The match was tied, beads of sweat were dripping down our foreheads and our breath echoed on the court. My entire family had assembled on the stands to cheer for myself and my double’s partner in my senior night showdown, and I was determined to make them proud. My partner, an incredibly talented freshman player, hit a ball out. It was a critical moment. She turned to look at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I’m so sorry.” I gave her a big hug right there on the court and let her know I was happy to be competing with her by my side. I told her that, win or lose, we were a team. She wiped her tears and we clinked our racquets (tennis version of a high five). We lost that match. When we came off the court, my partner smiled and let me know how supported she felt. Then it was time for me to go and cheer on my fellow players who were still playing. I am not the best tennis player in the world. I am not even the best player on my team. Being a part of that team is more than just winning or losing. It is an opportunity to work hard, to improve, and to build one another up. Years from now I am not going to remember every match I played, but I will remember the teammates I laughed with, cried with, and loved. The aspect of teamwork has always held a place in my heart. The importance of supporting others has always been something that matters to me and is part of why I plan to go into Molecular Biology. I had a very difficult journey with Type One diabetes as no one else in my family or community had it. I was alone in my journey, having to advocate for myself to even get diagnosed. The diagnosis also made tennis more complicated, but together, they taught me perseverance. My school is extremely big but my team made me feel so much more at home. Part of my goal with biology is to get my PhD and become an endocrinologist. I was left to advocate for myself and I did not receive the support I needed from my family. I do not want anyone to feel like that again. The joy from supporting my teammates has played a big part of why support matters to me and why it is my goal. I want to be an advocate for others and I want everyone to feel heard, especially when it comes to their health. I had to do a lot of advocating about my health in sports and in school. If I was low, I needed to take a break on the court. If I was feeling sick, I needed to stop playing. Tennis taught me a lot about putting myself first and not feeling shame for it. I want to take what tennis has taught me and use it to teach and inspire others, especially diabetics who might feel the same shame I did at first around their health. It is a terrifying journey, but it is not one that needs to be lonely. I have taken the support I have learned and applied to other areas I have leadership in, such as in captaining my speech and debate team or as editor in chief of the school yearbook. Overall, tennis has taught me a lot about supporting others and has inspired me toward my future goals.

Throughout my life, diagnosis have fallen into my lap: ADHD at seven; Depression and Anxiety at thirteen; Type One diabetes at fifteen. With each diagnosis, mental health became a struggle that I had to focus on, especially for diabetes. As the only type one diabetic in my entire family, I was facing stereotypes from strangers and also the people closest to me. The build up was not easy either. Before my diagnosis, my body had been killing itself, and even though I was eating like a professional linebacker, I was dropping weight. My doctor ignored me when I told him things were wrong or when I suggested it was type one, chalking it up to a “teenage girls eating disorder”. My family thought I was being dramatic and told me to “Build Grit” when I would tell them I thought I was going to collapse. When that is all you hear while you are struggling, it is isolating. I felt very alone in my journey and it hurt that no one believed me. I had been advocating for myself and been put down for two years just to be right. I was incredibly angry especially at my family. I was angry at everyone who called me a "skeleton", "twig", or the unoriginal "pencil" line before I was diagnosed. I was angry at my teachers for not letting me go get water because drinking the pacific ocean was how I unknowingly combatted my blood sugar. I was angry at my doctor for refusing to do a test that when I finally took ended up being only five minutes. I was angry at everyone and especially at God. In a way of teenage rebellion, I made friends with the wrong people. They were the people who would break the law and skip classes to smoke- they were people my parents would hate. I faced my diagnosis alone and I resented my family for it, so I got closer to these people. All of them had their own struggles and their own anger and they understood my feelings. I felt less alone in all of my hatred with them, but I also lost myself in them. I have always been the top of my class and I have always hated breaking school rules, so I bent them in my favor. I would get permission from study hall teachers to go to other classes and then skip with my "friends" to smoke. I felt stupid but I also felt less fragile. I no longer felt like the girl with type one who needed to watch her every step but it was because I had no idea where I was going. I became someone who lied and broke the trust of people around me. I probably would have stayed on that path for a lot longer if there wasn't a large part of me that hated myself more and more. I had struggled with depression before but diabetes made it so much worse. I felt broken, like damaged goods. I told myself that I had no real options because no one would want someone with diabetes. I told myself that I was not ashamed but I was and not just of my diabetes but who it made me become. I have no idea where I would be had things stayed that way. I thought that a dark path with people was better than the right one alone, but I had been alone the entire time. The people I thought I could trust turned out to be the people who would hurt me most. I had been feeling separated from God for a long time but on September 12, 2023, I prayed. I had just broken a mirror and used it to cut myself before crying for an hour. I hated who I was. In that moment, he was there for me. I don't know how to explain it, but I felt him and his presence. I asked for