I have always loved to read. As a child, books were my escape and my comfort. As I grew older, they became mirrors that reflected my struggles and maps that helped me find my way forward. Since becoming a mother of three, leisure reading has become rare especially after returning to college, but the books that matter most have stayed with me. Over the years I have found myself reaching for one series when I need to remember who I am and what I'm capable of: Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games. On the surface, The Hunger Games is a story about survival and rebellion. But for me, it has always been about something more, resilience, inner strength and the courage to keep pushing forward when all you want to do is run away. Katniss Everdeen constantly doubts herself. She questions her choices and whether she is strong enough to protect the people she loves. She doesn't see herself as a hero. She keeps fighting anyway, not because she completely believes in herself, but because she refuses to give up. Watching her grow into her own strength has been a mirror for my own journey. So much of my life has been spent doubting myself, as a mother, as a student, as someone trying to build a future from impossible circumstances. But like Katniss, I am learning that strength isn't about being sure of yourself at all times. It's about trusting that you can handle what comes next, even when you don't have all the answers. I also relate to Peeta Mellark, whose strength lies in his kindness and empathy. He reminds me that resilience isn't always loud; sometimes it's quiet and rooted in the belief that people are worth fighting for. That is the kind of strength I want to carry into my future classroom. The prequels have added even more depth to the series. In Sunrise on the Reaping, we see Haymitch Abernathy before he became the broken mentor. His is a cautionary tale about what happens when trauma goes unaddressed. I know what it's like to carry pain alone and wonder if fighting is worth it. Haymitch reminds me why I prioritize my mental health and encourage others to do the same, because without support what we carry can destroy us. Similarly, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes shows us a young Snow who had opportunities to choose differently, but let fear and ambition guide him instead. His is a reminder that we have to consistently choose who we want to become. And then there is Lucy Gray, someone who held on to hope but trusted her instincts to leave before it was too late. She reminds me that survival sometimes means knowing when to leave, even when it hurts. I carry this lesson in the boundaries I have set for myself and my children. When I am doubting myself, I reach for this series. It reminds me that the pain and fear will not last forever. That giving it my all, showing up, trying again, and refusing to give up are meaningful acts of resistance. And I’m reminded that the fight for a better future is worth every sacrifice. I want to pass that belief on to my future students. I want to create a classroom where they feel seen, where they are reminded that their circumstances do not define their potential, and where they are given the tools to build a better world. That is a piece of what books have given me, and what I hope to give back.

Mental health is important to me as a student because I know firsthand what happens when it goes unaddressed. I have struggled with my own mental health for most of my adolescence and all of my adult life. After the birth of my first child in 2013, I experienced postpartum depression, but I had so much on my plate as a single mother with limited support systems that I didn't have time to address it. I pushed through, but I wasn't truly okay. I have long stayed in survival mode, and only recently have I realized how far from thriving I have been. In 2020, while pregnant with my second child, I was finally able to start counseling. It was a turning point. Having a safe space to process what I was carrying, without judgment, without having to perform strength I didn't feel, was life-changing. That experience taught me that seeking help isn't a sign of weakness, but one of the bravest things a person can do. Since returning to college this past spring, I've been able to take advantage of the free counseling services on campus. That resource has been an absolute gift. It has helped me manage the stress of balancing school, parenting, marriage, a complicated custody arrangement, and my own ADHD. Having access to mental health support has made the difference between giving up and pushing forward. Because I know what it's like to struggle alone, I advocate for mental health every chance I get. In my home, I talk openly with my children about feelings, that it's okay to be sad, angry, or overwhelmed, and that we don't have to carry those feelings by ourselves. In my community, I encourage other parents, friends, and fellow students to find a counselor or therapist. I don't preach about it; I just share my own story and let them know that help is available and that they deserve it. I also advocate by normalizing conversations around mental health. So many people suffer in silence because they're afraid of being judged or seen as weak. I want to be part of changing that. Whether it's a quick conversation after class or a deeper discussion with a friend who is struggling, I try to remind people that their mental health matters, not just their grades, not just their productivity, but their whole self. Mental health care isn't a luxury; it's a necessity. As a future educator, I plan to carry that belief into my classroom. I want to create a space where students feel safe enough to be honest about what they're carrying, that they don't have to carry it alone, and that there are people who care about them, including myself and the school counselors, even when they feel like they have no one else. I want my students to know that seeking help is a strength, and that carrying all of their burdens and traumas alone is what will lead to further problems as they go through life.

