I remember the first time I saw a drug addict. I was around ten years old, watching out the window of our family car, riding through inner-city St. Louis. This was during the initial rise of the fentanyl epidemic and not many people even knew what fentanyl was or the effects that it had. It was novel, making it even more dangerous. The car came to a stop as we hit a red light and my car window was sitting in front of a man folded over himself. He was unkempt, ragged, surrounded by a pile of garbage. My dad told me not to look at him; my mom made sure the doors were locked. It was strange to me how scared they were acting because he didn’t look like a threat to me. He looked sad and hurt. When we drove away from him, all I could think was: “Who’s going to help him?” Learning more about drugs and their effects throughout my academic career has made me reminisce about his story, and others’ stories that could be similar to them. I’ve developed a strong sense of empathy that I have turned into a mission to help those like him. To answer my younger self’s question, he was sad because of a system that failed him. He was missing support, he lacked resources and funding, and he was swept to the side by a system that should have provided for him. Drug addicts are often dehumanized, considered “animals” because of their erratic behavior. My parents are no different than the majority of the population in this mindset. They’re feared because they’re seen as unpredictable or as “low-lifes.” Drug addicts are not animals, or lowlifes, or deserving to be feared. They are humans in an endless cycle of tolerance and withdrawal. They are people in constant pain and mental anguish. They are somebody who, more often than not, would do anything to get out of their situation. After a certain point of addiction, drugs can make a drug addict feel that they are irreversible, that the damage they have done to themselves can no longer be healed. The substance can make them feel temporary relief from the chronic pain that it also puts them in. Their cure to their torture is quite literally what’s torturing them. Becoming a drug abuse counselor is my end-goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. I want to be the bridge for people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety. People like that man I saw when I was younger deserve better, they deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment.

“What’s wrong with you?” That’s what my dad asked me the day I broke down in front of him, hot tears streaming down my face, my arms asking for a hug I wouldn’t get. I was thirteen. I had no answer to his question, and back then I desperately wanted one. For a long time, I wanted to know what was wrong with me, and what the cure I needed was to fix it. I wanted someone to help me. Considering mental health has become increasingly more prevalent the past few decades, with the implementation of suicide hotlines, improved treatment options, as well as revised, ethically run mental health facilities. However, when it comes to that of adolescents, their issues tend to be brushed off and avoided. It’s true that the mind and body of a teenager are always changing, but too often are their concerning symptoms seen as “dramatic” behavior, that they’re having those typical “teenage mood swings.” It’s insulting and disheartening to go to people for help and to be dismissed because “you’re too young” to have mental illness. I stand firmly in the belief that teenagers deserve to be heard, to be acknowledged and seen. It’s important to take adolescent concerns seriously so that they know they have people they can go to and find help in. Regardless of whether or not their concern is “legitimate” or not, just listening to them makes a world of difference. Mental health in teenagers seems to only be taken seriously when it’s far too late to make a change, when someone far too young has already taken their life. How many lives would have been saved if someone had stepped in? Who would still be here today had someone really been there? Fighting my own mental battles throughout the years has been challenging, but my biggest obstacle in recovering was doing it on my own, having no support from my family. By going into the healthcare field and specializing in mental health, I can be there for those who are in the position I was in years ago. It’s for those teenagers stuck in their own heads, for the teenagers staying up late only to cry themselves to sleep because they’ve never felt more alone. I wish to give them what no one else could for me; help, even if it’s just a small amount. Raising awareness by informing those about teenage mental health would be the start of my initiative. Parental figures and guardians should know what to look for in their children and understand to be open-minded to their child’s problems. Teenagers should know coping mechanisms and practices that aid them when they need it. Not only that, but therapy should also be more accessible to those whose parents can’t or won’t provide it. Having school therapists should be more normalized in schools for all students, being a separate profession from school counselors. Group therapy sessions could also help teenagers feel seen and find people they can relate to. In making teenagers feel more appreciated and comfortable to talk to people that are there to help them, other issues past mental health could also be addressed—such as sexual violence or domestic abuse. My dad didn’t know how to help me that day, so he never did. Silence is known to be a killer, but what if no one answers when they do speak up? It’s far deadlier.