his guidance and for his help. He heard every word and he helped me. I stopped talking to the people who were dragging me down, focused on myself and school and my relationship with God. I wasn't doing it alone because I was doing it with him. I continue to see a therapist and to take care of myself first and I have made it my priority. I worked hard and got into my dream college, the Honors Tutorial College at Ohio University. I am majoring in Molecular Biology so that I can get my PhD and join the medical field. I had advocated for myself my entire life and my journey was not an easy one but it taught me about myself and what I want. I want to be an advocate for others so they feel heard and supported to make sure no one has to take my path instead. While if given the chance to re-do my journey, I would certainly make better choices, I do not regret any of it. I learned a lot about perseverance and faith through my experience. I grew closer to God and to people close to be. I learned forgiveness and I learned patience. I was no longer full of hate or anger. I was no longer resentful. Now I am succeeding in leadership positions and the top of my class. My journey is far from over. College and Diabetes are two very expensive things that are going to occupy my life. I know that I am going to have to persevere. This scholarship will help me to lighten the load so I can focus on advocacy for God and others. I know that I will do great things with this scholarship and that I deserve it, and I hope that my story lets others know that they are never alone with God and to stay strong. Thank you for your consideration!

Success for me has a lot to do with my history. In the past two years, my idea of success has changed immensely. When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor (male) ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. It was not until I got a new doctor (a female) that I was taken seriously.I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. I had succeeded in making someone feel supported. Success used to be about production. As a perfectionist and the top of my class, I believed that success was superficial. Diabetes made me see it differently. It turned success into being about making a difference rather than making something perfect. It was no longer internal. My adversity through type one has taught me so much about myself and I plan to use my studies to give back to the community. I know how lonely diabetes feels and how scary it is. My goal is to study Molecular Biology and go to medical school to become an endocrinologist so that I can make key discoveries while also providing critical support to those who are being diagnosed and feeling alone through it. However, college is extremely expensive. After watching student loans drag my family down, I have spent my entire life working as hard as I can so I can get myself through school. My diabetes diagnosis only made this more important to me. Diabetes is an extremely expensive condition and one that my family has worked so hard to take on. This scholarship will impact my life by helping me to afford school so that I can focus on paying for my medical costs and working hard so I can one day get my PhD and give back to the type one community and continue making a difference. As someone who had to advocate alone and was ignored, I want to make sure all women feel heard and for every person being diagnosed to know someone is on their side. If I can make even one woman feel heard or supported than I will be successful and this scholarship will set me up to do just that.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor (male) ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. It was not until I got a new doctor (a female) that I was taken seriously.I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. My adversity through type one has taught me so much about myself and I plan to use my studies to give back to the community. I know how lonely diabetes feels and how scary it is. My goal is to study Molecular Biology and go to medical school to become an endocrinologist so that I can make key discoveries while also providing critical support to those who are being diagnosed and feeling alone through it. However, college is extremely expensive. After watching student loans drag my family down, I have spent my entire life working as hard as I can so I can get myself through school. My diabetes diagnosis only made this more important to me. Diabetes is an extremely expensive condition and one that my family has worked so hard to take on. This scholarship will impact my life by helping me to afford school so that I can focus on paying for my medical costs and working hard so I can one day get my PhD and give back to the type one community and continue making a difference. As someone who had to advocate alone and was ignored, I want to make sure all women feel heard and for every person being diagnosed to know someone is on their side.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor (male) ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. It was not until I got a new doctor (a female) that I was taken seriously.I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. My adversity through type one has taught me so much about myself and I plan to use my studies to give back to the community. I know how lonely diabetes feels and how scary it is. My goal is to study Molecular Biology and go to medical school to become an endocrinologist so that I can make key discoveries while also providing critical support to those who are being diagnosed and feeling alone through it. However, college is extremely expensive. After watching student loans drag my family down, I have spent my entire life working as hard as I can so I can get myself through school. My diabetes diagnosis only made this more important to me. Diabetes is an extremely expensive condition and one that my family has worked so hard to take on. This scholarship will impact my life by helping me to afford school so that I can focus on paying for my medical costs and working hard so I can one day get my PhD and give back to the type one community and continue making a difference. As someone who had to advocate alone and was ignored, I want to make sure all women feel heard and for every person being diagnosed to know someone is on their side.