I am working to be a secondary English educator. Not just to teach literature, but to help students believe in themselves. I want to be one of the adults who pushes them to be their best, especially if they come from a rough home life like I did. I know what it's like to feel stuck in the ruts created by parents, to wonder if anyone notices your potential or cares enough to help you reach it. I want to be the person who does notice, who does care, and who refuses to let a student settle for less than they're capable of. My vision extends beyond the classroom. I want to give back to my community by investing in it by showing up, by advocating, and by helping build something lasting. So many people have written Louisiana off. So many families are still suffering from storms that occurred years ago, still waiting for someone to remember them, still struggling to rebuild not just their homes but their hope. I want to be part of changing that. I want to help students see that they are capable of making this parish, this state, and this world a better place, not in spite of where they come from, but because of it. A dream of mine is to eventually obtain a seat on the school board. From there, I want to push for initiatives that reconnect students to their community and their environment. Ideally starting with community and school gardens. A garden isn't just about growing food; it's about growing pride, teaching responsibility, and showing students that they can create something beautiful with their own hands. It's a small but tangible way to rebuild hope, one seed at a time. The people who inspire me most are my own children. They are why I wake up every day and keep pushing forward, even when it's hard. I want them to have a better future and more opportunities than I had. But I also want that for every child—not just my own. I want every student to feel that they have worth, that they are capable, and that they don't have to settle for mediocre. They don't have to accept the circumstances they were born into as their ceiling. This is the impact I want to make: to be a teacher who sees the potential in every student, a community member who refuses to let her parish be forgotten, and a voice on the school board that pushes for changes that will be better for students and their families. I want to create a future where students leave my classroom not just with better reading and writing skills, but with a stronger belief in themselves and their ability to shape the world around them.

My ultimate career goal is to earn a Master's in English and Education Management, teach at the high school level, and eventually serve on my parish school board. Currently, I am pursuing a Bachelor's in English and Secondary Education at LSUA. I am at 85% complete with approximately 20 credit hours remaining. My path includes key milestones: the Praxis exam this December, starting blocks this fall, residency next fall and obtaining my teaching certificate. I am also waiting to complete the required background checks and drug testing once the parish administration offices reopen, and I have secured my LiveText account for student teaching. To reach these goals, I have established a clear timeline and a practical budget. I plan to maintain full-time status, with the goal of graduating in Spring 2028 across five remaining semesters: Fall 2026, Spring 2027, Summer 2027, Fall 2027, and Spring 2028. My budget is built on LSUA's estimated cost of attendance for Louisiana residents. For the 2026-2027 academic year, I anticipate the following: • Tuition & Fees: $7,966 • Books & Supplies: $1,385 • Transportation: $3,755 • Other Education Costs: $2,743 These are base figures, but my reality includes significant additional costs. Childcare is a heavy expense: daycare for my youngest is $150 per week, and I spend roughly $100 monthly on school costs for my middle child. My grocery budget is approximately $400 per month. Furthermore, my vehicle is increasingly unreliable, making the transportation estimate a critical concern. My husband works a blue-collar job with inconsistent income due to factors outside of his control impacting his production. Additionally, I am actively navigating custody disagreements for my eldest daughter, which involve unpredictable legal fees. I have already paid for the LiveText account, background checks, and the Praxis exam through my summer semester student loans. Unfortunately, these unplanned expenses repeatedly strain my budget and threaten to derail my progress. Given the financial demands, securing this scholarship is essential. It will provide a foundation of stability, allowing me to cover core education costs and focus on my studies. Without it, though, I have developed contingency plans: I will take out additional loans, aggressively apply for more scholarships, and sell outgrown children's clothes, toys, and other items to offset costs. My support system is a vital resource, but it has limits. My in-laws are a tremendous help with dinners and occasional childcare. I also have a close friend who sometimes watches my son. However, these sources are not regular. I rely on on-campus counseling for mental health support and work with an off-campus psychologist for my ADHD, both of which are essential for my success as a student. My role as a mother doesn't affect my timeline, but it does tighten my budget significantly. My custody arrangement doesn't affect my course load as much as it shapes my study time and parental guilt. I hold tightly to the goal of graduating in 2028, knowing that achieving this degree will provide a stable future for my children. While life will inevitably throw curveballs, I will address them as they come. My plan is firm, but I've built in the flexibility to pivot when necessary while never losing sight of my educational goals.

