When I first read the prompt for this scholarship, I hesitated. I don’t know if I’ve achieved anything I’d call “great.” I haven’t invented anything groundbreaking or won a national competition. But what I have done is keep going—through pain, exhaustion, and the kind of daily challenges that aren’t always visible. And I’ve come to realize that continuing to show up and move forward, especially when it’s hard, is something to be proud of. I live with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and anxiety. Each of these conditions comes with its own challenges, but together, they’ve made things like standing for long periods, walking the long halls in my high school, or even getting through a class without dizziness feel like mountains to climb. Some days, my joints ache or dislocate easily. Other days, my heart races just from standing up. And then there are the mental hurdles—fighting through anxiety when everything already feels overwhelming. But here’s the thing: I’ve never wanted my conditions to define me. I love science. I love dance. I love working with kids, helping others, and finding purpose in small things. So, I’ve learned how to adjust and keep going. When I choreograph and perform with my school’s dance ensemble, I adapt movement to protect my joints, take breaks when needed, and prioritize recovery. But I still perform. I’ve led as president of the National Honor Society for Dance Arts and helped others grow in their confidence and creativity. Teaching swimming at summer camp—while managing heat intolerance and fatigue—meant pacing myself, staying hydrated, and listening closely to my body. It also meant letting my campers see that strength doesn’t always look like perfection. Sometimes, it looks like patience and determination. In school, I’ve learned to advocate for myself—asking for accommodations when necessary and learning how to manage my time and energy to meet deadlines and stay involved in extracurriculars. I’m active in NHS, Key Club, and leadership roles because I care about building community and contributing, even if it takes extra effort on my part. And in all of this, science has remained my anchor. This fall, I’ll be studying forensic biology at West Virginia University, with the goal of one day working in forensic pathology. I’ve always been fascinated by how science uncovers the truth, and I want to be part of the team that brings answers and closure to families. It’s a career that requires focus, empathy, and attention to detail—all things I’ve had to strengthen through my experiences. I may not have one defining moment of greatness, but I’ve built something meaningful through consistency, resilience, and a deep desire to keep showing up. I’ve danced through dislocated joints, taught lessons through brain fog, and led through quiet determination. That may not win trophies, but to me, it’s a victory. What I’ve learned is that greatness doesn’t always come in a single moment—it comes in the choice to keep going, again and again, even when it would be easier to stop. That’s the kind of strength I hope to bring into the STEAM field, and the kind I’ll carry with me into college and beyond.

From the moment I swabbed my dog’s mouth for a third-grade science fair project, I’ve been drawn to the hidden world of biology and what it can reveal. That project—testing bacteria levels in dog saliva using agar plates—sparked a curiosity that hasn’t faded. Over time, my interest in science grew into something more focused: a passion for forensic biology and the role it plays in healthcare and justice. This fall, I’ll begin studying forensic biology at West Virginia University. I’m pursuing a career in forensic pathology not only because I love science, but because I believe in the importance of truth. Forensic pathology is a unique intersection of medicine and justice. It’s a branch of healthcare that may not involve daily patient care but still directly impacts lives by uncovering answers after tragedy and helping bring closure to grieving families. I want to be part of that work—to use science as a tool for compassion and clarity. Healthcare is so much more than hospitals and prescriptions. It’s about advocating for others, easing pain—both physical and emotional—and improving lives through knowledge and care. As someone who lives with POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome), Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, and anxiety, I know what it’s like to feel dismissed, misunderstood, or simply exhausted by the process of seeking answers. These experiences have made me a more empathetic person and will help me be a more thoughtful, patient-focused healthcare professional. I want to be someone who listens, who validates, and who does everything in their power to uncover the truth for those who no longer have a voice. As a woman entering the healthcare field, I also know I’m part of a much bigger story. Historically, women have been underrepresented in science and leadership roles in medicine. But our perspectives—shaped by resilience, empathy, and multitasking on levels only a big sister in a five-kid household can understand—bring strength to the field. I want to be part of a new wave of women in healthcare who challenge outdated assumptions and lead with both intellect and heart. Outside of academics, I’ve grown as a leader through dance and service. I’m president of the National Honor Society for Dance Arts and choreograph for my school’s Charisma Dance Ensemble. I’ve learned to lead with confidence, communicate with clarity, and build community through movement. I also lead and participate in projects through NHS and Key Club, such as school beautification efforts and prom dress drives. During the summer, I teach dance and swimming at an overnight camp, balancing roles as a coach, mentor, and sunscreen enforcer. These experiences have shaped my character—and my commitment to helping others grow, heal, and thrive. Pursuing a degree in healthcare isn’t just about career goals for me—it’s about using the skills and strengths I’ve developed to make a lasting difference. I want to stand for truth, advocate for the overlooked, and prove that science and compassion don’t just coexist—they make each other stronger. With support from this scholarship, I hope to keep pushing forward and one day become a voice of both reason and reassurance in the world of forensic healthcare.