Throughout my life, diagnosis have fallen into my lap: ADHD at seven; Depression and Anxiety at thirteen; Type One diabetes at fifteen. With each diagnosis, mental health became a struggle that I had to focus on, especially for diabetes. As the only type one diabetic in my entire family, I was facing stereotypes from strangers and also the people closest to me. The build up was not easy either. Before my diagnosis, my body had been killing itself, and even though I was eating like a professional linebacker, I was dropping weight. My doctor ignored me when I told him things were wrong or when I suggested it was type one, chalking it up to a “teenage girls eating disorder”. My family thought I was being dramatic and told me to “Build Grit” when I would tell them I thought I was going to collapse. When that is all you hear while you are struggling, it is isolating. I felt very alone in my journey and it hurt that no one believed me. I had been advocating for myself and been put down for two years just to be right. I was incredibly angry especially at my family. I was angry at everyone who called me a "skeleton", "twig", or the unoriginal "pencil" line before I was diagnosed. I was angry at my teachers for not letting me go get water because drinking the pacific ocean was how I unknowingly combatted my blood sugar. I was angry at my doctor for refusing to do a test that when I finally took ended up being only five minutes. I was angry at everyone and especially at God. In a way of teenage rebellion, I made friends with the wrong people. They were the people who would break the law and skip classes to smoke- they were people my parents would hate. I faced my diagnosis alone and I resented my family for it, so I got closer to these people. All of them had their own struggles and their own anger and they understood my feelings. I felt less alone in all of my hatred with them, but I also lost myself in them. I have always been the top of my class and I have always hated breaking school rules, so I bent them in my favor. I would get permission from study hall teachers to go to other classes and then skip with my "friends" to smoke. I felt stupid but I also felt less fragile. I no longer felt like the girl with type one who needed to watch her every step but it was because I had no idea where I was going. I became someone who lied and broke the trust of people around me. I probably would have stayed on that path for a lot longer if there wasn't a large part of me that hated myself more and more. I had struggled with depression before but diabetes made it so much worse. I felt broken, like damaged goods. I told myself that I had no real options because no one would want someone with diabetes. I told myself that I was not ashamed but I was and not just of my diabetes but who it made me become. I have no idea where I would be had things stayed that way. I thought that a dark path with people was better than the right one alone, but I had been alone the entire time. The people I thought I could trust turned out to be the people who would hurt me most. I had been feeling separated from God for a long time but on September 12, 2023, I prayed. I had just broken a mirror and used it to cut myself before crying for an hour. I hated who I was. In that moment, he was there for me. I don't know how to explain it, but I felt him and his presence. I stopped talking to the people who were dragging me down, focused on myself and school and my relationship with God. I didn't do it alone because I was doing it with him. I continue to see a therapist and to take care of myself first and I have made it my priority. I worked hard and got into my dream college, the Honors Tutorial College at Ohio University. I am majoring in Molecular Biology so that I can get my PhD and join the medical field. I had advocated for myself my entire life and my journey was not an easy one but it taught me about myself and what I want. I want to be an advocate for others so they feel heard and supported to make sure no one has to take my path instead. Thank you.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor (male) ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. It was not until I got a new doctor (a female) that I was taken seriously.I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. My adversity through type one has taught me so much about myself and I plan to use my studies to give back to the community. I know how lonely diabetes feels and how scary it is. My goal is to study Molecular Biology and go to medical school to become an endocrinologist so that I can make key discoveries while also providing critical support to those who are being diagnosed and feeling alone through it. However, college is extremely expensive. After watching student loans drag my family down, I have spent my entire life working as hard as I can so I can get myself through school. My diabetes diagnosis only made this more important to me. Diabetes is an extremely expensive condition and one that my family has worked so hard to take on. This scholarship will impact my life by helping me to afford school so that I can focus on paying for my medical costs and working hard so I can one day get my PhD and give back to the type one community and continue making a difference. As someone who had to advocate alone and was ignored, I want to make sure all women feel heard and for every person being diagnosed to know someone is on their side.