One of my favorite Olivia Rodrigo songs is "Teenage Dream", it hits me in a way that few others do. The song takes me back to my own teenage years, and I find it still touches parts of my life today. When I was younger, I often felt the weight of the lyrics, "When am I gonna stop being wise beyond my years and just start being wise? When am I gonna stop being great for my age and just start being good?" Unfortunately, at that time, I didn't know how to properly articulate the sentiment, and I didn't have anyone to have such conversations with. When I became an adult and a mother, I was able to understand the song on an even deeper level. I have been told more times than I can count that I am "doing a great job for someone in my situation." Really, it is a balancing act that includes raising my two younger children, navigating a complicated custody arrangement for my eldest, returning to college to become a secondary English educator, managing my ADHD, and parenting a non-verbal toddler. While the praise is justified, it doesn't take away the longing for relief that Olivia Rodrigo captures so well. The implication is always clear: I'm doing great for now, but I shouldn't expect to keep it up. My clock is ticking, and in many ways I'm running behind. After all, there is always someone waiting for me to hit the ceiling. Like Olivia Rodrigo, there have been countless times I have found myself asking, "When am I going to stop being impressive for someone my age and just be impressive?" I want to be seen as a strong student because of my work ethic, not only because I am a mother and a non-traditional student. I want my children to see their mother as someone who did what she set out to do—not as someone who tried hard but couldn't reach the goal line in time. Another line that pulls at me is, "They all say it gets better, but what if I don't?" Many people have told me that completing my degree will be worth it, that my children will be proud of me, and that life will be easier. But there is a part of me that hasn't been able to stop worrying that I won't stop feeling like I'm in a marathon. What if I finish my degree, yet I'm still fighting, trying to prove myself? What I love about "Teenage Dream" is that Olivia Rodrigo does not try to claim she has the answers. She simply gives a voice to the fear. In a way, that is enough. It is a reminder that I am not the only one who feels this way. It tells everyone that the pressure to be exceptional and the fear that you'll never measure up is a shared human experience, and admitting that fear and allowing ourselves to feel it is the first step to moving past it.

Returning to school as a parent has been one of the most rewarding and challenging experiences of my life, especially after spending the past six years as a stay-at-home mom. When I decided to go back to finish my degree and change my major to my younger self's dream job of being a teacher, I knew it would not be easy. But I underestimated just how much finesse it would take. I am a mother of two young children full time, which means my days start early and end late, even before returning to college. My youngest is in the beginning stages of potty training, she's non-verbal yet very opinionated. My middle child is going into first grade, while still learning to navigate a family structure none of his classmates can relate to. My eldest daughter splits her time between Louisiana and Arkansas due to the custody arrangement. My husband is inconsistently home. Coordinating drop-offs, doctor's appointments, school schedules, and learning how to be a good human while also managing my own coursework requires equal amounts of planning and flexibility. Many nights I'm awake past midnight working on assignments and mornings when I'm juggling making breakfast with reviewing notes. The biggest challenge I am facing is navigating the emotional weight of being a student and a parent, especially with my eldest child not being with me full time. The tension between being a present parent and being a straight A student is substantial. As I see it, if I am going to miss time with all of my children for my degree, I need to make it count, and walking away with just a degree in hand isn't good enough. I need to make myself and my children proud by being among the top of my graduating class. Since my eldest daughter lives in Arkansas with her father during the school year, my visitation time has been limited, even before returning to college. The decision to return to college also came with the painful acceptance that I would be sacrificing some of that already scarce time with her. The sacrifice isn't because I want to, but because my class schedule and goal of graduating as early as possible demand it. Her father and I don't often see eye to eye on what that balance should look like, which adds another layer of stress to an already difficult situation. To maintain my relationship with her, I must delicately balance my studying with opportunities to FaceTime. The balance isn't always smooth, especially while caring for her younger siblings. It is worth it because I know that finishing my degree in education is the best way I can secure a stable future for all of my children. I want her to look back and see that her mother fought for something better, even though it meant some difficult seasons along the way. Balancing being a student and a parent has also taught me to better recognize my own limitations. I've had to learn when to ask for help and when to push through. I've also had to learn to be more firm in setting boundaries for routines and schedules for my family. Not only are routines important for my younger children, they are vital in helping manage my ADHD. Though I used to push myself to the breaking point rather than ask for help and seem incapable or weak, I am learning that asking for help is a form of strength. It's how I can make sure I show up for my kids and myself without burning out.

