I've struggled with my mental health for my entire life. I'm autistic and a common side effect of that is mental illness. A few months after turning 13, I was diagnosed with anxiety. For the longest time, I tried to handle it myself. Despite having a relationship with Christ, I didn't bring my mental health to Him. I took my medication, practiced breathing, and did my best not to cry. It didn't work, but I deluded myself into pretending it did. I was proud of how well I was handling everything. But the thing about pride is that it only takes a gust of wind to make everything tumble down. During the second semester of ninth grade, it crashed. Failing to make the dance team, falling out with a friend, and struggling to handle the transition to high school made me spiral. I felt out of control and unlovable. At some point, I realized that maybe everything would be better if I was better--if I was skinnier. I placed my value in the pounds and calories instead of in God. I knew what I was doing was dangerous, but I didn't care because I was better and smarter than those "other girls." Even if I did die, no one would care. I was out of control and no one saw it. But God did. In late May, my 8-month-old puppy was rushed into emergency surgery. My family was a mess. The emotion grew too much for me to handle, so I excused myself. As I cried on the bathroom floor I realized that if my family cared so much about a dog we hadn't even had for a year, they would care so much more about me. I finally asked God for His guidance. For a while, everything was perfect and my faith was the strongest it had ever been. But it didn't last forever. At the end of my junior year, I should've felt on top of the world. Everything in my life was going exactly to plan. But something was missing. I was chasing after worldly approval and not relying on God yet again. My mind began to think dark thoughts, this time encouraging me to harm myself. I didn't want to die, but I also didn't want to feel pain. I tried to suppress it alone, but I remembered ninth grade. The Holy Spirit encouraged me to bring my pain to Him. He also led me to confess my thoughts to a close friend. We weren't made to walk alone, but with Christ and fellow believers. I was able to get help and slowly my mind began to heal. My mental health hasn't been cured, but God has equipped me to handle it--not on my own but through Him. One of the reasons I want to study English is so that I can become a Christian author. I want to write books that let girls know they aren't alone in their struggles and encourage them to give their pain to Christ. I hope that through my writing, other girls won't have to go through all the pain I went through to see God's love for them.

Being autistic is a curious thing. On one hand, it gives me some advantages over my peers. I have a better memory than most people and an intense focus on the small details. On the other hand, it sets me back in several ways. The sound of typing combined with the scratching of pencils and the humming of the air conditioner makes it hard for me to focus. Oftentimes, I can't hear the teacher over the buzzing of the projector. The chatter and voracious laughter of my classmates will occasionally even bring tears to my eyes. A symptom of autism that nearly all autistic people have but is rarely talked about is executive dysfunction. It's also the hardest to describe to a neurotypical person. Executive dysfunction has prevented me from reaching the heights in my life that I desire too. I need to study, but I can't bring myself to do so. I need to do my homework but I can't keep track of deadlines. I need to eat but my body doesn't tell me when I should. Over time, I've found tools which minimize the effect of my executive dysfunction. Rather than waiting for my body to tell me that I should eat, I eat lunch everyday at noon, no matter what. Timers are also useful for me. Instead of forcing myself to focus until a task is done, I only make myself work in ten minute increments. For most people, that would slow them down, but for me it has made homework go by ten times faster. If my brain tells me a task is too hard, I won't do it. So I break things down into smaller chunks—essentially gaslighting my brain into thinking tasks are easier than they are. Despite my sensory differences, despite my executive dysfunction, I have managed to succeed in my educational journey. I maintain a 4.35 GPA, am ranked 16th in my class of 496, and was one of only two juniors in my school to receive the AP Scholar with Distinction award for the AP exams taken sophomore year. I'm on the dance team, student council, and national honor society. Currently, I am planning an event to have John Green speak at my school in honor of tuberculosis awareness month (TB is one of my special interests). I'm also on my church's student leadership team—a position that has led to me mentoring a younger autistic girl at the church who reminds me so much of myself. Now, a year after I first saw her sitting alone, she has several close friends and attends youth group every week. In several ways being autistic has made my life harder, but it also has given me a drive to succeed. People tend to underestimate me. Rather than letting that discourage me, it has pushed me to work harder to prove myself. As I finish out my senior year of high school, I find myself looking forward to what comes next. College will be a challenge, but it's one I look forward to conquering.

