When someone asks about who raised me, they always follow up with "What about your Dad?", which is when I realize that even though my parents only formally separated when I was thirteen, it had always been just my mother and me, but I wouldn't want it any other way. My Dad was around for some of my childhood, but he did not support me, especially not my educational journey. He was an alcoholic who was physically and verbally abusive to me, my mother, and my little sister alike (who is now the age I was when my mother walked away). I have dyscalculia, which is the numerical equivalent of dyslexia, and my Dad never failed to remind me of how stupid I was, accusing me of not trying and being lazy and dumb. But my mother was a light in my life at this time, encouraging me that nothing he said was true and appreciating my educational strengths, like literature, history, and science. She protected me when it meant enduring her own pain, and from my birth, she had always invested a great deal of energy in fostering a love for education in me. My mother, despite growing up in poverty in a single-parent home, has two undergraduate degrees and two master's degrees, which she funded all on her own, with one master's in psychology and another in early childhood development. Because of her emphasis on early childhood and the importance of providing educational opportunities to young children, I was always advanced for my age in my knowledge. Through my tumultuous homelife, time learning with my mother became my sanctuary as I lost myself in the stories she read me until I could read myself. When my Mom finally left my Dad, she knew that it was not an easy choice. Though life was not comfortable with my father, she knew that providing for my sister and me would require her to work multiple jobs, long hours, and put herself last. Because of the kind of woman my mother is, she did just that. She worked two jobs to keep me through college-preparatory Catholic high school and provided for each of my financial needs herself since my father refused to contribute, and never stopped holding me accountable. During this time, I was struggling with my mental health, which caused struggles with my schoolwork, but she didn't let me slack off or fall behind. My Mom supported me with a gentle sternness, reminding me that education is the one thing nobody can take from you in this world and that her education was the only thing that had allowed her to escape abuse for the sake of herself, my sister, and me. I got back on track with ease and worked hard to get accepted to my dream school, the University of Missouri. My mother still supports me, but as a single mother, she now has my sister to worry about, and wants to give her the same privileges and advantages of private school education, which inspired me to try my best in hopes that I can acquire scholarships. I work hard to get good grades, remembering her support whenever my academics are hard, and remembering it's a privilege, one that saved our lives through her own sacrifice as a single parent. I hope to continue my education to a J.D. and become a divorce attorney so that I can do pro-bono work, so that I can use the education she helped me to receive to give back to my community for women and children like her and me.

“A joy to have in class,” “wise beyond her years,” and “gifted student” were all labels I’d been branded with by second grade. When they tested me, they said I was reading at a 12th grade level, but no one could explain why I couldn’t figure out my times tables. I excelled in every subject but math, so teachers assumed I’d eventually catch up. I never did. By middle school, the compliments had faded—at least in math. I was now a lazy, lost cause. No matter how hard I tried, I mixed up numbers and formulas and couldn’t grasp the concepts. When I asked for help, teachers and family got frustrated, accusing me of “playing dumb” for answers. That couldn’t have been further from the truth, but I internalized it. If I wasn’t pretending, maybe I really was dumb—especially if both family and faculty believed it. My confidence didn’t improve in high school. COVID stunted any progress, and I accepted that I was bad at math. I was in all Honors classes otherwise, so I figured I was just destined to fail in math. During freshman year, I told my Algebra 1 teacher I needed help. She said, “If you cared more you wouldn’t need it.” She didn’t understand that my math struggles were my biggest insecurity. I had gotten used to performing well and knew it was expected of me. Failing felt like drowning in a sea of algebraic equations. Walking into Algebra 2 in junior year was terrifying. I was used to the cycle: new teacher, same struggle, same judgment. I rolled my eyes as a spunky man introduced himself as Mr. Berta. Like always, I struggled—but instead of insulting me, Mr. Berta patiently asked how he could help. He stayed after school, going over concepts with me repeatedly, never snapping no matter how long it took. He explained what dyscalculia was—a disorder where people mix up numbers, like dyslexia with math. He said I might have it. I laughed and said, “I’m just bad at math.” Mr. Berta cut me off: “No, Hannah, you aren’t bad at math. You just need extra help.” That one sentence changed everything. For the first time, a teacher saw my effort, not my grade. Mr. Berta’s kindness changed who I am. His support went beyond school—he came to my work and extracurricular events, always cheering me on. He didn’t just help me pass math; he taught me compassion. Without him, I wouldn’t have realized I’m capable of excelling in any subject—or that I want to double major in education. He’s always there, whether I need a laugh or tutoring, and I know he’ll be there even after high school. Most importantly, he inspired me to help others the way he helped me. I hope to someday be someone’s “Mr. Berta” and change their life the way he changed mine.