I remember the first time I saw a drug addict. I was around ten years old, watching out the window of our family car, riding through inner-city St. Louis. This was during the initial rise of the fentanyl epidemic and not many people even knew what fentanyl was or the effects that it had. It was novel, making it even more dangerous. The car came to a stop as we hit a red light and my car window was sitting in front of a man folded over himself. He was unkempt, ragged, surrounded by a pile of garbage. My dad told me not to look at him; my mom made sure the doors were locked. It was strange to me how scared they were acting because he didn’t look like a threat to me. He looked sad and hurt. When we drove away from him, all I could think was: “Who’s going to help him?” Learning more about drugs and their effects throughout my academic career has made me reminisce about his story, and others’ stories that could be similar to them. I’ve developed a strong sense of empathy that I have turned into a mission to help those like him. To answer my younger self’s question, he was sad because of a system that failed him. He was missing support, he lacked resources and funding, and he was swept to the side by a system that should have provided for him. Drug addicts are often dehumanized, considered “animals” because of their erratic behavior. My parents are no different than the majority of the population in this mindset. They’re feared because they’re seen as unpredictable or as “low-lifes.” Drug addicts are not animals, or lowlifes, or deserving to be feared. They are humans in an endless cycle of tolerance and withdrawal. They are people in constant pain and mental anguish. They are somebody who, more often than not, would do anything to get out of their situation. After a certain point of addiction, drugs can make a drug addict feel that they are irreversible, that the damage they have done to themselves can no longer be healed. The substance can make them feel temporary relief from the chronic pain that it also puts them in. Their cure to their torture is quite literally what’s torturing them. Becoming a drug abuse counselor is my end-goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. I want to be the bridge for people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety. People like that man I saw when I was younger deserve better, they deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment.

I had a plan, a date, and a choice. It was a period of my life that I used to be ashamed of, when I felt like I was watching someone else conduct my body, strings laced alongside my fingers. I know that legs moved, and lungs breathed, and eyes cried, but they never felt like they were mine. Days were tiring performances, set for only my eyes as the lone audience member. I was so tunnel visioned, only seeing the bad things happen around me, and always refusing life’s offers to be happy. That heavy, burgeoning sensation continued to unfold until finally leading into one moment. That moment happened the summer I was thirteen. At the time, I was living in a huge, amalgamated family, one that was a simple touch from collapsing at its shoddy seams. It was hard to get a moment alone, but the day I had picked was one where no one else would be home, a day that had the sun shining and a gentle breeze—an ordinary Tuesday. I remember the house being so eerily still, free of its usual stomping and yelling. I was a ghost, drifting from room to room one last time, taking in the state of each of them: the living room that desperately needed a good vacuum, the kitchen that had a trash can too full and a sink that reeked of frozen pizza, the bathroom with a stubborn laundry pile squeezed behind the door. My parent’s room, with that big, warm bed, and walls spotted with dusty family photos. My room, housing mounds of worn childhood toys and a sketchbook whose pages I thought would never get finished. When I got to my mirror, I was forced to see myself—cheeks wet, eye bags hefty, hair tangled and matted. Staring into my eyes, my mind was racing with the biggest decision of my life. I ended up on the floor, one hand at my heart, and the other holding a small bottle of deadly pills. A choice between life or death. It turns out, I had made the right decision, because I’m alive today. I’ve grown so much since then, in age and in mindset, teaching myself to be strong-willed, yet still remembering my limits. I’m not in that audience anymore, because now I am walking that stage of life earnestly and proud—no performing needed. I’m no longer ashamed of how I used to be, as it has helped me find my passion for mental health awareness and treatment. Whether it be volunteering at my local hospital, or just being there for a friend, I want to help those that are in the position I used to be in. It’s thanks to that choice I made that I’ve grown to have such a great appreciation for life, valuing that I’m here and able to do all the things I love. With my new plan, and several dates ahead of me, I’m ready to keep making choices, ones that will further my future, and not ones that will end it.

