My legs aching, hair slicked back with grease and sweat, yet a smile strongly beaming from my face. To most that description may sound crazy; however, the hard work and time put into serving my community brings me the kind of joy and pride nothing else could. “I am going to be gone for a month this summer!” I explained excitedly to my friends, “Oh cool, how much are you being paid?” was almost always the question followed, “I am not” I reply with a grin, a long silence usually followed. The logic seems backwards when describing the joy of serving, and that is one of my favorite things about doing it. Ever since I was given the opportunity to spend my summer volunteering at a summer camp where I was cleaning, bussing tables, mopping, and almost any labor asked of me, I have loved putting in work so others can enjoy the gifts of life without the worry of logistics. The overflowing joy that radiated from the campers faces as they ran, ready to eat at the tables we had spent all morning preparing. The thunder of the stomps flooding into the vastness of the dining hall, the silence abruptly being taken over by laughter and singing, and the clinks and scrapes of chairs and cups being filled made me beam with pride and excitement. The events that the campers were able to experience because they had a well rounded meal that lacked the stress of the tables being clean or the amount of spoons on the table, made all the work worth it. As my high school years finished out, I had spent many hours with different organizations, putting in work to ease the load off others. Now I am in college and still yearn for that fulfillment only helping my community can bring. As a full time student, my time outside of school is limited, but I came to realize that my time spent working hard in school and excelling in my hobbies is not a waste to the community. I work hard to understand each lesson in my lectures, so when a friend needs assistance I am able to be a reliable resource. Volunteering at university organizations that focus on helping peers succeed in their classes and get assistance in the areas they struggle in is a different form of giving back. Giving back to the community and serving those around you can only go so far if the desire for excellence is not present. You cannot give what you yourself do not possess. I strive for excellence in myself, so I can use volunteer work as an outlet to help those situationally and have the opportunity to allow emotional stress release as well. Some may view a spirit of excellence and giving back to the community as two separate desires; however, they are two tools that are used to make the world a better place for everyone around. Leading small groups, journaling, giving advice to friends, understanding my emotions, volunteering my time to organizations, always striving to work on making myself a better person, working hard on my school work, are small examples of how I exhibit the spirit of excellence and in the same way, give back to my community constantly.

I was six years old when my whole world changed. It was a day like any other, but this one felt different as my dad summoned my siblings and I to a family meeting. Thoughts rushed through my mind as we gathered together.. Am I in trouble? All the possibilities were cycling through my head, except for one….Cancer. My mother had cancer for as long as I could remember, but this time it felt different. “It has come back in your mother’s spine and hips,” my father whispered. “This kind is irreparable.” Sirens screamed through the dark night, as a cool breeze traveled through my hair. The eerie crescendo made its way up my childhood street. A stretcher crept up the dark wood stairs and entered my parents bedroom. My mother floated like an angel down, down, down. Her bones peeking through her skin, her eyes trying to smile. Then, they were gone. No more sirens, no more wind, no more mom. Losing her felt like a sliver of ice slowly melting away, always fearing when it would disappear beneath my feet. Anxiety filled my mind. My father began spending more time at work. At fourteen, my sister began scrambling to fill the shoes of a mother. It was chaos. The complexity of grief overwhelmed me. Fast forward …. Years later, my father remarried a wonderful lady with a heart of gold. What was not to like? But I grew cold and resented her. My father could move on, but why couldn't I? The boulder of grief was growing; I was shrinking. Our blended family moved into a new home and my world began to shut down. . I was alone every day and every night with people I resented.. I grew restless. I didn’t want to continue feeling the intensity of fear and being stuck.. I was ready to start pushing the boulder. My stomach turned, my hands were sweaty, as I admitted to my father that therapy was needed to gain the strength to face this trauma and begin to heal. My therapist taught me to acknowledge my feelings, have grace for myself , and feel what is being felt. She taught me how to begin to trust my emotions. The glasses of life were finally being cleaned. My words written on lined paper was my way of “getting my thoughts untangled” as my therapist described. Writing allowed me to see my thoughts and rearrange them to see the world from another perspective. My line of thinking was planned out right in front of me. I analyzed my thoughts and dissected them. Soon I could write about all the things I loved about every day. Disciplining myself to see the positive, working towards emotional well being. There are many crucial personal and professional abilities that I’ve gained through the early tragedies in my life and through my work in therapy. Learning how to handle and move through complex emotions and view stress in a different way are powerful life lessons that will equip me for success in my life. I believe my calling is to help children, preteens, and teens navigate through hard situations. My childhood, although truly difficult, have blessed me with the gift of relatability to those who are or have experienced struggles. I used to fear change and the unknown and now I feel much more prepared and ready to take on new places and experiences. The resilience that I have cultivated from my past will allow me to leverage my strength to persevere when I’m faced with challenges in this next phase of life.