I found Chappell Roan’s music during one of those late-night playlist rabbit holes, and honestly, I’ve been obsessed ever since. Her songs are emotional, dramatic, bold, and somehow still super relatable. Whether I’m crying over something dumb or dancing around my room like it’s a concert stage, she just gets it. What I love most about her is that she’s completely herself. She doesn’t try to tone anything down—her lyrics, her outfits, her voice—it’s all loud in the best way. She’s proud, emotional, and kind of chaotic (in a good way), and it makes me feel like it’s okay to be all those things, too. Songs like Pink Pony Club or HOT TO GO! make me want to scream-sing and wear glitter eyeliner, even if I’m just going to math class. There’s also a lot of heart in her music. Even the upbeat songs have real feelings behind them. You can tell she’s been through stuff, and she’s not afraid to show it. That makes her music feel comforting—like someone’s saying, “Hey, I’ve been there too,” but with a beat you can dance to. As a young woman trying to figure out who I am and where I fit, Chappell Roan feels like a reminder that I don’t have to have it all together. I can be confident and insecure at the same time, and that’s okay. I can feel too much and still be strong. And I can take up space, even when I feel like I’m not supposed to. I support her not just because I love her music, but because she represents something bigger—being unapologetically yourself, even when it’s scary. And in a world where so much feels filtered and fake, that’s honestly pretty inspiring.

LeBron James is definitely one of my favorite athletes—not just because he’s incredible on the court, but because of the kind of person he is off the court. Obviously, he’s one of the greatest players to ever play the game. But what really makes me admire him is how much he values his family, how involved he is in his community, and how he stays grounded even with all the fame. I especially look up to him because my younger brother is a really talented high school basketball player. He’s obsessed with watching NBA highlights, and I’ve seen how inspired he gets by players like LeBron. And honestly, if he’s going to look up to any athlete, I’m glad it’s someone like LeBron. He works hard, he lifts up the people around him, and he shows that you can be successful and still be kind and humble. That’s something I really respect. I also love how much he shows up for his kids and supports them. Being a good dad and husband seems just as important to him as being a great athlete. In a world where athletes sometimes let fame go to their heads, he seems like a genuinely good person who hasn’t forgotten who he is or where he came from. Now, is he the greatest basketball player of all time? I’m not totally convinced. I think he’s definitely in the top three with Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant. MJ had that intensity and drive that made him unstoppable, and Kobe had this insane work ethic that inspired a generation. LeBron is probably more consistent and versatile than both of them, and he’s played at a high level for such a long time, which is seriously impressive. But I also think greatness isn’t just about stats or rings. If we’re talking about character and impact outside the game, I think LeBron might beat them there. He opened a school. He speaks up about real issues. And he’s managed to stay focused and positive throughout a long career under constant pressure. That kind of influence matters, especially to kids growing up watching him—not just as an athlete, but as a person. So yeah, I don’t know if I can pick one “GOAT,” but I know LeBron is one of the best to ever do it—and he might just be the best person among them. That’s what makes me a fan.

When I was in fourth grade, I marched into the kitchen and asked my mom to order agar plates from Amazon. Once she picked her jaw up off the floor—because really, what 9-year-old wants agar?—she said yes. I proceeded to collect samples from our dogs' mouths to test the bacteria in their saliva. Gross? Maybe. Fascinating? Definitely. What surprised me most was the result: instead of growing bacteria, the dog saliva actually inhibited bacterial growth. That unexpected finding didn’t just win me a science fair ribbon—it sparked my obsession with the scientific method and launched my journey toward forensic science. Now, I’m an 18-year-old senior preparing to attend West Virginia University to major in forensic biology. My dream is to become a forensic pathologist: part scientist, part detective, part truth-teller. While the job doesn’t come with a badge or theme music like in crime shows, it offers something much more meaningful—the chance to speak for those who can no longer speak for themselves. I want to bring families closure, uncover hidden truths, and ensure that even in death, every life is treated with dignity. Forensic pathology excites me because it sits at the intersection of science, justice, and service. It’s not about the spotlight—it’s about getting the facts right when it matters most. Whether I’m helping solve a criminal case or identifying public health trends, I’ll be doing work that makes a tangible difference. I’ve always been the person who asks “why” and keeps digging until I understand the answer. Now, I want to turn that curiosity into a career that helps others. Living with POTS, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, and anxiety has taught me a lot about perseverance, time management, and compassion—qualities I know will serve me well in this field. These conditions have made life more complicated, yes, but they’ve also shaped me into someone who shows up fully, even when things get tough. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself, and now I want to use my voice—and eventually, my work—to advocate for others. Outside of academics, I’m active in Charisma Dance Ensemble and Key Club. Dance is where I express myself and feel most at home in my own body; volunteering is where I connect with and serve my community. During the summer, I teach both dance and swimming, helping younger kids build confidence and skills. I also enjoy horseback riding, reading, and trying to keep the snack shelf stocked in a house with five siblings (a nearly impossible task). Empowering others—especially women—is central to who I am. I aim to lead by example and show younger girls that they can thrive in science, medicine, leadership, or wherever their passions take them. Whether it’s organizing inclusive events at school, mentoring students, or just standing tall (literally—I’m six feet!), I try to take up space with confidence and encourage others to do the same. This scholarship would be an investment not just in my education, but in the future I’m working toward: one where truth matters, women lead boldly, and science brings healing. Thank you for considering my application.

