I have loved Wicked since I was a little girl, and what truly makes it special to me is how much I relate to the character of Elphaba. Her story is about so much more than just magic-- it's about fighting for what's right, even when the world stands against you. From the beginning Elphaba is different than her peers. She is ridiculed and bullied for things our of her control, but what really sets her apart, especially after arriving at Shiz, is her willingness to challenge systemic injustice. That is something that I deeply connect with. Like Elphaba, I've faced bullying for standing up for what I believe in. Whether it is speaking out on environmental issues or calling out the actions of my sexist classmates, or even just refusing to bite my tongue when discussing current events, I've seen firsthand how people can turn against you for not conforming. Elphaba's journey-- being ostracized not because she is evil, but because she refuses to bend on her morals-- resonates with me on a deeply personal level. Her resilience inspires me. Even when her entire world labels her as a villain, as the Wicked Witch, she never stops fighting for what is right. She may get knocked down, but she never truly gives up on herself and on what she believes in. That kind of strength, the ability to hold onto your values no matter how much others try to break her, is something that I strive for. Wicked reminds me that my differences--- my queerness, my Tourette's syndrome-- are not weaknesses, but strength. Elphaba's story gives me hope that, in the end, standing up for what is right is always worth it.

When I look to my future, I see myself standing in the chamber of the United States Senate, advocating for policies close to my heart. It is a lofty goal, but one I think I can one day accomplish. Being a student athlete has shaped me in ways I never could have predicted. I joined the varsity swim team later than most of my teammates, not until my junior year. Saying that I was nervous would've been an understatement, because honestly, I was terrified of embarrassing myself, with my sloppy strokes and dives that ended in belly flops more often than not. But I kept showing up. I stayed after practice, asking my coaches and teammates for help and advice, and slowly but surely, I improved. I pushed past my fears, refined my techniques, and proved to myself that I belonged in the pool just as much as any one of my peers. That experience-- the struggle, the persistence, and the gradual but undeniable progress-- taught me a lesson that will follow me into the political sphere. No one starts anything as an expert, and that is okay. No one enters a new arena without doubts. But the ones who succeed are the ones who don't back down. They take criticism when it is offered, learn from their mistakes, and come back even stronger. Swimming has helped me learn to see out challenges instead of avoid them, and I know that this mindset will serve me well in both higher education and my future career, where setbacks will be inevitable. Beyond the pool, my interests in volunteering and theater have reinforced my passion for leadership. Volunteering, particularly my efforts to establish recycling programs at my school, has given me firsthand experience in turning ideas into action. I’ve seen how small, local changes can have a ripple effect, and that’s exactly how I hope to approach policy making—by pushing for large-scale environmental reforms while also empowering individuals to make sustainable choices in their daily lives. Theater, on the other hand, has taught me how to connect with people. Whether I’m performing on stage or watching from behind the curtain, I’ve seen how stories can move an audience, stir emotions, and inspire change. Politics isn’t just about policy—it’s about people. It’s about understanding their struggles, hearing their voices, and telling their stories in a way that compels action. Growing up in a low-income home with a single mother, I know what it’s like to feel like the odds are stacked against you. That’s why I want to be a senator—to ensure that no one feels invisible in the decisions that shape their lives. Swimming has taught me how to push past my own limits. Volunteering showed me the power of action. Theater taught me the importance of storytelling. Each of these experiences has shaped my vision for the future and given me the tools I need to fight for the causes I believe in. One day, I hope to stand in the Senate chamber, just as I once stood on the starting block—nervous but ready, determined to prove that I belong, and prepared to give everything I have.

Throughout my life, I have faced challenges that have tested my resilience, shaped my character, and strengthened my determination to succeed. From growing up in a low-income household to enduring abuse at the hands of my father, I have had to navigate obstacles that many of my peers have never experienced. These struggles have instilled in me a deep sense of perseverance and a commitment to using my education to create a better future—not just for myself, but for others facing hardship. This scholarship is not just financial assistance; it is an opportunity to turn adversity into action. One of the most defining challenges of my life was the abuse I suffered at the hands of my father. For years, I lived in an environment of fear and instability, never knowing what would set him off. I eventually found the strength to take control of my own safety by calling CPS on him, a decision that forever changed the course of my life. Taking that step at a young age taught me the importance of standing up for myself, even when it was terrifying. However, the trauma of that experience did not disappear overnight. It took time to heal, to trust again, and to rebuild a sense of security. Yet, rather than allowing my past to define me, I have used it as motivation to push forward, to work harder, and to strive for a future where I can advocate for those who feel powerless—whether through law, politics, or environmental justice. Growing up in a single-parent, low-income household presented another layer of challenges. Financial insecurity meant that opportunities were often limited, and I had to work twice as hard to access resources that others took for granted. While some of my peers could afford tutoring, extracurricular programs, or test prep courses, I had to rely on my own discipline and determination to excel academically. But through it all, I learned the value of time management, perseverance, and pushing past exhaustion to reach my goals. These challenges have fueled my ambition and shaped my career aspirations. I plan to double major in political science and international relations, with the ultimate goal of becoming an environmental lawyer and, eventually, a U.S. senator. I want to fight for policies that uplift marginalized communities, ensuring that those who are often ignored—whether due to poverty, race, or geography—have a voice in the decisions that affect their lives. My own experiences with injustice and struggle have given me a unique perspective on the importance of advocacy, and I am committed to using my future career to create meaningful change. This scholarship is not just about making college more affordable; it is about giving me the chance to pursue my dreams without the constant weight of financial stress. It is about recognizing that, despite the hardships I have faced, I refuse to let my past define my future. I am determined to succeed, not just for myself, but for every child who has ever felt powerless, every student who has struggled under the weight of financial insecurity, and every person who has been told that their circumstances will limit their potential. I am incredibly grateful for your consideration of my application. This scholarship would provide me with the support I need to continue overcoming obstacles and working toward a future where I can turn my hardships into a force for change. Thank you for this opportunity, and for believing in students like me who refuse to let adversity stand in the way of success.