The way that I would describe myself is that I try to exude limitless passion for anything that I'm a part of. There’s nothing more disheartening than feeling like giving up, so when I’m struggling, I make an effort to fight it in any way I can. I understand and know my limits though: how can I climb that mountain if I end up pushing myself off it halfway? It’s when I eventually reach the top, when I see the change that I have made, I can see how far I’ve come just from my passion alone. Throughout my college life, I’ve gained an appreciation for psychological research and the ideas that it brings to the table. The discovery that comes with research is the biggest reason why its so engaging for me. I love being a part of the process: discussion, experiments, writing, analyzing, producing results, studies, observation. Every last aspect of it has found a special place in my heart. I love looking at the different nooks and crannies of an experiment and forming it to something perfect and full-proof. I love the reflection after the fact where I finally get to see what it was all for and how it can be improved. I didn't believe going into college that research would be interesting for me, but I have found out quite the opposite. I’ve been in a multitude of psychology research labs at the University of Missouri-Columbia. Most notably would be Dr. Jordan Booker’s Milestones Lab and working closely with Dr. Derek Morgan of the Trull Emotion and Personality Lab. These experiences have taught me so much in just two semesters and they have helped me find my path to mental health and substance abuse treatment. Finding out the effectiveness of treatments and tweaking them to something just right is what therapy and counseling is all about. The Goldilocks of recovery can be hard to find, but I believe with my research experience, it can be easier to uncover. I prioritize volunteering opportunities too. Volunteering is one of the best ways I can gain true experience with acuity populations, something which is valuable to get for my career going forward. The drive I get to help these people increases ten fold with each new volunteering position because I get to hear their stories, see their lives, and watch their recovery. Learning about specific aspects of psychology is great for getting the foundation, but it’s through volunteering experiences that one can really put it into perspective. I’ve learned a lot about drug abuse and mental health conditions in class; however, it was through volunteering at sobriety organizations and treatment clinics that I saw the realness of it all. My biggest struggle in school, without a doubt, has been financial hardship. I am a first generation college student and neither of my parents are in the picture. Other family I have are not helping me pay for college, so everything it up to me if I want my degree. It's always on the back burner of my mind. How am I going to pay for housing? For food? How will I be able to pay these loans off after I graduate? How many jobs should I get to make up for the deficit? It's a constant worry, a constant struggle that, in a perfect world, wouldn't exist. I believe it's worth it though, and I am working very hard to make my education happen. Scholarships, grants, support programs, jobs, anything that I can think of to make it easier. If I received this scholarship, my gratitude would know no bounds. It would help with making me debt free once I get my bachelor’s. Any amount of funds would make that final stretch that much easier because I would no longer have to worry about money and I could spend my time furthering my career goals. Becoming a substance abuse counselor and or working with mentally struggling adolescents is my end-goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. Adolescents find it hard to have a voice to talk about their mental health issues and are often pushed to the side when they need the opposite. I want to be the bridge for these people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety and recovery. They deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment and youth mental health.

I remember the first time I saw a drug addict. I was around ten years old, watching out the window of our family car, riding through inner-city St. Louis. This was during the initial rise of the fentanyl epidemic and not many people even knew what fentanyl was or the effects that it had. It was novel, making it even more dangerous. The car came to a stop as we hit a red light and my car window was sitting in front of a man folded over himself. He was unkempt, ragged, surrounded by a pile of garbage. My dad told me not to look at him; my mom made sure the doors were locked. It was strange to me how scared they were acting because he didn’t look like a threat to me. He looked sad and hurt. When we drove away from him, all I could think was: “Who’s going to help him?” Learning more about drugs and their effects throughout my academic career has made me reminisce about his story, and others’ stories that could be similar to them. I’ve developed a strong sense of empathy that I have turned into a mission to help those like him. To answer my younger self’s question, he was sad because of a system that failed him. He was missing support, he lacked resources and funding, and he was swept to the side by a system that should have provided for him. Drug addicts are often dehumanized, considered “animals” because of their erratic behavior. My parents are no different than the majority of the population in this mindset. They’re feared because they’re seen as unpredictable or as “low-lifes.” Drug addicts are not animals, or lowlifes, or deserving to be feared. They are humans in an endless cycle of tolerance and withdrawal. They are people in constant pain and mental anguish. They are somebody who, more often than not, would do anything to get out of their situation. After a certain point of addiction, drugs can make a drug addict feel that they are irreversible, that the damage they have done to themselves can no longer be healed. The substance can make them feel temporary relief from the chronic pain that it also puts them in. Their cure to their torture is quite literally what’s torturing them. Becoming a drug abuse counselor is my end-goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. I want to be the bridge for people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety. People like that man I saw when I was younger deserve better, they deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment.

