After spending my entire high school career struggling, I can say openly the worst part of trauma is the aftermath. The recovery, something that should be a beacon of light, is more accurately a reminder that the pain will be with you forever. Every relapse tells you that the best you will ever get still won't be as good as the life you would have had if it didn't happen. You're given this opportunity to live the life of your dreams, to live the fantasies that give you a purpose- and you just can't. It gives you this taste of hope before its ripped away again, or your possible tomorrow ends up being more misery cloaked in a dream. More misery for it to give you, because when kindness is sparse, you'll do anything to get some. Any of it, the smallest amounts make you drunk, and the world can treat you as horribly as it wants but hey- it's better than before, right? When I finally escaped my father, they came to torment me. My grandfather to neglect, my grandmother to excuse, and my other grandmother to blame. Then Mom got sick, and even though she was still here and there, I spent so much of my time seemingly mourning a living woman. Recovery is a kind of myth in that sense, you will never be fixed because the aftermath is a trauma in itself. The horrors not just of re-living the misery in memory, but in so many of the people that come after. The only difference between avoidance and recovery then becomes the possibility that treatment will make you better than the worst. I escaped childhood abuse and neglect placed upon me by my father- I have been homeless, left at random men's houses, abandoned on street corners. I have grown matts and mold in my hair because my father would pawn all of my belongings to buy meth, I used to snack on uncooked pasta when I feared being not fed, and even all these years later I flinch when people touch me. Now, I have permanent access to a hairbrush and food, I know I will actually be picked up from school, and yet I still remember. That is recovery in a nutshell, it is still there, and it still sucks- but I am now able to relax knowing the nightmares end when I wake up and I'm not encased in misery forever. It's a really sad realization, that no therapy will ever erase what happened to me. I always thought it would, why else would there be people who have 'recovered' and 'survived' CPTSD? Maybe the reality is more motivating; it gives me hope, as cheesy as it sounds, in knowing that there is something so wonderful out there that people like me are able to find something so incredible that the pain becomes bearable. That, if the trauma never goes away, survivors must have found something so incredible on the other side the option of something like suicide is no longer appealing. We don't all get there, unfortunately, but all we can do is use all the life we have left to find the wonder that can coexist with hell itself and still remain wonderful. I'll find it, I'm working on it with my therapist every Thursday, I just have to make sure I'm up in time for school tomorrow.

Hi, I am Isabella Santana and I will be a high school junior this year! I was primarily raised by my mother Elizabeth, who was a single parent for most of my childhood following years of physical and emotional abuse and neglect we both suffered at the hands of my father. A few years after moving to Colorado from Illinois, my German shepherd Pirate was added to the mix and for many years it was us against the world. We have had many adventures together, survived years of struggle with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, seven of my mother's neck surgeries, and disability. Along the way, we have added other members to our odd little group, but my mother has remained my main pillar of support. Trailing my years of struggle with abuse, I have spent most of my teen years addressing my mental health struggles and trying to find joy in life's possibilities away from the abuse I used to consider unavoidable. I now spend my free time volunteering, participating in many extra-curricular activities, and learning about everything I can. As chaotic as it sounds, the hecticness of my life has led me to possibilities I never thought imaginable. Being raised by a single woman who was severely disabled introduced me to many of the systemic and social inequities in our society. It showed me how little accessibility was incorporated into day-to-day life, how little people thought of working mothers, and how much women were taken advantage of and prayed upon. Yet, the most important thing it taught me was something about sisterhood. I was raised by a village of women from co-workers who looked after me during work trips to women who allowed us a place in their homes as we ran from my father. They to taught me how women were unfairly treated, especially women of color, and how sisterhood spanned farther than I ever imagined. I also grew up being a caretaker for her and, in turn, learned how to look after myself very young. As I look toward the future, this is truly what has encouraged me to take an interest in advocacy, law, and legislature as I was introduced to issues surrounding it very young. These interests have shaped my academics and my desired career path, clearly being a major part of my life, and I attribute a lot of it to my experience as my mother's daughter.