Balancing varsity swimming and schoolwork has been one of the greatest challenges of my high school career. Between after-school training and weekend meets, my schedule has often felt like a race against time. The physical and mental demands of competitive swimming require intense focus and discipline, yet so does my academic coursework. Striking a balance between the two has not been easy, but it has taught me invaluable lessons about perseverance, teamwork, and time management—lessons that will shape my future far beyond the pool. As a relay swimmer, I’ve learned that my success is not just about my own performance but about how well I support and work with my teammates. The pressure in a relay is different from an individual event because each swimmer’s effort directly impacts the team. In the same way, balancing academics and athletics requires collaboration—not just with teammates, but with teachers, classmates, and family. I’ve had to plan ahead, communicate with my teachers about missed classes due to meets, and rely on classmates for notes. Just as a relay requires trust in my teammates to give their best effort, I’ve learned to trust those around me to help me succeed in school. Time management has been one of my greatest struggles and, ultimately, one of my biggest strengths. A typical day often starts with a full day of classes, and then a practice or weight training session in the evening. Homework and studying come afterward, often pushing late into the night. There have been times when exhaustion felt overwhelming, but I have learned to maximize my time—studying between races at meets, completing assignments in short breaks between classes, and staying ahead on work when I know I have an upcoming meet. The discipline required to maintain this balance has prepared me for the rigorous demands of college and beyond. Swimming has also taught me resilience. Not every practice goes well, not every race is a personal best, and not every assignment earns a perfect grade. But just as I push through tough sets in the pool, I’ve learned to push through academic challenges. I’ve learned to take setbacks in stride, adjusting my strategy and working harder rather than letting failure define me. The ability to recover from disappointment and keep moving forward is something I will carry with me into my future, especially as I pursue a career in law and politics, where resilience is just as crucial as it is in sports. Looking ahead, I plan to double major in political science and international relations, with the goal of advocating for environmental justice. The discipline, teamwork, and perseverance I’ve developed as a student-athlete will be essential in navigating the challenges of higher education and, eventually, a career in law and public service. Just as in a relay, success in my future will not be a solo effort—it will require collaboration, trust, and the ability to rise to the occasion when it matters most. Being a varsity swimmer has shaped me in ways I never expected. It has tested my limits, pushed me beyond what I thought I was capable of, and taught me lessons that extend far beyond the water. While my time competing in high school will eventually come to an end, the values I’ve gained—discipline, teamwork, resilience—will stay with me, guiding me through the next stage of my life.

The world we live in today is shaped by the past—by the choices people have made, the systems they have built, and the lessons they have learned (or failed to learn). I believe that understanding history, cultural anthropology, political science, and geography is essential to creating a more just and sustainable future. These fields provide insight into how societies function, how power is distributed, and how policies can either uplift or oppress. My goal is to use this knowledge to address environmental injustice, ensuring that all communities—regardless of race, income, or geography—have a voice in the fight against climate change. Growing up in a low-income household, I saw firsthand how economic and political systems can fail people. I learned that environmental disasters do not impact everyone equally—low-income and minority communities are often the hardest hit and the least protected. This realization fueled my passion for environmental justice. I plan to double major in political science and international relations to gain a deep understanding of the policies and global structures that shape environmental outcomes. Through this education, I will develop the skills to advocate for laws and policies that protect the most vulnerable populations. History and cultural anthropology show us that environmental exploitation is often tied to colonialism, economic inequality, and systemic oppression. From the forced displacement of Indigenous peoples to modern-day environmental racism, the patterns are clear. By studying these subjects, I will better understand how past injustices have created present-day disparities—and how to dismantle them. Geography also plays a critical role in environmental justice, as access to clean air, water, and land is often determined by location. Understanding these geographic inequalities will help me create policies that address environmental harm at its root. My long-term goal is to become an environmental lawyer and eventually a U.S. senator, using my position to advocate for policies that protect marginalized communities. To achieve this, I plan to gain hands-on experience by working with environmental organizations, interning with government agencies, and engaging in grassroots activism. These experiences will allow me to bridge the gap between theory and practice, ensuring that my education is directly applied to real-world solutions. I am deeply committed to learning from history, understanding cultural dynamics, and using political science to drive meaningful change. The world is shaped by those who understand it, and I am determined to use my knowledge to fight for a more just and sustainable future. I want to thank the scholarship committee for considering my application. This opportunity would help me take the next steps in my education and career, allowing me to continue my work in environmental justice. I also want to say that Ryan seems like someone I would have loved to talk to about our world—about history, policy, and the ways we can learn from the past to build a better future.