When I was in high school, I was lucky to have teachers that truly wanted to make a difference for their students. Several gave me encouragement, and their surprise over the quality of work I turned in was equally uplifting. Due to my unstable home life I rarely saw myself as someone who could go far. But they saw something in me that I could not yet see in myself. Those moments stayed with me and are a large part of the reason I want to become a teacher. I am pursuing a degree in Secondary English Education. My path to the classroom has not been straight, or smooth. In my early twenties I started college unsure of what I wanted. I switched majors, took time off to become a mother, and moved states. Somewhere in the chaos of diapers and finding myself as an individual outside of my identity of a mother, I saw a need in the education system and wanted to help fill it. I have never forgot the feelings of hope and happiness that my teachers gave me and I want to pass that on for future generations. I plan to make a positive impact on the world by teaching high school English in Louisiana. This state has such rich culture and history, but it has communities that have been overlooked in the wake of natural disasters coupled with a teacher shortage. I want to stay. To be the teacher who shows up every day, who sees her students as more than their test scores, who helps them believe that their voices matter and they can make a change in the world. English class is not just about grammar and literature. It is about learning how to write your own story. I want to give my students the tools to do that. Whether they are struggling readers, reluctant writers, or teenagers who have rarely been given opportunities to see their own capabilities. My goal is to create a classroom where students feel seen, heard, and valued. I am not a traditional college student. I am a mother of three, a wife, and someone who has worked hard for every credit on my transcript. These are exactly the reasons that will help me be a good teacher. I know what it feels like to struggle, to come close to giving up, and to know when to take a new direction on life’s path. I also know how powerful it is to have someone believe in you when you don't believe in yourself and that is how I plan on making a positive impact.

When students walk into their high school English classroom, they bring baggage. Not just their backpacks, the other kind. The "I'm not a good reader", "books are boring, streaming is better" and "this has nothing to do with my life" baggage. The poster I have created aims to unpack that baggage one line at a time. The background is blue watercolor, soft and endless like the sky after rain. In the left upper corner, a book lies open with ruffled pages and stars floating out. These stars show the magic within the book spilling out, the universe inside escaping and inviting the students in. Reading is not a locked door, it is an explosion of possibility. In the right upper area, elegant letters state, "Reading is time travel." The center holds the message that "You can live a thousand lives, visit a hundred worlds, and meet people who died centuries ago." Toward the lower right corner holds a travel log book, with a delicate pocket watch. Both are soft but sturdy, having traveled thoroughly together and holding promise to travel more. At the bottom is the quote that inspired everything from George R R Martin: "I have lived a thousand lives and loved a thousand loves. I have walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because I read." This poster directly supports reading as a core standard in English Language Arts. State standards emphasize that students must not only be able to decode words, but also analyze themes, develop empathy for characters, and understand different perspectives. Reading is more than a skill. It is a gateway to every other standard on the page. When a student opens a book, they practice inference, interpretation, critical thinking and connection all at once. This poster reframes reading as an adventure, not an assignment to help students approach those standards with curiosity instead of resistance. Visual learning matters more than ever now. Modern K-12 students spend many hours in front of screens daily. Additionally their brains are wired to process visuals faster than text alone. This makes a classroom poster more than decoration, it becomes a tool. Posters help meet students where they already are. When a student glances up from their desk work to see stars floating from an open book that image will linger. It says, without need of a lecture, that wonder lives within books too. Visuals can bypass defenses, connecting with students before they have time to roll their eyes. This posture does not lecture or demand, it invites. It tells the reluctant reader that they have opportunity for exploration. It tells the fantasy lover that they belong. Most of all it tells every student who has ever felt disconnected that reading is not a chore. Reading is a door to so many possibilities.

