I used to be a girl who was loud, extraverted, unafraid to speak her mind. I don't remember when all that changed. I used to explode with life, until I didn't. . Until I learned my friends held grudges. Until I was taught that I should focus on others and not myself. Until I understood that I could be judged by others. I learned these lessons at such a young age, and they hovered over me like a shadow as I grew. I curled into myself, becoming quiet, unassuming, the "perfect" little helper. It wasn't until middle school that I realized that I had anxiety, and that only made it worse. I felt broken. Everyone else around me seemed to be "normal". I stopped going to teachers for help; I always let my friends pick what they wanted to do. I packed all my feelings down, trying not to let them show, until eventually one little thing would set me off. The worst of me would be revealed. I wanted to fix things by myself, and I was able to do so to an extent. I learned how to work through my emotions at night . Even as I was improving little by little, one day my mom suggested I get medicated. I hated that idea; it felt like admitting that I wasn't as strong as everyone else. What really hurt was that my parents had failed to see how much I had improved by myself. I had been volunteering in the Young Women's presidency for years at my church. I felt so stuck, and I could feel myself tiring. But the guilt kept me from resigning. So I was trying to balance my mental health, school, church, work, social life, and my parents' expectations all at once. Once I did burn out, I crashed hard. I stopped taking calls from my church, I quit my job, I stopped hanging out with friends as often, stopped doing household chores, and even my schoolwork wavered. I spent weeks just lying around my house doing absolutely nothing. I had no motivation to fix it. My saving grace was theatre; it became the only thing I was actually motivated to do, so I clung to it with my life. And to be honest, it was what saved me. It helped me find the right people. Eventually I gave in to my mom's pleas and went to get medicated for my anxiety. And holy cow, it helped me so much. Though I was embarrassed at first, it changed me so much. I finally started to regain the confidence that I had lost so long ago. I was finally able to leave friends that hadn't been good to me. I was able to find my voice. I was able to breathe and be myself. Recently, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's. It was such a heavy thing for me. But now, instead of keeping this to myself, I was able to reach out to accepting friends,. I know when I need to stop and take a break for myself. Now I am going to get a BFA in technical theatre. Theatre gave me my life back, and now I long to give that life to others. I have learned how to be in healthy relationships and how to set boundaries for myself. I finally know it is okay to focus on yourself, and it's okay not to make everyone happy. It is okay to struggle; it doesn't mean you're broken. The girl who once hid in the shadows, afraid, has now finally found her light.

My dad used to golf a lot. He worked at a golf course, and after that, he would play a round of golf. It engulfed his life. Once he had kids, though, he had to give up golfing altogether. I never knew how much my dad loved golf and how much of his passions he gave up to raise kids. As we grew older, my dad finally had time for himself. He dusted off his golf clubs and went to the course. But instead of leaving us at home to enjoy his time alone, he dragged us with him. My first few memories of golfing with my dad were at the driving range. He taught me as he relearned the game himself. We would have little competitions, and if I or any of my siblings beat him, we would go get sodas. It was pure bliss. While my other siblings stopped coming along to golf, I stuck around. One year, my dad and I woke up early to slip in a round before he left for work once a week. The quiet of the golf course was refreshing. For years, I went and played a round with him every week; sometimes my grandpa would join us. It was such an important part of my relationship with my dad. I love the calm and focus you can achieve from the golf course. Hitting the perfect swing and just knowing that you had found your rhythm. I especially loved the time I got to spend with my dad. It helped me learn patience. It also made me realize that not everything is in our control. Sometimes, you will hit a bad shot; sometimes you won't play the best round. But that doesn't mean you just give up and stop trying. So when I had the chance, I joined the girls' golf team. It was a very long winter, so we were stuck inside for most of the season, hitting foam golf balls at a net. It was tedious and never actually had the room I wanted to improve. And the stress of competing against my peers was overwhelming. Many of the girls where very catty and only cared about their own goals, it was so difficult to to connect with them. This was not the golf I once knew and loved; it was something else. But this experience had changed the way I see the sport. I still loved going out with my dad from time to time, but it wasn't as constant as it had been. I missed the connection we had. And then, I hurt my shoulder. It made it even harder to want to go golfing when I could barely lift my arm without pain. I went to physical therapy to help solve the problem. But if I overwork myself, it starts to hurt again. The picture I am sharing with this essay is the last time I golfed with my dad before the pain from my shoulder took over. I enjoyed every single second of that trip, determined to make the most of it. Later that year, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's. Because of this, I lost a lot of the energy I once had. The medications started to give me migraines, and it became harder and harder to enjoy my life with my family. The sand trap life has landed me in is not going to change my determination. I will get through these trials and come out on top. One bad shot will not determine the rest of my life.

