During my junior year of high school, I faced a defining challenge that fundamentally reshaped my understanding of leadership, resilience, and personal accountability. I had made the decision to join our school's Air Force JROTC unarmed drill team. As a first-year cadet navigating a roster largely comprised of incoming freshmen, I occupied an unconventional position: I was notably older than most of my peers, yet entirely inexperienced. While I faithfully attended every practice to master basic military movements, my technical execution in exhibition drill lagged behind the other girls. I was operating at a distinct disadvantage from day one.Compounding my personal struggles, deep-seated friction between the senior leadership cadets and the rest of the unit created a fractured atmosphere. This internal division severely hindered our cohesion right at the start of the competitive season. Because of this systemic discord, our progress stalled, and we were painfully slow to learn the core exhibition routine. The uncertainty grew so severe that our ability to qualify for upcoming competitions was thrown into question.Desperate to earn a spot on the competitive floor, I threw myself entirely into the work. I adapted quickly to every complex sequence and synchronized movement, maintaining perfect attendance by showing up for grueling practices on weekends and throughout school breaks. Yet, when selection day arrived, leadership delivered a crushing blow, deciding I "was not the best fit for it this time." To make matters worse, they selected individuals who had consistently skipped practices over those of us who had dedicated everything.My immediate instinct was to walk away in protest, mirroring the actions of several other rejected cadets. Instead, I made a conscious choice to subordinate my ego to the larger mission. I continued to show up every single day, refusing to let disappointment dictate my work ethic. I channeled my frustration into a new initiative: supporting the other girls who had also been cut from the primary roster.Every evening from 5:00 to 7:00 PM, I transformed my living room and kitchen into a makeshift training floor. I practiced relentlessly until the rigid movements became second nature, and I meticulously scrutinized recorded team videos to master every precise angle. I then took charge of the cadets who had been dismissed as "not good enough." We formed our own secondary unit, analyzing maneuvers and learning at our own pace with me leading the instruction.A rejection that easily could have broken my spirit instead became a catalyst for collective empowerment. My efforts ultimately paid off when both myself and a cadet I had trained were called up to the primary roster for the second tournament. Together, we marched onto the floor and secured a triumphant first-place victory. More than the trophy, this experience taught me that true leadership is not defined by a title, but by the choice to empower others when the path forward is most uncertain.

Being a Black American teenage girl in high school means constantly navigating pressures about who I should be and how I should act—from my appearance to my clothes to my behavior. Managing everyday life under these expectations is exhausting. I have always been told I have a way with words. Like I’m not supposed to be adequate enough to formulate a sentence. Like, I shall remain ignorant or forced into the box society attempts to put me in. I will admit things seem easier in a box, yeah. But I am not the label they have for me. I am not bitter or problematic, my skin nor my hair is yours to command so why should I listen to them when they are not me. Who writes the rule book for high school? Who decides what life should look like for me? As aware as I can be of my surroundings, I am not perfect by any means, but I still try my best when I want to break down into a ball and cry my eyes out. No one hears me. Not my family, not my friends. I could be screaming for help. But they would ask why I am smiling. To survive in this cruel selfish world I become the things I envy.A hard shell, protected from anyone who wants to see the shell break. It must be perfect at all times. Yes, perfect. But what if just once I let the shell crack just a little? Would I be discarded, or will there be a pearl between my shattered bits? I know that I am a doer. A dreamer. And even a trier. I like to try different things that are way out of my comfort zone. A perfectionist who is not perfect but tries to be. I am someone who likes to see everything through, even if it means tearing myself up to get there. It is hard. But it is everyday life, again. I am a person who is not privileged with the material things others have been bestowed with, sometimes I see it as unfair. For someone less fortunate to not to get ahead. However, I shall earn my rightful spot in this life and the nest, one no one can take away. Why should any of us pursue something we may not win? Because for me, I learn more about myself with every turn. I keep going with bloody feet and frayed clothes. Every rejection is a way out. Like the scientific method, a hypothesis is tested and put through a series of experiments, and most of the time it is wrong. Does that mean we give up on the conclusion? But why would I want to live under someone else’s limited expectations? No where when you are born does it say "hide your scars” or ‘be perfect”, everyone tells you to follow your dreams. Until it clashes with the system everyone so blindly follows without question. Like that guide book I mentioned. How do you really navigate life, as a woman? Being constantly ridiculed for wanting a choice. As a person of color? Wanting the same freedoms as your peers. Or a young adult? Forced to follow the bridge of expectations. I do not know, but I will not. I am those things but they are my identity I shall form my own each step of the way to my destination.