My senior year of high school was supposed to be a time of celebration. Final football games, college applications, and preparing for graduation. Instead, it became the most difficult year of my life. Just weeks into the fall semester, my parents told me they were getting a divorce. The news hit me like a wave I wasn’t prepared for, pulling me under emotionally and mentally. It felt like everything stable in my life was suddenly unraveling. The hardest part wasn’t just that my family was splitting, it was watching two people I loved struggle to communicate, seeing the home I grew up in turn cold with silence and tension. My schoolwork started to slip as I found it difficult to focus. I was juggling college applications, AP classes, and extracurriculars while also helping my younger siblings make sense of what was happening. I often felt like I was the one holding everything together at home. Despite how heavy it all felt, I knew I couldn’t let this define my senior year. I made a conscious decision to ask for help. I reached out to my school counselor and a few trusted teachers who created space for me to talk, vent, and stay on track. I set boundaries for myself, making sure to carve out time to process my emotions instead of bottling them up. I also learned to give myself grace when I wasn’t performing at my best. That was a big step for someone who had always taken pride in being strong and independent. One of the unexpected gifts that came from this difficult time was clarity. As I reflected on my own experience, I realized how much educators had helped me find balance and purpose during a chaotic time. That’s when it clicked, I wanted to become a middle school social studies teacher. I’ve always loved history and understanding how people and societies work. But this experience made me realize that teaching is more than sharing facts, it's about being a stable, encouraging presence for students who might be going through struggles of their own. This hardship changed me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I became more empathetic, more patient, and more aware of how many silent battles people carry with them every day. I’ve learned the power of resilience, not the kind that hides pain, but the kind that faces it, learns from it, and grows through it. I also developed a deeper appreciation for family, even in its changed form, and for the importance of emotional support systems. As I prepare to graduate and pursue a degree in middle school education, I carry these lessons with me. I hope to become a teacher who not only educates but also inspires and supports students, especially those going through personal hardships. My goal is to create a classroom environment where students feel seen, heard, and valued—something I desperately needed during my senior year. If I can be that person for even one student, I’ll consider my struggles worth it.

The drive to become a teacher for me didn’t come from a simple moment of clarity or a single event in my life. It came from a deep, emotional place, from a time when my world felt as though it was falling apart, and I realized that the greatest power I had was to help others hold it together. This year, as a senior in high school, my parents’ divorce shook the foundation of everything I thought I knew about family, love, and stability. It wasn’t just the end of their marriage that rocked me - it was the ripple effect it had on me, my siblings, and my sense of self. I’d spent most of my life thinking my family was solid, the kind of family people would look at and say, “They’ve got it together.” But the cracks started showing, and suddenly everything I believed in felt uncertain. At first, I was angry. Angry that things were changing. Angry that I was left to pick up the pieces of a life that felt like it was breaking apart in slow motion. It wasn’t just the pain of my parents splitting up, it was the loss of a version of my life I’d been holding onto for so long. But in that pain, something shifted. I realized that I wasn’t alone in what I was feeling. Everyone around me, my friends, classmates, even people I barely knew- had their own burdens to carry, their own struggles and fears. And through those dark moments, I began to understand something powerful: how much we need each other to help us find our way. I found myself becoming the person others would talk to when they needed to vent, when they needed someone who understood the overwhelming sadness of things falling apart. And in listening to them, I started to understand my own pain better. It was during this time that the thought of becoming a teacher first crossed my mind. I began to see teaching as a way to offer support, not just knowledge. Teachers are more than just educators they are often the first line of support, the ones who give a kind word when things feel heavy, the ones who push us to believe in ourselves when we feel lost. I wanted to be that for someone else. I wanted to help people understand that they are not defined by their struggles, that they can rise above them and become stronger, kinder, and more resilient because of them. I wanted to be the person in the classroom who not only shared information but also shared empathy, hope, and encouragement. The pain of my parents’ divorce will always be a part of my story, but it’s also what has given me the courage to pursue this path. I don’t just want to teach subjects I want to teach resilience, empathy, and strength. I want to help students grow in ways that go beyond the academic. If I can help just one student feel understood, seen, and supported in the way I needed during my own struggles, then I will have done something meaningful. That, to me, is the heart of teaching.

