The first lesson I learned about leadership wasn’t from a textbook, but from watching my father, a disabled Navy veteran whose resilience and discipline from his military service shaped how he ran his own house-moving business. Even when weather conditions were terrible or a crew member called in sick at the last minute, he found ways to keep projects on track and motivate his team. His never-ending spirit and steady resilience have inspired me to pursue a career in graphic design, aiming to lead creative projects that reflect the same perseverance and innovation he showed. While most kids got to see their parents come home from their 9-5 jobs, I would see my hardworking father leave at 7 am and return at 8 pm, often with muddy boots and an aching back. Scrib’s Moving & Heavy Hauling is something my father takes pride in, this is reflected as he has been elected president of the Midstates House Movers Association for this year. During my father's time in the military, he was an AT2, worked on the RQ-2A and RQ-2B Pioneer UAVs, and was present at the ceremony when his aircraft was inducted into the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. While he worked on several drones, this is what, unfortunately, gave him his PTSD. He was on a military detachment with the Marines, doing border patrol exercises and training. The drone set up the targeting for the Marine helicopter to fire its live rounds at fake targets. The helicopter got the coordinates wrong and ended up firing at the rest of the military personnel on the ground. They yelled to abort, but it took a few minutes before they heard the orders. He said the rounds hit so close to them that he felt the dirt flying up and hitting him in the face. This situation and others that he doesn’t talk about led him to have to live with unrelenting PTSD and other disabilities from his service. The combination of PTSD and being disabled makes life extremely difficult for my father. While most people would give up in his situation, he remains strong and runs his own business. It would be an understatement to say that I’m proud of everything my father has done for me. Throughout high school, I was incredibly involved: late-night rehearsals for the One Act, weekly band practices, and weekend speech competitions. No matter how dirty or tired he was, he would show up, sometimes still in his work clothes, sitting in the front row at my band concerts or snapping photos at play productions. My father has supported me throughout my entire life, even fighting through his struggles to lift me through mine. He encouraged me to pursue my dream of becoming a Graphic Designer, even signing up for community art classes with me to learn more about what I loved. Without my father's dedication and hard work, I am unsure how successful I would be in my education. Having someone I can rely on, even if those closest to me fail, is truly inspiring. Knowing that my father has worked tirelessly through his struggles of depression, PTSD, and even disability has opened my eyes to fighting for my education. My dream is to graduate from college and give back to my father, as he has sacrificed so much for me.

I would wake up every morning before school sick to my stomach. I would cry and beg my mom to let me stay home. This happened nearly every day before school, as my anxiety grew more and more. To my anxiety, I was a puppet, pulled by strings, who couldn't make my own decisions. My anxiety did not work alone; it partnered with my depression. They made a vile team, controlling my mind and my actions. Every morning, I was in the bathroom shaking, kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet. My mind would not let me be; I was convinced that I would be sick just leaving the house. Eventually, when I did calm down, I would make my way to school, but I never really did calm down. Constantly, I would have to escape to the bathroom or even the counselor, because it was all just too much for me. I would often cry in school, sometimes in front of my classmates. The voices in my own head couldn't be silenced, and the weight of the world was all on my shoulders. Around this time in my life, I also had a very complicated relationship with my father. My father is a Navy veteran struggling with PTSD and is a recovering alcoholic. Before his recovery, he would often come home already inebriated and start arguing with me. He was never physical towards me, but the arguments affected me mentally. I felt as though he was drinking because of me, something I did. I didn't know what that something was, but I was convinced it was my fault. Not long after this, I started to self-harm. It was an incredibly unhealthy coping mechanism, but it was something to make myself feel better. I would continuously carve into my skin to try to take my mental pain away, but it would never work. I started looking into other options, and this is where I found marijuana. I would take edibles every day to try to soothe the pain in my brain. One day, I had taken too much and started to green out alone in my room. I couldn't feel my legs, it was getting hard to breathe, everything was spinning, and I was about to vomit. I had no other choice but to run into my parents' room and cry and confess to everything. They held me close and comforted me, understanding that I needed help, but they needed it too. I started going to a therapist, while my father started attending AA meetings. My struggle with anxiety and depression felt like I was on a sinking ship, and I only had my hands to remove the water. I always felt as though I was running out of time, and if I didn't get all the water out of the boat fast enough, I would drown. I would constantly try to scoop the water out with my two hands, but they were never enough. No matter how full my hands would be of water, no matter how fast I was going, it was never enough. Before my ship completely sank, I realized that the water around me wasn't that deep; I just needed help seeing that. This was an incredibly dark time in my life, but in a weird way, I'm glad that it happened. Without this experience, I wouldn't have learned how to handle stress. I've learned healthier coping mechanisms, like art and journaling, and I have found a community to surround myself with. In addition, I became a first-generation college student. I am currently in the second semester of my freshman year, a feat neither of my parents had the opportunity to achieve. My first semester ever, I made the Dean's List, and I plan to continue studying and pursuing graphic design. I wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for my parents, as while they weren't perfect, they always supported me. My relationship with my father has recovered, and honestly, I'm so happy it has. I couldn't imagine a world without my father, as he is my number one supporter. While I do struggle with my anxiety and depression still, I will never let it get as bad as it was during high school. I often talk with my mom and dad, and if there's something going on there the first ones to know. I continuously talk to my support group about my struggles, and they are always here for me. In addition, I really use art to express myself to the world. Every day that I am sober from marijuana is another day that I can prove to the little girl who was scared to go to school, sinking in her ship, that everything will be ok.