“Do you need help?” Of course, my overachieving mom answers “no” to this question daily. As a single mom, she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. When she separated from my dad, she made the transition seem so seamless. At six years old, the most I could offer was a poorly crafted card and off-pitched performances of my favorite Disney songs.  As I’ve grown older, my hands and voice have become more valuable. Regardless, my mom refuses to let me help put the groceries away even after she comes home from a strenuous night shift. My mom’s proud independence was admirable. I always aspired to be like my mom. I became my mom. For years, I’d rather spend an eternity on one math problem than ask my teachers for help. I’d rather drown in my tears over a fight with my friends than let my family see my sorrow. I thought this independence would help me become even a fraction as remarkable as my mom. I thought that independence was the greatest virtue I could possess. I thought independence was the answer. The pandemic was so much more than a physical health crisis. Left with nothing but my phone, I found myself scrolling through TikTok until I could feel my thumbs cramp. Each scroll was a reminder of the racial injustice plaguing the world. I do, however, have to give some credit to the masterminds behind TikTok’s clever algorithm— this was a very fitting “For You” page for a black girl.  Police brutality. Racism. Colorism. TikTok produced a page comparable to my displayed interests and passions. The page designed for me ended up ruining me. I guess I couldn’t blame anyone else but myself, right? Each scroll was a new person debating over my basic rights. My bubbly personality was being poked away by sharp darts of hate. I started to doubt my identity, beauty, and belonging. I needed help. I couldn’t fight this battle on my own, especially as a fragile eighth grader. It would’ve eaten me up alive if I did. I started talking to my family about the internal crisis I was facing. Best decision ever. I no longer fixated on this one problem and devoted more time to self-care. I no longer drowned in my tears and swam safely to shore. During quarantine, the world learned to depend on health officials to protect themselves from COVID. During quarantine, I learned to depend on those around me to protect myself from, well, myself.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still quite stubborn. You can still expect me to spend up to an hour on one math problem before asking for help. At least that’s way less than an eternity! However, I don’t find that receiving help is an infringement on my independence anymore. In fact, learning from others has allowed me to strengthen my independence.  As an aspiring marketing executive, I hope to use my communication and listening skills to teach a valuable lesson: it's okay to not be okay. Single mothers often feel they need to put on a brave face for the sake of their children. In reality, their children need to see them feel in order to feel themselves. Whether I dedicate time to marketing for free/affordable mental health services, or I start my own, I want to share this message with the masses. This way, it will hopefully become more acceptable for single mothers to rely on more than just themselves. All single mothers deserve to be taken care of— not just for themselves but for their families.

"Mommy, she looks just like me!" I screamed to my mom while watching The Princess and the Frog for the first time. This is one of my earliest and most important Disney memories. Growing up, I looked up to many beautiful characters on the TV screen. However, none of them looked like me. They were often white, had flowing golden blonde hair, and had the bluest eyes. For quite some time, I started to believe this was what beauty was. I was only four, what did I know? When my mom bought The Princess and the Frog DVD, I did not expect a princess story much different than the ones I already watched before. The first scene seemed to prove me right. The first place we were taken to was a castle, with the camera panning to a young blue-eyed blonde girl in a princess gown. Next to her was a young girl who looked just like me. We both wore pigtails, had brown eyes and she even had black skin. From what I've seen on TV, I only anticipated her to be a side character— though I was confused to see her wearing a mini gold tiara. Within a few minutes, I realized we were following Tiana's story. She clearly did not come from a rich family, which was an underrepresented socioeconomic situation I could relate to. We watched her grow up, sing, and kiss a frog which turned her life upside-down. With this being said, the most monumental moment in this movie was seeing Tiana in her iconic blue gown. Sure, at the end of the movie, we see Tiana in her more widely known green gown. Today, most costumes and photographs of Tiana are in that green gown. However, seeing Tiana in her blue gown was the first time I saw a Black female lead dressed as royalty. Tiana was truly a princess— and she was beautiful! Meeting Tiana on-screen for the first time made me more accepting of myself. I bought a Tiana doll and she quickly became my favorite, along with other Black dolls I started adding to my collection. Any time I faced hits to my confidence, The Princess and the Frog has always been there as a pick-me-up. As I've grown up, younger relatives have been born. I've exposed each of them to The Princess and the Frog and other Disney projects like the latest remake of The Little Mermaid to teach them that Black is beautiful. I've grown up in a world that seems to be socially evolving and regressing at the same time. Despite this, Disney continues to evolve. The magical world of Disney allows people like me to find a place to belong!

“Do you need help?” Of course, my overachieving mom answers “no” to this question daily. As a single mom, she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. When she separated from my dad, she made the transition seem so seamless. At six years old, the most I could offer was a poorly crafted card and off-pitched performances of my favorite Disney songs. As I’ve grown older, my hands and voice have become more valuable. Regardless, my mom refuses to let me help put the groceries away even after she comes home from a strenuous night shift. My mom’s proud independence was admirable. I always aspired to be like my mom. I became my mom. For years, I’d rather spend an eternity on one math problem than ask my teachers for help. I’d rather drown in my tears over a fight with my friends than let my family see my sorrow. I thought this independence would help me become even a fraction as remarkable as my mom. I thought that independence was the greatest virtue I could possess. I thought independence was the answer. The pandemic was so much more than a physical health crisis. Left with nothing but my phone, I found myself scrolling through TikTok until I could feel my thumbs cramp. Each scroll acted as a reminder of the racial injustice also plaguing the world. I do, however, have to give some credit to the masterminds behind TikTok’s clever algorithm— this was a very fitting “For You” page for a black girl. Police brutality. Racism. Colorism. TikTok produced a page comparable to my displayed interests and passions. The page designed for me ended up ruining me. I guess I couldn’t blame anyone else but myself, right? Each scroll was a new person debating over my basic rights. My bubbly personality was attacked by particles infected with depression. I started to doubt my identity, beauty, and belonging. I needed help. I couldn’t independently suffer from this depression, especially as a fragile eighth grader. It would’ve eaten me up alive if I did. I started talking to my family about the internal crisis I was facing. Best decision ever. I no longer fixated on this one problem and devoted more time to self-care. I no longer drowned in my tears and swam safely to shore. During quarantine, the world learned to depend on health officials to protect themselves from COVID. During quarantine, I learned to depend on those around me to protect myself from, well, myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still quite stubborn. You can still expect me to spend up to an hour on one math problem before asking for help. At least that’s way less than an eternity! However, I don’t find that receiving help is an infringement on my independence anymore. In order to be able to afford a college education, I recognize the need to put myself on the map to get the help I need. Witnessing my mom miss out on opportunities to study nursing in order to provide for me is not something I want for myself, and a level of pain she would never want for me. I want to major in marketing in hopes of working my way up to a marketing executive during my career. I would love to act as a role model to young black students struggling to feel confident in their skin. Once my mom sees I'm okay, I hope she will be more willing to accept my help. Besides, I'll be leaning on her equally as much.