My ultimate goal is to become a United States senator, using my platform to drive environmental policy that prioritizes justice for marginalized communities. However, I know that achieving this goal requires years of education, experience, and strategic planning. I am committed to every step of that journey, from my undergraduate education to law school, gaining hands-on experience, and eventually working my way into the political sphere. I plan to double major in political science and international relations, focusing on environmental policy. I have been accepted early decision to Barnard College of Columbia University under this intention, to begin studying this coming fall. These fields will give me a strong foundation in government, law, and global environmental issues. During my undergraduate years, I will seek internships with organizations such as the Environmental Defense Fund, the Natural Resources Defense Council, and government agencies like the Environmental Protection Agency. These experiences will provide firsthand knowledge of environmental law, policy-making, and grassroots advocacy. Additionally, I will work on environmental justice initiatives in my community. This could include organizing campaigns for cleaner energy policies, advocating for pollution regulations, and pushing for stronger environmental protections in underserved areas. These efforts will not only strengthen my skills in policy advocacy but also help me build connections with professionals in the field. After completing my undergraduate degree, I will attend law school with a focus on environmental law. Schools such as Yale, Harvard, and the University of Virginia have strong programs in this field, and I will apply for scholarships and fellowships to support my education. While in law school, I will clerk for judges specializing in environmental law and intern at legal organizations fighting against corporate pollution and environmental neglect. Upon graduating, I will work at a law firm or nonprofit organization dedicated to environmental justice, representing communities affected by environmental harm. My goal is to build a reputation as a strong advocate for those who are often overlooked, fighting cases against major polluters and working on policy reforms. Achieving these goals requires significant financial resources, so I have mapped out a plan to manage costs. Scholarships, grants, and work-study programs will be essential in funding my undergraduate degree. For law school, I will apply for fellowships and public interest loan forgiveness programs that support students committed to justice work. I also plan to seek paid internships and clerkships to minimize debt while gaining valuable experience. After years of legal experience, I will transition into politics by first running for a local government position, such as city council or state legislature. This will allow me to gain experience in legislative processes, policy making, and public service. From there, I will work my way up to a congressional seat, focusing on environmental policies that protect vulnerable communities and hold corporations accountable. My long-term vision is to serve as a U.S. senator, where I will have the power to enact meaningful environmental legislation. I will push for stronger climate policies, regulations on industrial pollution, and federal investment in sustainable infrastructure. My legal background and firsthand experience advocating for marginalized communities will give me the credibility and knowledge needed to fight for real change. While the path to the Senate is long and challenging, I am fully committed to every step. With the right education, experience, and strategic planning, I will make a lasting impact on environmental policy and ensure that justice is at the forefront of the fight against climate change.

Next year, I will begin studying political science and international relations at Barnard College of Columbia University. Studying in these fields will provide me with a deep understanding of the legal and governmental systems that shape our country and our world. I have always had a strong passion for justice and for advocacy, which has led me to pursue an entrepreneurial career in law. Rather than working within an established firm for the majority of my career, I intend to open my own law practice, one that is dedicated to uplifting diverse voices and ensuring equal access to legal justice. By carving my own path, I will have the autonomy to shape my firm's mission, take on cases that align with my values, and directly impact the communities that I am a part of, the communities that are so often overlooked by our legal system. Entrepreneurship is not an easy road, let alone in law. However, I believe my success will stem from my resilience. At the age of thirteen, I had to call Child Protective Services on my own father, which resulted in a months-long case involving state police. Experiencing hardship firsthand has given me strength, and taught me the importance of standing up for what is right, even when it's painful. Many law firms prioritize profit over people, but my firm will be built on the principle that justice should not be a privilege only available to a select few. I will approach my practice with both a business mindset and a social mission, ensuring financial stability while staying true to my values. My background in political science and international relations will allow me to navigate legal complexities and advocate for my clients. Additionally, my leadership experience-- as seen in my role as Student Council President for the past two years and captain of my school's scholastic bowl team (three time district champion winning)-- has prepared me for managing a legal team, building relationships with clients, and tackle challenges head on. To me, a successful life is not defined by wealth or status, but by impact and integrity. I want to leave the world a better place than how I found it, by using my knowledge and resources to empower those around me, by giving people the tools needed to fight for their rights, and by helping to create a more just society. A successful life means standing up for those who have been silenced, challenging the status quo, and leaving behind a legacy of positive change. I hope that my law firm will be more than just a business, but a force for justice, and a space where all stories are heard, valued, and protected. Ultimately, my goal is to bridge the gap between marginalized communities and the legal system, ensuring that no one is denied their rights due to systemic barriers. I know that the road ahead will be difficult, but I am ready to face the challenges because I know that my mission is bigger than myself. My success will not be measured solely by my firm's growth, but by the lives I am able to impact along the way.

