Being the first in my family to obtain a college degree means more than just a personal milestone—it’s a symbol of resilience, growth, and hope. It represents the realization of dreams not only for myself, but for my entire family. My parents, especially my late father, always encouraged me to aim high, even when the path seemed uncertain. After his passing when I was just ten years old, the dream of going to college felt like it was slipping away. But over time, I turned that pain into purpose. Becoming the first in my family to graduate would be a way to honor his belief in me and to show future generations that obstacles can be overcome through determination, support, and self-belief. In college, I am pursuing a degree in elementary education because I have always had a deep passion for working with children. From a young age, I knew I wanted to become a teacher. Being in the classroom—whether assisting students with assignments or simply listening to their stories—feels natural to me. One powerful moment that confirmed my calling was when I helped a first-grade student who had transferred in after being homeschooled. She was quiet and unsure, often falling behind in classwork. I worked with her one-on-one, celebrated her progress, and taught her in ways that made the material easier to understand. As her confidence grew, so did her friendships and classroom participation. That transformation reminded me of the kind of impact a teacher can have—and reinforced my desire to create a positive, empowering learning environment for children. As a future teacher, I want to do more than teach reading, writing, and math. I want to be a mentor, a role model, and a safe, steady presence in my students’ lives. My long-term goal is to build a classroom where every child feels seen, supported, and capable of success. I believe early education lays the foundation for a child’s future, and I am committed to helping students develop not only academically, but also emotionally and socially. I also hope to pursue additional training in trauma-informed practices and inclusive teaching so I can better support students from all backgrounds and abilities. To me, earning a college degree is about much more than a diploma. It’s about becoming the person I needed when I was younger, and being the change I want to see in classrooms, communities, and the lives of the children I will one day teach.

Education is one of the most powerful tools we have to reduce intimate partner violence (IPV). Through education, we can teach children and young adults about consent, boundaries, emotional regulation, and respectful communication—skills that are often overlooked but critical to forming healthy relationships. By introducing these lessons early and reinforcing them throughout adolescence, we can help prevent the normalization of abusive behaviors and empower young people to protect themselves and others. From a young age, I was taught a clear and powerful truth: No means no. Not "yes," not "maybe," not "I'm not sure"—it simply means no. I believed in that, and I still do. Unfortunately, my ex-boyfriend did not. No matter how many times I said “no” or “stop,” he would not listen. He ignored my words and continued doing what he wanted to do, violating my boundaries and making me feel powerless in my own body. It was an experience that changed me deeply, and one I carried in silence for a long time. But over time, I realized that silence only protects abusers—not survivors. Speaking out and educating others is how we begin to break that cycle. This is why I believe education is so essential in preventing intimate partner violence. If more people were taught from a young age what consent truly means—and more importantly, how to respect it—we would see fewer stories like mine. Education can challenge the harmful mindsets that fuel IPV and replace them with empathy, respect, and emotional accountability. It can teach boys and girls alike that their bodies are their own, that “no” is a complete sentence, and that love never ignores boundaries. With my degree in elementary education, I plan to use my platform to begin these conversations in age-appropriate ways. I want to create a classroom where emotional intelligence is just as important as academic learning—where students learn how to express themselves, respect others, and understand consent at a foundational level. While I won’t be teaching about IPV directly, I believe social-emotional learning in early education is a vital first step toward building a safer future. My experiences—both painful and empowering—have shaped my passion for helping others. Beyond the classroom, I want to work with community organizations that support children and survivors of trauma. I want to be the adult I needed when I felt voiceless—someone who listens, believes, and empowers. Education alone may not erase intimate partner violence, but it can prevent it, reduce it, and help survivors heal. I am living proof that resilience is possible, and I plan to use both my degree and my story to bring change—one student, one classroom, and one conversation at a time.

