Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally, after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise, and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me and know she influenced my future.

My name is Cree Lewis. I am an African American student. I was raised by a single mother. I have two sisters, but one of them is a half-sister. I was born and raised in the middle-class category. While I was younger, my dream was to figure out I was a princess and live in a castle. When I moved into my castle, I wanted to move my whole family in with me. We would eat together, have family games, and live happily ever after. I would also have a mansion, and house all homeless people so they wouldn't have to sit outside in the cold. In the basement, there would be stray animals. In middle school, my mother told me the heartbreaking news that no one in our family was royalty. Sadly, I had to let my dream go and figure out something else I wanted to do. I wanted a career that could change lives, and I felt as though it as my job to give back to the community. I decided that I wanted to be president of the United States. I would have power over the states, ensure World Peace, save the animals in, end world hunger, and I could save the nation. I told my teachers all of my ideas, and they broke the news that I would have to at least be in my 50s to run for president. Back then, being in my 50s meant I was going to be old and was close to around the end of my life. They also stated that I would have to do well in all of my classes, and I had a burning hatred for my science and history classes. My first two years of high school, I never knew what I wanted to do. I would stay after class talking to my teachers to try to find a perfect occupation for me. I informed my tutor group that I needed guidance and would take opinions on how I could give back to the community. I received many options like being a doctor, lawyer, or maybe even being a detective. The only problem is that all of those options take too much time. By the time I finished getting all of my degrees, the world would be over. During my junior year, I was finally old enough to become a babysitter. The moms around the block would hire me to watch their kid, and I had no problem doing so. I even insisted that I would do it out of the kindness of my heart, which my mom hated, but I always received a payment at the end. I remember this one specific day; I was playing barbie dolls with a girl who I loved to watch. I decided to ask her what she thought I would be. Instantly, she laughed and told me that I remind her of her teacher. Hmmm, a teacher. I was very confused on where that answer came from, but she kept laughing. She said I was very funny; I was good at helping her with her homework, she felt safe around me, I can always make her smile even when she's sad, and lastly said I was a good friend. I thought about my dream. Being a teacher, I was able to give back with my knowledge, help the younger generation, and would be able to help as soon as I could. Although being a princess would've been ideal, I don't see a problem with teaching the nation instead.

If I could create a class for K-12, I would have to make the class a self-esteem, self-work, and confidence in class. I feel like as we grow up, we see so many things that make us doubt our beauty. There is beauty in everything and everyone, but because of beauty standard, we fail to realize we are. In middle school being the only black student in my class, I felt left out and alone. All of my friends were white, so they never understood the adversities I go through. They would tell me that being black is beautiful, but they never had to face the same things I faced. They never got made fun of for having a "bad hair day" every day. They never experienced being called racist names for the entertainment of the class. After school, they went home to their two parent households, while I went home to nobody. My mother had worked long hours every day, while my father was off with his new girlfriend. She gave me everything I wanted physically, but mentally she was absent. Every night, I would come home, do my homework, make dinner, and go to sleep. It was very rare for my mother to come home late before I went to sleep. We never really talked about what happened at school. I never had the opportunity to tell her that even though I was born from a beautiful woman, I didn't feel pretty. I felt like an ugly, unseen, big black girl. During my seventh-grade year, my mother decided to give me a phone in case an emergency happened. She was scared because even though I was 13, my body was similar to a grown woman's. I never really liked to use my phone, unless my friends would call and we would do homework together. They all knew that I had no one home and tried to comfort me with their internet presence. On one call, my friend mentioned an app that I never heard of. An app that the whole class was on, Instagram. Everyone would post their pictures and would get likes. The number of likes would determine your popularity and friendships. Immediately, I downloaded the app and went straight to posting hoping I could make friends, friends that looked like me. To my surprise, I didn't find anyone who looked like me. I, in fact, found people that looked nothing like me, but were worshipped as if they were angels. I watched as people drooled over them in their comments. They would ask for hair routines, even the boys were gazing in the comments. I soon started to compare myself to the models. I tried to change my hair, change the way I walked, change everything about myself. It took me 3 years to realize that I was pretending to be something I wasn't. If everyone was to look like these models, everyone would be the same. I started to accept my features and decide to use them to my advantage. Writing this as a 19 year old seems a little silly to me, sometimes I'm embarrassed to tell my story, but it is something that should be looked at. Girls and boys struggle with accepting their image at all ages. It's easier to pretend to be someone else, than deal with the struggles of your own self. In reality, there is no beauty standard because everyone is beautiful in each and every way.