Hi, I am Isabella Santana, and I will be a high school senior this year! I was primarily raised by my mother Elizabeth, who was a single parent for most of my childhood following years of physical and emotional abuse and neglect we both suffered at the hands of my father. A few years after moving to Colorado from Illinois, my German shepherd Pirate was added to the mix and for many years it was us against the world. We have had many adventures together, survived years of struggle with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, seven of my mother's neck surgeries, and being abandoned by much of my biological family. Along the way, we have added other members to our odd little group-my stepfather Brian, stepbrother Cameron, and my Saint Bernard puppy, a family given to me built on the foundations of love. Trailing my years of struggle with abuse, I have spent most of my teen years addressing my mental health struggles and trying to find joy in life's possibilities away from the abuse I used to consider unavoidable. I now spend my free time volunteering, participating in many extra-curricular activities, and learning about everything I can. As chaotic as it sounds, the hecticness of my life has led me to possibilities I never thought imaginable. If you would have told the version of me that was going between DV and women's shelters that I would have the opportunity to go to college for something I love, I would not have believed you. Even if that sounds super cheesy to you, the opportunity to do something I love and help others feels like a fever dream to me. This scholarship would allow me to pursue a career that will increase my overall happiness because I can use my hopes of being a grant writer to help people like me. If my life with CPTSD has taught me anything, it's that the people working in the background of non-profits and charities of things like the food pantry and homeless shelter I have used through my life is what buys people the gift of a better life. Not to mention, scholarships help support and protect me from the cycle of generational financial abuse and lack of access to healthcare. My ability to not only go to college but to support myself through college will open me up to financial means that aid in that process. In life after abuse, every step closer to happiness-even those accompanied by two or three steps back- increases your quality of life. Scholarship money allows me to take this step forward toward recovery and a better world for myself and my family.

The worst part of trauma is the aftermath. The recovery, something that should be a beacon of light, is more accurately a reminder that the pain will be with you forever. Every relapse tells you that the best you will ever get still won't be as good as the life you would have had if it didn't happen. You're given this opportunity to live the life of your dreams, to live the fantasies that give you a purpose- and you just can't. It gives you this taste of hope before its ripped away again, or your possible tomorrow ends up being more misery cloaked in a dream. More misery for it to give you, because when kindness is sparse, you'll do anything to get some. Any of it, the smallest amounts make you drunk and the world can treat you as horribly as it wants but hey- it's better than before, right? When I finally escaped my father, they came to torment me. My grandfather to neglect, my grandmother to excuse, and my other grandmother to blame. Then Mom got sick, and even though she was still here and there, I spent so much of my time seemingly mourning a living woman. Recovery is a kind of myth in that sense, you will never be fixed because the aftermath is a trauma in itself. The horrors not just of re-living the misery in memory, but in so many of the people that come after. The only difference between avoidance and recovery then becomes the possibility that treatment will make you better than the worst. I escaped childhood abuse and neglect placed upon me by my father- I have been homeless, left at random men's houses, abandoned on street corners. I have grown matts and mold in my hair because my father would pawn all of my belongings to buy meth, I used to snack on uncooked pasta when I feared being not fed, and even all these years later I flinch when people touch me. Now, I have permanent access to a hairbrush and food, I know I will actually be picked up from school, and yet I still remember. That is recovery in a nutshell, it is still there and it still sucks- but I am now able to relax knowing the nightmares end when I wake up and I'm not encased in misery forever. It's a really sad realization, that no therapy will ever erase what happened to me. I always thought it would, why else would there be people who have 'recovered' and 'survived' CPTSD? Maybe the reality is more motivating;it gives me hope, as cheesy as it sounds, in knowing that there is something so wonderful out there that people like me are able to find something so incredible that the pain becomes bearable. That, if the trauma never goes away, survivors must have found something so incredible on the other side the option of something like suicide is no longer appealing. We don't all get there, unfortunately, but all we can do is use all the life we have left to find the wonder that can coexist with hell itself and still remain wonderful.