In my personal and academic life, I have shown positivity and resilience from a young age. My journey with resilience began when I lost my father at the age of ten. He was my biggest supporter and always encouraged my dream of becoming a teacher. After he passed away, I felt like I would never be able to go to college or chase my dreams. However, I chose to use his passing as motivation. I kept his belief in me at the heart of everything I pursued, especially my passion for education and helping others. More recently, I faced another emotional challenge when my long-term boyfriend and I broke up during the spring semester. It was a devastating and unexpected experience that left me feeling unmotivated and emotionally drained. For a time, I questioned whether I could continue with college. However, I realized I had already come too far and still held tightly to my goal of becoming an elementary school teacher. After about a week of grieving and falling behind, I decided to get back on track. I leaned into my routines, caught up on my assignments, and focused on the future I had always dreamed of. It was a reminder that resilience isn’t about never falling—it's about choosing to get back up. One of the qualities I am most known for by friends, family, and peers is my positivity. No matter the situation, I try to maintain an optimistic outlook and focus on what can be learned or gained, even in tough times. Because of this, people often turn to me when they are struggling or need encouragement. Whether it’s a classmate overwhelmed with schoolwork or a friend going through something personal, I do my best to offer hope, support, and a reminder that things can and will get better. Being a positive influence on others is something I take pride in, and I believe it’s a trait that will help me greatly in my future career as a teacher. In the classrooms I have been a part of, children are naturally drawn to me because of my positive attitude. Whether they need extra help with their work or simply want to tell me a story, they know they can come to me for support and encouragement. One moment that stands out happened in a first-grade classroom I worked in recently. A new student had joined the class after being homeschooled for kindergarten. She was quiet, withdrawn, and struggling to keep up with the lessons, unsure of what was going on around her. I began working with her one-on-one, gently guiding her through the material and celebrating her small successes. I found creative ways to help her understand addition, subtraction, and counting that made sense to her, and I praised her efforts every step of the way. Over time, I watched her confidence grow. She began raising her hand to answer questions, making friends, and smiling more often. That experience showed me the true power of encouragement and made me realize, without a doubt, that I had a calling to become a teacher. My vision for helping young children thrive is rooted in creating a classroom where every child feels seen, supported, and capable of success. Through my education and future career as an elementary school teacher, I want to build an environment that fosters curiosity, confidence, and a love for learning. I believe that children learn best when they feel safe and encouraged, so I aim to use positive reinforcement, individualized instruction, and hands-on activities to reach every learner. I am especially passionate about supporting students who face challenges—whether academic, social, or emotional—just as I’ve faced my own. I want to be the kind of teacher who not only teaches lessons but changes lives by showing children that they are valued, smart, and full of potential. Throughout my life, I’ve participated in several community activities that reflect my commitment to helping others. One of the most meaningful has been the annual Thanksgiving food drive at my local church. Each year, we distribute grocery bags with instructions to nearby homes, asking for non-perishable food donations. After the bags are collected, we sort and repack the items and deliver them to families in need. It’s a simple act of kindness, but one that brings comfort and dignity to others during the holidays. Helping others directly has deepened my desire to serve and shown me that even small acts can make a big difference.

Mental health is often treated as a hushed subject—especially in families shaped by older generations who see mental illness as weakness or laziness. This silence leaves many children and young adults struggling in isolation, without the words or support to name what they are going through. I know this experience all too well. I’ve battled mental health challenges since I was 12 years old. In my household, mental health was not discussed—it was almost as if it didn’t exist. The emotions I was experiencing were overwhelming, but instead of being met with understanding, I was met with judgment. When I fell into depressive episodes, simply getting out of bed took every ounce of energy I had. But instead of seeing that as a sign of struggle, my parents interpreted it as laziness. When I tried to explain my feelings, I was dismissed or told I was making excuses. It wasn’t until I was nearly 16 that I found the courage to ask my mother to take me to a therapist. That first session changed my life. I was finally diagnosed with anxiety and depression—labels that didn’t define me, but finally gave me clarity and validation for everything I had been feeling. But even with a clinical diagnosis, my mother still didn’t accept it. She continued to believe that I was lazy, unwilling to do my chores, or looking for attention. This lack of understanding from those closest to me made my journey even harder—but it also shaped me in ways I am now grateful for. It taught me how dangerous silence and stigma can be. It showed me how many people are hurting in ways that are invisible to the world. And most importantly, it ignited a passion in me to become someone who listens, supports, and advocates for mental health awareness—especially for young people who feel unheard, like I once did. That rejection hurt but pushed me to look outside my immediate circle for understanding. Over time, I began forming relationships with people who had gone through similar struggles. Whether it was a friend who opened up about their panic attacks or a mentor who took mental health seriously, these connections helped me feel seen. My journey helped me build healthy relationships with others who not only understood the importance of mental health—but who truly heard me when I spoke about my experience. These people became part of my support system, and their empathy helped me begin healing in ways I didn’t think were possible. These relationships also taught me the value of being a safe space for someone else. I’ve become someone my friends can turn to without fear of judgment. I listen differently now—more patiently, more openly—because I know how much that can mean when you’re struggling. These experiences have shaped how I want to live and what I want to do with my life. This lack of understanding from those closest to me made my journey even harder—but it also shaped me in ways I am now grateful for. It taught me how dangerous silence and stigma can be. It showed me how many people are hurting in ways that are invisible to the world. And most importantly, it ignited a passion in me to become someone who listens, supports, and advocates for mental health awareness—especially for young people who feel unheard, like I once did. Today, I’m committed to using my experience not as a weight, but as a foundation for the future I want to build. I plan to pursue a career in education, where I can support and advocate for students who are struggling. I want to help create a world where mental health is not a forbidden subject, but a conversation that is welcomed with empathy, openness, and action. I also want others to understand that poor mental health is not just something adults face—children experience it too. As an educator, I want to be the kind of person I needed when I was younger: someone who sees the signs, listens without judgment, and believes a student when they say they’re not okay. I want to create a classroom and school environment where students feel safe, supported, and never alone in their struggles..

