In 2016, Patricia Riggen's "Miracle From Heaven" movie came into theatres. Nine year old me was convinced that I had whatever stomach disease Anna had. That would explain the constant knot in my stomach; the feeling that I was dying and yet couldn't pinpoint what was killing me. Mental illness, anxiety and panic disorders were not words taught in schools in the 2010s, so my parents and I were convinced I must have had a physical illness. For years I went to every doctor, naturopath and nutritionist to find out what could possibly be wrong with me. It wasn't until I was almost 12 that we came to the conclusion that there was actually nothing physically wrong with me, but instead that I had a severe panic disorder associated with a specific kind of anxiety called emetophobia. If you look up emetophobia, it is "an intense, debilitating phobia characterized by an overwhelming, irrational fear of vomiting". You don't realize how much of life can be associated to this if you really think about it, which obviously, I do. My panic disorder got so unbearable in elementary, that I could no longer attend public school. I was homeschooled for three years, telling everyone it was because "my family wanted to travel" or because I "learn better by myself". Meanwhile, it was really due to the fact that I couldn't sit at a desk out of fear that whoever sat there before me had an illness that could pass onto me, nor could I eat anything without analyzing every ingredients expiry date, how cooked it was and the cleanliness of whoever prepared it. Having a mental illness is hard enough, but the even harder part is the shame; the feeling that you have to hide what you're struggling with in order to be like everybody else; "normal". A valuable lesson I learned from this stage of my mental health journey is represented best in the Robin Williams quote that says "Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always." I seemed okay and I never asked for help or made it known that I wasn't, so how was anyone supposed to know? That's the case for everyone. People don't want to ask for help because we all have an underlying desire to appear stronger than we are; stronger than we have to be. Through being that person, I came to the conclusion that if the world just made the safe assumption that you don't always see the weight someone is carrying, maybe that would implore us all to be a little gentler with each other. From fifth to eighth grade I stayed homeschooling. I tried every therapy under the moon; exposure therapy, hypnotherapy, ART, EDMT and so much more I can hardly remember because they all just blurred together forming a big pile of discouragement. Every treatment I went to that didn't work left me more hopeless towards the possibility of ever getting better. In grade six, my mom and I were told that I would most likely not be able to attend high school at the rate I was declining. I remember going home that day and telling my mom that if this was what my life was always going to be like, I don't want it. This moment was rock bottom, but from there, you can only go up. I thankfully found a hypnotherapist that ended up helping me enough to be able to attend high school in person. This was life changing for me and my family which is so funny because to most people, attending high school feels like a given, a right or even a chore, but not to me. What I took away from this part of my journey is to never take anything for granted, because someone would kill to be in your position of privilege. It was at this point that I started setting bigger goals for myself; goals that eleven year old me would find comedic. I always loved music and dreamt of going to Berklee College of Music in Boston to pursue my love for songwriting. I am so grateful to now be able to say that I attend Berklee as an international student with a World Tour scholarship and have finished my first year on the Dean's List, been appointed president of the number one songwriting club at school and worked with hundreds of talented artists from all over the world sharing stories. This is one of those stories. My schedule at Berklee is often packed from 9am to 3am or later. I typically have 2-4 studio sessions per day, each lasting about 3 hours while juggling classes, rehearsals for shows and more. This past year one of my collaborators in a studio session I was apart of asked me how I find the drive to get up and do all of these things every day; the things people find tedious, boring, repetitive and hard. I then went on to explain the story you are reading right now. I told her that the girl I was 5 years ago would've given anything to have the mental capacity to get up, go outside and do any of the things I get to do now. Having experienced that inability, I will never waste that privilege. I will always make goals that seem next to impossible, because being able to go to high school much less move on to be an International college student studying music at the number one contemporary music school in the world felt impossible, yet here we are. I speak openly about my struggles now so people can see that one; it's okay to not be okay, and two; people get through this, so you can to. I don't wish mental illness on my worst enemy, but it has taught me a lot. I experience more gratitude, empathy and love because of what I have gone through, and for that I am forever grateful.