When people think about learning lessons from books, I believe most minds falter to the obvious. Novels are often covered in our classes, and we’re told what to get out of them, like Lord of the Flies and the importance of civilization and the danger of tyranny; Romeo and Juliet’s cautionary teachings on the dangers of impulse and the tragedy division causes. Annotation assignments with teachers who grade based on their interpretations and Old English understandably turn most readers off. Still, based on my own experiences, I believe that reading can reveal the entire world to a person. By the time I was 18 months old, I was reading with my mother. I wanted to know more as soon as I could comprehend which words spelled cat versus dog, mom versus dad. I had a zest for knowledge, which I always knew I could get from books. There was a book for each fixation I found. Dinosaurs, veterinarians, The Great Chicago Fire, and other random interests had plenty of resources to learn from, but at some point, I realized some things lacked non-fiction books. Nobody taught you about compassion, empathy, and accountability in the gifted programs, and neither did non-fiction books! So, I went where I’d never failed and lost myself in the library. I’d always read fiction but never focused on it much before, but suddenly, I was enveloped in literature that made me feel rather than think. I got angry with the characters and cried alongside them, living and feeling with them from the Civil War in Dear America books to the mid-1960s with Ponyboy and Dally. Charlie Kelmeckis from The Perks of Being a Wallflower taught me about pain and pleasure, while Marianne and Connell from Normal People were my first heartbreak. I read the classics by Lee, Salinger, and Bradbury, all the while learning just as much from cheesy chapters of Twilight and the Warrior Cats saga While most people hate Lord of the Flies and Romeo and Juliet, I learned from those two. While, of course, I processed the deeper literary messages and author’s intent, what I learned most was what I felt when Jack and Ralph teased Piggy and his untimely death; I mourned the lost love of those Shakespearean teenagers as if I’d known them myself. Each book which I lost myself in while sitting in the library’s lobby taught me more than any non-fiction book or teacher’s lectures every could. These novels taught me to care for all people and things, respect different cultures and perspectives, and understand the experiences of those around me. I like to think of myself as a kind and empathetic person, and many people have told me this too; that I am patient, determined, and wise beyond my years, but I know I would be none of these things without books. The books I’ve read have influenced me to aspire towards advocating for all people, influencing my mission of service for my community. Examples of service relating to literature I’ve engaged in are book drives for charity and a tutoring organization in my community for grades 2nd to 7th. I hope to continue this vocation throughout my life and share my love of literature and what its taught me with others for as long as I can.

When I think of why I am worth my dreams, I reflect upon the struggles I once endured and how they connect to my aspirations. During my early life, my home life was quite tumultuous because of my father being an alcoholic who inflicted domestic violence on my mother, my sister, and me. For years, I watched and endured abuse, dreaming and hoping for some way to get out. When I was 13 years old, my mother finally left my father. The divorce came with financial struggles, and we lost our childhood home, experienced housing instability, struggled to pay our finances, and lived in fear, but with hard work, we persevered. I worked hard for my education, excelling in Honors, AP, and Dual Credit classes all four years of high school while garnering awards such as Dean’s List and AP Scholar as I excelled. During this time, I have had to work full-time while balancing my studies and extracurriculars to alleviate my single mother's financial burdens as the sole provider for my sister and me. For as long as I can remember, I have known I wanted to follow a legal career path, but I struggled with figuring out what specialization I was interested in. One day after a grueling 8 hour shift at my coffee shop job I watched my mother pick me up from my shift still in her work clothes with a face full of exhaustion, and my mission became as clear to me as the pain was in her eyes. For years I watched my mother drive herself into the ground to pay off legal fees from the divorce and provide for my younger sister and I, sacrificing her physical and mental health for our well-being. I then figured out that my ultimate goal is to one day be a divorce and family law attorney and reach a level of success where I can offer pro-bono services to disadvantaged and under-represented women so that they can leave domestic abuse situations. When I think of the worth of my dreams, I do not think of myself but the women and girls who are in situations like I once was and are afraid to leave due to financial hardship. I also understand how hard it can be to have to balance your future aspirations with your current responsibilities, which is why it is so important to me to be able to offer these services to families who are on similar situations as mine free of cost. No person should have to endure physical, emotional, and/or sexual violence in fear that the economic struggles they might face will be worse than their current suffering. I not only believe that I am worth my dreams, but so are the people who will benefit from them alongside me. When I think of my dreams I think of my mother and the sacrifices she was forced to make for my family, and I believe she and women like her are worth so much more than that suffering.