I acknowledge that, as a collective human species, we have some level of shared experience that we are destined to have through both our shared psychology and society. When watching my disabled mother struggle with medical debt or my friends face adversity because of their race, I experienced one of the most common shared human experiences. The empathy you feel when you watch an individual or group struggle and want to help. I find it virtually impossible that any human being can look at the suffering in our world and not want to do everything they can to aid in this effort. While my personal experiences as a feminist with a natural inclination toward government may shape the way I go about it, humanitarianism resides in us all. Yet, making an impact is hard when faced with problems like climate change. Especially when a new major issue seems to surface every few seconds- like the increase in police brutality during the pandemic. An individual could work a lifetime and never make a dent, regardless of their best efforts. Those people, however, have an important place in human society as they allow us to go forward. Like a drizzle from a water pump into a large bucket, one that is getting filled to drench a devastating fire. Even if only in small segments, they are essential to progress and I hope to one day have a place among their ranks. For me, this place would include using a higher level of education surrounding public policy to better understand the laws that govern our society. Policy dictates every part of life in America, impacting every area and its flaws, making policy understanding essential for all areas of civil problem-solving. From environment to economics, I will gain a synopsis of most subjects and their laws to learn how to change policies to have specific impacts. With this, I could be a sustainability coordinator, grant writer, policy researcher, legislative aid, journalist, and many more titles focused on societal benefit and advocacy. Of course, as a teenager, it is fair to say my plan is not foolproof or concrete, but my goals are consistent- to dedicate my career to helping others. It is this knowledge that has been a guiding light in every aspect of my academic career, knowing that with my passion for advocacy and my research skills, my part in this shared human experience could be leveraged to help those who need it the most. I bring it with me to every debate meeting, every group discussion, and every hard day. My every academic and professional goal includes a question of how to help the world, even if only slightly. Including while writing this, knowing financial aid for college is an essential step on my path to improving lives and the world.

Hi, I am Isabella Santana and I will be a high school junior this year! I was primarily raised by my mother Elizabeth, who was a single parent for most of my childhood following years of physical and emotional abuse and neglect we both suffered at the hands of my father. A few years after moving to Colorado from Illinois, my German shepherd Pirate was added to the mix and for many years it was us against the world. We have had many adventures together, survived years of struggle with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, seven of my mother's neck surgeries, and disability. Along the way, we have added other members to our odd little group, but my mother has remained my main pillar of support. Trailing my years of struggle with abuse, I have spent most of my teen years addressing my mental health struggles and trying to find joy in life's possibilities away from the abuse I used to consider unavoidable. I now spend my free time volunteering, participating in many extra-curricular activities, and learning about everything I can. As chaotic as it sounds, the hecticness of my life has led me to possibilities I never thought imaginable. Being raised by a single woman who was severely disabled introduced me to many of the systemic and social inequities in our society. It showed me how little accessibility was incorporated into day-to-day life, how little people thought of working mothers, and how much women were taken advantage of and prayed upon. Yet, the most important thing it taught me was something about sisterhood. I was raised by a village of women from co-workers who looked after me during work trips to women who allowed us a place in their homes as we ran from my father. They to taught me how women were unfairly treated, especially women of color, and how sisterhood spaned farther than I ever imagined. I also grew up being a caretaker for her and, in turn, learned how to look after myself very young. As I look toward the future, this is truly what has encouraged me to take an interest in advocacy, law, and legislature as I was introduced to issues surrounding it very young. These interests have shaped my academics and my desired career path, clearly being a major part of my life, and I attribute a lot of it to my experience as my mother's daughter.

Hi, I am Isabella Santana and I will be a high school junior this year! I was primarily raised by my mother Elizabeth, who was a single parent for most of my childhood following years of physical and emotional abuse and neglect we both suffered at the hands of my father. A few years after moving to Colorado from Illinois, my German shepherd Pirate was added to the mix and for many years it was us against the world. We have had many adventures together, survived years of struggle with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, seven of my mother's neck surgeries, and the pandemic. Along the way, we have added other members to our odd little group-my stepfather Brian, stepbrother Cameron, and my saint bernard puppy. Trailing my years of struggle with abuse, I have spent most of my teen years addressing my mental health struggles and trying to find joy in life's possibilities away from the abuse I used to consider unavoidable. I now spend my free time volunteering, participating in many extra-curricular activities, and learning about everything I can. As chaotic as it sounds, the hecticness of my life has led me to possibilities I never thought imaginable. If you would have told the version of me that was going between DV and women's shelters that I would have the opportunity to go to college for something I love, I would not have believed you. Even if that sounds super cheesy to you, the opportunity to do something I love and help others feels like a fever dream to me. This scholarship would allow me to pursue a career that will increase my overall happiness. Working in a field you love is known to have positive impacts on your psyche. Getting a college degree in line with my interests would allow me to reap the benefits of this phenomenon. Not to mention, scholarships help support and protect me from the cycle of generational financial abuse and lack of access to healthcare. My ability to not only go to college but to support myself through college will open me up to financial means that aid in that process. In life after abuse, every step closer to happiness-even those accompanied by two or three steps back- increases your quality of life. Scholarship money allows me to take this step forward toward recovery and a better world for myself and my family.