I was nine years old when I ran my first science experiment, which involved testing dog saliva for its antibacterial properties (spoiler: it worked surprisingly well). While other kids were building volcanoes, I was ordering agar plates and swabbing the inside of a retriever’s mouth like it was a crime scene. That’s when I knew science wasn’t just a subject—it was something I felt connected to, curious about, and oddly at home with. That same curiosity now drives my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist. I’m preparing to attend West Virginia University to major in forensic biology. It’s not the most common answer to “What do you want to be when you grow up?”—and that’s exactly why I’m drawn to it. Forensic pathology sits at the intersection of science, justice, and empathy. It’s about uncovering truth when there are no eyewitnesses. It’s about giving a voice to those who can no longer speak. It’s about making peace with complexity and learning how to read stories written in biology. My contribution to science won’t just come from lab results—it’ll come from how I show up in spaces where empathy, rigor, and resilience are all required. Living with POTS, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), and anxiety has given me an intimate understanding of how the human body can be unpredictable, and how critical it is to have scientists and healthcare professionals who truly listen. These conditions have taught me to be patient with my body, strategic with my time, and relentless in my commitment to keep moving forward. And trust me, showing up to chemistry lab while your joints feel like jelly and your heart rate is doing its own thing? That’s dedication. Science often needs more women, but more importantly, it needs women who aren’t afraid to lead with both intellect and compassion. That’s the kind of scientist I want to be. Whether I’m teaching swim lessons at summer camp or organizing dance routines as part of my school's leadership team, I’ve learned how to connect with people, how to communicate clearly, and how to adapt in real-time—all skills I’ll carry with me into labs, classrooms, and eventually into the autopsy suite. I also want to pay it forward. I’ve volunteered with National Honor Society to bring STEM presentations to local elementary schools, showing young students—especially girls—that science isn’t scary. It’s creative, hands-on, and often just a matter of asking good questions and being brave enough to search for answers. My younger sister, who also has EDS and severe ADHD, reminds me daily of why representation and compassion matter in scientific fields. I want her to grow up knowing that her differences aren’t limitations—they’re part of what make her powerful. I want her, and others like her, to see women in science not as exceptions, but as the norm. With this scholarship’s support, I’ll continue my education, pursue forensic pathology, and contribute to science not just by solving problems, but by caring deeply about the people behind them.

Mental Health, Ambition, and Being the Big Sister She Deserves Living with POTS, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), and anxiety means I navigate every school day with both ambition and caution. These conditions don’t clock out when I walk into a classroom or a dance studio—they follow me everywhere. But I’ve learned to work with them, not against them. Managing my health—both physical and mental—isn’t a side task. It’s central to everything I do and everything I dream of becoming. I’ve always been a high achiever. I maintain a 4.1 GPA, lead in my school’s dance team, and teach dance and swimming each summer at an overnight camp. I plan to major in forensic biology at West Virginia University with the goal of becoming a forensic pathologist. My dream is to give a voice to those who no longer have one—to uncover truth and bring compassion into science. But I know that dream isn’t possible unless I also care for myself along the way. Some days, that means managing brain fog, heart palpitations, or anxiety during class. Other days, it’s feeling overwhelmed by small things and reminding myself to breathe and regroup. But I’ve learned to be proactive. I use planners and digital reminders when my focus is scattered. I build in recovery time after long days. I journal to manage racing thoughts, and I’m learning to give myself grace when my mind or body needs a break. I also speak up when I need help—whether that’s asking for flexibility from teachers or leaning on trusted friends and family. But what’s shaped me just as much as my own challenges is my relationship with my 10-year-old sister. She also has EDS, along with severe ADHD. I see her struggling with attention, sensory overload, and pain that most adults would find difficult to manage. Watching her try so hard every day—often feeling different, often frustrated—has made me more empathetic, more patient, and more aware of the support systems we all need. I try to model what I want her to learn: that it’s okay to rest, okay to ask for help, okay to cry—and still get back up and try again. We do our stretches together. We talk about the things we’re nervous about. And sometimes, I just sit with her and let her be exactly who she is, without rushing to fix anything. In those moments, I’m reminded why mental health matters so deeply: because people need space to feel safe, seen, and supported—especially young girls like her, growing up in a world that doesn’t always make room for difference. I want to take that mindset with me to college and into my future career. I want to succeed not by pushing through at all costs, but by showing that strength includes softness, and that being whole matters more than being perfect. This scholarship would help me continue that journey—by honoring not only my ambition, but the care I’ve learned to give myself, and the example I hope to set for my sister.

