What do I spend most of my time doing? If you peeked into my life, you'd see way too many pliés, lesson plans, and late-night improv sessions, all revolving around dance. It's not just a hobby; it's the rhythm that syncs my ambitions with my realities. Living with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS) and dysautonomia means every step is a calculated risk, but it also makes every jump worth it. From dawn stretches to late night choreography plans, dance consumes my hours, fueling my growth and my drive to give back. My internship at my local dance studio, Palmetto Dance Center, is at the center of my routine. Most afternoons, I walk into the mirrored room, trading my school uniform and shoes for a teacher's poise. Teaching is more than technique; I incorporate adaptations for bodies like mine, hypermobile joints that need extra care. "Listen to your body," I tell them, echoing the words that saved my own career. Beyond the barre, the internship immerses me in the business of dance. I shadow the owner/director, absorbing the nuts and bolts of running a studio. My days often include crafting lesson plans: outlining progressions from basic positions to simple combinations, incorporating games to keep energy and motivation high. I factor in inclusivity, short breaks for rest, modifications for varying abilities. This rhythm isn't accidental; it's preparation. I plan to major in dance education, honing these skills into a degree that equips me to lead. Ultimately, I'll return to my hometown, opening my own studio. It will echo Palmetto Dance Center but with my twist: scholarships for low-income families, hEDS-friendly classes, and a community hub for awareness. Dance fills my days because it transforms limits into leaps. Whether teaching a girl's first jeté, conferencing with my mentor, or scrolling through likes at night, every moment builds toward a better me and a stronger circle. hEDS may bend my body, but dance straightens my path. And in that endless rehearsal, I find my true tempo. As bettering myself has become my lifestyle, finishing this latest academic year being recognized by the town of Bluffton for logging the most community service hours out of any other student in the district with over six hundred. A person's environment makes a huge impact on their growth and development. With my passions being advocacy for young athletes with chronic illness and young dancer support, I would be honored to have the resources to increase my impact.

Between rehearsals, when my joints ache from the hypermobility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), I find myself lost in thought—not dwelling on limitations, but envisioning ways to dance beyond them. Most of my time is spent thinking about how I can challenge myself to become a better version of me, while simultaneously uplifting my community. These thoughts are the fuel that drives my actions, from publishing a book on thriving as a dancer with chronic illness to founding an awareness initiative. These pursuits have taught me that personal growth and communal impact are intertwined, and they drive my aspiration to major in dance education; I hope to ultimately return to my hometown to open a studio that empowers others. My journey began with dance, a passion that both challenges and heals me. Diagnosed with hEDS at 16, I faced a world where my body's connective tissues betrayed me. Doctors initially did not have a diagnosis, suggesting I abandon dance. But I refused to let my condition define me. Instead, I challenged myself to adapt. I researched modifications, incorporating physical therapy into my routines and experimenting with KT tape that allowed fluid movement without sacrifice. This self-imposed rigor wasn't just about survival; it was about excellence. By my junior year, I was succeeding, proving to myself that vulnerability could coexist with strength. Each rehearsal became a meditation on improvement: How could I refine my technique today? What mental barriers must I shatter to execute that flawless turn? This personal journey expanded when I realized there were likely others with chronic illnesses who felt isolated. Inspired by my experiences, I authored and self-published Reluctantly Changing. Writing the book was my greatest challenge yet: I spent months revising drafts while managing flare-ups, questioning if my voice mattered. But the process improved my empathy and communication skills. The book's release wasn't an endpoint; it sparked connections. Readers shared their stories, validating my belief that vulnerability fosters community. To amplify this, I founded the Relentless Achievements Awareness Initiative, creating a network where people feel seen and supported. Leading this has challenged me to step into advocacy, improving my leadership while directly enhancing lives—proving that self-betterment ripples outward. These experiences have solidified my commitment to community improvement. In my hometown, Ridgeland, many girls lack outlets for expression. I envision returning after college to open an inclusive dance space offering adaptive classes, scholarships, and wellness programs. To prepare, I plan to major in dance education, where I'll gain pedagogical tools to teach diverse learners. Courses in choreography and kinesiology will deepen my understanding of body mechanics, allowing me to innovate curricula that accommodates conditions like hEDS. I'll challenge myself academically. This degree isn't just a credential; it's a bridge to mentoring the next generation, showing others that challenges are opportunities for growth. Ultimately, my days are consumed by this cycle of introspection and action. Whether journaling post-rehearsal or brainstorming initiative expansions, I'm always asking: How can I be better? How can I help others do the same? hEDS has been my crucible, forging resilience and purpose. Through my book, initiative, and future studio, I'll continue challenging myself while building a community where everyone dances toward their best self. I've discovered that true improvement isn't solitary—it's a shared rhythm, echoing far beyond my own steps.