I used to be a girl who was loud, extraverted, unafraid to speak her mind. I don't remember when all that changed. I used to explode with life, until I didn't. . Until I learned my friends held grudges. Until I was taught that I should focus on others and not myself. Until I understood that I could be judged by others. I learned these lessons at such a young age, and they hovered over me like a shadow as I grew. I curled into myself, becoming quiet, unassuming, the "perfect" little helper. It wasn't until middle school that I realized that I had anxiety, and that only made it worse. I felt broken. Everyone else around me seemed to be "normal". I stopped going to teachers for help; I always let my friends pick what they wanted to do. I packed all my feelings down, trying not to let them show, until eventually one little thing would set me off. The worst of me would be revealed. I wanted to fix things by myself, and I was able to do so to an extent. I learned how to work through my emotions at night . Even as I was improving little by little, one day my mom suggested I get medicated. I hated that idea; it felt like admitting that I wasn't as strong as everyone else. What really hurt was that my parents had failed to see how much I had improved by myself. I had been volunteering in the Young Women's presidency for years at my church. I felt so stuck, and I could feel myself tiring. But the guilt kept me from resigning. So I was trying to balance my mental health, school, church, work, social life, and my parents' expectations all at once. Once I did burn out, I crashed hard. I stopped taking calls from my church, I quit my job, I stopped hanging out with friends as often, stopped doing household chores, and even my schoolwork wavered. I spent weeks just lying around my house doing absolutely nothing. I had no motivation to fix it. My saving grace was theatre; it became the only thing I was actually motivated to do, so I clung to it with my life. And to be honest, it was what saved me. It helped me find the right people. Eventually I gave in to my mom's pleas and went to get medicated for my anxiety. And holy cow, it helped me so much. Though I was embarrassed at first, it changed me so much. I finally started to regain the confidence that I had lost so long ago. I was finally able to leave friends that hadn't been good to me. I was able to find my voice. I was able to breathe and be myself. Recently, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's. It was such a heavy thing for me. But now, instead of keeping this to myself, I was able to reach out to accepting friends,. I know when I need to stop and take a break for myself. Now I am going to get a BFA in technical theatre. Theatre gave me my life back, and now I long to give that life to others. I have learned how to be in healthy relationships and how to set boundaries for myself. I finally know it is okay to focus on yourself, and it's okay not to make everyone happy. It is okay to struggle; it doesn't mean you're broken. The girl who once hid in the shadows, afraid, has now finally found her light.