"I try to let it go, but it's under my skin." To me, this line is about how sometimes, even when you want to move on, even when you want to ignore it, to leave it in the past, there is something inside you that refuses to let you forget or settle. It isn't about bitterness, but about recognizing the things that matter too much to ignore. I feel like that's how I've always been, since I was a little girl raising my hand in class when the teacher asked for some "big strong boys" to help her carry textbooks. I have always refused to stay silent when things aren't right, and I never will be. I've always been someone who feels things deeply, whether it's about the environment, racial inequality, or the challenges faced by the queer community, a community that I am proud to be part of. And none of this is just a passing frustration-- it sticks with me, like it is "under my skin." That feeling is what drives me to act, whether it is organizing a program to place much-needed recycling bins in our school, or editing the political literary magazine I run to give other teens a place to voice their thoughts on our world. This lyric reminds me that change is never grown from apathy. It starts from caring so much that you can't help but do something about it. Sometimes, I wish I could just let things go, like when I see people brushing off environmental issues and making excuses for their lack of care, but I can't. Though I sometimes wish I didn't care as much, I don't truly want to let go. That sense of urgency is what keeps me focused on what matters most, whether it is speaking up in a local town meeting or educating those around me about climate crises. But I see another layer to this lyric; it acknowledges just how hard it can be to carry this passion. Sometimes, being a student leader feels overwhelming. It's like the weight of what you care about is always with you, dampening every good mood, reminding you in every restful moment that there is more work to be done. I've had moments where I wonder if I'm doing enough or if my efforts will even matter in the long run. But, whenever this happens, I remind myself that the fact that it matters to me, the fact that it gets under my skin, is proof that it's worth fighting for. Olivia's lyric is a quiet reminder that it's okay to let those feelings fuel you. Change happens because someone is comfortable enough to be uncomfortable, to hold onto the things that others let slide, and to turn that tension into action. For me, it's not just about big dreams for the future; it's about taking whatever steps you can now, even when it feels like it won't make an impact. So, whenever I hear that lyric, I think about the kind of person I am; someone who feels deeply and acts boldly because of it. And if that fire never lets me forget, I know it's because I'm meant to make a difference.

As a child, the feedback listed on my report cards was consistent: a joy to have in class, excelling beyond her peers, and an all around kind, happy girl. I wore my smile like a shield, forcing everyone to ignore the possibility that anything else could lie beneath. My father’s abuse cast a shadow over my life, swallowing me in the darkness. Each day felt like a desperate search for the light, a battle where winning was never certain. I’d like to say that I knew when it began, that I remembered a man full of love who slowly rotted into an unrecognizable figure, but I do not. I never knew a time when I didn’t have to tiptoe around him. I became adept at reading the room, knowing instantly when it was safe to joke with my brother and knowing when silence was my only option. I knew who was coming by the sound of their footsteps, knowing that I needed to brace myself if they were his. Change came when I was thirteen. My brother had never been the target of our father’s abuse, but this particular Sunday, I awoke to the sounds of his screams. I snuck up the stairs, eyes wide as I watched. I stole my father’s phone off the ground while he wasn’t looking, and ran. My fingers shook as I dialed the number for my local Child Protective Services office. I was terrified as it rang, hundreds of questions running through my mind. Would they believe me? Would this just make everything worse? In the following days, nothing felt real. Social workers came and went, asking me questions that I rarely knew how to answer. Each visit felt like an interrogation, like I was being forced to share my deepest secrets. Despite how scared I was, I felt a surge of power. For the first time, I found my voice, and I was learning how to scream. Immediately after I made the call, I was returned to the custody of my mother, but I feared the day when I would have to face my father again. I would have to confront the very person I feared most. There were moments when I thought that I wasn’t strong enough to go through with it and that I had deserved the abuse. But I pushed through. I channeled my anger into resilience. Each time he shouted, I saw him for what he truly was: an angry, selfish man, who couldn’t deal with the concept of someone disagreeing with him. I spent years wishing that the abuse had never happened. Nights were spent longing for fatherly love, pangs of jealousy hitting me each time I saw a friend laughing with her dad. Now, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not because I’m glad that it happened, but because it has made me who I am. I’ve learned to embrace discomfort, sitting with my pain and digging to the root instead of shying away. Life’s obstacles are not things to overcome, but opportunities for growth. I was never a victim. I am a survivor. Standing on the cusp of adulthood, I carry my grit and determination with me. As a prospective political science major, I plan to run for national political office, something not typically done by individuals of my background. I refuse to let my past define me, instead using it as a foundation where I not only thrive but empower others to do the same. Through every struggle, I have learned that empowerment is not simply enduring, but fighting for a brighter tomorrow.

