I was created “almost” complete and born “perfectly imperfect”. My cleft lip and palate scars were a constant visible reminder that something about me was purposefully unfinished. Yet, I never saw my differences as a flaw in my creation. My scar was evidence of something bigger than myself: a story in progress. By the grace of God, through the steady hands of my doctor, and the overwhelming faith of my family, my physical face was completed, yet my testimony was just beginning. Throughout my life, I have turned towards the words of Psalms 139:13-16. Those verses, focusing on God’s hands on my life before my birth, remind me that my cleft was never a mistake. God knew the entirety of my story, well before I had even taken my first breath, and He wrote my life with delicate intention. As I grew older, I began to see my differences as a doorway. I traveled across America to share my testimony, from Capitol Hill to classrooms, from NYC galas to hospital rooms. Being born “perfectly incomplete” became a way to share God’s faithfulness with others walking the same path. Faith has never been an abstract concept to me. I’ve seen it firsthand in surgical rooms, waiting rooms, doctors’ offices and beyond. My faith has been with me as I stared at myself in a mirror, learning how to see beauty in the fingerprints of the Creator. It has been in my parents’ prayers before every surgery and in praise after every operation. Faith has shown that the “almost” complete doesn’t mean broken. It means God is stitching together my story. I plan to attend a university where I can grow spiritually and academically in a community that sees every step as a part of a bigger journey. A place where scripture and a relationship with God is the foundation of all things, not a footnote. Where conversations of purpose calling and God’s hand in our journeys are welcomed and woven into daily life. I hope to bring my testimony as a lived experience. I envision sitting on the floor of an overflowing dorm room during a Tuesday night bible study and attending Sunday morning services with those who will become my life-long friends. I want to become a part of a Christian Legal Society and find a home for myself amongst strong individuals carving the way forward while blending faith and career. With hopes to someday work in Law, I want to speak about surgeries, scars, advocacy and hope when His plan doesn't match ours. I have learned to share my story with young patients before their surgeries. I tell them they are fearfully and wonderfully made, not after surgery, but before it. On campus, I hope to bring that same heart into conversations in classrooms, chapel gatherings, and service projects. My journey has taught me how to hold both beauty and hardship with faith, and it is my calling to share it with others.

Today, beauty is skin deep, but the definition of beauty excludes too many. I never understood why there wasn’t an American Girl Doll or Barbie that looked like me. Some came pretty close, brown hair, glasses, a pink dress, but they all missed the one thing that made me me: my scar. Growing up, I learned how to navigate a world that celebrated “unique” only when it fit neatly within certain lines. A cleft lip and palate did not. Even though more than 5,000 children are born with a cleft each year, there wasn’t a single doll that honored our experiences, strength, or stories. As a kid, I didn’t have the language to explain why this bothered me so deeply. I never held tangible representation, and everything I saw online only made it worse. Even now, movies that take Hollywood beauties only to transform him/her with ‘hideous’ scars stir up a feeling of such utter hopelessness and alienation. It feels as if my face, and the faces of kids like me, didn’t fit the image of what beauty was “supposed” to look like. That absence planted the earliest seeds of the question that has shaped much of my life: If I can’t find representation, how many other kids can’t either? I decided to create what I had always needed: dolls that reflect real children with real medical journeys. Each doll is customizable for all kinds of procedures: heart surgery scars, limb differences, mobility devices, and cleft lip and palate. No child should feel like they are the only one. No child should wonder why their story isn’t worthy of the same shelf space as everyone else’s. Watching a child hold a doll that finally looks like them is indescribable. Kids trace their dolls’ scars with their fingers the same way they trace their own in the mirror. They see themselves not as mistakes or medical cases, but as whole, brave, and worthy of celebration. Creating these dolls fill a gap in representation and allow me to reclaim the part of myself I used to hide. However, all of my hard work becomes unstitched when industries and society as a whole decides to add a scar, not to honor but to marginalize. The only way forward is to put on a brave smile, speak up, and take up the space that was never saved for the “unpretty.” With funding and resources, I would set aim to solve the systematic stigma of unrealistic beauty standards set on society causing the lack of representation for those with disabilities and differences. A wide-spread campaign including disability-affected individuals and those who support them would focus on imaging and representation in major brands, feature films, and media. Through initiating conversations with brand executives, film makers, and media representatives, education would become essential to reveal the harmful effects of current practices. For example, having the villian in a motion picture undergo hours of make-up application to create a resemblance of the same birth defect for which I was born creates an unfair stigma of scarred individuals being evil doers. Aligning with agencies that currently advocate for disability inclusivity, major progress can be made so that someday ALL children can see heroes with differences in movies, princesses with scars in story books, and differences, diseases, and disabilities portrayed with respect and accuracy.