Teaching: More Than Just a Career Some people spend years trying to figure out what they want to do with their lives. For me, the answer has always been clear: I want to teach. Not just because I love history, but because I love the power it holds the way it connects people across time, the way it teaches resilience, the way it reminds us that even in the darkest moments, change is possible. This past year, I had the incredible opportunity to step into a middle school classroom, not as a student, but as a teacher assistant. It was there, standing in front of a room full of young minds, that I knew without a doubt I was exactly where I was meant to be. There’s something amazing about watching a student’s eyes light up when they finally understand a concept, about seeing them connect with a story from the past in a way that makes them think differently about the present. History isn’t just names in a textbook; it’s real people, real struggles, real moments of triumph and failure. And when students begin to see that, when they realize that their own stories matter just as much, that’s when learning truly happens. But my passion for teaching isn’t just about academics, it’s about impact. Senior year was supposed to be a time of celebration, of endings and beginnings. Instead, for me, it became a year of learning how to navigate change in a way I never expected. My parents’ divorce fractured the foundation I had always relied on, and suddenly, home wasn’t the safe, stable place it had always been. I had to learn how to hold myself together when everything around me was falling apart. Through it all, teaching became my refuge. Walking into that classroom each day reminded me that no matter how unpredictable life could be, I still had something steady to hold onto. My students didn’t know what I was going through, but they unknowingly gave me a purpose. They reminded me that even in the midst of my own struggles, I had the ability to make a difference in someone else’s life. That’s why I want to pursue a career in education. Not just to teach history, but to be the kind of teacher who sees students beyond their grades, who understands that every single one of them is carrying something unseen. I want to be the teacher who makes the classroom a place of stability, of curiosity, of hope. Adversity has shaped me, but it has not broken me. Instead, it has given me a deeper understanding of the students I will teach, because I know what it’s like to sit in a classroom with a mind full of worries that have nothing to do with school. And if I can be the person who helps a student feel seen, who reminds them that they are capable of overcoming, of growing, of succeeding and that will be the greatest success of all. Teaching isn’t just a job. It’s a calling. It’s the chance to change lives the way my own teachers changed mine. It’s the opportunity to show students that they are part of something bigger, that their stories matter, and that no matter where they come from, they have the power to shape their own future. And that is exactly what I intend to do.

Shaping the Future Through the Past History has always been more than just dates and events to me, it’s the story of us, the world. It’s the triumphs and failures, the revolutions and revelations that have shaped the world we live in today. As I step into the field of secondary history education, my goal is not just to teach facts but to ignite curiosity, to help students see themselves in history, and to remind them that they, too, are part of a story still being written. Over the past year, I’ve had the incredible opportunity to step into a middle school classroom, not just as a student, but as a teacher assistant. Walking into that room for the first time, I expected to teach, but I didn’t realize how much I would learn. I learned that every student brings a different story, a different struggle, a different way of seeing the world. I saw the spark in their eyes when they connected with history, when they realized that the past isn’t just something to memorize, it’s something to learn from, something that still shapes their present. But my journey hasn’t been without challenges. Senior year is supposed to be a time of celebration, of endings and new beginnings. For me, it was also a year of loss- my parents’ divorce shattered the foundation I had always known. Suddenly, home didn’t feel like home anymore. The place that had once been filled with laughter and stability became a house divided. I found myself balancing school, teaching, and the emotional weight of watching my family fall apart. It would have been easy to shut down, to let the pain of it all consume me. But standing in that middle school classroom, I realized something powerful: adversity doesn’t define you- how you respond to it does. I saw students facing their own struggles, carrying burdens I could only imagine, and yet they still showed up, still asked questions, still dreamed. If they could keep pushing forward, so could I. Teaching became my anchor. It reminded me why I chose this path, to be the kind of teacher who sees students beyond their grades, who recognizes the battles they fight outside the classroom. I want to be the teacher who makes history feel alive, who helps students find their voice through the lessons of the past, and who reminds them that no matter where they come from or what they’ve been through, they have the power to shape their own future. Adversity has made me stronger, more empathetic, more determined. My parents’ divorce may have changed my world, but it didn’t break me. Instead, it reinforced my purpose: to be a guiding force for the next generation, to show students that they are capable of overcoming, of growing, of making their own mark on history. As I step into the field of secondary history education, I carry with me not just knowledge, but resilience. Because history isn’t just about the past it’s about the lessons we take from it. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that even in the face of adversity, we have the power to rise, to teach, and to inspire.