Between rehearsals, when my joints ache from the hypermobility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), I find myself lost in thought—not dwelling on limitations, but envisioning ways to dance beyond them. Most of my time is spent thinking about how I can challenge myself to become a better version of me, while simultaneously uplifting my community. These thoughts are the fuel that drives my actions, from publishing a book on thriving as a dancer with chronic illness to founding an awareness initiative. These pursuits have taught me that personal growth and communal impact are intertwined, and they drive my aspiration to major in dance education; I hope to ultimately return to my hometown to open a studio that empowers others. My journey began with dance, a passion that both challenges and heals me. Diagnosed with hEDS at 16, I faced a world where my body's connective tissues betrayed me. Doctors initially did not have a diagnosis, suggesting I abandon dance. But I refused to let my condition define me. Instead, I challenged myself to adapt. I researched modifications, incorporating physical therapy into my routines and experimenting with KT tape that allowed fluid movement without sacrifice. This self-imposed rigor wasn't just about survival; it was about excellence. By my junior year, I was succeeding, proving to myself that vulnerability could coexist with strength. Each rehearsal became a meditation on improvement: How could I refine my technique today? What mental barriers must I shatter to execute that flawless turn? This personal journey expanded when I realized there were likely others with chronic illnesses who felt isolated. Inspired by my experiences, I authored and self-published Reluctantly Changing. Writing the book was my greatest challenge yet: I spent months revising drafts while managing flare-ups, questioning if my voice mattered. But the process improved my empathy and communication skills. The book's release wasn't an endpoint; it sparked connections. Readers shared their stories, validating my belief that vulnerability fosters community. To amplify this, I founded the Relentless Achievements Awareness Initiative, creating a network where people feel seen and supported. Leading this has challenged me to step into advocacy, improving my leadership while directly enhancing lives—proving that self-betterment ripples outward. These experiences have solidified my commitment to community improvement. In my hometown, Ridgeland, many girls lack outlets for expression. I envision returning after college to open an inclusive dance space offering adaptive classes, scholarships, and wellness programs. To prepare, I plan to major in dance education, where I'll gain pedagogical tools to teach diverse learners. Courses in choreography and kinesiology will deepen my understanding of body mechanics, allowing me to innovate curricula that accommodates conditions like hEDS. I'll challenge myself academically. This degree isn't just a credential; it's a bridge to mentoring the next generation, showing others that challenges are opportunities for growth. Ultimately, my days are consumed by this cycle of introspection and action. Whether journaling post-rehearsal or brainstorming initiative expansions, I'm always asking: How can I be better? How can I help others do the same? hEDS has been my crucible, forging resilience and purpose. Through my book, initiative, and future studio, I'll continue challenging myself while building a community where everyone dances toward their best self. I've discovered that true improvement isn't solitary—it's a shared rhythm, echoing far beyond my own steps.