“How do you make a tissue dance? . . . You put a little boogie in it.” If my dad was reading that, he’d be laughing himself to tears. He had always found awful jokes like that funny. Dad was a dork, and he would admit it too: he’d collect Smurf McDonald’s toys, he’d sing the guitar parts of his favorite Ratt songs—he’d even sit and watch SpongeBob with me late at night before I needed to go to bed. When my mom left, he somehow raised five kids by himself, working overtime and picking up shifts at every chance he could. He would wake up at four in the morning and come home at four in the afternoon, and still have the energy to be there for all of us. Looking back on it now, I don’t know how he did it. My Freshman year had just started when he died. He had gotten COVID-19, beaten it, then it became pneumonia, which he then beat. Finally, he had gotten diagnosed with a staph infection, which would end up being the disease that took him down. All three of them happened in the span of a couple weeks. Unfortunately, my Dad couldn’t take the toll of such successive blows like that. Dad was a fighter though, even to his last breath, fighting three diseases as best as he could to stay alive. After his death, I didn’t really know what to do with myself. He was the only real parent I ever had, and up to that point I had firmly believed he would be there with me through everything. I thought he’d be the one to teach me how to drive, I thought he’d see me get my first job and earn my first paycheck, I thought he’d go on college campus tours with me and see my graduate in my cap and gown. I thought he’d see me through it all. The hard-hitting reality that none of that was going to happen still to this day is difficult to process. But Dad didn’t raise a quitter, he raised a fighter like himself. With all the commotion that Dad’s death put in Freshman year—family tension, new school, planning to move, grieving, sickness—I managed to keep straight A’s. It will forever be my biggest accomplishment. I did it for myself of course, but also for Dad, as he wouldn't have wanted me to put my future to an end just because he wasn’t there anymore. Years later, there are still nights where I cry thinking about my dad. When I hear a movie that’s coming out that he would’ve loved to see or news about the Steelers winning games, words can’t describe the heart ache I feel. It’s depressing to have love for someone who isn’t here to receive it anymore. But knowing Dad, I’m sure he knows how much we all miss him. Those tissues I blow my gross, snotty tears in? When I look at them, I realize I’m making them dance, and Dad would find that funny. I’m forever changed with how I see life and the people around me after that day. Never has my strive to achieve been greater as I am fueled to become someone my dad would be proud of. I’m passionate about mental health, I always have been, but now I understand just how much I want to help people. If I can prevent a loss of life, then I know that I’ve succeeded in what I want to do.

I remember the first time I saw a drug addict. I was around ten years old, watching out the window of our family car, riding through inner-city St. Louis. This was during the initial rise of the fentanyl epidemic and not many people even knew what fentanyl was or the effects that it had. It was novel, making it even more dangerous. The car came to a stop as we hit a red light and my car window was sitting in front of a man folded over himself. He was unkempt, ragged, surrounded by a pile of garbage. My dad told me not to look at him; my mom made sure the doors were locked. It was strange to me how scared they were acting because he didn’t look like a threat to me. He looked sad and hurt. When we drove away from him, all I could think was: “Who’s going to help him?” Learning more about drugs and their effects throughout my academic career has made me reminisce about his story, and others’ stories that could be similar to them. I’ve developed a strong sense of empathy that I have turned into a mission to help those like him. To answer my younger self’s question, he was sad because of a system that failed him. He was missing support, he lacked resources and funding, and he was swept to the side by a system that should have provided for him. Drug addicts are often dehumanized, considered “animals” because of their erratic behavior. My parents are no different than the majority of the population in this mindset. They’re feared because they’re seen as unpredictable or as “low-lifes.” Drug addicts are not animals, or lowlifes, or deserving to be feared. They are humans in an endless cycle of tolerance and withdrawal. They are people in constant pain and mental anguish. They are somebody who, more often than not, would do anything to get out of their situation. After a certain point of addiction, drugs can make a drug addict feel that they are irreversible, that the damage they have done to themselves can no longer be healed. The substance can make them feel temporary relief from the chronic pain that it also puts them in. Their cure to their torture is quite literally what’s torturing them. Becoming a drug abuse counselor is my end-goal. I want to build my future to this goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. I want to be the bridge for people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety. People like that man I saw when I was younger deserve better, they deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment.