“Don’t go to New York, that’s where all the crime is.” My father says, not pulling his eyes away from the football game playing on the same television set his parents have owned since he was a child. “Not the drugs, though.” My uncle says, standing beside me, looking around the room as if he’s telling the funniest joke the world has ever heard. “They’re all here.” I come from a family where every other cousin is a cop, and I hear the stories of drug charges over every meal. I listen to them laugh about seeing the same men and women every few months because they can’t stop selling. “You see, biggest problem we’ve got now is that they keep on dyin’ before their court dates.” The breakfast table erupts into guffaws and hoots and hollers, and I smile politely, wondering what about a man’s death is funny. I see the smoke-filled bathrooms, as has every high schooler. I stand in front of the sinks, saying excuse me to the girls sitting on the counter so that I can fix my lipstick while they shove their cotton candy-flavored vapes down their bras as the principal walks in. I know how easy it is to be annoyed with it. Stupid teenagers with stupid drugs. Not individuals, statistics. Underage drug use in rural communities, up by whatever percentage we’ve come to. But I’ve also seen the other side. I’ve run downstairs with my hair still wet and my pajamas half on, begging my mom to let my friend spend the night. “It’s a school night, Ella.” She says, but there’s a hesitation in the way she speaks. She can hear the fear in my voice. “Please Mom,” I say. “It’s not safe for her at home right now.” I text my best friend, and she’s at the door in seconds. She had been circling the neighborhood. As we lay in my bed, she moves closer and whispers “I’m really glad that you’re my friend.” I’ve been told many times before that I talk about issues far beyond my age and education. That I should leave the lawmaking to the men in Washington. But the men in Washington do not know the kids in small towns trying their darndest to get through high school. They know the numbers, but they do not know the people. I do. I know that everyone with an addiction will find a way around the laws. I know that regulation and rehabilitation are deathly important to our country. I know that few will listen to a girl who hasn’t even gotten her high school diploma yet. I have always wanted to be a politician, which sometimes feels odd to say. They are the butt of so many jokes, and often seen as seperate from the rest of America. However, I want to make a difference in this world. I want to protect the lives of those like Charles, lives that deserve to be long and fulfilling. I want to make America a safer place, a place where everyone is seen as human and treated as such. This scholarship would provide me with much needed funds to pursue the education I need to be taken seriously in the world of politics, and it would be a step closer to becoming one of the men in Washington, one of the ones who truly understands what the people want and need.

As a child, the feedback listed on my report cards was consistent: a joy to have in class, excelling beyond her peers, and an all around kind, happy girl. I wore my smile like a shield, forcing everyone to ignore the possibility that anything else could lie beneath. My father’s abuse cast a shadow over my life, swallowing me in the darkness. Each day felt like a desperate search for the light, a battle where winning was never certain. I’d like to say that I knew when it began, that I remembered a man full of love who slowly rotted into an unrecognizable figure, but I do not. I never knew a time when I didn’t have to tiptoe around him. I became adept at reading the room, knowing instantly when it was safe to joke with my brother and knowing when silence was my only option. I knew who was coming by the sound of their footsteps, knowing that I needed to brace myself if they were his. Change came when I was thirteen. My brother had never been the target of our father’s abuse, but this particular Sunday, I awoke to the sounds of his screams. I snuck up the stairs, eyes wide as I watched. I stole my father’s phone off the ground while he wasn’t looking, and ran. My fingers shook as I dialed the number for my local Child Protective Services office. I was terrified as it rang, hundreds of questions running through my mind. Would they believe me? Would this just make everything worse? In the following days, nothing felt real. Social workers came and went, asking me questions that I rarely knew how to answer. Each visit felt like an interrogation, like I was being forced to share my deepest secrets. Despite how scared I was, I felt a surge of power. For the first time, I found my voice, and I was learning how to scream. Immediately after I made the call, I was returned to the custody of my mother, but I feared the day when I would have to face my father again. I would have to confront the very person I feared most. There were moments when I thought that I wasn’t strong enough to go through with it and that I had deserved the abuse. But I pushed through. I channeled my anger into resilience. Each time he shouted, I saw him for what he truly was: an angry, selfish man, who couldn’t deal with the concept of someone disagreeing with him. I spent years wishing that the abuse had never happened. Nights were spent longing for fatherly love, pangs of jealousy hitting me each time I saw a friend laughing with her dad. Now, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not because I’m glad that it happened, but because it has made me who I am. I’ve learned to embrace discomfort, sitting with my pain and digging to the root instead of shying away. Life’s obstacles are not things to overcome, but opportunities for growth. I was never a victim. I am a survivor. Standing on the cusp of adulthood, I carry my grit and determination with me. As a prospective political science major, I plan to run for national political office, something not typically done by individuals of my background. I refuse to let my past define me, instead using it as a foundation where I not only thrive but empower others to do the same. Through every struggle, I have learned that grit is not simply enduring; it’s fighting for a brighter tomorrow.