Some people believe that your future is predestined; that certain conclusions are inevitable. Music was always my passion and deep down, I believe I always knew it was where I was going to land. However, I had several periods of doubt regarding whether or not a career in music was "realistic" for me. A pivotal moment in solidifying my decision took place in senior year when I realized that despite being told pursuing music was unrealistic, I always came back to it because you can't leave what you truly love. Since I was fourteen, I attended a performing arts high school. This was my dream school since I was eleven and heard about the program through the grade eights at my elementary school. For three years, I practiced nonstop for my audition that ended up getting me into the school. My first day of freshman year I was beyond excited, holding very high hopes for this place that I have been dreaming of for years. Unfortunately, as beautiful as the music industry is, I quickly realized that it was filled with people who weren't in it for the love of their craft, but instead, for the applause at curtain. One of my basketball coaches in high school once told me people are either inspired to become an educator because they had a great experience with a teacher/teachers, making them want to be that to kids in the future, or because they had a terrible experience and want to be the change they wished they'd seen. In my case, it was the second one. I really struggled keeping my relationship with music untarnished when all of my musical role models in high school were detrimental to the building of student's self belief as both artists and people. I stuck with the program for three years in hopes that something would change; that it was a seniority thing, that I just needed to work even harder or become more liked. However, when my senior year came around and I caught myself dreading going to school to do the very thing that I have always loved, I left the program, honed in on songwriting and began doing more studio work and live performances than ever before. Berklee College of Music was always my dream college. All of senior year I was stalking their pages, toying with the "Apply Now" button, but couldn't tune out the ringing of self doubt planted in my head from my school. I played basketball at an AAU level and was offered several basketball scholarships to different colleges in Ontario to play for their teams and planned to major in bio-chemistry and education. It felt safe; "realistic". As final deadlines were approaching for college applications, there was a vivid moment in which I was picturing what my life would be like at the schools/programs I applied to. Suddenly, "Vienna" by Billy Joel started playing on my phone. I distinctly remember hearing the lyric "you can get what you want or you can just get old". At that moment, I realized I was settling; settling to become who other people told me I could be. At that moment, I went downstairs and told my mom I was applying to Berklee because if I didn't, I'd spend the rest of my life wondering "what if". Today, I attend Berklee with a world tour scholarship, living proof that you are who you allow yourself to be. Robin Williams said it best in Dead Poets Society; "medicine, law...these are noble pursuits...but poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for".

I believe art is a universal language, therefore it can connect people; bridging gaps that never needed to be there in the first place. Growing up, I struggled with a severe panic disorder causing me to be unable to attend public school. Battles are always harder when you feel as though you are fighting one by yourself, which I did due to the lack of conversation around mental illness at the time. Schools didn't address it heavily, and Taylor Swift nor Justin Bieber were definitely not singing about it on the radio. It felt like I had nobody to relate to, so I started to write songs. I wrote about things that I hadn't heard anybody write about yet to express myself and process emotions and events; like an audible diary. I fell so in love with songwriting which lead me to a video of a songwriting circle at Berklee College of Music. From that moment on it became my dream school and I am so blessed to be currently attending Berklee now as a songwriting major. I found such a passion in creating. music that people relate to; that make them feel seen. A lot of my music explores topics I'm passionate about from a lens and perspective that may not have been explore before, but that I really want to expose to listeners who might be fighting similar battles as me. My overarching musical goal is to connect with people, connect people to each other and show them that we really aren't all that different from each other at all.

Music has been the cornerstone of my life for as long as I can remember. In every trial or tribulation, there was music. In every good memory or small win, music was a part of it. It is hard to describe how important something is to you when it quite literally feels like it IS you, but I will try my best. I started singing before I could talk. My family always joked about how it was a result of the fact that my mom, who was also a singer, was still performing when she was pregnant with me so it was only natural that music was imprinted on me before I was even born. As I grew up, I always found myself resorting to music, specifically songwriting, as a way to express myself and cope with hard times. I was diagnosed with a severe panic disorder from the age of 9. Although it is more manageable now, it has always been something I've struggled with. When you are battling something that was hardly talked about when you were growing up, it feels like you're the first to experience it; like mental illness was some kind of new invention that nobody else could relate to outside of me. Obviously that wasn't the case, but it wasn't exactly what Taylor Swift or Justin Bieber were singing about at the time. That's how I started songwriting, I started to write about the things I was struggling with or experiencing that I hadn't yet heard represented on the radio. This acted as an outlet for me. Some songs I played for people, others were just for me, like an audible diary. Music got me through the hardest times of my life and creating music using those experiences helped me process and take the time to really understand myself and my own feelings as well. It was not until high school that I realized music could be a real career path for me. I always assumed it was a hobby at most, not a "real job". At the beginning of high school, I stumbled across an instagram post of a songwriting circle at Berklee and from that moment on, it became my dream school. It's still surreal to say I now get to attend this school with thousands of people just like me. All my closest relationships have formed over the love of art and the new found love of helping people through music. Getting to write songs and pursue creative projects with some of the most amazing people I have ever met, especially my artist projects which explore topics I am so passionate about, has been absolutely life changing. Throughout the ongoing creation of this artist project, I have been personally healing little parts of myself I didn't even know needed healing. I have been seen and related to on a level I have never experienced before, and the beautiful thing about relating to music is the reciprocity in it; both the artist and the listener get to feel seen and that has been a beautiful privilege that has permanently changed me. This past year I have been reminded of why I fell in love with music in the first place. Art is a universal language, and we are living in a time that communicating with each other is more crucial than ever before. Art heals, it's healed me, and my life has been changed even more in knowing that I as an artist can contribute to society and its healing through music.