When I was in fourth grade, I came home from school, handed my mom a list of science fair materials, and casually asked her to order agar plates. She paused—probably wondering why her 9-year-old suddenly sounded like a lab technician—and then ordered them anyway. I used them to test bacteria in dog saliva (spoiler: it inhibited bacterial growth), and from that strange little experiment, a lifelong love of science was born. Today, I’m preparing to attend West Virginia University to major in forensic biology. My goal is to become a forensic pathologist—someone who uses science to speak for those who can’t, to uncover truth, and to bring clarity to families and communities. Forensic pathology is not glamorous work, but it is deeply meaningful. It combines the puzzle-solving part of science that I love with the human impact I care deeply about. My path hasn’t always been easy. I live with chronic conditions like POTS and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, as well as anxiety, all of which have challenged me physically and mentally throughout high school. But instead of slowing me down, they’ve helped shape me into someone who’s more determined, more empathetic, and more resilient. I’ve had to learn how to advocate for myself, listen to my body, and manage my time with precision—and all of those skills will serve me well in both college and my future career. Outside the classroom, I’m a dancer and a teacher. I serve in a leadership role on my school’s dance team, the Charisma Dance Ensemble, and I’ve helped choreograph performances and mentor younger dancers. Every summer, I teach swimming and dance at an overnight camp, which has been one of the most joyful and fulfilling parts of my year. Watching kids grow more confident, master new skills, and learn to work as a team reminds me why I love teaching—and how powerful small moments of encouragement can be. In everything I do, I try to lead with curiosity, compassion, and creativity—whether that’s guiding a child through a backstroke or navigating a group science project. In the future, I hope to use those same traits as a forensic pathologist. I want to bring dignity to every case, comfort to grieving families, and a strong scientific voice to the justice system. The work might be behind the scenes, but its impact is personal, powerful, and lasting. I believe making a positive impact doesn’t always mean being in the spotlight. Sometimes it means asking tough questions, paying attention to the details, or being the person who listens when others can’t speak. That’s the kind of person I strive to be—and the kind of professional I hope to become.

Selflessness isn’t about grand gestures. It’s about consistently choosing to show up for others—whether that means lending a hand, offering encouragement, or sharing your time. I try to live by this value every day, whether I’m teaching at summer camp, volunteering for community projects, or working toward a career where I can make a meaningful impact. Every summer, I teach swimming and dance at an overnight camp. Each day, I work with children during their one hour of swimming lessons, six days a week. While my time with each child is limited, I always try to give my full attention and encouragement. One camper, in particular, was initially terrified of the water. Over the course of several days, I worked with her during each lesson, helping her gradually build confidence in the water. By the end of the week, she swam across the pool on her own. Although I couldn't stay after hours to work individually with her, the progress we made during our lessons showed me how much small acts of patience and encouragement can help someone conquer their fears. As an active member of Key Club, I’ve participated in various service projects, including a school beautification effort where we planted flowers and landscaped the school grounds. It may have been a small task, but it created a welcoming space for everyone who uses it. I’ve also volunteered with the National Honor Society, giving STEM presentations to elementary school students. Sharing my passion for science and encouraging younger students to explore their curiosity was incredibly rewarding. Additionally, I participated in a prom dress drive, helping students who couldn’t afford a dress feel confident and included. These experiences taught me that selflessness doesn’t have to be complicated—it’s the little things that make a difference. Selflessness also means perseverance, especially when life isn’t easy. I live with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and anxiety. There are days when my health challenges make everything feel harder, but I’ve learned to push through, adapt, and stay focused on my goals. These challenges have shaped my resilience and strengthened my determination to pursue a career where I can help others in their most vulnerable moments. That’s why I’m pursuing a career as a forensic pathologist. I plan to major in forensic biology at West Virginia University. Forensic pathologists help give a voice to the voiceless, offering answers to families and justice to communities. I’m drawn to this field because it combines my love of science with my desire to serve others. While the work is often behind the scenes, I know it can make a significant difference in the lives of those affected by tragedy. Michael Rudometkin’s legacy of helping others and making the world a better place is something I strive to emulate. Whether I’m teaching at camp, volunteering with my community, or pursuing a career in forensic science, I aim to live with purpose, compassion, and an unwavering commitment to service. Thank you for considering my application. I am honored to contribute to the ongoing legacy of service and community that Michael Rudometkin inspired.

Brains, Ballet Shoes, and Surprisingly Clean Dog Saliva Hi, I’m Harper—named after the legendary Harper Lee, which might explain why I’m rarely seen without a book in my hand and a plot twist in my head. Whether I’m curled up with a forensic thriller, dancing my heart out at halftime, or perfecting a water stunt mid-backflip in the deep end, I’m living proof that life doesn’t have to fit neatly into one genre. I grew up in West Virginia, smack in the middle of five siblings, which means I’ve mastered the fine art of sharing snacks, bathroom schedules, and the remote control (mostly). I’m six feet tall, which makes me easy to spot in a crowd—and occasionally mistaken for a substitute gym teacher. But behind the height and the jokes, I’m a determined student, a passionate dancer, a bookworm with a forensic fixation, and someone who has turned challenges into fuel for big dreams. One of my earliest memories is sitting beside my mom in the early morning hours, snuggled up and inhaling the smell of her coffee while we watched Forensic Files before she left for work. Back then, she was an adult ICU nurse (she’s now in pediatrics), and together, we bonded over crime scene analysis before sunrise. Most kids started their day with cartoons—I started mine with autopsies and blood spatter patterns. That’s where my fascination with forensic science was born. Fast-forward to fourth grade when I brought home science fair paperwork and told my mom I needed agar plates. After recovering from the shock that her nine-year-old knew what agar was, she ordered them. My project? Swabbing things to test bacterial growth. I predicted dog mouths would be filthy. Turns out, my golden doodle’s saliva actually reduced bacteria growth on the plates. Not only did I learn how to run a controlled experiment—I also learned to never underestimate a curly-haired dog with unexpectedly sanitary slobber. I also live with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and POTS, which means my body doesn’t always cooperate with my plans. Some days I feel like I’m doing the cha-cha with gravity. But these conditions have given me resilience, adaptability, and a deeper appreciation for the moments when everything does work. I’ve learned to listen to my body and still chase after my goals with a fierce determination—and sometimes, a compression sock or two. Dance has been my anchor through it all. As captain of my school’s team, I’ve led with encouragement, celebrated small victories, and turned practices into safe, joyful spaces. Whether I’m performing in a stadium or choreographing routines, dance is where I find my voice without saying a word. It’s also a great warm-up for artistic swimming, my summer sport of choice. (Picture synchronized swimming with nose clips, glitter, and occasional chaos—it’s even better than it sounds.) I’m headed to West Virginia University to major in forensic biology, with my eyes on medical school and a future as a forensic pathologist. My goal is to use science to bring truth and justice, to give victims a voice, and to bring answers where there’s uncertainty. So, who am I? I’m Harper: horse-loving, dance-leading, mystery-reading, artistic-swimming science nerd with a golden doodle sidekick and a lot of ambition. My story is still being written—but I promise, it’s a good one. There may even be a sequel.