At the beginning of my senior year of high school, I started losing a large amount of energy. It became difficult to get up in the mornings, and I could barely stay awake by the time fourth hour came around. After school, I would crash on a couch and sleep for hours. It was awful; I had no motivation to do anything. I began to fall behind in my classes and my homework. I was missing school almost every other day. Then I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's. I learned that this chronic illness was an autoimmune disease where my immune system attacks my thyroid. This was such a big revelation, learning this and all the trials that would come with a chronic illness. But I was happy I now knew how to combat it and begin to work my way back to a semi-normal life. This was only the beginning. My general doctor knew the basics of this illness, so he gave me the standard medication that everyone with Hashimoto's receives. My energy came back! But with it came a blinding migraine that lasted for weeks. During this time, my general doctor tried to find an expert to help me, but because my thyroid level was "normal," I didn't get accepted. This was disappointing because I needed to find someone with more experience, but no one would accept me. During all these visits to the doctor, I was trying to juggle four college-level classes along with my two regular high school classes. I fell severely behind and had to drop out of my last two classes, which meant I had to withdraw from my 1040 math class and have that show up on my permanent college record. I was so grateful for all the support I received from my parents, friends, and even Utah State University. My mom worked the hardest to help me. She found a nurse practitioner who would take me in. She has helped me so much over the past few months. We found that the fillers in the standard pills were the cause of my headaches, and there were other medications for just the thyroid. We are still learning how my body responds and slowly tweaking small things, but bit by bit I am slowly learning how to manage. I am happy to share that I was able to pass all of my classes and graduate in the top 10% of my class despite these challenges. I am so grateful for those who have helped me and stuck around even after learning of my struggles, and I am proud that I have accomplished so much in these past months. As I'm getting ready to move on and pursue a higher education at USU, I am preparing and determined to strive to improve my knowledge. I'm preparing for the trials that will come up. I have not been able to get a job for over a year now because of my illness. I am worried about how quickly my savings will be spent with the rising prices around me. I now need to figure out and plan how I am going to pay for a medication that insurance doesn't cover, and now that I have an emotional support animal helping me balance my cortisol levels, I have another life to take care of as well. I am still very excited to go to college even with the challenges I have and those that will come. But I know everything will work out in the end, with the help the many amazing people who come into my life.

My dad used to golf a lot. He worked at a golf course, and after that, he would play a round of golf. It engulfed his life. Once he had kids, though, he had to give up golfing altogether. I never knew how much my dad loved golf and how much of his passions he gave up to raise kids. As we grew older, my dad finally had time for himself. He dusted off his golf clubs and went to the course. But instead of leaving us at home to enjoy his time alone, he dragged us with him. My first few memories of golfing with my dad were at the driving range. He taught me as he relearned the game himself. We would have little competitions, and if I or any of my siblings beat him, we would go get sodas. It was pure bliss. While my other siblings stopped coming along to golf, I stuck around. One year, my dad and I woke up early to slip in a round before he left for work once a week. The quiet of the golf course was refreshing. For years, I went and played a round with him every week; sometimes my grandpa would join us. It was such an important part of my relationship with my dad. I love the calm and focus you can achieve from the golf course. Hitting the perfect swing and just knowing that you had found your rhythm. I especially loved the time I got to spend with my dad. It helped me learn patience. It also made me realize that not everything is in our control. Sometimes, you will hit a bad shot; sometimes you won't play the best round. But that doesn't mean you just give up and stop trying. So when I had the chance, I joined the girls' golf team. It was a very long winter, so we were stuck inside for most of the season, hitting foam golf balls at a net. It was tedious and never actually had the room I wanted to improve. And the stress of competing against my peers was overwhelming. This was not the golf I once knew and loved; it was something else. But this experience had changed the way I see the sport. I still loved going out with my dad from time to time, but it wasn't as constant as it had been. I missed the connection we had. And then, I hurt my shoulder. It made it even harder to want to go golfing when I could barely lift my arm without pain. I went to physical therapy to help solve the problem. But if I overwork myself, it starts to hurt again. The picture I am sharing with this essay is the last time I golfed with my dad before the pain from my shoulder took over. I enjoyed every single second of that trip, determined to make the most of it. Later that year, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's. Because of this, I lost a lot of the energy I once had. The medications started to give me migraines, and it became harder and harder to enjoy my life with my family. The sand trap life has landed me in is not going to change my determination. I will get through these trials and come out on top. One bad shot will not determine the rest of my life.