I remember the first time I saw a drug addict. I was around ten years old, watching out the window of our family car, riding through inner-city St. Louis. This was during the initial rise of the fentanyl epidemic and not many people even knew what fentanyl was or the effects that it had. It was novel, making it even more dangerous. The car came to a stop as we hit a red light and my car window was sitting in front of a man folded over himself. He was unkempt, ragged, surrounded by a pile of garbage. My dad told me not to look at him; my mom made sure the doors were locked. It was strange to me how scared they were acting because he didn’t look like a threat to me. He looked sad and hurt. When we drove away from him, all I could think was: “Who’s going to help him?” Learning more about drugs and their effects throughout my academic career has made me reminisce about his story, and others’ stories that could be similar to them. I’ve developed a strong sense of empathy that I have turned into a mission to help those like him. To answer my younger self’s question, he was sad because of a system that failed him. He was missing support, he lacked resources and funding, and he was swept to the side by a system that should have provided for him. Drug addicts are often dehumanized, considered “animals” because of their erratic behavior. My parents are no different than the majority of the population in this mindset. They’re feared because they’re seen as unpredictable or as “low-lifes.” Drug addicts are not animals, or lowlifes, or deserving to be feared. They are humans in an endless cycle of tolerance and withdrawal. They are people in constant pain and mental anguish. They are somebody who, more often than not, would do anything to get out of their situation. After a certain point of addiction, drugs can make a drug addict feel that they are irreversible, that the damage they have done to themselves can no longer be healed. The substance can make them feel temporary relief from the chronic pain that it also puts them in. Their cure to their torture is quite literally what’s torturing them. Becoming a drug abuse counselor is my end-goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. I want to be the bridge for people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety. People like that man I saw when I was younger deserve better, they deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment.

I remember the first time I saw a drug addict. I was around ten years old, watching out the window of our family car, riding through inner-city St. Louis. This was during the initial rise of the fentanyl epidemic and not many people even knew what fentanyl was or the effects that it had. It was novel, making it even more dangerous. The car came to a stop as we hit a red light and my car window was sitting in front of a man folded over himself. He was unkempt, ragged, surrounded by a pile of garbage. My dad told me not to look at him; my mom made sure the doors were locked. It was strange to me how scared they were acting because he didn’t look like a threat to me. He looked sad and hurt. When we drove away from him, all I could think was: “Who’s going to help him?” Learning more about drugs and their effects throughout my academic career has made me reminisce about his story, and others’ stories that could be similar to them. I’ve developed a strong sense of empathy that I have turned into a mission to help those like him. To answer my younger self’s question, he was sad because of a system that failed him. He was missing support, he lacked resources and funding, and he was swept to the side by a system that should have provided for him. Drug addicts are often dehumanized, considered “animals” because of their erratic behavior. My parents are no different than the majority of the population in this mindset. They’re feared because they’re seen as unpredictable or as “low-lifes.” Drug addicts are not animals, or lowlifes, or deserving to be feared. They are humans in an endless cycle of tolerance and withdrawal. They are people in constant pain and mental anguish. They are somebody who, more often than not, would do anything to get out of their situation. After a certain point of addiction, drugs can make a drug addict feel that they are irreversible, that the damage they have done to themselves can no longer be healed. The substance can make them feel temporary relief from the chronic pain that it also puts them in. Their cure to their torture is quite literally what’s torturing them. Becoming a drug abuse counselor is my end-goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. I want to be the bridge for people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety. People like that man I saw when I was younger deserve better, they deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment.