To me, empowerment isn’t just a word—it’s a feeling, a fire, and a quiet kind of strength. It’s what happens when I lace up my dance shoes before leading my team onto the football field. It’s what I feel when I speak up about living with anxiety and chronic illness, or when I teach younger students and see them believe in themselves just a little more. Empowerment is the voice inside me that says, “You’ve got this,” even when everything feels like it’s working against me. As a young woman, especially one living in a world that hasn’t always made space for strong female voices, empowerment has become personal. It’s the way I’ve pushed forward in male-dominated spaces—like forensic science—where women have historically been underrepresented. I want to be part of changing that. My dream of becoming a forensic pathologist isn’t just about solving mysteries or working in a lab (though I’m very excited about that); it’s about using my knowledge to be a voice for those who no longer have one. That, to me, is the ultimate form of empowerment: turning passion into purpose, and using education as a tool to bring justice and healing to others. Being empowered also means recognizing that my body doesn’t always work the way I want it to—but that doesn’t make me less. Living with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and POTS has taught me to listen to my body, advocate for myself, and get creative with how I meet my goals. Some days are harder than others, but I’ve learned to redefine strength. It’s not just about pushing through—it’s about choosing rest when needed, and resilience when it matters most. Dance has played a huge role in shaping that mindset. As captain of my school’s dance team, I discovered that empowerment often means lifting others up. Whether I was choreographing routines, encouraging teammates, or celebrating someone’s small victory, I found joy in creating a space where every girl felt seen and strong. That kind of leadership isn’t about being loud or bossy—it’s about helping others recognize their own power. Service has deepened this belief, too. Participating in projects like the Jefferson High School Prom Dress Drive, organized by Miss Shenandoah’s Teen 2025, allowed me to help other young women feel confident and beautiful, regardless of income or circumstance. I’ve learned that empowerment grows stronger when shared—and that community support can be one of the most powerful tools for change. Empowerment, to me, is also about identity. I’m six feet tall. I ride horses. I read murder mysteries like it’s my job. I’m the middle child of five, and I go by my middle name—Harper, named after Harper Lee. I don’t fit into any one box, and I don’t want to. Being female doesn’t mean being one thing—it means being everything we want to be, and owning it unapologetically. As I move forward—toward college, toward my degree in forensic biology, and eventually toward medical school—I carry all these pieces of empowerment with me. They’ve helped shape who I am, and they’ll guide who I become. My hope is that I’ll not only find success, but also help others—especially young women—see that they can define their own version of strong, too.