I have known that I wanted to be a teacher since I was in early elementary school. The teachers I had during those years were often positive, uplifting, caring, and kind. However, I also had teachers who weren’t as kind or supportive, and it was those experiences that helped be decide to become a teacher. I want to be the kind of teacher who gives students the kindness and compassion that I wasn't always given in school. When my father passed away during my elementary years, my teachers became an essential part of my support system. They kept their doors open to me, always ready to listen if I needed someone to talk to. They were patient and understanding when I missed school, struggled to complete assignments, or had difficulty focusing in class. Rather than dismissing my grief or becoming frustrated, they showed empathy and care. They helped me catch up on my work without judgment, and when I was absent, they asked if I was okay—not just why I had missed class. Most of all, they made sure I knew I wasn’t alone. These moments left a lasting impact on me and shaped the kind of educator I aspire to become. I want to be a teacher who recognizes that students bring their whole lives into the classroom—joys, struggles, and everything in between. I want to create a classroom environment where all children feel safe, valued, and understood—especially when life outside of school feels overwhelming. I am just one of many students who have experienced the loss of a parent, and I believe my experience will help me relate to and support students facing similar challenges. My goal is to provide them with the same understanding, compassion, and encouragement that meant so much to me. I want to be someone they can turn to, someone who listens, and someone who helps them through, just as my teachers did for me. Losing my father was one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but it has become a driving force behind my motivation to pursue a career in teaching. His love and unwavering support continue to inspire me every day, reminding me not to give up and to keep working toward this goal. I want to make him proud by doing what I love: helping children grow, learn, and feel supported, no matter what they’re going through. Teaching is not just a career for me—it’s a calling, a purpose, and a way to honor both my father’s memory and the incredible teachers who helped me through one of the hardest times in my life.

My father was one of the most important people in my life. He had an incredible ability to make people laugh, often with just a single word or a silly gesture. His sense of humor was contagious, and no matter how tough life got, he could always find a way to make us smile. Despite working two jobs, he always made time for his family. He taught my sister and me how to play softball, ride bikes, and always helped us with our math homework since our mother wasn’t the best at math. He always showed up to our school and sporting events, until he was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma in 2015. At that time, I was 9 years old, and my sister was 7. Once he started his treatments, he would still try to attend events but often had to miss them because of doctor's appointments or treatments. In March of 2016, my dad passed away from cancer. The loss of him shifted my world, especially since I was only 10 years old. The grief that came with his passing was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I had to learn how to navigate life without him by my side, and doing so felt impossible at times. Going through important events without him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. School dances, being inducted into the National Honor Society in high school, graduating high school and attending college—making these big decisions and doing these things without him was extremely hard. Even in his absence, my dad’s influence never left me. His lessons, his encouragement, his belief in me—they continue to shape every decision I make. Everything I’ve done since his passing, I’ve done with him in mind. I know that if he were still here, he would be proud of everything I’ve accomplished. His love and support continue to fuel my determination to succeed and honor his memory in everything I do. Grief is like a rollercoaster, a constant mix of highs and lows, especially when you're trying to process it at such a young age. There are days when I feel like I’m okay, and then there are days when it feels like it all comes crashing down. Through it all, I carry the memory of my dad with me. And I know that as I continue to grow, accomplish new things, and face the challenges life throws my way, I am doing it for him, in honor of the amazing father he was.