As a child, the decisions that shaped access to the medical procedures and surgeries I needed were made in rooms where my voice didn’t exist. I was born with a cleft lip and palate, and the surgeries and treatments that dictated my future, and the staggering costs of these life-altering procedures, weren’t discussed around me. I suppose it was my job to fight my fears and my parents’ job to fight insurance. As I grew older, I understood that the barriers we faced weren't isolated experiences, they were happening to families like mine across America. Deemed “cosmetic” and “not medically necessary,” these denials were a part of a larger problem of systematic healthcare denials that targeted congenital abnormalities as cosmetic surgeries. This realization inspired me to step out of the waiting room and into advocacy. For the past two years, I have become the advocate that hopefully future generations will not need. I partnered with Operation Smile, a nonprofit organization that provides craniofacial surgeries to children in impoverished countries, to advocate for a life-changing piece of healthcare legislation here in the United States. I traveled to Washington D.C. to speak with Senators and House Representatives, sharing my own truth and my family's experiences with insurance denials, emphasizing how healthcare inequality affected the care I needed. The Ensuring Lasting Smiles Act, or ELSA Bill, guarantees full and complete healthcare coverage for individuals born with congenital abnormalities like mine. Through traveling to D.C., meeting with staffers, and continuous lobbying with legislators, I have learned how words, when carefully chosen, can change perspectives, influence policy, and create hope. Majoring in political science will help me analyze how laws and policies are created, challenged, and changed. I am deeply drawn to the intersection of health and policy, where legislation determines access to care. Through courses on constitutional law, public policy, and political theory, I hope to build the intellectual framework necessary to become an advocate and eventually an effective lawyer. My dream is to attend law school after obtaining my undergraduate degree. A law degree would allow me to deepen my fight for families like my own who are constantly told ‘coverage was denied’ when their child's health and future is on the line. I want to be able to persuade courtrooms, speak at legislative hearings and draft policies that change the face of modern healthcare. My personal experience has taught me that the system is not always fair, and it has also shown me that change is possible when people are willing to fight for it. A university degree in political science then law school is the first step toward turning my passion into a profession. I want to learn how to turn experiences into legislation, how to use the law to protect the vulnerable, and how to create lasting change. I believe the best advocates are those who understand both the human experience and the structures that shape it, and I plan to be one of them.

Surgical stitches were still red and raw on my newborn face, as a teddy bear with tiny stitches hand-woven on his furry face was placed in my crib. I was born with a cleft lip and palate, and while surgeons could repair the physical pieces I was born without, I would walk through my life with a visible scar and the invisible “difference” left from a childhood of surgeries and medical procedures. As a child, I felt the weight of isolation, not growing up around a community full of similar, scarred smiles, in a society that doesn’t embrace differences or representation. There were no beautiful Barbie dolls or Disney princesses. There wasn’t even one other child at my elementary school whose parents were given the same prenatal diagnosis broken to my parents. At age five, I decided to fill that void for others. I started asking for monetary donations in lieu of birthday presents and used the money to purchase and gift a teddy bear with cleft stitches to every baby born with a cleft lip in the Phoenix area. From the grateful response from families across Arizona, the idea of the Teddy Bear Picnic was born. I was only six, but I envisioned a space where families, affected by cleft conditions, could come together, share their experiences, and feel connected in their community. Now, in its twelfth year, I have realized how powerful community service can become when it connects families in need of a strong community. I started my business, Stitches by Charlotte, a collection of customizable surgery companion dolls at age seven. Each hand-made doll includes a kid-friendly sewing kit so stitches can be added to each doll, matching and honoring the medical journey of every child. My dolls empower pediatric patients; their differences are not something to hide but something to embrace. By honoring scars rather than hiding them, I help children reclaim confidence in their own stories and understand that their differences are a source of strength, not limitation. As I grew, I realized that my smile and the voice behind it yielded power. I turned to advocacy. I lead campaigns for cleft repairs in underprivileged countries, and I work tirelessly within my home hospital. I accepted a position on the Cleft and Craniofacial Care Center Philanthropic Advisory Council and became the President of the Phoenix Children's Hospital Teen Council. There are no better days than those volunteering inside the halls of the hospital that gave me my smile. I frequently share my story in front of families, doctors, foundation leads, and large-scale donors. I travel across America sharing my medical journey and empowering others to join my advocacy aims. I place dolls in the hands of children across the country witnessing the effects of gratitude and kindness. I’ve taken my story to our Nation's Capitol. I climbed the steps of Capitol Hill to lobby for the ELSA Bill, or Ensuring Lasting Smiles Act, a critical piece of bi-partisan and bi-cameral healthcare legislation for individuals born with congenital abnormalities. ELSA closes loopholes in insurance coverage for individuals born with defects and disorders and would change the lives of families like mine across America. Lobbying has taught me that service requires civic courage, persistence, and a belief that young voices belong in shaping national change. I often feel as if I was born with a cause: a world to change one smile at a time. I have become the advocate, role-model, and friend I grew up without, and I will continue to sew smiles, fight for smiles, and smile knowing I’m making a difference.