The Science of Strength: How Mental Health Has Shaped My Journey My story isn’t one of dramatic plot twists or made-for-TV breakthroughs. Instead, it’s a quiet, steady balancing act—one that involves managing anxiety, living with chronic conditions like Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and POTS, and still showing up for school, dance practice, service projects, and the people I love. It’s a journey that has shaped my beliefs, strengthened my relationships, and clarified my career aspirations in ways I never expected. I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was younger, but it took time to truly understand what that meant for me. Anxiety isn’t always the dramatic kind that people picture—it can be quiet, sneaky, and incredibly persistent. It shows up in the middle of the night before a big test. It whispers self-doubt before I step on stage to perform. It lingers during long school days when my body isn’t cooperating and I’m trying to hide that I’m dizzy, in pain, or just worn out. But instead of letting anxiety define me, I’ve learned to work with it. I’ve built systems: routines that keep me grounded, coping strategies that help me stay calm, and support networks that remind me I don’t have to face everything alone. I’ve become more introspective, more resilient, and—ironically—more empathetic. My experiences have taught me that everyone is carrying something, whether or not we can see it. That awareness has made me a better friend, a better listener, and a better leader. One of the most difficult seasons of my life was the fall of my junior year, when two classmates died by suicide within a short span of time. One was the brother of a close friend, and the other I had known nearly my entire life—we’d gone through daycare, preschool, elementary school, and more together. Though we weren’t close anymore, his passing felt like losing a piece of my childhood. These losses shook our school community. They made conversations about mental health feel urgent and personal. For me, it reinforced the belief that mental health is health—full stop. It’s not secondary, it’s not something to be ashamed of, and it’s not something we can afford to ignore. That belief is a major reason why I’m pursuing a career in forensic pathology. I’ve always been fascinated by science—I was that fourth grader asking my mom to buy agar plates off Amazon so I could swab dog saliva for a science fair project (she was concerned, but supportive). My love for science deepened as I grew older, especially through watching Forensic Files in the early mornings with my mom, who was then an adult ICU nurse. Snuggled beside her, inhaling the smell of her coffee and listening to real-life investigators piece together truths from fragments of evidence, I found myself completely absorbed. She now works as a pediatric nurse, and her compassion continues to influence how I see both science and service: as deeply human pursuits. What I didn’t know then, but understand now, is that my desire to work in forensic pathology is rooted not just in curiosity, but in compassion. Losing those classmates, dealing with my own mental and physical health struggles, and witnessing the toll of unspoken pain in others have all fueled my passion for pursuing justice and clarity through science. I don’t want to just work in a lab—I want to be a part of bringing peace to families who are hurting and answers to cases that deserve closure. Mental health has also impacted my relationships in the best way. I’ve learned to be more open with the people in my life—my family, my friends, my teammates. I’ve learned that vulnerability is not weakness, it’s connection. As a dancer and captain of my high school team, I’ve tried to foster a space where everyone feels seen and supported. I know what it’s like to struggle silently, so I make it a point to check in with others, to celebrate small wins, and to create a team culture where no one feels alone. Even in my volunteer work—whether it’s helping run a prom dress drive or teaching young kids how to swim—I try to show up with that same mindset. Everyone needs a safe space. Everyone needs kindness. And sometimes, just showing up with a little empathy can make all the difference. I plan to carry these values with me into college, medical school, and beyond. As a future forensic pathologist, I’ll be focused on science, yes—but more importantly, I’ll be focused on people. Every case will be more than a file; it will be someone’s story, someone’s family, someone’s grief. I want to honor that by being not only accurate and detail-oriented, but also compassionate and human. In the end, my experience with mental health has taught me that strength doesn’t always look like perfection. Sometimes it looks like showing up, even when it’s hard. It looks like asking for help, offering it to others, and choosing to be honest about what you’re going through. It looks like turning pain into purpose, and challenge into clarity. That’s the kind of strength I hope to carry with me—into classrooms, labs, crime scenes, and conversations. And that’s the kind of strength I want to use to make a difference.

I’ve been a Sabrina Carpenter fan since her Girl Meets World days—back when she played Maya, the effortlessly cool best friend who somehow managed to be rebellious, hilarious, and wise beyond her years, all while wearing amazing outfits. I’d come home from school, grab a snack, and get glued to the TV, already knowing she’d steal every scene. Even as a kid, I knew: this girl was going places. Fast forward to now, and I’ve seen her live in concert (yes, she ate), screamed every lyric to Feather like it was a universal truth, and followed her transformation from Disney star to pop icon with glitter, grace, and glorious levels of sass. Sabrina isn’t just talented—she’s absolutely magnetic. She’s also, let’s be honest, fun-sized. Meanwhile, I’m six feet tall. If we took a picture together, it would look like the beginning of a very niche buddy comedy. But I kind of love that. Sabrina may be small in stature, but she’s larger than life in confidence, creativity, and vocal runs that defy logic. Her stage presence fills the room—and that’s saying something, coming from someone who can pirouette across a football field without blinking. As a dancer, I’m extra picky about performance quality—and Sabrina delivers. She’s not just singing, she’s storytelling, with every movement, outfit change, and sly smirk. Her artistry has taught me that it’s not about fitting a mold—it’s about owning your space. Whether you’re 4'11" or 6 feet tall (hi), being authentically you is always the right move. Sabrina’s lyrics are witty, vulnerable, and occasionally savage in the best way possible. She captures the chaos of being a young woman with humor and honesty. Whether she’s calling out someone who ghosted her or throwing shade with a smile, she’s saying everything we’ve all thought—but with better rhymes and killer boots. As someone managing anxiety and chronic health conditions like Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and POTS, Sabrina’s career reminds me that resilience and reinvention are powerful. She started on a Disney set, and now she’s commanding stages, charts, and group chats everywhere. Watching her glow up with humor, authenticity, and sparkly eyeliner has helped me stay confident, even on days when things feel overwhelming. So yes, I’m an unapologetic Sabrina Carpenter fan. She makes me laugh, dance (flawlessly, thank you very much), and believe that being smart, strong, sparkly, and just a little bit sarcastic is actually a superpower. If she ever needs a backup dancer who can also perform a flawless crime scene investigation, she knows who to call.

