My name is Grace Hamm, and I am currently an OD1 at MCPHS. Mental health hasn’t just been a "factor" in my journey; it has been the invisible weight I’ve learned to carry while sprinting. Living with bipolar depression and anxiety means that my academic path isn’t always a straight line. There is a "mental health demon" that occasionally tries to convince me that I don’t belong in any clinical setting, yet my presence in the OD 2029 class is proof of my resilience. Being a 33-year-old student in a classroom of twenty-somethings creates a unique brand of isolation. In the fast-paced, high-pressure environment of the classroom, my social anxiety often manifests as a feeling of being generationally "out of sync." While my peers are navigating the stresses of early adulthood, I am navigating the logistics of a household with three children—including the beautiful chaos of twins—and supporting a husband transitioning from military service. There are days when that pesky "mental health demon" whispers that I am too old, too busy, or too burdened to keep up with the academic rigor. However, that anxiety is consistently met by the quiet confidence of my experience. Having spent eight years as an optician, I am able to talk to a frustrated patient, able to troubleshoot a complex lens fit, and able to stay calm when a clinic floor gets hectic. This background reminds me that while I may be the oldest in the room, I am also among the most prepared. My greatest professional achievement isn't a grade or a certification; it is the act of showing up. Managing bipolar depression and anxiety while pursuing a Doctorate of Optometry requires a level of self-discipline that goes beyond study habits. It requires a daily, conscious choice to prioritize my goals over my symptoms. I don't see my diagnosis as a deficit; I see it as a bridge to my future patients. Optometry is not just about vision, but more so about vision AND the quality of your life. When I am able to sit across from a patient who is overwhelmed or struggling, I won't just see a pair of eyes, but I will see a whole person, because I know what it’s like to fight for your own clarity every single day. My complex life has forged a resilience that no textbook could ever teach. To improve mental health within optometry schools, I would advocate for peer support for non traditional students by creating spaces where student-parents and older students can connect, and reducing the isolation that fuels anxiety. I would also try to de-stigmatize the patient-doctor divide. As future healthcare providers, we often feel we must be "perfect." Normalizing the fact that many great doctors also manage their own chronic conditions like bipolar disorder would encourage more students to seek help without fear of professional repercussions. Noam’s story has provided context of his authenticity and connection with things greater than himself. Whether it was his love for his pets or his work in the service industry, Noam lived a life that was deeply human. It serves as a reminder that we are more than our titles or our struggles. In the high-stress world of healthcare, we have to hold onto the things that ground us. For myself, I find solace and grounding comfort in my Scottish Straight, Gustavo "Gus" Fring. My cat Gus is my constant companion through late-night study sessions and the quiet moments when my anxiety feels the most loud. Noam’s life teaches us that these connections to our families, friends, and even pets, are what make the hard work worth it. George Carlin once said, "One standard of living is all any of us needs. It’s called 'alive.' Everything else is just details." There is a certain grit in this quote that I feel explains the very resilience I often speak of that I have. When I am managing my bipolar depression alongside optometry school and family life, I tend to have to strip away the "fluff" and focus on what really matters. It’s a reminder that surviving the hard days is a success in itself, and everything that I build on top of that, including my career in optometry is a testament to my strength.

When I close my eyes and picture the life I hope to live, I don’t see anything overly extravagant or flashy. I don’t need a mansion or a private jet (though I wouldn’t complain about a few spontaneous beach vacations). What I see is a life rooted in purpose, connection, and care—a life where I get to wake up each day and do what I love, surrounded by the people I love. In my dream life, I work as an optometrist. Yes, eyes! Eyes may not seem like the most glamorous thing to center your life around, but to me, there’s something really special about helping people see the world more clearly—literally. Diagnosing and treating eye diseases, helping someone get their first pair of glasses, catching something early that could save their vision... those are the moments that make my day. It’s not just about 20/20 vision; it’s about changing lives through something as simple (yet powerful) as sight. After a fulfilling day at work, I head home—not to a silent house, but to the joyful chaos of family life. My dream home is full of laughter, warmth, and a little bit of noise (thanks to my two energetic twins and my amazing stepson). My husband and I are a team, managing bedtime routines, school projects, and all the little surprises life throws at us. There’s always something going on, but in the best way. Maybe we’re cooking dinner together, maybe we’re having a dance party in the living room, or maybe we’re all curled up watching a movie we’ve already seen five times. Whatever it is, it’s real, and it’s love. What makes this dream life even more meaningful is the village that got me there. I haven’t walked this path alone. The late-night study sessions, the tears, the triumphs—they were all shared with the mentors, friends, and family who lifted me up along the way. It’s their belief in me that kept me going, and I carry that with me every time I sit down with a patient. I want to pay that forward by being someone others can rely on, someone who brings care and compassion into every exam room. At the end of the day, my dream life isn’t about perfection. It’s not about fancy titles or spotless floors. It’s about waking up with purpose and going to bed with gratitude. It’s about knowing that I’ve made someone’s life just a little bit better—whether by easing a patient’s worry, helping a child get their first pair of glasses, or tucking my kids in with a bedtime story and a kiss on the forehead. That, to me, is a life well-lived. And honestly? I can’t wait to live it.