I remember the first time I saw a drug addict. I was around ten years old, watching out the window of our family car, riding through inner-city St. Louis. This was during the initial rise of the fentanyl epidemic and not many people even knew what fentanyl was or the effects that it had. It was novel, making it even more dangerous. The car came to a stop as we hit a red light and my car window was sitting in front of a man folded over himself. He was unkempt, ragged, surrounded by a pile of garbage. My dad told me not to look at him; my mom made sure the doors were locked. It was strange to me how scared they were acting because he didn’t look like a threat to me. He looked sad and hurt. When we drove away from him, all I could think was: “Who’s going to help him?” Learning more about drugs and their effects throughout my academic career has made me reminisce about his story, and others’ stories that could be similar to them. I’ve developed a strong sense of empathy that I have turned into a mission to help those like him. To answer my younger self’s question, he was sad because of a system that failed him. He was missing support, he lacked resources and funding, and he was swept to the side by a system that should have provided for him. Drug addicts are often dehumanized, considered “animals” because of their erratic behavior. My parents are no different than the majority of the population in this mindset. They’re feared because they’re seen as unpredictable or as “low-lifes.” Drug addicts are not animals, or lowlifes, or deserving to be feared. They are humans in an endless cycle of tolerance and withdrawal. They are people in constant pain and mental anguish. They are somebody who, more often than not, would do anything to get out of their situation. After a certain point of addiction, drugs can make a drug addict feel that they are irreversible, that the damage they have done to themselves can no longer be healed. The substance can make them feel temporary relief from the chronic pain that it also puts them in. Their cure to their torture is quite literally what’s torturing them. Becoming a drug abuse counselor is my end-goal. The only way drug addicts can free themselves from the drug’s grasp is through intervention and counseling. I want to be the bridge for people who desperately need to cross to the other side of sobriety. People like that man I saw when I was younger deserve better, they deserve a system that sets them up for rehabilitation rather than scrutiny. I’m hoping with this career choice that I can be the brick in the foundation for better drug addiction treatment.

Considering mental health has become increasingly more prevalent the past few decades, with the implementation of suicide hotlines, improved treatment options, as well as revised, ethically run mental health facilities. However, when it comes to that of adolescents, their issues tend to be brushed off and avoided. It’s true that the mind and body of a teenager are always changing, but too often are their concerning symptoms seen as “dramatic” behavior, that they’re having those typical “teenage mood swings.” It’s insulting and disheartening to go to people for help and to be dismissed because “you’re too young” to have mental illness. I stand firmly in the belief that teenagers deserve to be heard, to be acknowledged and seen. It’s important to take adolescent concerns seriously so that they know they have people they can go to and find help in. Regardless of whether or not their concern is “legitimate” or not, just listening to them makes a world of difference. Mental health in teenagers seems to only be taken seriously when it’s far too late to make a change, when someone far too young has already taken their life. How many lives would have been saved if someone had stepped in? Who would still be here today had someone really been there? Fighting my own mental battles throughout the years has been challenging, but my biggest obstacle in recovering was doing it on my own, having no support from my family. By going into the healthcare field and specializing in mental health, I can be there for those who are in the position I was in years ago. It’s for those teenagers stuck in their own heads, for the teenagers staying up late only to cry themselves to sleep because they’ve never felt more alone. I wish to give them what no one else could for me; help, even if it’s just a small amount. Raising awareness by informing those about teenage mental health would be the start of my initiative. Parental figures and guardians should know what to look for in their children and understand to be open-minded to their child’s problems. Teenagers should know coping mechanisms and practices that aid them when they need it. Not only that, but therapy should also be more accessible to those whose parents can’t or won’t provide it. Having school therapists should be more normalized in schools for all students, being a separate profession from school counselors. Group therapy sessions could also help teenagers feel seen and find people they can relate to. In making teenagers feel more appreciated and comfortable to talk to people that are there to help them, other issues past mental health could also be addressed—such as sexual violence or domestic abuse.

“What’s wrong with you?” That’s what my dad asked me the day I broke down in front of him, hot tears streaming down my face, my arms asking for a hug I wouldn’t get. I was thirteen. I had no answer to his question, and back then I desperately wanted one. For a long time, I wanted to know what was wrong with me, and what the cure I needed was to fix it. I wanted someone to help me. Considering mental health has become increasingly more prevalent the past few decades, with the implementation of suicide hotlines, improved treatment options, as well as revised, ethically run mental health facilities. However, when it comes to that of adolescents, their issues tend to be brushed off and avoided. It’s true that the mind and body of a teenager are always changing, but too often are their concerning symptoms seen as “dramatic” behavior, that they’re having those typical “teenage mood swings.” It’s insulting and disheartening to go to people for help and to be dismissed because “you’re too young” to have mental illness. I stand firmly in the belief that teenagers deserve to be heard, to be acknowledged and seen. It’s important to take adolescent concerns seriously so that they know they have people they can go to and find help in. Regardless of whether or not their concern is “legitimate” or not, just listening to them makes a world of difference. Mental health in teenagers seems to only be taken seriously when it’s far too late to make a change, when someone far too young has already taken their life. How many lives would have been saved if someone had stepped in? Who would still be here today had someone really been there? Fighting my own mental battles throughout the years has been challenging, but my biggest obstacle in recovering was doing it on my own, having no support from my family. By going into the healthcare field and specializing in mental health, I can be there for those who are in the position I was in years ago. It’s for those teenagers stuck in their own heads, for the teenagers staying up late only to cry themselves to sleep because they’ve never felt more alone. I wish to give them what no one else could for me; help, even if it’s just a small amount. My dad didn’t know how to help me that day, so he never did. Silence is known to be a killer, but what if no one answers when they do speak up? It’s far deadlier.