When it comes to Team USA, no athlete inspires me more—or gets louder cheers from me—than Simone Biles. Yes, I’m six feet tall and primarily a dancer and swimmer, not a gymnast. But despite not being able to pull off a single backflip (on purpose), I’ve always been in awe of the way Simone dominates her sport with power, elegance, and an unapologetic sense of self-worth. She’s not just a world-class gymnast; she’s a masterclass in resilience. Simone’s athletic accomplishments speak for themselves: a record-breaking number of medals, skills literally named after her, and gravity-defying routines that make even physics look stunned. But what truly makes her my favorite is her courage off the mat. She’s been vocal about mental health, choosing to prioritize her well-being during the 2020 Tokyo Olympics, even when the world was watching. That moment wasn’t just brave—it was revolutionary. As someone who’s experienced anxiety myself, and who manages chronic health conditions like POTS and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Simone’s transparency gave me permission to do the same. It’s easy to celebrate athletes when they’re standing on podiums. It’s harder—and more powerful—to support them when they choose to sit something out in order to take care of themselves. That takes a different kind of strength. Watching her handle the pressure with grace made me feel more confident handling my own challenges, both as a student and as a dancer. Simone Biles reminds us that being the best in the world isn’t just about medals or scores—it’s about knowing your limits, setting boundaries, and using your voice. She has redefined what it means to be a champion, and that’s something I’ll cheer for every single time.

Ever since I was young, science has fascinated me, and one of my earliest memories is snuggling up with my mom early in the morning before she went to work as an ICU nurse. As we watched Forensic Files, I could smell her coffee brewing, and I was completely captivated by how science played a crucial role in solving real-life mysteries. It wasn’t just the intrigue of the crime that grabbed my attention; it was the way forensic experts used biology, chemistry, and meticulous investigation to uncover the truth. Little did I know, those quiet mornings would ignite my lifelong passion for forensic science. By fourth grade, I was already experimenting on my own, asking my mom to order agar plates from Amazon (she was a bit shocked but went along with it). I worked on a science fair project testing dog saliva and germs, and that hands-on experience revealed to me that science wasn’t just something I read about—it was something I could use to understand the world around me. This curiosity blossomed into a passion for forensic biology, where I could combine my love for science with a desire to help others. The forensic pathologists and scientists I saw on Forensic Files inspired me to pursue a career where I could use biology to solve real-world problems. Forensic biology lets me investigate the smallest pieces of evidence—whether it’s DNA, tissue samples, or trace evidence—and piece them together to uncover the truth. This career feels particularly meaningful to me because, like my own challenges with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and POTS, I’ve learned that there’s power in finding answers. I want to use my scientific curiosity to provide closure to families and make a difference. Alongside my academic aspirations, I’m equally passionate about community service. I’m involved in Key Club, where I’ve contributed to initiatives like the Prom Dress Drive, which provides dresses and accessories to students in need, helping them feel confident for their big events. I’ve also taught dance and swimming to younger students, instilling confidence, resilience, and teamwork. These experiences have taught me that service doesn’t have to be grand—it can be something small but meaningful, like helping someone feel confident or empowered. As I look to the future, I hope to combine my career goals with my community service ambitions. I want to educate young people—especially young women—about the possibilities in forensic science and other STEM fields, encouraging them to pursue careers in science. I also plan to volunteer with organizations supporting families affected by crime, helping them navigate the difficult process of finding closure after a tragedy. This fall, I’ll attend West Virginia University to study forensic biology, with the goal of becoming a forensic pathologist. I know that my work will involve a lot of science, but what excites me most is the opportunity to use my skills to help others. The books, shows, and personal experiences that have shaped me have given me the tools to do just that—and I can’t wait to continue this journey. Through my passion for science and my desire to serve my community, I hope to make a lasting impact, not just in forensic science, but in the lives of those who need it most.

Murder Mysteries, Microscopes, and the Books That Shaped Me If you asked ten people what kinds of books shaped their future careers, most would probably say something inspirational, maybe even a little philosophical. Me? I owe my ambition to a stack of murder mysteries and forensic thrillers—preferably with a tough, brilliant forensic pathologist solving crimes one autopsy at a time. While other kids were reading about dragons or dystopias, I was nose-deep in Patricia Cornwell novels, making mental notes about trace evidence, time of death, and which lab tool did what. Normal? Maybe not. But I loved every second of it. Reading has always been a huge part of my life, but it wasn’t just about entertainment—it was about discovery. Books became windows into the careers I dreamed about. In the pages of crime thrillers, I found strong, intelligent female characters who used science to speak for those who no longer could. I was captivated by their logic, their precision, and their compassion. These fictional experts didn't just solve mysteries—they gave people closure. That resonated deeply with me. Those stories taught me that justice isn’t always flashy. It’s often quiet, painstaking, and methodical. And sometimes, it’s found beneath a microscope. The characters I read about weren't superheroes—they were scientists. That realization was empowering. It showed me that using my brain and curiosity could be just as powerful as anything in fiction. Books also gave me confidence in the classroom. When I started studying anatomy, biology, and even medical terminology, I already had a foundation—thanks to hours of “light” reading involving toxicology reports and post-mortem exams. It sounds morbid, but it felt like preparation. When you have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and POTS, you already live with a body that requires constant observation and problem-solving. Reading about forensic pathology made me feel less helpless—it made me feel capable. I’ve also learned empathy from the books I love. Behind every mystery is a human story—someone who mattered. That’s why my ultimate goal is to become a forensic pathologist. I want to help give a voice to the voiceless and bring clarity to families in moments of deep loss. Whether it's solving real-life mysteries or providing closure through science, I want to use my education to make a difference. This fall, I’ll be attending West Virginia University to study forensic biology. I know the work won’t be easy, but I also know the power of being the person who looks at the facts and says, “Here’s what the evidence tells us.” The books I’ve read didn’t just entertain me—they prepared me. They gave me heroes to look up to, career paths to explore, and the understanding that truth and empathy can coexist. By the way, my middle name—and preferred name—is Harper, inspired by Harper Lee, the brilliant author behind To Kill a Mockingbird. Just as Lee used her writing to examine justice, empathy, and human nature, I plan to use my education and passion for forensic science to bring clarity to those in need. Reading shaped my imagination—but more importantly, it shaped my purpose.