I was six years old when my whole world changed. It was a day like any other, but this one felt different as my dad summoned my siblings and I to a family meeting. Thoughts rushed through my mind as we gathered together.. A baby on the way? Am I in trouble? All the possibilities were cycling through my head, except for one….Cancer. My mother had cancer for as long as I could remember, but this time it felt different. “It has come back in your mother’s spine and hips,” my father spoke sensitively. “This kind is irreparable.” Sirens screamed through the dark night, as a cool breeze traveled through my hair. The eerie crescendo made its way up my childhood street. A stretcher crept up the dark wood stairs and entered my parents bedroom. My mother floated like an angel down, down, down. Her bones peeking through her skin, her eyes trying to smile. Then, they were gone. No more sirens, no more wind, no more mom. Losing her felt like a sliver of ice slowly melting away, always fearing when it would disappear beneath my feet. Anxiety filled my mind. My father began spending more time at work. At fourteen, my sister began scrambling to fill the shoes of a mother. It was chaos.The complexity of grief overwhelmed me. Fast forward …. Years and my father remarried a wonderful lady with a heart of gold. What was not to like? But I grew cold and resented her. My father could move on, but why couldn't I? The boulder of grief was growing; I was shrinking. Our blended family moved into a new home and my world began to shut down. . I was alone every day and every night with people I resented.. I grew restless. I didn’t want to continue feeling the intensity of fear and being stuck.. I was ready to start pushing the boulder. My stomach turned, my hands were sweaty, as I admitted to my father that therapy was needed to gain the strength to face this trauma and begin to heal. My therapist taught me to acknowledge my feelings, have grace for myself , and feel what is being felt. She taught me how to begin to trust my emotions. My life turned from gray skies to blue and it felt as though the glasses of life were finally being cleaned. My words written on lined paper was my way of “getting my thoughts untangled” as my therapist said. Writing allowed me to see my thoughts and rearrange them to see the world from another perspective. My line of thinking was planned out right in front of me. I analyzed my thoughts and dissected them. Soon I could write about all the things I loved about every day. Disciplining myself to see the positive, working towards emotional well being. There are many crucial personal and professional skills and abilities that I’ve gained through the early tragedies in my life and through my work in therapy. Learning how to handle and move through complex emotions and view stress in a different way are powerful life lessons that will equip me for success in college. I used to fear change and the unknown and now I feel much more prepared and ready to take on new places and experiences. The resilience that I have cultivated from my past will allow me to leverage my strength to persevere when I’m faced with challenges in this next phase of life.

