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.