“What’s wrong with you?” That’s what my dad asked me the day I broke down in front of him, hot tears streaming down my face, my arms asking for a hug I wouldn’t get. I was thirteen. I had no answer to his question, and back then I desperately wanted one. For a long time, I wanted to know what was wrong with me, and what the cure I needed was to fix it. I wanted someone to help me.Fighting my own mental battles throughout the years has been challenging, but my biggest obstacle in recovering was doing it on my own, having no support from my family. By going into the healthcare field and specializing in mental health, I can be there for those who are in the position I was in years ago. It’s for those teenagers stuck in their own heads, for the teenagers staying up late only to cry themselves to sleep because they’ve never felt more alone. I wish to give them what no one else could for me; help, even if it’s just a small amount. Considering mental health has become increasingly more prevalent the past few decades, with the implementation of suicide hotlines, improved treatment options, as well as revised, ethically run mental health facilities. However, when it comes to that of adolescents, their issues tend to be brushed off and avoided. It’s true that the mind and body of a teenager are always changing, but too often are their concerning symptoms seen as “dramatic” behavior, that they’re having those typical “teenage mood swings.” It’s insulting and disheartening to go to people for help and to be dismissed because “you’re too young” to have mental illness. I stand firmly in the belief that teenagers deserve to be heard, to be acknowledged and seen. It’s important to take adolescent concerns seriously so that they know they have people they can go to and find help in. Regardless of whether or not their concern is “legitimate” or not, just listening to them makes a world of difference. Mental health in teenagers seems to only be taken seriously when it’s far too late to make a change, when someone far too young has already taken their life. How many lives would have been saved if someone had stepped in? Who would still be here today had someone really been there? My dad didn’t know how to help me that day, so he never did. Silence is known to be a killer, but what if no one answers when they do speak up? It’s far deadlier.

In the future, I want to specialize in addiction treatment and adolescent targeted therapy. I plan on going to graduate school to get a master's in social work, which I believe will be the key that will open the door to my goal. When it comes to fostering an improved mindset for gifted children, my career path will take me to these individuals, where I will have to work with them to give them the best chance of success they can. Giving gifted children the tools to not only develop their skills properly, but to also work with them to understand their boundaries and well-being, provides them with exceptional ways to become people that fight against social injustices. Specializing in social work, specifically with adolescents, I believe is crucially important for making this happen. Gifted children are given many opportunities early on, however, in their adolescent years, many of them find themselves in rut or decline. This is because of academic burnout and pressure, where many of the adults around them expect more than what the gifted child can handle. Licensure to counsel would provide me the tools to prevent this downward spiral early, working with them one-on-one to improve the key aspects in their life that may be holding them back. Moreover, when one is constantly expected to do and produce achievements, it's not surprised that they find themselves in an independent mindset. While an independent mindset can be beneficial, gifted children take it to a new level where they refuse to ask for help despite needing it. They are raised in a school system that drills this into them, that one shouldn't need help in academics or career development. Independent mindsets and not asking for help affects more than academics, it affects livelihoods too: mental health, friendships, relationships, family dynamics, work ethic and conditions, physical health, and more are all affected on top of their academics. With social work, all of that can be prevented early as it can be an intervention. By working with the gifted child through their habits, they can find out that asking for help is beneficial through the counselor. They can learn ways to catch their bad habits, strategies to put in-place when they feel the pressure is too high, and understand resources that are available to them better than they could have on their own. Social work is beautiful is the ways that it inspires and protects the people that fall into its embrace. It promotes social equity, positivity, well-being, and remedying social injustices. Gifted children need positivity and high well-being to succeed and social work can provide that for them. It's what I hope to provide for them when I enter the field: help and reassurance.