Before COVID there was more rhythm in towns. Summer concerts at parks. Story time at the library. Festivals and community events. Families that played on public jungle gyms. Houses that decorated for Halloween and actually gave out candy. These were not just for entertainment, this was how people found connection. Then the pandemic hit, and everything stopped. When life slowly began to reopen, the rhythm from before never came back. The parks had less upkeep, and the play equipment stopped being replaced. The library event calendar stayed thin. Although the festivals returned, they were much smaller and somehow less inviting. As a parent, I began to notice something even bigger was happening, public spaces and events were no longer being designed for people to connect. Instead they were being designed for people to capture a social media moment. Benches were being angled less for connection opportunities and more toward the perfect photo backdrop. Playgrounds stayed sitting empty, and the parents who were there were mostly scrolling on their phones. Halloween started having fewer kids in costume collecting candy and even fewer houses providing it. Community event calendars began to shrink as well, and the events offered were less for connection and more for a hopeful viral moment. Through some travel I have noticed that this shift has hit small and rural communities especially hard. Cities still have funding for splash pads, well-maintained libraries, and community events. But the rural area where I live, the chances to create human connections have come close to drying up. Parks are becoming run down. Libraries are offering fewer and fewer events and clubs. Skating rinks and arcades are constantly teetering on shutting down. I worry about the future of human connection continuing this trajectory where we share space yet never truly meet. I do not think the answer is rejection of technology. The answer is remembering what technology was meant to enhance, not replace. After all technology does offer a way to find opportunities to connect and to stay in touch. Rather, we need a societal shift back to public events and spaces that prioritize connection over aesthetics. Libraries need funding to host story hours, book clubs, and learning opportunities. Parks need maintenance so families feel safe letting their kids be kids again. Festivals need to be more than photo opportunities. They need to be places where strangers can become friends. As a future teacher I want to be a part of that shift. Classrooms are public spaces too. In them students can learn to look up from their screens, making eye contact, listening to each other and making real connections. Educators can also begin the shift away from laptop lessons, returning to lessons that build community within the classroom. Before I can make the most impact teaching English and Literature, I need to also teach my students how to be present with one another. Technology isn't going anywhere, and neither is our need for real, messy, inconvenient human connection. The question is whether we will design our world to nurture or to starve it. The attached photo is of my youngest child, looking at a completely empty park.

My father died in the spring of 2023. I wasn't ready. I don't think I will ever be ready. Flying to California I thought I would be saying goodbye to the man I had adored as a child. The man who understood mechanics so well, was so intelligent, and who was always learning new tidbits of information. The man that had grown up in a family of successful, classy individuals, and held so much potential. Yet somewhere between my childhood and his death, he had become someone I barely recognized. He had become a meth user, the hospital informed me. I would later learn that the man I had almost idolized, had likely not been the man I thought he was for a long time. He recklessly blew through settlement money from a California wildfire, never attempting to visit his children or grandchildren. He allowed the home he was once so proud of become a junkyard with trash heaps. He had allowed the woman who tormented me as a child stay in his life. I have spent the years since trying to figure out how to mourn a person I loved, and lost twice. Once to addiction, and finally to death. My emotions have been tangled. I am disappointed in who he became. Enraged he never bettered himself when he had so many opportunities. Heartbroken he never met my youngest children, nor made the effort to know them. Underneath all of this, I am still grieving the man I adored as a little girl, who had made me feel safe and loved. I have learned how non-linear grief truly is. Grief doesn’t care about timelines or logic. Some days I am at peace, other days a small memory can leave me reeling. I have also been working to accept that although I carry his last name, I do not carry his choices. Spending time journaling my thoughts and feelings, as well as spending time in meditation has helped me grasp this truth. I have chosen to show up for my children, to pursue education and to build the stability he could not build for himself. Though journalling has been helpful, it has been meditation that has been the most helpful to work through the grief and disappointment. Where journaling forces me to name what I am feeling, there are times it feels like I am left in the sadness. Meditation has been better for me to both put a name to my feelings while also letting it slide out of my chest and away. Both have been helpful in keeping my goals in focus, and changing the grief from feeling as though I am drowning to a feeling of wading. My biggest influences are my children, and the refusal to follow a path that has any similarity to that my father chose to stay on. My children are what keep me going when the hole my father left threatens to swallow me. I never want them to question why I didn't show up in the little moments as much as the big. Nor do I want them to ever be left feeling like they are low on my priority list. I am continuing my education with the goal of becoming a high school English teacher. I want to be the adult that pushes them to be their best, who sees in them what they may not be able to see in themselves. Like the teachers I had throughout school that kept me striving for more.