I used to be a girl who was loud, extraverted, unafraid to speak her mind. I don't remember when all that changed. I used to explode with life, until I didn't. Until I was taught that people weren't comfortable around me. Until I learned my friends held grudges. Until I was taught that I should focus on others and not myself. Until I understood that I could be judged by others. I learned these lessons at such a young age, and they hovered over me like a shadow as I grew. I curled into myself, becoming quiet, unassuming, the "perfect" little helper. So I would never stick out in the crowd. It wasn't until middle school that I realized that I had anxiety, and that only made it worse. I felt broken. Everyone else around me seemed to be "normal". There were nights I couldn't stay grounded and started to spiral and panic alone in my room. Too afraid to ask for help from anyone because they would see me as a burden. I stopped going to teachers for help; I always let my friends pick what they wanted to do. I packed all my feelings down, trying not to let them show, until eventually one little thing would set me off. The worst of me would be revealed; I would start to hyperventilate, and it made my parents drop everything to help me, making me feel more guilty. I wanted to fix things by myself, and I was able to do so to an extent. I learned how to work through my emotions at night when everyone else was sleeping. I started trying to share my interests with friends and family members, but they would just get laughed at and ridiculed. Even as I was improving little by little, one day my mom suggested I get medicated. I hated that idea; it felt like admitting defeat, admitting that I wasn't as strong as everyone else. What really hurt was that my parents had failed to see how much I had improved by myself. Even after a voice recital of mine, my dad attributed my success to a pill, and not my own fortitude. It stung so badly. During this time, I had been volunteering in the Young Women's presidency for years at my church. I felt so stuck, and I could feel myself tiring. But the guilt kept me from resigning. So there I was trying to balance my mental health, school, church, work, social life, and my parents' expectations all at once. Once I did burn out, I crashed hard. I stopped taking calls from my church, I quit my job, I stopped hanging out with friends as often, stopped doing household chores, and even my schoolwork wavered. I spent weeks just lying around my house doing absolutely nothing. It was awful; I knew what I was doing, but I had no motivation to fix it. My saving grace was theatre; it became the only thing I was actually motivated to do, so I clung to it with my life. And to be honest, it was what saved me. It helped me find the right people. Eventually I gave in to my mom's pleas and went to get medicated for my anxiety. And holy cow, it helped me so much. Though I was embarrassed at first, refusing to take it around anyone, it changed me so much. I finally started to regain the confidence that I had lost so long ago. I was finally able to leave friends that hadn't been good to me. I was able to find my voice. I was able to breathe and be me for a change. It was liberating. Recently, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's. It was such a big, heavy thing for me. But now, instead of keeping this to myself, I was able to reach out to new, accepting friends who valued me for who I was. I know my mom is really there to help me get through it. I know my limits and know when I need to stop and take a break for myself. Now I am going off to college to get a BFA in technical theatre. Theatre gave me my life back, and now I long to give that life to others. I have learned how to be in healthy relationships and how to set boundaries for myself that I have never had before. I finally know it is okay to focus on yourself, and it's okay not to make everyone happy. It is okay to struggle; it doesn't mean you're broken; it is okay to rely on others. The girl who once hid in the shadows, afraid, has now finally found her light.

I have always had a love for theatre. My mom first introduced me to acting when I was just five and since then I have continued to grow and love theatre even more. As of April, 2026 I have acted in 22 shows and been a technician for 5. And I am planning on being a technician for my local children’s theatre this summer. For me, theatre has been more than a hobby. It is a giant part of who I am. I started out in a local community theatre called The Old Barn where I met so many new people and learned how to act with their help. Many life long friendships stretched because of theatre. As I grew older my focus turned to the technical side of theatre, the tiny details and all the work that goes on behind the scenes that bring the show to life. I was lucky enough to know a director of a children's theatre and was able to explore technical theatre and how to build stories through their shows. I have learned so much from every single show and workshop. Not only how to be a technician or an actor but also how to communicate and connect with others. I have also been very involved in my high school drama program and I actively participated every single year. For my senior year, I applied and was accepted into the theatre council as the assistant director. This was a big responsibility for me as it put me in charge of our murder mystery fundraiser dinner. I was in charge of writing an improv script, casting, and directing the show. I got to learn what it is like to be a director and how to communicate ideas with others. I was very grateful for my cast who supported me the whole way and helped the show be amazing. We were able to have a successful fundraiser in the end, thanks to all those in our program who assisted. I also got the chance to go to region for theatre, I participated in the musical theatre and costume design categories. I won second place for my costumes and made it to state in both categories. Seeing how my hard work paid off was so rewarding, I can't wait to improve. As I came closer to graduating from high school, I began to have trouble deciding what I want to do with my life. Picking a major was super stressful. As I thought about my likes and hobbies, my thoughts kept circling back to stories, and how much I enjoyed every tiny detail added to make it so much deeper. I knew I wanted to give something like that to my community and have my work out in the world. Now I am going to Utah State to get a BFA for technical theatre arts. I am so excited to start learning more about technical theatre and become better at the art. As I look at the class requirements for this major I get more and more excited to go to college. My dream is to someday become a director for some professional theatre. Theatre has given me the creativity, tools and passion to pursue this major, and I can’t wait to see what other places it takes me throughout my life.