“What’s wrong with you?” That’s what my dad asked me the day I started having an uncontrollable crying rush in front of him. Being thirteen, I had no answer to his question—but back then I desperately wanted one. For so long, I wanted to know what was wrong with me, and what the cure I needed was to fix it. I wanted someone to help me. Considering mental health has become increasingly more important the past few decades, with the implementation of suicide hotlines, improved treatment options, as well as more ethically run mental health facilities. However, when it comes to that of adolescents, their issues tend to be brushed off and avoided. It’s true that the mind and body of a teenager are always changing, but too often are their concerning symptoms seen as “dramatic” behavior, or that they’re having those typical “teenage mood swings.” It’s insulting and disheartening to go to people for help and to be dismissed because “you’re too young” to have mental illness. I stand firmly in the belief that teenagers deserve to be heard, to be acknowledged and seen. It’s important to take adolescent concerns seriously so that they know they have people they can go to and find help in. Regardless of whether or not their concern is “legitimate” or not, just listening to them makes a world of difference. Mental health in teenagers seems to only be taken seriously when it’s far too late to make a change, when someone far too young has already taken their life. How many lives would have been saved if someone had stepped in? Who would still be here today had someone really been there? Fighting my own mental battles throughout the years has been challenging, but my biggest obstacle in recovering was doing it on my own, having no support from my parents. By going into the healthcare field and specializing in mental health, I can be there for those who are in the position I was in years ago. It’s for those teenagers stuck in their own heads, for the teenagers staying up late only to cry themselves to sleep because they’ve never felt more alone. I wish to give them what no one else could for me; help, even if it’s just a small amount. Awareness and informing those about teenage mental health would be the start of my initiative. Parental figures and guardians should know what to look for in their children and should know to be open-minded to their kid’s problems. Teenagers should know coping mechanisms and practices that aid them when they need it. Not only that, but therapy should also be more accessible to those whose parents can’t or won’t provide it. Having school therapists should be more normalized in schools for all students, being a separate profession from school counselors. Group therapy sessions could also help teenagers feel seen and find people they can relate to. My dad didn’t know how to help me that day, so he never did. Silence is known to be a killer, but what if no one answers when they do speak up? It’s far deadlier.

“What’s wrong with you?” That’s what my dad asked me the day I started having an uncontrollable crying rush in front of him. Being thirteen, I had no answer to his question—but back then I desperately wanted one. For so long, I wanted to know what was wrong with me, and what the cure I needed was to fix it. I wanted someone to help me. Considering mental health has become increasingly more important the past few decades, with the implementation of suicide hotlines, improved treatment options, as well as more ethically run mental health facilities. However, when it comes to that of adolescents, their issues tend to be brushed off and avoided. It’s true that the mind and body of a teenager are always changing, but too often are their concerning symptoms seen as “dramatic” behavior, or that they’re having those typical “teenage mood swings.” It’s insulting and disheartening to go to people for help and to be dismissed because “you’re too young” to have mental illness. I stand firmly in the belief that teenagers deserve to be heard, to be acknowledged and seen. It’s important to take adolescent concerns seriously so that they know they have people they can go to and find help in. Regardless of whether or not their concern is “legitimate” or not, just listening to them makes a world of difference. Mental health in teenagers seems to only be taken seriously when it’s far too late to make a change, when someone far too young has already taken their life. How many lives would have been saved if someone had stepped in? Who would still be here today had someone really been there? Fighting my own mental battles throughout the years has been challenging, but my biggest obstacle in recovering was doing it on my own, having no support from my parents. The reason I’m going to be a psychologist is not for myself, but it’s for those who are in the position I was in years ago. It’s for those teenagers stuck in their own heads, for the teenagers staying up late only to cry themselves to sleep because they’ve never felt more alone. I wish to give them what no one else could for me; help, even if it’s just a small amount. Awareness and informing those about teenage mental health would be the start of my initiative. Parental figures and guardians should know what to look for in their children and should know to be open-minded to their kid’s problems. Teenagers should know coping mechanisms and practices that aid them when they need it. Not only that, but therapy should also be more accessible to those whose parents can’t or won’t provide it. Having school therapists should be more normalized in schools for all students, being a separate profession from school counselors. Group therapy sessions could also help teenagers feel seen and find people they can relate to. My dad didn’t know how to help me that day, so he never did. Silence is known to be a killer, but what if no one answers when they do speak up? It’s far deadlier.