When Everything Split in Two, The last chapter Senior year was supposed to be mine. It was supposed to be late-night drives with my best friends, counting down the days until graduation. It was supposed to be dress shopping for prom, stressing over college applications, and soaking in every last moment before everything changed. My last chapter of my childhood until I moved on the the next book, adulthood. But I never thought the biggest change would come from my own home shattering beneath me. I can still hear my mom’s voice that night. The way it didn’t crack when she said, “Your dad and I are getting a divorce.” How practiced it sounded. Like she had been rehearsing those words for weeks, months, maybe even years. My dad just stood there, staring at the floor like he was too much of a coward to meet my eyes. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake them both and ask them how they could do this, how they could sit there, so calm, while my entire world split in half. Instead, I just sat there. Silent. Because if I spoke, if I opened my mouth even a little, I wasn’t sure if I would ever stop crying. At school, I kept it together. I laughed in the hallways, sent emojis in group chats, turned in my assignments on time. No one could tell that when I went home, it wasn’t home anymore. That my dad’s closet was half-empty, that my mom cried behind closed doors, that I lay awake at night wondering if love ever actually lasts. Because if my parents, the two people I had trusted to always be there, couldn’t make it work, then what was the point? I started noticing things I had ignored before. The way they barely touched anymore. The way my mom flinched when my dad walked into a room. The way the house felt colder, emptier, like it had been holding its breath, waiting for this to happen. I was angry. At them, for breaking us. At myself, for not seeing it coming. At the universe, for deciding that this- this, was the year my life had to fall apart. Senior year was supposed to be about choosing between colleges, not between which parent’s house I’d spend Thanksgiving at. It was supposed to be about celebrating the end of childhood, not grieving the end of my family. And the worst part? No one tells you how to handle it. No one tells you what to do when your dad becomes a visitor in your life. When your mom tries too hard to act like everything’s fine. When you’re stuck in the middle, pretending like it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. But it does hurt. It hurts when I see my friends' parents laughing together at football games, like love is easy. It hurts when I hear my mom sigh a little too long after hanging up the phone. It hurts knowing that my family will never be whole again. I don’t know if it will ever stop hurting. But I do know this: I won’t let their choices define me. Maybe love isn’t perfect, maybe families fall apart, but that doesn’t mean I have to. So I’ll go to prom. I’ll cross that graduation stage. I’ll leave this broken house behind and build something new for myself. Because this might be the year everything split in two, but it won’t be the year that breaks me. My story isn't over and I have another book to start.

Empowerment, to me, means the ability to take control of your own life, to feel confident in your decisions, and to have the agency to shape your own future. It’s about recognizing your own strength and potential, regardless of the obstacles you might face. It involves a sense of autonomy, where you don’t let external forces define your worth or limit your opportunities. Empowerment is about standing up for yourself, trusting in your abilities, and knowing that you are capable of achieving your goals, no matter your story. For me, as a female high school senior, empowerment means stepping into my own power, understanding that I can define my future, and rejecting any limitations society may try to impose on me. I grew up in a world where women are constantly told what they can and cannot do. However, over time, I’ve learned that female empowerment is about dismantling those stereotypes and recognizing that my gender does not dictate my potential. Empowerment is not about being the best or outperforming others, but about being unapologetically true to who I am and pushing beyond the constraints that society sometimes places on me as a young woman. In my own life, empowerment has had a profound impact, especially as I approach graduation. As a senior, the pressure to make decisions about my future from choosing a college to deciding on a career path can be overwhelming. But empowerment has helped me realize that I have the right to dream big, to pursue whatever career or passion excites me, and to chart a path that feels true to who I am. There’s no reason why a girl like me can’t excel in a huge career, and the more I push forward, the more I see how crucial it is to encourage other girls to do the same. Empowerment has also taught me the importance of supporting other women. Empowerment is not just about individual success, but about uplifting others, recognizing the importance of solidarity. I’ve learned that when we empower each other, we create stronger, more supportive communities. Whether it's offering a kind word to a fellow student or mentoring younger girls interested in my field, I know that our collective strength is far greater than what any one of us can accomplish alone. On a more personal level, female empowerment has helped me build resilience. Growing up, I often encountered situations where I felt my voice didn’t matter as much because of my gender. I’ve learned to speak up, to assert my ideas, and to stand firm in my beliefs. Whether it’s in the classroom or among friends, empowerment has given me the confidence to express myself without fear of judgment. I’ve learned that my voice has power, and that I deserve to be heard, just like anyone else. Ultimately, female empowerment has shaped who I am today, and it will continue to influence who I become in the future. It gives me the strength to take risks, to try new things, and to embrace my true self, flaws and all. As I move forward into the next chapter of my life, I carry with me the belief that I am capable of achieving anything I set my mind to, and that nothing not my gender, my age, or my circumstances can hold me back. Empowerment is about owning your narrative, and it’s something I plan to carry with me every day, for the rest of my life.