Throughout my life, diagnosis have fallen into my lap: ADHD at seven; Depression and Anxiety at thirteen; Type One diabetes at fifteen. My father has ADHD and my mother has Depression but no one in my family has type one diabetes. The fact that no one has it has played a significant role in my life. I first showed symptoms at thirteen. I was eating every meal like a professional linebacker while dropping weight, drinking the pacific ocean every day, and urinating like an old dog with no bladder control. For two years I told my parents I felt like I was dying, even suggesting it was Type One before. My doctor told me it was a "typical teen girl's anorexia". My parents told me to "try harder", "toughen up" and "build grit". They quickly regretted it when I ended up in the hospital with a blood glucose over 530 and a pancreas as useful as a screen door on a submarine. To me, it was just another diagnosis that I God threw into my face. When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. It was impossible for me not to stand out. I had a 504 plan already for my ADHD and anxiety that allowed me to test in small groups so the adjustment was minimal, but not invisible. In class, substitutes call me out for going on my phone and try to take it from me until I can explain it's for medical purposes, making my entire class stare at me and chuckle. When my pump goes off, people turn to look at me and watch as I fumble around with my device until I'm done. If I go low, people watch me slump myself over until I can get it back up. Diabetes pushed me into an unwelcome spotlight but it also motivated me. I have always excelled in and loved school. Since I was five and got my first pink "doctors kit", I knew I wanted to go into science. My diagnosis however has led me towards Molecular Biology and medical school to become an endocrinologist so that I can make key discoveries in the field of type one. My diagnosis was isolating and difficult, with no one believing me and me having to advocate alone. That experience only worsened my mental health but it also taught me perseverance. I never want anyone to be alone in their journeys or to feel like they are not being heard. With Biology, I can make these discoveries, but I can also inspire and advocate for others who don't feel heard. The Joieful Connections scholarship is an incredible opportunity for me. Medical debt is a very real thing and something I hope to never have. My family works very hard to cover my expenses for me which is why I am applying to scholarships like this one, so that I can get through college with little debt on myself or on my family. I want to show the teachers who have supported me whether it through Diabetes or ADHD that I have worked hard, and I want to show that to my family. Thank you for your consideration.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. My adversity through type one has taught me so much about myself and I plan to use my studies to give back to the community. I know how lonely diabetes feels and how scary it is. My goal is to study Molecular Biology and go to medical school to become an endocrinologist so that I can make key discoveries while also providing critical support to those who are being diagnosed and feeling alone through it. However, college is extremely expensive. After watching student loans drag my family down, I have spent my entire life working as hard as I can so I can get myself through school. My diabetes diagnosis only made this more important to me. Diabetes is an extremely expensive condition and one that my family has worked so hard to take on. This scholarship will impact my life by helping me to afford school so that I can focus on paying for my medical costs and working hard so I can one day get my PhD and give back to the type one community and continue making a difference.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. I have always been interested in science and medical school since I was five and got my first "kids aid kid" with a stethoscope I likely wore backwards. I have also always wanted to help people and make a difference. Helping that boy pushed me toward endocrinology. I had no one when I was diagnosed. No one in my family or my community understood the struggles I had been facing for over two years. If I could help one kid feel better than I was making a difference. My adversity through type one has taught me so much about myself and I plan to use my studies to give back to the community. I know how lonely diabetes feels and how scary it is. My goal is to study Molecular Biology and go to medical school to become an endocrinologist so that I can make key discoveries while also providing critical support to those who are being diagnosed and feeling lonely. Jack Terry built himself up alone and accomplished incredible things. He used his story to inspire others. His tenacity and perseverance pushed him into amazing accomplishments that helped people and his story has inspired me to do the same.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. I have always been interested in science and medical school since I was five and got my first "kids aid kid" with a stethoscope I likely wore backwards. I have also always wanted to help people and make a difference. When I was diagnosed, I found comfort in my support team. They understood everything I had gone through and they never doubted anything I was feeling, unlike my family and friends. I felt genuine support. Throughout these last two years I have made my decision to be an endocrinologist because I want to keep making discoveries while also providing comfort to people who were ignored like I had been. I want to make a difference, an impact, and providing this support is how I plan to do it.