I became a fan of Sabrina Carpenter during a time when I had lost sight of who I was. For years, I had been defined by the roles of mom and wife, putting everyone before myself. Somewhere in the chaos of diapers and homemaking, I lost the version of me that loved glitter, feminine aesthetics, and feeling confident in my own skin. Then Sabrina's music entered my life. Her songs felt like the nudge I needed to take up space, be unapologetically feminine, and embrace the parts of myself that had been buried under responsibilities and stress. When I heard "Please, Please, Please" I remembered how fleeting heartbreak can be, and that I needed to get back to having the ego of a baddie. When I learned that Sabrina's music video for the song "Feather" had led to exposing corruption in New York City, I fell even more in love with it. Not only did the song give me the push to cut ties with toxic people and behaviors, I also found myself feeling lighter and happier. "Tears" is probably my top favorite of her songs. It is such a catchy reminder to uphold my expectations, and a reminder to my partner that they need to put work into our relationship in all areas. On top of the confidence her music helped me regain, I absolutely love that Sabrina is bringing back a vintage style. Her style has an edge of sophistication while being provocative. Her music career has impacted me in a way that almost feels silly to say out loud, but she has helped me remember that I am more than a mom and a wife. I am a woman who loves glitter, dancing through the house, and deserves to feel beautiful. Sabrina's confidence is contagious. Her refusal to shrink herself into the mold society has tried to force her into inspires me to stop shrinking too. This scholarship would help on my journey of becoming a high school teacher, while not losing focus on my own sense of self. I want to inspire my future students to not lose themselves in the roles they step into through life, just as she inspired me. When I stand in front of my future students, I want to carry Sabrina's energy with me being unapologetically confident and unafraid to sparkle.

In 2022 I moved to Louisiana barely knowing who I was anymore. For years I had been defined as a single mom, trying to survive to take care of my eldest daughter and myself. Then I gained the title of wife and mom of two. Somewhere in the chaos of having a seven year old, a new born, and a husband that was gone more than he was home, I lost a little more of myself. I could barely see the version of my that had had dreams beyond motherhood. After my husbands decided to move us back to his home town, something began to shift within me. It started slowly as I tried to navigate the large shifts that came with the move. After having my youngest daughter, and becoming a mom of three, I knew I needed to find myself outside of being a parent. Returning to college had been on my mind before the physically rough pregnancy of my youngest, however it was after I had her I knew I needed to show my children the importance of independence. I wanted to be someone all of my children could be proud of, someone they could look up to, and someone who would be there in the way my parents never were. My first semester back was borderline terrifying. I had two small children at home, my husband continued to be gone more than he was home, and I was juggling diaper changes with discussion forum posts. On top of this I found myself navigating a non-verbal toddler, issues with my eldest child’s father, and my husbands income becoming increasingly undependable. Most nights I was studying after the kids went to bed, running on coffee and spite from those that didn't believe in me. Many times I submitted assignments with a toddler on my lap, while my middle child watched ‘Between The Lions’ from vintage PBS reruns. At the end of the semester I received an notification that I had made the Chancellor's List. That notification made all the exhaustion worth it. That is my advantage. Not a straight path, or a perfect GPA until now, but the resilience I have forged through life experiences. While many of my peers have the luxury of focusing solely on school I have learned to thrive in the chaos. I have learned how to prioritize, push through exhaustion and to keep going when quitting would be easier. I know how to look outside of the box to solve problems because life has thrown many curve balls at me. I know how to stay motivated because I am not just doing this for myself, I am doing this for my children. This scholarship would be a massive help. Semesters have become a financial gamble. My husband's income has become unpredictable, and I find myself constantly stressing over whether we will be able to afford tuition, fuel to get to campus and daycare, food, and diapers. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to focus more on my classes and less on financial stress. It would mean I can keep my children’s lives stable while I work to obtain a career as a Secondary English Educator so that I can make their futures stable. The choice to become a teacher came easily to me because I know what it feels like to be unseen. I want to be the adult in the room who sees the struggling kid, overwhelmed teenager, the student who needs someone to believe in them. It is my goal to be for my students what I needed when I was younger, someone who noticed, who stayed, and who refused to let them give up. I am not a traditional student. I am a mom, a wife, and someone who cares deeply for the community around her. I have fought for every credit and every grade on my transcript. That is my advantage. When road blocks, or near impossible obstacles have appeared in my path I have found ways around them.