My journey toward higher education has been shaped by a deep love of learning, a commitment to serving others, and the challenges I have faced and overcome along the way. One pivotal experience that prepared me for this path was my role as a peer tutor during high school. I worked with younger students struggling in subjects like social studies, helping them develop study strategies and gain confidence. Witnessing their growth and understanding the power of education inspired me to pursue a career in teaching, specifically middle school history education. History has always fascinated me, not just as a collection of dates and events but as a way to understand the human experience and how our past shapes our present. I remember my first history teacher who made the subject come alive by connecting historical events to our lives, showing us that history is a living narrative. I aim to bring that same passion to my future classroom, making history engaging and relevant for middle school students. Middle school is a critical stage in a student’s life—a time when they begin to form their identities, develop critical thinking skills, and explore their place in the world. As a middle school history teacher, I want to spark curiosity in my students and help them see themselves as active participants in history. By teaching them to think critically about past events, I hope to empower them to make informed decisions as citizens of the future. However, my journey toward this goal hasn’t been without challenges. Coming from a family with limited financial resources, I have learned the value of perseverance and resourcefulness. Balancing part-time work with academic responsibilities taught me time management and discipline. These experiences not only prepared me for the rigor of higher education but also reinforced my determination to succeed. I plan to study education with a focus on history because this field combines my passion for storytelling, critical thinking, and mentorship. History is a powerful tool for fostering empathy, as it teaches students to understand diverse perspectives and the complexities of human behavior. My goal is to use history as a lens through which students can explore issues of justice, equality, and resilience, making it relevant to their lives. Beyond the classroom, I hope to make a broader impact in my community by addressing the educational gaps that often affect underserved populations. Many students lack access to resources or encouragement to pursue their full potential, and I want to advocate for initiatives that support equity in education. Whether it’s organizing after-school programs, tutoring sessions, or history-themed events, I envision creating opportunities for students to learn and grow beyond traditional classroom settings. Ultimately, I want to be a teacher who inspires students to dream big, think critically, and act compassionately. By fostering a love for history and creating a supportive learning environment, I hope to equip my students with the tools they need to succeed academically and personally. Education is the foundation of a better future, and I am eager to contribute to that future by shaping the minds and hearts of the next generation.

