Coming from a large family of aunts, uncles, grandparents, great-grandparents, and cousins, I have experienced loss continually throughout my life. The one that affected me most was the death of my maternal grandfather. Since birth, I spent much of my time at my grandparents’ house. After my mother’s C-section, she recovered at their home, so I was immediately welcomed into their lives with what felt like a bonus set of parents. My grandmother helped care for me with feedings and baths, while my grandfather kept me entertained and filled my days with laughter. At the age of eight, I suffered the devastating loss of my grandfather, who passed away at 80. What made this loss especially traumatic was witnessing my aunt trying to perform CPR. That memory is permanently embedded in my mind. I was the one who notified my mother at work to tell her something was wrong and that my aunt couldn’t come to the phone because she was trying to save him. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the impact this would have on me. I couldn’t express my grief in words, but I found other ways. I took a picture of my grandfather and me from my mother’s phone, drew a circle around him, and wrote that I missed him. In another photo, I blacked him out entirely. These were my first attempts to cope with the sudden loss of someone who was part of my daily life. My grandfather was more than just family. He was my consistent male role model, taking me to school and picking me up when my mother had to work. Since my parents weren’t together, his presence provided stability. Losing him left a deep void. This experience has inspired me to pursue a career in mental health as a psychologist. Coping with loss is more complex than many people realize, and sudden loss can be especially painful because you don’t get the chance to say goodbye or express how much you love them and what they meant to you. I want to make a difference in the lives of those who seek help. People who feel alone or depressed often need someone to listen without judgment and to offer them hope. Hope can be what keeps someone going when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. It is my goal to be that lifeline. I want to build the tools to help others realize they are not alone and guide them through the darkest parts of their lives. Studying psychology in college will equip me with the knowledge and skills needed to communicate effectively and compassionately with future clients. I want to bring hope and healing, one mind at a time.

She leaned down and whispered, “Don’t you ever lie about me again.” I had just gotten in trouble for telling my dad his girlfriend said something mean to me, but I wasn’t lying. I was four years old, brushing my teeth, when she said something hurtful. I immediately told my dad, expecting him to believe me. Instead, he asked for her side of the story, and she denied everything. I saw my dad as my hero, someone who would always protect me, so I was shocked when he yelled at me instead of her. No matter how much I insisted I was telling the truth, it was useless. Then she approached me and said those unforgettable words. Through gritted teeth, I replied, “I didn’t lie!” but it didn’t matter. Little did I know, my life would never be the same. From ages four to eight, my dad’s girlfriend verbally abused me. When I was seven, my brother was born, and she didn’t want me near him. One day, she caught my dad letting me hold him and erupted in rage. This time, my dad witnessed the behavior I had endured alone for years. I had prayed for this moment, and finally, he left her. But even after she was gone, the effects of her abuse lingered, shaping my everyday life. Before she moved in, I was extroverted and confident. By eight, I mourned the person I used to be. Being bullied at school and home by someone meant to be a caregiver shattered my self-esteem. I became too shy to speak, afraid of judgment. She called me selfish for caring about my appearance, so I avoided mirrors and hated pictures. I believed I had no good qualities. My anxiety worsened with each passing year. It wasn’t until middle school that I realized I had been abused. Everything clicked. The insults, the way she made me hate myself—they weren’t true. She was projecting her insecurities onto me, a defenseless child. I decided not to let her define my future. Reclaiming my power marked the beginning of my healing. I forced myself to speak up, introducing myself to people despite the fear and awkwardness. Over time, I built friendships in high school and grew less afraid of conversations. I started embracing my appearance, unconcerned about others' opinions. Slowly, I became more comfortable in front of a camera. Surrounding myself with uplifting people created a strong support system. The journey has its ups and downs, but for the first time, I feel in control of my life. From a young age, I knew I wanted to help people. I explored different careers, but becoming a therapist resonated deeply. I want to support individuals who have experienced similar trauma. I want to be the reliable, understanding presence I needed during the most difficult times in my life. Reflecting on my past, I recognize my resilience despite what others tried to make me believe. Every day, I think about how my younger self would feel seeing the person I am becoming. That thought drives me forward.