Back when I was a child, I would say living my ideal dream life would be traveling with my husband and kids. I wouldn't have to worry about paying for anything, and I would have a nice husband who would do anything I told him to. As I started growing up, I started realizing that my dream would change yearly. It went from wanting to have a family in my 20s with a handsome man, to not having a family with a handsome man, to finally being able to have stability with myself. In high school, my mother asked me what would I want to do for my future. she also told me that I need to be realistic with my life goals. Although my mother was very stern, she always made sure I knew that everything I want is in my hands. You can imagine how her face changed when I told her a man can do everything. My mother raised me all by herself and didn't want the same thing to happen to me. I was too young to realize what she meant until my first heartbreak. I spent days and days in my room eating ice cream, crying while watching romantic movies, and doing nothing but sleeping in my bed. My mother let me cry for a week and told me to get back on my feet and figure out what I can do to change the way I felt. My junior year of highschool, I decided to give back to the world by doing community service. The world is so beautiful, and to think that I decided to stay inside and sulk instead of at least going for a walk makes me disappointed. I realized that I let a man dictate how I felt. I started to recognize myself from going to a love-blinded little girl to a strong, independent woman. I made friends with my neighbors, met with teachers, and watched over the kids in my school. Finally, during my senior year my teacher asked me what I would want to do in my future. I kept thinking of things that I loved doing. I loved picking up trash with my mother outside. I loved going into the library hoping to tutor kids. I loved having long talks with the principal about how our younger generation would soon determine what our life would be like. I couldn't think of anything else besides being in a school environment. The prompt asks what the life of my dreams would looks like, and my answer is being a teacher at an underfunded school. I can't imagine my life as anything else. Helping an underfunded community, taking care of kids and making sure they are well educated, and providing knowledge of self-worth is my dream goal in life. To think that as a teacher, I have an opportunity to give students hope and help them realize that they can change the world in many ways would complete my life goal. I have always been a nurturer. I love giving, even if I may not receive anything. I can give my knowledge, my time, my service, and my dreams to the new upcoming generation. I can show my mother that everything she has done for me and will pay off. I can show her that my love is going to future and not a silly, little boy.

As an education major, we hear about childhood trauma and how in some cases it may be looked over. The consequences of childhood cannot only include physical effects, but cognitive, emotional, and behavioral problems. Every day I always imagine what I would do if a kid in my class shows signs of abuse. Would I go up to the student immediately? Do I wait until student feels comfortable telling me? Maybe I should inform the police? 26% of kids under 4 have experienced trauma, so is it safe for me to assume that is the cause of everything? Sometimes, I wonder, what would happen if I waited too long? What if a kid suffers long-term, and it's my fault for not speaking up sooner? As a student, I see in college every day that mental health levels decrease every day. Originally, I assumed because of college debt or finals week. I asked students around the school, what makes your day so bad to the point where you don't even want to get out of bed. The answer I mostly receive, is depression. Depression from not being able to make friends. Depression from failing classes and feeling like a failure. Depression from being left untreated for so many years. I ask how long have you felt this way, and majority said ever since they were little. As a psychology major, I know if depression is left untreated for too long it only gets worse, or fatal. Childhood trauma isn't only depression. It can include anxiety, PTSD, or maybe even trauma for abuse. As a person who has experienced trauma from my childhood, I know that it leaves you feeling alone. Trauma causes you to overthink, feel like you are alone, and will separate you from everyone who loves you. It can block your mind from ever thinking that there is a chance of being happy or at peace. Dealing with it by yourself can break you, but asking for help will make you seem needy and will come off as too emotional. As trauma rates increase, also do suicide rates. My job as a teacher is not only to learn, but to also be there for my students. When one student is down, it is my job to pick their head up and to remind them to be the best they can be. A past experience doesn't define who you are, and everyone makes mistakes. To hold onto something that is harming you mentally or physically, is a shame and no one should have to experience that. I have deiced to major in teaching and psychology because not only did I want to make a change in the classroom, but I also wanted to make a change in mental health. One day, I want my students or clients to come to me and say, "Thank you for never giving up on me." Until I hear it, my job will never be complete.