Mental wellness is integral to my life, especially due to the challenges I have faced as a student facing both internal and external stressors. Growing up in a small farming town with a strong Christian influence, my identity as a queer woman has presented significant hurdles, influencing all aspects of my health. A memory that I think shows these struggles well is from my early middle school years. The word “DYKE” was scrawled on my locker, and though the letters were small, it was a potent symbol of the prejudice I faced. The jeers and snickers from my peers intensified the sting of this message, making my cheeks flush and my eyes well up with tears. This incident, while it may seem minor to some, was a stark reminder of the discrimination that overshadowed my life. Each day, I have grappled with the dissonance between my identity and my community’s expectations, leaving me feeling isolated and misunderstood. Maintaining mental wellness during such difficult times required resilience and a strong support system. The conflict between my Christian upbringing and my queer identity was especially challenging. My faith, which emphasized love and acceptance, felt at odds with the societal rejection I faced. This internal battle was not just about reconciling my beliefs; it was about finding a space where I could be authentic without feeling the need to compromise my identity or values. Physical wellness also became a struggle. The stress of navigating a hostile environment took a toll on my body. I found myself dealing with anxiety and its physical effects, like fatigue and frequent headaches. Balancing academic responsibilities with the emotional weight of discrimination and the pressure to fit into community expectations was a constant challenge. I often felt overwhelmed, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle seemed like an impossible task. However, these obstacles have also shaped my goals and strengthened my determination. They have fueled my ambition to become a politician committed to building an inclusive and tolerant society. My personal experiences with marginalization have highlighted the urgent need for systemic change. I aspire to create policies that protect and empower individuals, regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity, or religious beliefs. My dedication to this cause is driven by a deep empathy for those who, like me, have experienced the pain of exclusion. Additionally, my journey has given me a nuanced understanding of intersectionality. I recognize that LGBTQIA+ issues are connected to broader social justice movements, including racial, gender, and economic inequalities. This awareness shapes my policy priorities, ensuring that solutions address the complex nature of discrimination. My aim is to promote equity and inclusivity, fostering an environment where diverse identities are celebrated and respected. Despite the challenges I’ve encountered, my experiences have underscored the critical role of mental and physical wellness in navigating personal adversity and achieving meaningful change.

Mental and physical wellness are integral to my life, especially due to the challenges I have faced as a student facing both internal and external stressors. Growing up in a small farming town with a strong Christian influence, my identity as a queer woman has presented significant hurdles, influencing all aspects of my health. A memory that I think shows these struggles well is from my early middle school years. The word “DYKE” was scrawled on my locker, and though the letters were small, it was a potent symbol of the prejudice I faced. The jeers and snickers from my peers intensified the sting of this message, making my cheeks flush and my eyes well up with tears. This incident, while it may seem minor to some, was a stark reminder of the discrimination that overshadowed my life. Each day, I have grappled with the dissonance between my identity and my community’s expectations, leaving me feeling isolated and misunderstood. Maintaining mental wellness during such difficult times required resilience and a strong support system. The conflict between my Christian upbringing and my queer identity was especially challenging. My faith, which emphasized love and acceptance, felt at odds with the societal rejection I faced. This internal battle was not just about reconciling my beliefs; it was about finding a space where I could be authentic without feeling the need to compromise my identity or values. Physical wellness also became a struggle. The stress of navigating a hostile environment took a toll on my body. I found myself dealing with anxiety and its physical effects, like fatigue and frequent headaches. Balancing academic responsibilities with the emotional weight of discrimination and the pressure to fit into community expectations was a constant challenge. I often felt overwhelmed, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle seemed like an impossible task. However, these obstacles have also shaped my goals and strengthened my determination. They have fueled my ambition to become a politician committed to building an inclusive and tolerant society. My personal experiences with marginalization have highlighted the urgent need for systemic change. I aspire to create policies that protect and empower individuals, regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity, or religious beliefs. My dedication to this cause is driven by a deep empathy for those who, like me, have experienced the pain of exclusion. Additionally, my journey has given me a nuanced understanding of intersectionality. I recognize that LGBTQIA+ issues are connected to broader social justice movements, including racial, gender, and economic inequalities. This awareness shapes my policy priorities, ensuring that solutions address the complex nature of discrimination. My aim is to promote equity and inclusivity, fostering an environment where diverse identities are celebrated and respected. Despite the challenges I’ve encountered, my experiences have underscored the critical role of mental and physical wellness in navigating personal adversity and achieving meaningful change.

