling out without warning. At thirteen, when fitting in felt like the most important thing in the world, losing my hair felt like losing part of myself. It took years of steroids, bloodwork, and countless doctor visits to be able to run my fingers through my hair without pulling away a clump. Those years taught me patience, persistence, and how to find self-worth beyond appearances. Just when I thought I had overcome my biggest hurdle, another challenge appeared. The summer before my freshman year of high school, I developed Bell’s palsy. On what should have been a normal shopping trip, I suddenly found myself unable to drink from a straw, slurring my words, and drooling uncontrollably. Doctors were unsure how long my recovery would take. Once again, my life became filled with hospital visits and uncertainty. These moments could have made me bitter, but instead they gave me empathy. I began to understand that illness does not make someone weak—it often reveals their greatest strength. Through all of this, my grandfathers were my anchors. They encouraged me, reminded me of my worth, and showed me how to face adversity with grace. Both passed away within two years of each other from the same disease—Parkinson’s. Watching their fight made me realize that the most powerful legacy is not material wealth, but inspiring others to keep going, to keep fighting, and to never lose hope. Their influence shaped my path. After earning dual degrees in Neuroscience and Cellular Biology from the University of Georgia, I chose to pursue my Accelerated Bachelor of Science in Nursing. My goal is to combine the scientific expertise I gained in the lab with the compassionate, hands-on patient care that nurses provide, ultimately becoming a physician specializing in neurology. I will continue my grandfathers’ legacy by dedicating my career to improving patients’ lives and working toward cures for neurodegenerative diseases like Parkinson’s. At the same time, I will break the cycle of letting illness define identity. My story will be one of resilience, compassion, and progress. That is the legacy I will live—and leave.

The average person has a one percent chance of developing Parkinson's Disease. Most don't know what Parkinson's is, but this number is personal, impacting my life at every stage. Apart from being a cheerleader, homecoming representative, student council officer, lacrosse player, and Miss South High, I am an illness. In elementary school, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. The first symptom was Alopecia Areata: hair loss resulting in bald patches. In middle school, peer approval is of utmost importance, so you can imagine just how much hair means to a thirteen-year-old girl. How is a girl with long, flowing, blonde hair supposed to cope with chunks of it falling out each day? It took years of steroids, bloodwork, and endless doctor visits to be able to run my fingers through my hair without a clump being left behind in my hands. The summer before freshman year, the anticipation of high school was building, but the start of a new school year meant school shopping, and I was excited to say the least. On the way to the mall, I was drinking water through a straw and suddenly it started trickling out of my mouth. I didn't understand what was happening or why I couldn't complete a task that I'd done my entire life. I began slurring my words and drooling uncontrollably. Doctors realized that I had developed another disease, Bell's palsy. Just when I thought that hospital visits were in my past, they began all over again, testing my patience, my courage, and my determination to keep moving forward. Through all of this, my grandfathers were my backbone, offering constant love, attention, and encouragement. They reminded me that my worth was never defined by my illnesses. I don't know how I would have made it without their unwavering support. Unfortunately, they both passed away in a two-year period from the same disease: Parkinson's. They were the one percent. After graduating from the University of Georgia with dual degrees in Neuroscience and Cellular Biology, I chose to pursue my Accelerated Bachelor of Science in Nursing. My goal is to gain the hands-on patient care experience that nursing provides, so I can combine clinical empathy with scientific expertise in my future career as a physician. I am already making a difference in my community through volunteer work, patient education, and health outreach, and I plan to continue doing so on a larger scale. By working toward better treatments and eventually a cure for Parkinson’s, I will honor my grandfathers’ memory while improving the lives of patients and families everywhere. I am not an illness; I am a conqueror.

The average person has a one percent chance of developing Parkinson's Disease. Most don't know what Parkinson's is, but this number is personal, impacting my life at every stage. Apart from being a cheerleader, homecoming representative, student council officer, lacrosse player, and Miss South High, I am an illness. In elementary school, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. The first symptom was Alopecia Areata: hair loss resulting in bald patches. In middle school, peer approval is of utmost importance, so you can imagine just how much hair means to a thirteen-year-old girl. How is a girl with long, flowing, blonde hair supposed to cope with chunks of it falling out each day? It took years of steroids, bloodwork, and endless doctor visits to be able to run my fingers through my hair without a clump being left behind in my hands. The summer before freshman year, the anticipation of high school was building, but the start of a new school year meant school shopping, and I was excited to say the least. On the way to the mall, I was drinking water through a straw and suddenly it started trickling out of my mouth. I didn't understand what was happening or why I couldn't complete a task that I'd done my entire life. I began slurring my words and drooling uncontrollably. Doctors realized that I had developed another disease, Bell's palsy. Just when I thought that hospital visits were in my past, they began all over again, testing my patience, my courage, and my determination to keep moving forward. Through all of this, my grandfathers were my backbone, offering constant love, attention, and encouragement. They reminded me that my worth was never defined by my illnesses. I don't know how I would have made it without their unwavering support. Unfortunately, they both passed away in a two-year period from the same disease: Parkinson's. They were the one percent. After graduating from the University of Georgia with dual degrees in Neuroscience and Cellular Biology, I chose to pursue my Accelerated Bachelor of Science in Nursing. My goal is to gain the hands-on patient care experience that nursing provides, so I can combine clinical empathy with scientific expertise in my future career as a physician. I am already making a difference in my community through volunteer work, patient education, and health outreach, and I plan to continue doing so on a larger scale. By working toward better treatments and eventually a cure for Parkinson’s, I will honor my grandfathers’ memory while improving the lives of patients and families everywhere. I am not an illness; I am a conqueror.