I have always believed that making a positive impact in my community begins with small, consistent actions that reflect care and compassion. Growing up, I witnessed the power of unity and service through the values instilled in me by my family and mentors. These experiences shaped my passion for community involvement, particularly in supporting youth and addressing challenges like bullying and cyberbullying. Throughout my life, I have been actively engaged in various community initiatives. I volunteer regularly at a local youth center, where I mentor children, assist with after-school programs, and organize workshops on leadership and self-esteem. Additionally, I have participated in outreach events aimed at supporting underserved families by distributing school supplies and hosting literacy programs. These efforts have not only allowed me to give back but have also deepened my understanding of the unique challenges young people face today. One of the areas I am particularly passionate about is promoting safety for children and youth, both offline and online. As technology becomes increasingly central to daily life, the risks of cyberbullying and online exploitation have grown. To address this, I collaborated with local schools to create workshops for students and parents about online safety. These workshops focus on recognizing the signs of cyberbullying, understanding privacy settings, and promoting kindness and empathy online. I also work with peers to establish peer support groups, creating safe spaces where young people can share their experiences and find guidance. In addition to online safety, I actively advocate for anti-bullying initiatives in my community. I helped organize a campaign at my high school to raise awareness about the harmful effects of bullying, encouraging students to pledge to be “upstanders” rather than bystanders. By fostering open communication and emphasizing the importance of inclusivity, we have created a more supportive environment for everyone. As I prepare to enter higher education, I am excited to expand my capacity to make a difference. However, pursuing a college degree comes with significant financial challenges for me and my family. While my parents have always worked hard to support me, our resources are limited. Between tuition, housing, and other educational expenses, financial assistance is essential to help me focus on my studies and achieve my academic and career goals. In conclusion, my experiences have taught me the importance of serving others and addressing pressing community challenges like bullying and cyberbullying. With the opportunity to pursue higher education, I am determined to amplify my efforts and continue making a positive impact. I am grateful for any support that will allow me to reach my goals and contribute to a brighter future for my community.

Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) is a condition that affects many women, yet it is often not talked about enough. For me, living with severe PCOS has not only been physically challenging, but emotionally difficult as well. Since I was diagnosed at a young age, I’ve faced a range of symptoms, including irregular periods, excessive hair growth, and severe acne. These symptoms, which I’ve had to manage throughout my adolescence, have impacted my self-esteem, my social life, and even my academic performance at times. But through all these challenges, I have also gained a deeper understanding of my body, resilience, and the importance of raising awareness about PCOS. One of the hardest parts of living with PCOS has been the feeling of isolation. Many people don't understand what it's like to deal with the constant hormonal imbalances that affect everything from my skin to my energy levels. Because PCOS is a condition that varies widely from person to person, it’s difficult to find others who share the same exact experiences. Often, when I confided in others, I was met with blank stares or dismissive comments about “just needing to lose weight” or “it’s not that bad.” This lack of understanding only deepened my frustration, and I quickly realized that there needs to be more education and awareness about PCOS and its real, lasting effects on women’s health. As I have navigated my personal journey with PCOS, I have developed a strong desire to help others who are going through similar struggles. I want to raise awareness about how complex and serious PCOS is. Many women with this condition struggle with infertility, diabetes, endometrial cancer, and mental health issues like anxiety and depression. I’ve learned that the more we talk about these struggles, the more we can support one another and advocate for better healthcare options and research. Through my own experiences, I have seen how essential it is to destigmatize this condition and bring it to the forefront of health conversations. In the future, I hope to raise awareness of PCOS in my community, especially within my school. I plan to start a support group for students affected by PCOS, where we can share resources, experiences, and tips on managing the condition. I also want to collaborate with health organizations to bring in guest speakers and provide educational materials about PCOS. Additionally, I plan to use social media to spread awareness about the condition, sharing my own journey and providing a safe space for others to talk openly without shame or fear of judgment. Living with severe PCOS has been a challenge, but it has also shaped me into a more empathetic and driven individual. Through advocacy and education, I hope to help others feel less alone and more empowered to take charge of their health. By raising awareness, we can ensure that PCOS is better understood and that women affected by it have the support they deserve.