In short it my inspiration came from the teachers I had through the years that had passion and drive to make a difference in their students lives. The longer answer is a bit more complicated as it was also my own failures, detours, and the realization that I wanted to be for someone else what I once needed for myself. In high school, I had teachers who saw something in me that I couldn't yet see myself. I was a teenager navigating a mess home life, broken promises, and a growing sense that I didn't quite fit anywhere. Then in English class, I felt seen, I could make a little bit more sense of things through short stories, poems, and learning to analyze other works. The required poetry project was given back with genuine remarks of delight. In Art class my teacher was delighted with my contemporary alphabet project, telling the entire class that she did not mind giving us extra time if they put in the effort she could easily see I was putting in. That kind of attention and encouragement can make a difference inside a person. Though many of my teachers planted seeds within my mind, these planted deeply lasting ones that took years to fully grow. After high school my life path was anything but straight. I became a single mother, with a deeply limited support system and took some time away from college to figure things out. When I went back I was fascinated by dietetics, eventually realizing that wasn't the career field that was truly for me. Aside from the financial costs being out of my reach, with too rigid of expectations for someone in my situation, I also began to realize I did not see myself reflected in my peers within that degree field. I stepped away from college once again after becoming pregnant with my second child, and my family moved to Louisiana from Arkansas. As I started to settle in I began noticing how the teacher shortage was impacting the community. I saw families that want the best for their children, yet they are struggling to meet the needs outside of education. I saw communities that had been beaten down by natural disasters and neglect, yet they still held pride for their rich culture and state history. That is went my childhood dream of becoming a teacher came rushing back. This time though it was not a vague picture of a 'Dead Poets Society' goals, it was more 'Chasing Mona Lisa' aspirations. Where I could be one of the people to truly show up for the youth in my community, holding them to high standards I know they can reach, and gently pushing them to go even further. To realize that they deserve and are capable of a bright future. For the first time in years it felt like I had a clear direction. Now I am studying throughout the day, and throughout the night after my own children go to bed. I work hard to complete assignments as early as possible since I know that my young children can inadverdantly derail my best laid routine plans. I may not be the student in class that picks up on materials when first hearing them, and have to work harder than others at keeping my grades up, but in my determination I know exactly why I am here. As I have said I plan to use my experience to inspire others. I think that inspiration will be different from one student to the next. Where one will be inspired to break generational difficulties, and pursue higher education, another student may be inspired to do work to better their community and neighborhood. Where one student may be inspired to be a teacher themselves, another may be inspired to pursue politics, or simply to graduate high school. I will see my students, not just their grades, but their beautiful and potentially messy lives outside of school. They will know that I believe in them when they feel no one else does. I know what if feels like come close to giving up, to feel stuck in the path your parents created for you. My students will learn that though it may not be easy to keep moving forward it is possible. Just as I was dealing with things my own teachers could not immediately see, I know that some of my future students will as well. I do not pretend to have all of the answer, however I know that I will do my best to find workable solutions for whatever is thrown my way. Louisiana needs teachers who are willing to stay, and to fight for change. That is who I will be.