I was fifteen when GUTS came out. On facetime with my best friends, I listened to the ending lyrics of the album for the first time: "They all say that it gets better, it gets better the more you grow/Yeah, they all say that it gets better, it gets better, but what if I don't?" Hearing Olivia sing those words made me want to cry. Ever since I was younger, I had always been told that I was advanced for my age. In elementary school I was identified as "gifted." In middle school I was top of my class and even got an one hundred on the state exam. But when I had got to high school, things got hard. I had always been a straight A student, but ninth grade biology was when I got my first B. Those lyrics spoke to a deep seated fear that I had always had: one day doing my best wouldn't be good enough. As I continued through high school, this fear would only grow. In algebra two and chemistry I would continue to get B's. It didn't make sense. I was a year ahead in English. I was taking the most AP classes of any sophomore and had A's in all four. Yet those two B's kept bothering me. I pretended not be bothered in front of my friends. I knew from experience it would only bring eyerolls. However, I cried with every test I received back. I went from never doing test corrections to going to tutorials once a week. By the end of the first semester of sophomore, I was convinced I was a failure. I was in ensemble yet again in the school musical--not even the select dance ensemble, just the regular one with all the freshman. I was in the JV musical theatre class and those B's kept bugging me. It seemed no matter how much work I put it, everyone around me grew better and I stayed behind. Second semester wasn't much better. Suddenly I became lightheaded all the time. I even passed out in class. My mom dragged me to doctor after doctor, but we left with more questions than answers. The more sick I felt, the worse my grades seem to grow. I went from a B+ to a B-. Not the end of the world in the grand scheme of things, but the end of the world to me. In April, I decided to try out for my schools dance team for the third time. Both times previously I had failed to make it. But this time, there would be a JV team, so I had a little hope. JV musical theatre wasn't the end of the world, so maybe JV dance wouldn't be either. At least I'd be on the team. I almost passed out during tryouts (multiple times) and had to choose between being late on the timing of the dance or not doing my double pirouette, but I miraculously made the JV team. For the first time that year, I was actually proud of myself for being mediocre. I've always worried about not being good enough. I've always been terrified of mediocrity. Yet after going through junior year, I've realized that mediocrity wasn't the end of the world. Others might be growing around me, but I would grow to. At my own pace. At the end of my junior year, I still have a B in math and science, but I had the varsity dance team. Just because the world moved fast around me didn't mean I wasn't moving too.

I've always considered myself a Christian. Out of all the things in my life, that was the one thing I was completely positive of: Jesus loved me and I loved Jesus. In middle school, I was the girl with the W.W.J.D. bracelets inviting you to youth group. It wasn't until the end of my first year of high school, however, that I truly began to listen to God. Like most teenage girls, I had never loved the way I looked. Sure, I liked the length of my hair and the way my eyes looked in the sun, but I mostly despised the way I looked in the mirror. The thing that prompted this disgust: my stomach. People had always told me I was skinny, but whenever I saw my bloated stomach in the mirror, I knew that they were lying to me. Luckily, I had always been good at setting and accomplishing goals. My goal: get a flat stomach. My plan: eat less and workout everyday. The workouts would be easy. The hard part would be eating less. But I had a plan for that too, drink a full glass of water before meals, eat carrots at lunch so my friends wouldn't notice anything was off, skip breakfast, get smaller portions at dinner so my parents wouldn't notice anything, and drink a glass of my mom's green juice cleanse everyday. I knew what eating disorders were and I knew that they were dangerous, but I thought that's because those girls weren't safe. I would be safe. Even if I wasn't, I didn't think it mattered anyway. No one would care if I faded away. But the thing was, I did have people who cared about me. God proved that to me when my dog almost died. When my family found out that our seven month old puppy would need risky surgery, all of us broke down crying. After excusing myself to be alone, I had an epiphany. If my family cared so much about a dog we had only had for a few months, they must care so much more about me: their sister and daughter who had been in their lives for fifteen years. God showed me how much people cared for me. I started leaning on God so much more after that day. Instead of going through the motions of praying and reading my bible, I held on it my faith like a life line. Because it was for me. My relationship with Jesus saved my life beyond getting me to Heaven. After that day, I began to listen to God more. My parents have always wanted me to become a lawyer. Recently though, I've realized that law is not what I want to study. On a recent mission trip, God revealed to me that I was meant to work with kids. Instead of majoring in pre-law and going to law school, my new dream is to major in child development and become a child life specialist. Throughout my struggles with my body image, God had tried to show me my value. He tried to show me that I am beautifully and wonderfully made. While it took my dog nearly dying for me to listen back then, I'm not going to make that mistake again. On my trip, God reveal to me my true path, and I am going to follow it.