A person who has a significant impact on my life is my mother. Everyone tends to name a parent, but it is obviously well deserved. Without her, I wouldn’t be in this world. A mother has many roles. Take care of children, cook food for the family, and clean the house (all of which my mother does excellently). Not only does she do all that, she takes the role of my father. Which can mean, getting money for the family, punishing the children, and even telling me my worth and how I shouldn’t trust teenage boys. My mother has worked all of her life. She was the youngest and first to graduate college in the family. She has taken care of her brothers, even if they are older than her, and she makes sure I have everything I want. My father was in the picture, but rarely. I would see him about three to four times a month. I will admit when I was younger, I felt left out. All of the other girls got to go to the daddy daughter dances while I never had a father to go with. After winning sports games, it hurt seeing everyone run to their father while I had no idea where mine was. I was hurt in many ways, but thanks to my mother I wasn’t hurt for a very long time. My mother is a single mother with two kids. The two kids rely on her heavily for everything. My mother would always take care of everything so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. If I wanted to join a club, my mother would leave work early to pick me up. I did club volleyball for 4 years, which isn’t cheap at all, and she managed to pay for everything by herself. My mother bought me my first car when I freshly turned 18. It was a newer car, because she didn’t want me to feel like I was less than the others. I went to school in Naperville, which I am not realizing is not a cheap place. As soon as we moved, my mother gave me the master bedroom, to make sure I feel as if I still fit in. I know I am ranting about how great my mother is, but she deserves it. Finally, when decision day for college came, we were nothing but stressed. As I was worried about getting into college, she was worried about how she may pay for it. I suggested a community college, but she insisted I chose a university. Later, I decided to go to Illinois State University for education and psychology. My mother was nothing but supportive, until she told me, my sophomore year I might have to transfer. I was very confused and didn’t understand. She wanted me to go to a university to not finish? Little did I know, my mother was finally struggling to pay. Illinois State charged her $2,200 every month. She never told me, and here I was assuming everything was okay. Not only does my mother pay for my tuition, but she also pays for my grandmothers house, and our house. My mother has shaped me in many ways, even if I don’t have enough money to come back to my dream school, I will have nothing but the utmost respect for my mother. She encourages me, and tells me that I can do anything I put my mind to. When I graduate, I hope to start my career and finally take care of her as much as she did for me.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

My whole life, I never knew what I wanted to be. I struggled trying to find careers that would fit me. I went from meteorologist, to an actress, to a lawyer, and even to a stunt driver. I wanted to find something that would make money, but would also fulfill my happiness. Throughout my years of highschool, I asked my teachers how they knew what they wanted to do and all of them gave me the same answer. Something along the lines of, I didn’t know, I just tried a lot of things that I might like and finally settled with one. Although I didn’t like the thought of just settling with a job, I saw my time running out as I hit my junior year. Instead of stressing what my future could be, I decided to do something that I knew I enjoyed. That was helping my teacher with work around the class. That could include cleaning the classroom, grading work, finding new examples of how students might learn, etc. I slowly started to realize that I found joy in what I was doing. Not only did I find joy, I found comfort with helping other students become educated on topics they couldn’t understand. I began tutor sessions, started mini clubs, even game night regarding topics that were learned. After a few sessions, I realized that teaching is something I will never get tired of, and will want to do forever.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