I have volunteered for the Zakee Bowzer Book Bag Drive event for the past two years. I signed up under the organization I am a part of that volunteers annually for this event ( Xinos for National Sorority of Phi Delta Kappa, Inc., Epsilon Alpha Chapter). This event provides book bags and school supplies as well as food and entertainment for the day to the local underserved community. My experiences in volunteering at this event have shown me how great a need there is for the most basic school supplies for many youth in my community. Watching the families stand in long lines waiting for their turn to register to receive these items has left me feeling that, as a community, we need to do more to ensure the next generation has the tools they need to start school off on the right foot. With so much going on in today’s world and the uncertainty with budget cuts in the educational system for teacher supplies in the upcoming school year leaves me feeling like this demographic of people is continuously going to suffer shortages unless many more of us get involved. The fact that this event brings people together in a fun way with the DJ, food, and entertainment such as bouncy houses and face paint, allows a time to network and bond with others. This creates a positive space for the community to come out and volunteer their time and donate items, which leaves one feeling as the saying goes, “I am my brother’s keeper.” Watching the excitement across the little ones' faces as they get to pick their bookbag leaves me feeling like we did something good for the day. That little girl was ecstatic to get her My Little Pony bookbag, and that little boy jumped for joy at receiving his Spider-Man bookbag. That’s what it’s about…bringing a little happiness and supplying necessities to the future generation. I would like to see more people get involved in this event and possibly make it even bigger by providing other items in the future. Maybe free health clinics or clothes donations can be offered. Too often, we see people just minding their business and just taking care of themselves. It’s good to know that there are people out there who want to give back to their communities, such as those organizations involved in the Zakee Bowser Book Bag Drive, and make a difference. Over the years, I have noticed students going to school with no supplies and never paid it any thought, thinking maybe they just weren’t bringing their things to school. However, my thoughts now have changed to, “Do they have the resources to get what they need?” Coming from a community that has families that are pretty well off to those struggling daily just to eat, we must come together to provide the basics, and this event is one of those things that does just that.

How the 504 Plan Gave Me a Chance for Success When I entered high school, I quickly realized that although I started out strong in the first marking period, I found myself overwhelmed as the workload increased. There were many nights of staying up late and crying because I lacked the comprehension to complete the assignments. I often turned my work in late because I couldn’t keep up with the timelines given and felt inadequate, especially because my peers seemed to manage their work with what looked like no setbacks. I began to internalize the idea that something was wrong with me, that I wasn’t as capable or intelligent as everyone else around me. By my sophomore year, I was struggling even more to balance my schoolwork with challenges in my personal life, which led me to start seeing a therapist. Through our conversations, we discovered that my social anxiety—which was especially heightened during high school—was a major factor contributing to my difficulty comprehending schoolwork, particularly in math and science. I had always known that I felt different in the classroom, but putting a name to what I was experiencing helped me begin the process of understanding and managing it. My therapist encouraged me to pursue a 504 plan to help ease some of the pressure and anxiety I felt in the classroom. I had always struggled with timed exams, often blanking out under the pressure, and I panicked when picked on to go to the board in class. I also found that I needed extra time to take notes and process information. The 504 plan gave me essential accommodations that allowed me to manage my anxiety and approach schoolwork in a more supportive environment. For the first time, I felt like the way my brain worked was being recognized and respected. Getting that support changed how I navigated high school. Now, I can pace myself at a more comfortable speed to finish tasks without feeling overwhelmed. I had the newfound freedom to break things into smaller chunks of material that didn’t seem so daunting. Being able to change the strategy of how I completed my work improved my comprehension because it took some of the pressure off and allowed me to truly engage with the content. I’ve learned that needing extra time to understand material, take notes, or complete tests doesn’t make someone less intelligent. It just means we all have different needs—and some of us need a little more space to thrive. My challenges with anxiety have taught me patience, resilience, and the importance of self-advocacy. Anxiety isn’t something you can see from the outside, but it’s something I live with every day. Sometimes, it strikes without warning; other times, it builds slowly and silently. Those who have never dealt with this issue cannot comprehend how it can completely take over your thinking and paralyze your ability to function. I have often been viewed as weird because I am timid, and my anxiety becomes more intense around my peers. I am socially awkward because I don’t know how to engage when approached unexpectedly, and this adds to my anxiety. But through therapy, tutoring, and my 504 accommodations, I’ve learned how to cope, adapt, and push forward. This journey is exactly why I want to pursue a degree in psychology. There are many times when you can’t express what your body is feeling in the moment, so those around you can’t fully support you or understand what you’re going through. Having learned what I was experiencing—and that there are others like me out there—has given me the strength to persevere. I want to become a therapist who helps others manage their mental health and succeed to their full potential despite the challenges they face. I know what it feels like to be stuck, to feel like no one understands, and to doubt your potential. But I also know what it feels like to be supported, to find your strength, and to start believing in yourself again.