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. I was shamed for my body, told that I was too skinny despite eating like a professional linebacker at every meal. I was called a skeleton, a wire, and the unoriginal "pencil". I had already been diagnosed with ADHD, anxiety, and depression for years, but God decided it was time for one more at the age of fifteen.I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. It had finally all made sense- every symptom, every pain. I was in some ways relieved and in others, completely distraught. I am the only type one diabetic in my entire family, which for a disease that is considered genetic is not super comforting. My family felt lots of regret for the things they said to me but it was too little too late. I could not shake off every word they told me, everything they called me, every time they had put me down. Even in the hospital, my father said "I think this is worse for us than you" because I was so energetic- as if I hadn't been without any energy for the past 24 months. Being diagnosed with Type One made me feel strong physically but it broke me mentally. All of my work towards battling anxiety and depression was invisible when I was diagnosed, and even though I put up a brave and confident front, I had never been as scared as I was then. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. The anxiety I had fizzled in that moment because I was helping someone else with theirs. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. I have always been interested in science and medical school since I was five and got my first "kids aid kid" with a stethoscope I likely wore backwards. I have also always wanted to help people and make a difference. As much as diabetes had pushed me to a breaking point, it also gave me a purpose. I had spent months being angry at everyone, at my parents and my doctor for telling me I had "a typical white girl's eating disorder" and at people who I thought were my friends for making fun of my weight. I spent months being depressed and anxious and hating myself as my body was changing. I had spent months feeling alone, and in many ways, I actually was- but not completely. I didn't have people who understood what I was going through but I had friends who wanted to try. I realized that making others with the same anxiety as me feel better made me feel better. The physical and mental struggles I have faced over these past two years have led me to choosing Endocrinology, so that I can help the people who feel as lonely as I did. I've started hosting meetings at a local library to talk about diabetes, especially for teens and the importance of teen spaces. I have reached out to teens in my area to talk about diabetes and mental health. It isn't a perfect system, but it is a better one when there is support, and I want to be part of that journey.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. I have always been interested in science and medical school since I was five and got my first "kids aid kid" with a stethoscope I likely wore backwards. I have also always wanted to help people and make a difference. When I was diagnosed, I found comfort in my support team. They understood everything I had gone through and they never doubted anything I was feeling, unlike my family and friends. I felt genuine support. Throughout these last two years I have made my decision to be an endocrinologist because I want to keep making discoveries while also providing comfort to people who were ignored like I had been. I want to make a difference, an impact, and providing this support is how I plan to do it.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. I have always been interested in science and medical school since I was five and got my first "kids aid kid" with a stethoscope I likely wore backwards. I have also always wanted to help people and make a difference. When I was diagnosed, I found comfort in my support team. They understood everything I had gone through and they never doubted anything I was feeling, unlike my family and friends. I felt genuine support. Throughout these last two years I have made my decision to be an endocrinologist because I want to keep making discoveries while also providing comfort to people who were ignored like I had been. I want to make a difference, an impact, and providing this support is how I plan to do it.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My family and my doctor ignored me for over a year, telling me I needed to "build grit" and "toughen up" when in reality, my body was killing itself. I was actually dying and no one knew. I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. I felt important when I helped that boy and it pushed me to chose the path I am on now. I have always been interested in science and medical school since I was five and got my first "kids aid kid" with a stethoscope I likely wore backwards. I have also always wanted to help people and make a difference. When I was diagnosed, I found comfort in my support team. They understood everything I had gone through and they never doubted anything I was feeling, unlike my family and friends. I felt genuine support. Throughout these last two years I have made my decision to be an endocrinologist because I want to keep making discoveries while also providing comfort to people who were ignored like I had been. I want to make a difference, an impact, and providing this support is how I plan to do it.