Between rehearsals, when my joints ache from the hypermobility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), I find myself lost in thought—not dwelling on limitations, but envisioning ways to dance beyond them. Most of my time is spent thinking about how I can challenge myself to become a better version of me, while simultaneously uplifting my community. These thoughts are the fuel that drives my actions, from publishing a book on thriving as a dancer with chronic illness to founding an awareness initiative. These pursuits have taught me that personal growth and communal impact are intertwined, and they drive my aspiration to major in dance education; I hope to ultimately return to my hometown to open a studio that empowers others. My journey began with dance, a passion that both challenges and heals me. Diagnosed with hEDS at 16, I faced a world where my body's connective tissues betrayed me. Doctors initially did not have a diagnosis, suggesting I abandon dance. But I refused to let my condition define me. Instead, I challenged myself to adapt. I researched modifications, incorporating physical therapy into my routines and experimenting with KT tape that allowed fluid movement without sacrifice. This self-imposed rigor wasn't just about survival; it was about excellence. By my junior year, I was succeeding, proving to myself that vulnerability could coexist with strength. Each rehearsal became a meditation on improvement: How could I refine my technique today? What mental barriers must I shatter to execute that flawless turn? This personal journey expanded when I realized there were likely others with chronic illnesses who felt isolated. Inspired by my experiences, I authored and self-published Reluctantly Changing. Writing the book was my greatest challenge yet: I spent months revising drafts while managing flare-ups, questioning if my voice mattered. But the process improved my empathy and communication skills. The book's release wasn't an endpoint; it sparked connections. Readers shared their stories, validating my belief that vulnerability fosters community. To amplify this, I founded the Relentless Achievements Awareness Initiative, creating a network where people feel seen and supported. Leading this has challenged me to step into advocacy, improving my leadership while directly enhancing lives—proving that self-betterment ripples outward. These experiences have solidified my commitment to community improvement. In my hometown, Ridgeland, many girls lack outlets for expression. I envision returning after college to open an inclusive dance space offering adaptive classes, scholarships, and wellness programs. To prepare, I plan to major in dance education, where I'll gain pedagogical tools to teach diverse learners. Courses in choreography and kinesiology will deepen my understanding of body mechanics, allowing me to innovate curricula that accommodates conditions like hEDS. I'll challenge myself academically. This degree isn't just a credential; it's a bridge to mentoring the next generation, showing others that challenges are opportunities for growth. Ultimately, my days are consumed by this cycle of introspection and action. Whether journaling post-rehearsal or brainstorming initiative expansions, I'm always asking: How can I be better? How can I help others do the same? hEDS has been my crucible, forging resilience and purpose. Through my book, initiative, and future studio, I'll continue challenging myself while building a community where everyone dances toward their best self. I've discovered that true improvement isn't solitary—it's a shared rhythm, echoing far beyond my own steps. @car.songreer

Between rehearsals, when my joints ache from the hypermobility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), I find myself lost in thought—not dwelling on limitations, but envisioning ways to dance beyond them. Most of my time is spent thinking about how I can challenge myself to become a better version of me, while simultaneously uplifting my community. These thoughts are the fuel that drives my actions, from publishing a book on thriving as a dancer with chronic illness to founding an awareness initiative. These pursuits have taught me that personal growth and communal impact are intertwined, and they drive my aspiration to major in dance education; I hope to ultimately return to my hometown to open a studio that empowers others. My journey began with dance, a passion that both challenges and heals me. Diagnosed with hEDS at 16, I faced a world where my body's connective tissues betrayed me. Doctors initially did not have a diagnosis, suggesting I abandon dance. But I refused to let my condition define me. Instead, I challenged myself to adapt. I researched modifications, incorporating physical therapy into my routines and experimenting with KT tape that allowed fluid movement without sacrifice. This self-imposed rigor wasn't just about survival; it was about excellence. By my junior year, I was succeeding, proving to myself that vulnerability could coexist with strength. Each rehearsal became a meditation on improvement: How could I refine my technique today? What mental barriers must I shatter to execute that flawless turn? This personal journey expanded when I realized there were likely others with chronic illnesses who felt isolated. Inspired by my experiences, I authored and self-published Reluctantly Changing. Writing the book was my greatest challenge yet: I spent months revising drafts while managing flare-ups, questioning if my voice mattered. But the process improved my empathy and communication skills. The book's release wasn't an endpoint; it sparked connections. Readers shared their stories, validating my belief that vulnerability fosters community. To amplify this, I founded the Relentless Achievements Awareness Initiative, creating a network where people feel seen and supported. Leading this has challenged me to step into advocacy, improving my leadership while directly enhancing lives—proving that self-betterment ripples outward. These experiences have solidified my commitment to community improvement. In my hometown, Ridgeland, many girls lack outlets for expression. I envision returning after college to open an inclusive dance space offering adaptive classes, scholarships, and wellness programs. To prepare, I plan to major in dance education, where I'll gain pedagogical tools to teach diverse learners. Courses in choreography and kinesiology will deepen my understanding of body mechanics, allowing me to innovate curricula that accommodates conditions like hEDS. I'll challenge myself academically. This degree isn't just a credential; it's a bridge to mentoring the next generation, showing others that challenges are opportunities for growth. Ultimately, my days are consumed by this cycle of introspection and action. Whether journaling post-rehearsal or brainstorming initiative expansions, I'm always asking: How can I be better? How can I help others do the same? hEDS has been my crucible, forging resilience and purpose. Through my book, initiative, and future studio, I'll continue challenging myself while building a community where everyone dances toward their best self. I've discovered that true improvement isn't solitary—it's a shared rhythm, echoing far beyond my own steps.