DYKE is written on my locker, though it’s not all across it like in the movies. The letters are small, just out of view, but perfectly big enough for my twelve-year-old eyes to read. My cheeks are hot and my eyes can already feel the pinpricks of held-back tears, my ears burning hotter and hotter with each snicker and laugh that I hear around me. I wipe it off with the corner of my sweater and run to my next class.  Growing up in a tightly-knit farming town, and coming from a Christian family, my identity as a queer woman has been challenging, to say the least. I wasn’t the first queer teen at my church, but I had grown up watching them leave, one by one. A choice was presented to me: shun my faith, or live a lie.  The tension between my faith and my queer identity caused a constant internal conflict. The teachings I had grown up with preached love and compassion, but the promised unconditional love didn’t seem to apply when it came to folks who loved a little differently. My choice wasn’t just about my own beliefs; it was about reconciling who I am with the expectations that were placed upon me.  This struggle shaped my aspiration to become a politician. The pain of feeling marginalized and discriminated against within my own hometown fueled my desire to create a more inclusive and tolerant society. It became clear that if I wanted to foster a nation where everyone could live authentically, I needed to pursue systemic change. My experiences showed the necessity of policies that protect and empower individuals regardless of their sexual orientation, religious background, or gender identity. Being raised in a small town taught me the importance of family and community, but it also highlighted the dangers of this. I have witnessed firsthand how exclusionary practices harm those who do not fit the conventional mold created by the community. I continue to practice my Christian faith, wearing a cross around my neck each day and praying each night, and my dual perspective of being a queer Christian has profoundly affected my approach to politics. I am committed to creating an environment where diverse identities are not only accepted but celebrated. My goal is to ensure that policies are inclusive and equitable, addressing the needs of those who are often overlooked. Partly due to my own experiences, I have developed a deep empathy for those who are marginalized and misunderstood. This empathy has strengthened my commitment to listening to all perspectives and advocating for policies that help instead of harm. I believe in fostering candid conversation between opposing sides, rather than encouraging division, to create meaningful and lasting change. Additionally, my experiences have given me a nuanced understanding of intersectionality. I recognize that LGBTQIA+ issues do not exist in a vacuum but are intertwined with other social justice struggles, including racial, gender, and economic inequalities. This intersectional approach drives my policy priorities, ensuring that solutions address the multifaceted nature of discrimination. The challenges I faced growing up in a small farming town with a strong Christian influence have been key in shaping my goals as an aspiring politician. The false need to choose between abandoning my faith or living a lie highlighted the need for a more inclusive and understanding society. My journey has prepared me to advocate for policies that honor diversity, promote equality, and respect every individual’s dignity. Through my work, I aim to turn personal adversity into systemic change, creating a world where everyone has the opportunity to live authentically without fear.

It is not often that my memories are clear, and it is far more common for them to appear blurry with slurred speech, like I’m wearing glasses that aren’t my prescription and I’ve got cotton stuffed in my ears. However, my memory of being diagnosed with OCD is clear as day. I’m ashamed to admit that before my diagnosis, I associated OCD with cleanliness and order—images of meticulously organized spaces and repetitive rituals. It never occurred to me that my own experiences might fit the description. When my therapist first mentioned OCD, I was confused and dismissive, my cluttered room and disorganized bookbag starkly contrasting with the stereotypical image. Initially, I grappled with the diagnosis, struggling to reconcile it with the cluttered reality of my life. However, as I delved deeper into understanding OCD, I recognized that the behaviors I had dismissed were, in fact, compulsions. This realization was a turning point, leading me to discover how my unique traits could be harnessed productively. Throughout my education, I have developed meticulous organizational skills, and an acute attention to detail, both of which are necessary for a career in law and politics. Not only have these skills helped me excel in my schoolwork- earning me a 3.9 GPA and placing me in the top percentage of my class- but they have also given me the ability to analyze complex situations from multiple perspectives, which will be an essential skill once I am a lawyer. Additionally, my neurodiversity has given me a deep sense of empathy and understanding towards others facing their own challenges. I rarely talk about my OCD, even with the people closest to me. If I do not talk about my own struggles, why should I assume that no one else around me is struggling? Working in law and politics, I will need to connect with diverse groups of people, and understand their struggles in order to effectively advocate for them. A key value of the United States government is representation, and these skills will help me achieve that effectively. I’ve had the opportunity to talk to many already working in our government, and I understand just how stressful the environment can be. After receiving my OCD diagnosis, I've developed several strategies to manage stress and maintain focus, such as structured routines, mindfulness techniques, and periodic self-assessment. These methods have not only enhanced my academic performance but also prepared me for the demanding environment of law and politics. My unique neurodiverse perspective has given me a distinctive and important set of skills and insights that I am more than eager to utilize in college and in my future career. In conclusion, my journey with OCD has equipped me with a unique set of skills that are invaluable in law and politics—an unwavering attention to detail, a deep empathy for diverse perspectives, and strategic problem-solving abilities. I am eager to leverage these attributes in college and my career, creating a more inclusive and representative governance that addresses the multifaceted needs of our society.

"Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate. Well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?" Olivia Rodrigo's "Lacy" is about jealousy at its simplest. Lacy is so kind that you cannot in good faith be mad at her, though she has everything that you have ever wanted. She is beautiful, smart, stylish, and accomplished—everything a girl could want to be. As a queer neurodivergent low-income teenager, I struggle with jealousy much more than I would like to admit. The jealousy I feel towards the straight girls at my school, at their easy, casual friendships, the way they lean against one another without a thought in the world. The neurotypical teenagers, watching them converse about their normal interests in their normal tones with normal body language. And my fellow seniors, applying to college without a second thought about tuition. Knowing that they can choose the school that's the best fit for them, and not the cheapest, adds to my envy. Listening to their complaints about how stressful homework is, knowing that they aren't spending every free moment applying to every scholarship they can get their hands on. These experiences highlight the disparities and challenges faced by someone of my background, and these feelings of envy and frustration are relentless companions. Music has always been a source of catharsis for me. Singers and songwriters put emotions I could never quite untangle into words that I still couldn't fully understand but knew were exactly what I was feeling. I've been a dedicated Livie since the release of "Driver's License," desperately awaiting each new song and Instagram post. "Lacy" truly resonated with me the first time I heard it, bringing me to tears. The song captures the essence of the jealousy that gnaws at me every day. Olivia Rodrigo's words convey the rawness of adolescent envy, making me feel seen and understood. The lyric "Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate. Well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?" encapsulates my struggles with this emotion succinctly and powerfully. The essence of adolescence is often portrayed through the lens of friendship, ambition, and identity. Navigating these facets while feeling overshadowed by others who seem to have it all is a uniquely poignant challenge. Olivia Rodrigo's lyrics give voice to these feelings, making "Lacy" an anthem for anyone who has felt less than or envious of those who appear to lead a more charmed life. The lyric from Olivia Rodrigo’s "Lacy" serves as a poignant reminder of the complexities and emotional turbulence of adolescence. It not only articulates the pangs of jealousy but also validates the deep-seated longing for equality and understanding. Through her music, Olivia Rodrigo bridges the gap between personal struggles and universal emotions, allowing listeners like me to find solace and connection in her words.

“Don’t go to New York, that’s where all the crime is.” My father says, not pulling his eyes away from the football game playing on the same television set his parents have owned since he was a child. “Not the drugs, though.” My uncle says, standing beside me, looking around the room as if he’s telling the funniest joke the world has ever heard. “They’re all here.” I come from a family where every other cousin is a cop, and I hear the stories of drug charges over every meal. I listen to them laugh about seeing the same men and women every few months because they can’t stop selling. “You see, biggest problem we’ve got now is that they keep on dyin’ before their court dates.” The breakfast table erupts into guffaws and hoots and hollers, and I smile politely, wondering what about a man’s death is funny. I see the smoke-filled bathrooms, as has every high schooler. I stand in front of the sinks, saying excuse me to the girls sitting on the counter so that I can fix my lipstick while they shove their cotton candy-flavored vapes down their bras as the principal walks in. I know how easy it is to be annoyed with it. Stupid teenagers with stupid drugs. Not individuals, statistics. Underage drug use in rural communities, up by whatever percentage we’ve come to. But I’ve also seen the other side. I’ve run downstairs with my hair still wet and my pajamas half on, begging my mom to let my friend spend the night. “It’s a school night, Ella.” She says, but there’s a hesitation in the way she speaks. She can hear the fear in my voice. “Please Mom,” I say. “It’s not safe for her at home right now.” I text my best friend, and she’s at the door in seconds. She had been circling the neighborhood. As we lay in my bed, she moves closer and whispers “I’m really glad that you’re my friend.” A boy sits down next to me. I’ve barely talked to him in the past two years, but he was one of the first friends I made at my new school. His body language is different, and it takes me a minute to realize that I have only ever seen him high. “I’m four months sober now.” A smile breaks out onto my face, and spreads to his before we start talking about the theater team’s latest production. I’ve been told many times before that I talk about issues far beyond my age and education. That I should leave the lawmaking to the men in Washington. But the men in Washington do not know the kids in small towns trying their darndest to get through high school. They know the numbers, but they do not know the people. I do. I know that everyone with an addiction will find a way around the laws. I know that regulation and rehabilitation are deathly important to our country. I know that few will listen to a girl who hasn’t even gotten her high school diploma yet. I’ve read the resumes of every governor, senator, and president I could get my hands on, and I know what to do. I’ll get my law degree, and fight for my clients as hard as I can, using arguments that cannot be denied. I’ll work my way up to a national position, and I will be the man in Washington. I will embrace finding solutions to help those struggling instead of punishing them.