When I was six years old, my father called a family meeting. Thoughts rushed through my mind of what the reason for the summoning would be. A baby on the way? Am I in trouble? All the possibilities were cycling through my head, except one. Cancer. My mother had had cancer for as long as I could remember, but this time it felt different. “It has come back in your mother’s spine and hips,” my father spoke sensitively. “This kind is irreparable.” Sirens screamed through the dark night, as a cool breeze traveled through my hair. The eerie crescendo made its way up my childhood street. A stretcher crept up the dark wood stairs and entered my parents bedroom. My mother floated like an angel down, down, down. Her bones peeking through her skin, her eyes trying to smile. Then, they were gone. No more sirens, no more wind, no more mom. From this moment on, my life felt like a sliver of ice slowly melting away, always fearing when it would disappear beneath my feet. Anxiety filled my mind. My father began spending more time at work. At fourteen, my sister began scrambling to fill the shoes of a mother. It was chaos. The complexity of grief overwhelmed me. My father remarried a wonderful lady with a heart of gold. What was not to like? But I grew cold and resented her. My father could move on, but why couldn't I? The boulder of grief was growing; I was shrinking. I moved into a new home with new siblings, who weren't my blood, when the world shut down. I was alone every day and every night with the people I resented most. I grew restless. My fear of feeling stuck for the rest of my life grew stronger than the fear of loss. I was ready to start pushing the boulder. My stomach turned, my hands were sweaty, as I admitted to my father that therapy was needed to gain the strength to budge the rock in front of me. Acknowledge your feelings, have grace for yourself, and feel what is being felt. My therapist taught me how to allow myself to feel, and discipline allowed me to trust my emotions. My life turned from gray skies to blue and it felt as though the glasses of life were finally being cleaned. My words written on lined paper was my way of “getting my thoughts untangled” as my therapist said. Writing allowed me to see my thoughts and rearrange them to see the world from another perspective. My line of thinking was planned out right in front of me. I analyzed my thoughts and dissected them. Soon I could write about all the things I loved about every day. Disciplining myself to see the positive, working towards happiness. Life excites me, and my future gives me motivation. I transcend through life, enjoying every moment and learning all the lessons I can. Although my life has not been smooth sailing, I am grateful for all that has happened in my life. My mother’s cancer taking her away from me and my family, having to persevere through grief, and coming out on the other side better than ever has truly shaped me into who I am today. There will always be bittersweet emotions behind my story, but I tell it with confidence today because of what I have learned and how I've grown from the past. Learning from grief and the importance of the process has inspired me to be with others going through similar things.

When I was six years old, my father called a family meeting. Thoughts rushed through my mind of what the reason for the summoning would be. A baby on the way? Am I in trouble? All the possibilities were cycling through my head, except one. Cancer. My mother had had cancer for as long as I could remember, but this time it felt different. “It has come back in your mother’s spine and hips,” my father spoke sensitively. “This kind is irreparable.” Sirens screamed through the dark night, as a cool breeze traveled through my hair. The eerie crescendo made its way up my childhood street. A stretcher crept up the dark wood stairs and entered my parents bedroom. My mother floated like an angel down, down, down. Her bones peeking through her skin, her eyes trying to smile. Then, they were gone. No more sirens, no more wind, no more mom. From this moment on, my life felt like a sliver of ice slowly melting away, always fearing when it would disappear beneath my feet. Anxiety filled my mind. My father began spending more time at work. At fourteen, my sister began scrambling to fill the shoes of a mother. It was chaos. The complexity of grief overwhelmed me. My father remarried a wonderful lady with a heart of gold. What was not to like? But I grew cold and resented her. My father could move on, but why couldn't I? The boulder of grief was growing; I was shrinking. I moved into a new home with new siblings, who weren't my blood, when the world shut down. I was alone every day and every night with the people I resented most. I grew restless. My fear of feeling stuck for the rest of my life grew stronger than the fear of loss. I was ready to start pushing the boulder. My stomach turned, my hands were sweaty, as I admitted to my father that therapy was needed to gain the strength to budge the rock in front of me. Acknowledge your feelings, have grace for yourself, and feel what is being felt. My therapist taught me how to allow myself to feel, and discipline allowed me to trust my emotions. My life turned from gray skies to blue and it felt as though the glasses of life were finally being cleaned. My words written on lined paper was my way of “getting my thoughts untangled” as my therapist said. Writing allowed me to see my thoughts and rearrange them to see the world from another perspective. My line of thinking was planned out right in front of me. I analyzed my thoughts and dissected them. Soon I could write about all the things I loved about every day. Disciplining myself to see the positive, working towards happiness. Life excites me, and my future gives me motivation. I transcend through life, enjoying every moment and learning all the lessons I can. I am thrilled to use all that I have learned in my next stage of life, my strength to persevere through any troublesome time, soak in the good and the bad of everyday life, and most importantly have my family by my side through all of it.