Growing up living in two homes was not easy. At just two months old, my parents split, and the court ruled for 50/50 custody. For me, that meant rotating between homes every four days, a schedule designed around my father’s job as a police officer. As an infant, I didn’t understand how it affected me, but by the time I entered preschool in the Franklin School system at age three, the struggle became real—for both me and my parents. I experienced two very different parenting styles. One parent helped with homework; the other believed in independence and learning from mistakes. One prioritized structure; the other was more laid-back. For a young child trying to establish an internal clock and routine, bouncing between two lifestyles was destabilizing. I remember telling my mother I felt “dizzy” and had “a headache”—my childlike way of expressing that the constant transitions were overwhelming. Eventually, she realized what I meant and advocated for me to stay with her during the school week to create consistency. Although my father took it as withholding me, she was simply doing what she believed would help me thrive in school. By first grade, my teacher noticed changes in my behavior and participation. I wasn’t being treated well by my father’s girlfriend, and it deeply affected me. Under her care, I endured four years of emotional and verbal abuse. She made me feel I wasn’t good enough, and discouraged me from taking pictures or looking in mirrors, claiming it was selfish. When I told my father, he didn’t believe me. If he confronted her, she denied it. Once, after I told on her, she mouthed behind his back that she wished she could slap me. She always made sure he never caught her behavior. This experience marked the beginning of my anxiety. The person who was supposed to care for and protect me became someone I needed protection from. I started having heart palpitations, felt like I might pass out, and withdrew from new people and experiences. Extracurriculars and volunteering, things that should have been fun, felt more like burdens. I never felt good enough, and that only worsened my symptoms. There were even times when my mother had to pick me up early from clubs because I was having a panic attack. Over time, I began learning how to cope. I've been in therapy for a couple of years, and my therapist has taught me grounding techniques to reset my mind when anxiety kicks in. My mother also hired tutors to help with subjects like math and science. With extra support, I gained confidence and began to advocate for myself when I needed help. Slowly, I started breaking through the shell my anxiety built around me. Now, I make a conscious effort to push past my fear. Volunteering—like helping at registration tables for school events—has helped me get comfortable speaking to strangers. I’m becoming more resilient. The same experiences that once made me anxious are now the ones I use to motivate personal growth. College represents a new chapter in my life. It’s a chance to explore who I am and grow into the woman I want to be—one who is capable, confident, and compassionate. Yes, I’m still anxious about leaving my family and being on my own, but I’m ready to embrace the unknown. During admitted student day at my chosen university, I even met someone and exchanged phone numbers—a small step that felt like a big win for someone who once feared any new interaction. As a future Psychology major, I hope to use my experiences to connect with others struggling with mental health challenges. My dream is to create a practice that offers a safe, serene space where clients feel understood and supported. I want to help make the world a better place—one mind at a time.