History is not just a collection of dates and events; it is the story of humanity, our triumphs, our failures, our struggles, and our hopes. By understanding history deeply, we can recognize the patterns that shape the world around us and learn from the mistakes of the past. I believe that history holds the key to making a positive difference in the world, not just by remembering what has happened, but by using that knowledge to guide us toward a better future. The lessons of history are powerful and transformative. They teach us about resilience in the face of adversity, about the dangers of unchecked power, and about the importance of empathy and understanding across cultures. In a world filled with division, conflict, and inequality, understanding the past can be a bridge to a more connected and compassionate future. When we see the humanity in the stories of those who came before us, we begin to see our shared experiences and our shared responsibility to make the world a better place. For me, the most important lesson from history is that change is possible. Time and again, history shows us that individuals and communities can rise above oppression, challenge injustice, and create meaningful change. But this change does not come easily; it requires a deep understanding of the forces that shape society and the courage to stand up against them. I want to be part of a movement that uses the lessons of history to fight for justice, equality, and human rights in the present. Too often, history has been told from a single perspective, one that privileges the powerful and marginalizes the voices of those who have been oppressed. This narrow view of history prevents us from understanding the full complexity of the human experience. I believe that by expanding the narratives we tell about the past, we can create a more inclusive and just future. By highlighting the voices of women, people of color, and other marginalized groups, we can build a world that values every human being and recognizes the contributions of all people. History also teaches us the importance of empathy. When we take the time to understand the struggles and triumphs of others, we begin to see them not as strangers, but as fellow human beings. This empathy can break down the walls that divide us and create connections that transcend borders, ideologies, and backgrounds. It can inspire us to take action, not out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire to make the world a better place for everyone. Through a deep understanding of history, I hope to inspire others to see the world through a lens of compassion, justice, and possibility. I want to contribute to building a world where history is not just something we study, but something we use to create a better future. By learning from the past and applying its lessons to the present, we can build a more just, equitable, and peaceful world one where the mistakes of the past are not repeated, but instead serve as a guide to avoid them. I believe that by connecting with history, we connect with our shared humanity. And through that connection, we can work together to build a future that reflects the values we hold dear: justice, equality, compassion, and peace. The lessons of history are not just about the past they are about the future we are building. And with that understanding, we have the power to make the world a better place for generations to come.

I have always believed that teaching is a vocation,something that calls to you, not just as a career, but as a way to make a difference in the world. My desire to become a teacher was ignited by one extraordinary woman—Mrs. Greaves, my middle school history teacher. Reflecting, I realize that it was her unwavering belief in her students, her passion for teaching, and her dedication to creating an inclusive, empowering classroom environment that shaped the teacher I aspire to be today. When I entered Mrs. Greaves' class, I wasn’t particularly interested in history. To be honest, I thought of it as a dull subject, filled with dates and names that didn’t seem to matter much to me at the time. But Mrs. Greaves changed that perspective entirely. She had this magical way of making history feel alive. She didn’t just lecture about ancient civilizations or wars she painted vivid pictures, bringing these events to life with stories, connections to modern-day issues, and even field trips that allowed us to experience history in ways I never imagined. Her lessons weren’t just about memorizing facts they were about understanding the human experiences behind those facts, and how the past continues to shape our world today. What truly set Mrs. Greaves apart, though, wasn’t just her innovative approach to teaching; it was her incredible empathy and her belief in the potential of every student in her classroom. I remember struggling with my self-esteem as a young adolescent, doubting my ability to excel academically. There were moments when I questioned whether I was good enough to succeed in school. But Mrs. Greaves saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself. She always made a point to tell me that I had something valuable to contribute whether it was in a class discussion, a project, or even just a one-on-one conversation. It wasn’t just the academic support she offered that meant so much to me; it was her genuine care for who I was as a person. I never felt like just another student in her class I felt like I was seen, heard, and appreciated. She created a classroom environment where I felt safe to explore ideas and voice my opinions without fear of judgment. Her encouragement pushed me to step outside of my comfort zone and challenge myself. One of the most pivotal moments for me was when she encouraged me to join a history competition, despite my initial hesitations. She believed in my abilities more than I did, and with her support, I ended up placing among the top students. That experience helped me realize that I was capable of much more than I had ever thought possible. It was the first time I understood the profound effect a teacher could have on a student's self-confidence and motivation. Mrs. Greaves taught me more than just history. She taught me the value of kindness, patience, and encouragement. She modeled what it means to be an educator who not only imparts knowledge but also helps the emotional and intellectual growth of students. Her perspective opened my eyes to the power of education to shape lives and communities. As I prepare to pursue a career in teaching, I carry with me the lessons I learned they showed me that teaching is about far more than just delivering content; it’s about creating a space where students feel valued and inspired to reach their full potential. I want to be the kind of teacher who makes a difference in my students' lives, just as Mrs. Greaves made such a lasting impact on mine.