Between rehearsals, when my joints ache from the hypermobility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), I find myself lost in thought—not dwelling on limitations, but envisioning ways to dance beyond them. Most of my time is spent thinking about how I can challenge myself to become a better version of me, while simultaneously uplifting my community. These thoughts are the fuel that drives my actions, from publishing a book on thriving as a dancer with chronic illness to founding an awareness initiative. These pursuits have taught me that personal growth and communal impact are intertwined, and they drive my aspiration to major in dance education; I hope to ultimately return to my hometown to open a studio that empowers others. My journey began with dance, a passion that both challenges and heals me. Diagnosed with hEDS at 16, I faced a world where my body's connective tissues betrayed me. Doctors initially did not have a diagnosis, suggesting I abandon dance. But I refused to let my condition define me. Instead, I challenged myself to adapt. I researched modifications, incorporating physical therapy into my routines and experimenting with KT tape that allowed fluid movement without sacrifice. This self-imposed rigor wasn't just about survival; it was about excellence. By my junior year, I was succeeding, proving to myself that vulnerability could coexist with strength. Each rehearsal became a meditation on improvement: How could I refine my technique today? What mental barriers must I shatter to execute that flawless turn? This personal journey expanded when I realized there were likely others with chronic illnesses who felt isolated. Inspired by my experiences, I authored and self-published Reluctantly Changing. Writing the book was my greatest challenge yet: I spent months revising drafts while managing flare-ups, questioning if my voice mattered. But the process improved my empathy and communication skills. The book's release wasn't an endpoint; it sparked connections. Readers shared their stories, validating my belief that vulnerability fosters community. To amplify this, I founded the Relentless Achievements Awareness Initiative, creating a network where people feel seen and supported. Leading this has challenged me to step into advocacy, improving my leadership while directly enhancing lives—proving that self-betterment ripples outward. These experiences have solidified my commitment to community improvement. In my hometown, Ridgeland, many girls lack outlets for expression. I envision returning after college to open an inclusive dance space offering adaptive classes, scholarships, and wellness programs. To prepare, I plan to major in dance education, where I'll gain pedagogical tools to teach diverse learners. Courses in choreography and kinesiology will deepen my understanding of body mechanics, allowing me to innovate curricula that accommodates conditions like hEDS. I'll challenge myself academically. This degree isn't just a credential; it's a bridge to mentoring the next generation, showing others that challenges are opportunities for growth. Ultimately, my days are consumed by this cycle of introspection and action. Whether journaling post-rehearsal or brainstorming initiative expansions, I'm always asking: How can I be better? How can I help others do the same? hEDS has been my crucible, forging resilience and purpose. Through my book, initiative, and future studio, I'll continue challenging myself while building a community where everyone dances toward their best self. I've discovered that true improvement isn't solitary—it's a shared rhythm, echoing far beyond my own steps.