The average person has a one percent chance of developing Parkinson's Disease. Most don't know what Parkinson's is, but this number is personal, impacting my life at every stage. Apart from being a cheerleader, homecoming representative, student council officer, lacrosse player, and Miss South High, I am an illness. In elementary school, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. The first symptom was Alopecia Areata: hair loss resulting in bald patches. In middle school, peer approval is of utmost importance, so you can imagine just how much hair means to a thirteen-year-old girl. How is a girl with long, flowing, blonde hair supposed to cope with chunks of it falling out each day? It took years of steroids, bloodwork, and endless doctor visits to be able to run my fingers through my hair without a clump being left behind in my hands. The summer before freshman year, the anticipation of high school was building, but the start of a new school year meant school shopping, and I was excited to say the least. On the way to the mall, I was drinking water through a straw and suddenly it started trickling out of my mouth. I didn't understand what was happening or why I couldn't complete a task that I'd done my entire life. I began slurring my words and drooling uncontrollably. Doctors realized that I had developed another disease, Bell's palsy. Just when I thought that hospital visits were in my past, they began all over again, testing my patience, my courage, and my determination to keep moving forward. Through all of this, my grandfathers were my backbone, offering constant love, attention, and encouragement. They reminded me that my worth was never defined by my illnesses. I don't know how I would have made it without their unwavering support. Unfortunately, they both passed away in a two-year period from the same disease: Parkinson's. They were the one percent. After graduating from the University of Georgia with dual degrees in Neuroscience and Cellular Biology, I decided to pursue my Accelerated Bachelor of Science in Nursing. My goal is to gain the hands-on patient care experience that nursing provides, so I can bring both clinical empathy and scientific expertise to my future career as a physician. By combining the compassion of a nurse with the analytical skill set of a scientist, I will be uniquely equipped to work toward new treatments and, one day, a cure for the disease that shaped me but did not define me. I am not an illness; I am a conqueror.

The average person has a one percent chance of developing Parkinson's Disease. Most don't know what Parkinson's is, but this number is personal, impacting my life at every stage. Apart from being a cheerleader, homecoming representative, student council officer, lacrosse player, and Miss South High, I am an illness. In elementary school, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. The first symptom was Alopecia Areata: hair loss resulting in bald patches. In middle school, peer approval is of utmost importance, so you can imagine just how much hair means to a thirteen-year-old girl. How is a girl with long, flowing, blonde hair supposed to cope with chunks of it falling out each day? It took years of steroids, bloodwork, and endless doctor visits to be able to run my fingers through my hair without a clump being left behind in my hands. The summer before freshman year, the anticipation of high school was building, but the start of a new school year meant school shopping, and I was excited to say the least. On the way to the mall, I was drinking water through a straw and suddenly it started trickling out of my mouth. I didn't understand what was happening or why I couldn't complete a task that I'd done my entire life. I began slurring my words and drooling uncontrollably. Doctors realized that I had developed another disease, Bell's palsy. Just when I thought that hospital visits were in my past, they began all over again, testing my patience, my courage, and my determination to keep moving forward. Through all of this, my grandfathers were my backbone, offering constant love, attention, and encouragement. They reminded me that my worth was never defined by my illnesses. I don't know how I would have made it without their unwavering support. Unfortunately, they both passed away in a two-year period from the same disease: Parkinson's. They were the one percent. After graduating from the University of Georgia with dual degrees in Neuroscience and Cellular Biology, I decided to pursue my Accelerated Bachelor of Science in Nursing. My goal is to gain the hands-on patient care experience that nursing provides, so I can bring both clinical empathy and scientific expertise to my future career as a physician. By combining the compassion of a nurse with the analytical skill set of a scientist, I will be uniquely equipped to work toward new treatments and, one day, a cure for the disease that shaped me but did not define me. I am not an illness; I am a conqueror.

The average person has a one percent chance of developing Parkinson's Disease. Most don't know what Parkinson's is, but this number is personal, impacting my life at every stage. Apart from being a cheerleader, homecoming representative, student council officer, lacrosse player, and Miss South High, I am an illness. In elementary school, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. The first symptom was Alopecia Areata: hair loss resulting in bald patches. In middle school, peer approval is of utmost importance, so you can imagine just how much hair means to a thirteen-year-old girl. How is a girl with long, flowing, blonde hair supposed to cope with chunks of it falling out each day? It took years of steroids, bloodwork, and endless doctor visits to be able to run my fingers through my hair without a clump being left behind in my hands. The summer before freshman year, the anticipation of high school was building, but the start of a new school year meant school shopping, and I was excited to say the least. On the way to the mall, I was drinking water through a straw and suddenly it started trickling out of my mouth. I didn't understand what was happening or why I couldn't complete a task that I'd done my entire life. I began slurring my words and drooling uncontrollably. Doctors realized that I had developed another disease, Bell's palsy. Just when I thought that hospital visits were in my past, they began all over again, testing my patience, my courage, and my determination to keep moving forward. Through all of this, my grandfathers were my backbone, offering constant love, attention, and encouragement. They reminded me that my worth was never defined by my illnesses. I don't know how I would have made it without their unwavering support. Unfortunately, they both passed away in a two-year period from the same disease: Parkinson's. They were the one percent. After all the hardship and heartache, I knew one thing for sure: I was not going to be that one percent. Refusing to let a disease define me, I set ambitious goals for myself and my future. After graduating from the University of Georgia with dual degrees in Neuroscience and Cellular Biology, I decided to pursue my Accelerated Bachelor of Science in Nursing. My goal is to gain the hands-on patient care experience that nursing provides, so I can bring both clinical empathy and scientific expertise to my future career as a physician. By combining the compassion of a nurse with the analytical skill set of a scientist, I will be uniquely equipped to work toward new treatments and, one day, a cure for the disease that shaped me but did not define me. I am not an illness; I am a conqueror.