At fifteen, I got my diagnosis. I had been complaining to my parents and even told my doctor I thought I had type one for over a year. Every time was met with: "You're being dramatic", "Build some Grit" and "Toughen up". No one in my family had type one so everyone would ask "why would you". Even now, my parents still tell me to "get up and treat yourself" when I am at 40 with a pounding chest. The biggest challenge has always been to feel comfortable and confident with myself and has been since day one, advocating to my doctor until she told me to go to the hospital. The emergency department nurse did not bring any additional comfort. “Your blood glucose level is 537; we are taking you back right away.” What followed was a bit of blur. There were lots of adults coming and going taking blood, pushing fluids and giving my parents looks that said something to the effect of “we are so sorry; this is going to be life-changing” as if my eyes and brain were broken and I couldn’t decipher the looks myself. My heart and mind were racing, but I had put together that I had diabetes, and they assumed it was Type One. I wouldn’t know for sure until the test results were back. Over time, so much became so clear. This is why my thirst was insatiable. This is why I was eating like a bulky linebacker and losing weight. It was why I kept having so much trouble focusing and staying awake in the math class that came directly after lunch. I am a type one diabetic or a T1D if you’d like to be hip to our community’s lingo. My body was struggling to survive with a pancreas that, quite frankly, was as worthless as a screen door on a submarine. This was a new challenge admittedly not one I had sought or one I would wish on anyone else. But, in a rather odd way, is one I am grateful for. When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay, despite every comment made or suggestion by my family, I am not letting diabetes stop me again.

When you spend much of your life concerned about what everyone around you thinks of you, you learn to become a person who finds ways to avoid drawing attention to yourself. When you walk around with a continuous blood glucose monitor inserted in your arm and a pump site on your leg connected via a tube to the pump you wear in your pocket or on your waist strap, people see you and many of them stare. At fifteen, my entire life changed with a single diagnosis. My first walk for what is now called Breakthrough T1D (formerly JDRF), I was able to raise money towards a cure. That was supposed to be the most important part of that walk. It wasn’t. Every T1D kid there was given a blue cape and walked across a stage in front of all the other walkers. The little boy standing next to me waiting to go on the stage was probably five or six and tearfully asked his mom if he had to go on the stage. He was little. He was scared. But he deserved to be seen for the warrior he is…and so did I. That’s when I knelt down, introduced myself, and told him how proud I would be to walk with him. He took my hand, and we mounted the stairs to the stage together. The girl who was scared to be seen is still at the base of those stairs, and that is where she will stay. That event meant more to me than anything because I finally had people who understood what I was experiencing. I wanted to keep connecting but it was hard. There were no spaces that were made for teenagers and so every event felt isolating in a community that should feel warm. I contacted Breakthrough T1D and talked to them about the lack of teen spaces and I have held meetings at the library in my community to discuss how being a teenager with type one diabetes looks and feels like, as well as to educate people on teen spaces and their value. My goal is to make sure that people know that they aren't alone in this battle and to make people feel like they have a safe space. While teen camps exist, they cost almost one grand for just a week, something most people just can not afford. I was diagnosed without knowing anyone, having anyone in my family with diabetes, no friends, no one who understood what my struggles were like. That isolation is heartbreaking, especially when it happens at a key point in your life. I want to make a difference by bringing people together and I hope to see it make a lasting impact in the community and in confidence with type one.