Between rehearsals, when my joints ache from the hypermobility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), I find myself lost in thought—not dwelling on limitations, but envisioning ways to dance beyond them. Most of my time is spent thinking about how I can challenge myself to become a better version of me, while simultaneously uplifting my community. These thoughts are the fuel that drives my actions, from publishing a book on thriving as a dancer with chronic illness to founding an awareness initiative. These pursuits have taught me that personal growth and communal impact are intertwined, and they drive my aspiration to major in dance education; I hope to ultimately return to my hometown to open a studio that empowers others. My journey began with dance, a passion that both challenges and heals me. Diagnosed with hEDS at 16, I faced a world where my body's connective tissues betrayed me. Doctors initially did not have a diagnosis, suggesting I abandon dance. But I refused to let my condition define me. Instead, I challenged myself to adapt. I researched modifications, incorporating physical therapy into my routines and experimenting with KT tape that allowed fluid movement without sacrifice. This self-imposed rigor wasn't just about survival; it was about excellence. By my junior year, I was succeeding, proving to myself that vulnerability could coexist with strength. Each rehearsal became a meditation on improvement: How could I refine my technique today? What mental barriers must I shatter to execute that flawless turn? This personal journey expanded when I realized there were likely others with chronic illnesses who felt isolated. Inspired by my experiences, I authored and self-published Reluctantly Changing. Writing the book was my greatest challenge yet: I spent months revising drafts while managing flare-ups, questioning if my voice mattered. But the process improved my empathy and communication skills. The book's release wasn't an endpoint; it sparked connections. Readers shared their stories, validating my belief that vulnerability fosters community. To amplify this, I founded the Relentless Achievements Awareness Initiative, creating a network where people feel seen and supported. Leading this has challenged me to step into advocacy, improving my leadership while directly enhancing lives—proving that self-betterment ripples outward. These experiences have solidified my commitment to community improvement. In my hometown, Ridgeland, many girls lack outlets for expression. I envision returning after college to open an inclusive dance space offering adaptive classes, scholarships, and wellness programs. To prepare, I plan to major in dance education, where I'll gain pedagogical tools to teach diverse learners. Courses in choreography and kinesiology will deepen my understanding of body mechanics, allowing me to innovate curricula that accommodates conditions like hEDS. I'll challenge myself academically. This degree isn't just a credential; it's a bridge to mentoring the next generation, showing others that challenges are opportunities for growth. Ultimately, my days are consumed by this cycle of introspection and action. Whether journaling post-rehearsal or brainstorming initiative expansions, I'm always asking: How can I be better? How can I help others do the same? hEDS has been my crucible, forging resilience and purpose. Through my book, initiative, and future studio, I'll continue challenging myself while building a community where everyone dances toward their best self. I've discovered that true improvement isn't solitary—it's a shared rhythm, echoing far beyond my own steps.

Between rehearsals, when my joints ache from the hypermobility of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), I find myself lost in thought—not dwelling on limitations, but envisioning ways to dance beyond them. Most of my time is spent thinking about how I can challenge myself to become a better version of me, while simultaneously uplifting my community. These thoughts are the fuel that drives my actions, from publishing a book on thriving as a dancer with chronic illness to founding an awareness initiative. These pursuits have taught me that personal growth and communal impact are intertwined, and they drive my aspiration to major in dance education; I hope to ultimately return to my hometown to open a studio that empowers others. My journey began with dance, a passion that both challenges and heals me. Diagnosed with hEDS at 16, I faced a world where my body's connective tissues betrayed me. Doctors initially did not have a diagnosis, suggesting I abandon dance. But I refused to let my condition define me. Instead, I challenged myself to adapt. I researched modifications, incorporating physical therapy into my routines and experimenting with KT tape that allowed fluid movement without sacrifice. This self-imposed rigor wasn't just about survival; it was about excellence. By my junior year, I was succeeding, proving to myself that vulnerability could coexist with strength. Each rehearsal became a meditation on improvement: How could I refine my technique today? What mental barriers must I shatter to execute that flawless turn? This personal journey expanded when I realized there were likely others with chronic illnesses who felt isolated. Inspired by my experiences, I authored and self-published Reluctantly Changing. Writing the book was my greatest challenge yet: I spent months revising drafts while managing flare-ups, questioning if my voice mattered. But the process improved my empathy and communication skills. The book's release wasn't an endpoint; it sparked connections. Readers shared their stories, validating my belief that vulnerability fosters community. To amplify this, I founded the Relentless Achievements Awareness Initiative, creating a network where people feel seen and supported. Leading this has challenged me to step into advocacy, improving my leadership while directly enhancing lives—proving that self-betterment ripples outward. These experiences have solidified my commitment to community improvement. In my hometown, Ridgeland, many girls lack outlets for expression. I envision returning after college to open an inclusive dance space offering adaptive classes, scholarships, and wellness programs. To prepare, I plan to major in dance education, where I'll gain pedagogical tools to teach diverse learners. Courses in choreography and kinesiology will deepen my understanding of body mechanics, allowing me to innovate curricula that accommodates conditions like hEDS. I'll challenge myself academically. This degree isn't just a credential; it's a bridge to mentoring the next generation, showing others that challenges are opportunities for growth. Ultimately, my days are consumed by this cycle of introspection and action. Whether journaling post-rehearsal or brainstorming initiative expansions, I'm always asking: How can I be better? How can I help others do the same? hEDS has been my crucible, forging resilience and purpose. Through my book, initiative, and future studio, I'll continue challenging myself while building a community where everyone dances toward their best self. I've discovered that true improvement isn't solitary—it's a shared rhythm, echoing far beyond my own steps.