I didn’t expect my Spanish class to be the place where I learned what it felt like to be defended, understood, and accepted. But in sixth grade, one of the hardest years of school for me, it became the place where I did. This was the year when the pandemic shut down everything including school. Right before that I had caught a nasty case of bronchitis. I was already missing so much school and falling behind quickly. I was finally able to make it to one day of school, about three days before the shut down, because my cough was not as bad that morning. Sadly the respite did not last, by the time I had made it to my first Spanish class of the day, the cough had come back. I was trying my best to cover and silence it as I did not like all the attention I was drawing. My teacher, though, was so kind and thoughtful. He left the room to go get me some water after some cough drops weren’t working. He was gone for a very long time, and in his absence another teacher walked by our classroom and started yelling at me because I was disrupting the class with my coughing and how I should leave the room to cough. I was so embarrassed and was on the verge of tears, when unexpectedly, a voice called the teacher out. The rest of the class joined in, telling her to leave me alone. I had never felt so loved and accepted by those members of the class. Looking back this moment, I now realize that this has shaped a lot of who I am. I learned that there are more people than I expect will be there to back me up and that I don’t have to struggle through anything alone. Even though I was stuck at home an extra three weeks before quarantine, I had that small bit of knowledge that I could reach out to anyone in my DLI classes and they would be there for me. This is also where I learned that most people you meet don’t know what is going on in your life and only care about theirs. For all I know, the teacher who yelled at me was probably worried about the health of her own family and about the nearing pandemic, so I shouldn’t blame her for feeling the need to try and educate me on proper health etiquette. But now this has taught me to take other people’s lives into consideration before making wild assumptions because I know how it feels to be unfairly called out. While writing this I also realized how amazing of a Spanish teacher I had. At the moment I thought he was just running down to the office to get a pack of water bottles, but now that I think about it, he took way too long for a run to the office and must have actually gone to a store and bought a pack of water bottles specifically to help me. There were many other experiences like this during my journey through the Dual Language Immersion program that built my character and who I am today. Because I was given this chance long before I knew its significance, I was able to shape and build myself into the person I have become. I hope to continue to use these experiences in my college life and every community I join to support others and help create spaces where everyone can feel valued.

Asbestos is still very present in my town and the one right next to it, Tremonton and Garland, because of the abundance of old buildings in our community. An example of the asbestos present is the auditorium of my high school, Bear River High School. There is a fire curtain purely made of it. Though asbestos usually isn’t a problem if covered and maintained, this curtain is not covered and is visible if one looks up. Because of the age of our rigging system, there are times that the curtain will sink down from the ceiling. There have also been incidents where unaware students messing around in the auditorium have lowered the curtain not knowing the dangers. My goal is to find a safe way to remove the fire curtain made of asbestos in the high school auditorium to prevent problems in the future. My director at my high school motivated me to solve this problem. She makes sure that the students are aware of the danger and how best to avoid it. It has become a running joke in the theatre department to highlight how little money we have and how old the building is. As this is a more rural area, it is more difficult to solve this problem. As someone who spends a lot of time in the auditorium, with many other students, and as someone who sits on the theatre council, I feel as though it is my responsibility to help the department as much as possible. So far, I have created a plan to get rid of this curtain and spread more awareness around my community about our asbestos problem, with the help of a close friend. We wrote up a document highlighting each step of our plan, and created a video to spread awareness. We began outlining fundraisers to raise the money to get rid of it, so that our school board will be more willing to remove the curtain as they will not have to find the funds. We also initiated discussions about the best schedule and times to hire abatement team workers to remove it that will cause the least amount of disruption of learning. If this project succeeds, it will greatly benefit our community. It would remove a cancer hazard from our school and make it safer for all students and teachers in the building.