Back in elementary school, I was always a good kid. I wouldn't say I was perfect, but I was definitely a student who would do anything to help others. I always felt like it was my job to help others and when I realized I couldn't help everyone, I would get sad. It first began when my mother left for long vacations. I would help my grandmother and my grandfather, who was struggling with dementia. I would always try to wash dishes and clean the house to make sure I wouldn't seem like a burden or extra space, even though they always told me I wasn't. As I grew older my grandfather's dementia got worse, and sooner my happiness started to plummet. I felt like I could never help anyone if I couldn't even help my own family. Going into sixth grade, my mother told me that we were moving to a new area which would be far from my grandparents. At first I was mad, screaming throughout the whole house and occasionally running to a friend's house to spend the night. After a few weeks, I realized my actions weren’t helping anyone but instead of getting in everyone’s way. My last day home, reality hit me. I was really leaving everything. A few years later I decided to push my sadness out by playing volleyball. I would play outside with friends, at school, and did club. I loved volleyball because it helped me release every bad feeling I had. It was also a sport that my family loved to play, which helped us get an even closer bond. We were so close that they even came to my travel games no matter the distance. About 3 years later, my grandfather passed away while I was at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin. What really broke me was that before he died his last words were “Where is Cree?” I felt like the worst person in the world. I put myself before my family and felt so selfish. As the days passed, my mental health declined rapidly. I couldn’t feel happy with myself without feeling guilty, and I had no reason to be happy. I would miss school, skip classes, not take care of myself, and even had suicidal thoughts. As I was planning new ways on how to make myself feel ashamed, my teacher approached me and asked me to go to her office. In the office, she told me how I was barely in class, stopped talking and sometimes dozed off. I tried to keep the facade, but when she gave me a hug I broke down. She held me tight and told me it wasn’t my fault and that everything would be okay. She offered to reteach everything , and suggested that I go to therapy. Finally after weeks and weeks of studying and therapy, my grades started to raise and I finally started to find worth in my life. Therapy not only motivated me to get better grades, but to take accountability for what I can and give my all to everything. To this day, my teacher and I talk because she was the only one who understood, took time, and did everything to get me out of that depressing state. She is the reason why I want to become a teacher. She makes me want to learn more, do better in my life, and help others who may feel alone. I want to be just like her, or maybe even better. I just want her to be proud of me, and know she influenced my future.

My whole life, I never knew what I wanted to be. I struggled trying to find careers that would fit me. I went from meteorologist, to an actress, to a lawyer, and even to a stunt driver. I wanted to find something that would make money, but would also fulfill my happiness. Throughout my years of highschool, I asked my teachers how they knew what they wanted to do and all of them gave me the same answer. Something along the lines of, I didn’t know, I just tried a lot of things that I might like and finally settled with one. Although I didn’t like the thought of just settling with a job, I saw my time running out as I hit my junior year. Instead of stressing what my future could be, I decided to do something that I knew I enjoyed. That was helping my teacher with work around the class. That could include cleaning the classroom, grading work, finding new examples of how students might learn, etc. I slowly started to realize that I found joy in what I was doing. Not only did I find joy, I found comfort with helping other students become educated on topics they couldn’t understand. I began tutor sessions, started mini clubs, even game night regarding topics that were learned. After a few sessions, I realized that teaching is something I will never get tired of, and will want to do forever. One specific teacher I will always remember is my 8th grade math teacher, Mrs. Duncan. She would always come to class with a huge smile on her face, even if her day wasn’t going so well. It was her first her teaching, so she was a little lost on how all of the technologies worked. She was very sweet to the students, sometimes you could say a little too nice. She never used an outside voice, and when she was told hurtful things she would do nothing but smile. It may not seem like it was a hard thing to do. I mean all teachers are supposed to do is teach the subject, and grade homework but she did more than that. The class I was in wasn’t very obedient. Throughout the day, we would go through three teachers in one sitting because of how misbehaved the class was. One day during the class, we made Mrs. Duncan mad, and I mean fuming mad. She quietly stood up and walked out the classroom as the class cheered, celebrating that another teacher left. A few minutes she came back with donuts, and said if we get through the lesson everyone could have a donut. She finished the lesson in about 20 minutes with a happy class. After it was time for us to get dismissed, I went up to her desk. How can such a young, new teacher have the patience for a bunch of bad middle school kids. “How do you do you do it?” I questioned. Her response was something I could never forget. “Students only act like that when they are used to getting their way. All of your previous teachers left, so of course that’s what you guys would expect me to do. Unfortunately for you guys, I’m not leaving because I want to see you all grow and help change our future.” To this day, I always visit Mrs. Duncan. She always allows me to student teach her class, and show me ways on how to deal with different types of students. I admire her so much, and want to be like her.