One of the most meaningful community events I’ve participated in is the Jefferson High School Prom Dress Drive, organized by Miss Shenandoah’s Teen 2025 in partnership with Project PowHERful. The goal of the event is simple but powerful: collect and distribute prom and homecoming dresses, accessories, and professional clothing to students who might not otherwise be able to afford them. What seems like a room full of clothing racks is actually a space filled with confidence, support, and celebration. I initially volunteered to help sort and organize donations, but it quickly became clear that my job was about more than color-coding dresses or matching shoes. As students came in, some were nervous or quiet, unsure if they belonged or if they'd find something that fit. But with a little encouragement and a lot of patience (plus some impressive fashion detective work), they began to come out of their shells. I watched shy smiles turn into full-on grins as students twirled in front of mirrors, realizing they didn’t just look good—they felt seen. It’s hard to describe the feeling you get from witnessing someone discover their own beauty. For many of these students, this was a chance to feel special during a milestone moment like prom, and it meant the world to be part of making that happen. And let’s be honest—helping someone find the perfect outfit is way more satisfying than anything you’ll see in a makeover montage. That said, I also left with a healthy appreciation for wrinkle release spray, an unreasonable amount of glitter on my face, and a deep respect for anyone who can organize shoes by size under pressure. Events like this may seem small in the grand scheme of things, but they spark something bigger. I’d love to see our community expand efforts like this into year-round support. What if every school had a closet where students could borrow professional clothes for interviews, internships, or job fairs? What if mentorship programs connected students with volunteers in their fields of interest? What if we treated everyday moments with the same importance we give to prom night? This fall, I’ll be attending West Virginia University to study forensic biology with the goal of becoming a forensic pathologist. It might seem like a far leap from styling dresses to performing autopsies, but in both cases, the goal is the same: to give people the dignity and care they deserve. I want to be a voice for those who can no longer speak and bring clarity and compassion to families who are navigating unthinkable loss. The Jefferson High School Prom Dress Drive reminded me that dignity comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s a carefully chosen outfit. Sometimes it’s listening, serving, or simply showing up. And sometimes, it’s being willing to sacrifice your favorite black hoodie to a glitter explosion in the name of making someone feel worthy. Honestly? I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Glitter and all.

Top 3 Billie Eilish Songs That Speak to My Soul (and My Nervous System) Being a Billie Eilish fan means accepting that your playlists will be equal parts hauntingly beautiful, emotionally devastating, and weirdly comforting. Billie doesn’t just write music—she exposes the things we often feel but don’t say out loud. For someone like me, who lives with anxiety, POTS, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, and a tendency to overthink everything, her songs feel like journal entries from someone who “gets it.” Here are the top three Billie songs that hit me hardest—and why. 1. “everything i wanted” This song feels like a warm, eerie hug for anyone who’s ever felt invisible in their struggles. It resonates with me because it reflects the strange duality of success and sadness—the feeling of achieving something but still not feeling "okay." As someone who has accomplished a lot academically and creatively, I’ve sometimes battled the guilt of not feeling as proud or happy as I’m “supposed” to. When Billie sings, “I had a dream I got everything I wanted... but when I wake up I see you with me,” it reminds me of the support I’ve had from my family, teachers, and friends—the people who help me stay grounded when my mind tries to spiral. It’s a mental health anthem disguised as a lullaby. 2. “idontwannabeyouanymore” Billie absolutely nailed what it feels like to battle insecurity and self-doubt. This song hits especially hard for someone like me who’s tall (six feet!) and often feels like I literally and metaphorically take up more space than I should. I’ve spent years trying to embrace my uniqueness, and this song reminds me I’m not alone in those struggles. The line “If teardrops could be bottled, there’d be swimming pools filled by models” is genius—and painfully accurate. It’s comforting to hear someone admit that being trapped in your own head can be exhausting. But instead of drowning in those thoughts, Billie’s honesty makes me want to swim out of them and keep going. 3. “bury a friend” Okay, this one is intense—and a little creepy—but hear me out. The chaotic, disjointed nature of this song actually mirrors what anxiety feels like. It captures that restless, questioning, heart-racing energy that never seems to have an off switch. The way the music stutters and pulses reminds me of what it’s like to feel your body reacting before your brain can explain why. For someone who deals with both anxiety and the unpredictability of POTS, this song somehow makes the chaos feel cool. Also, any artist bold enough to whisper "What do you want from me?" like she’s in a horror movie and a therapy session at the same time gets my full respect. Billie Eilish’s music resonates with me because she doesn’t pretend everything’s perfect. She says the uncomfortable, messy, dark stuff with poetry, vulnerability, and just enough weirdness to make you feel okay being exactly who you are. Whether I’m dancing, studying anatomy, or just trying to survive a high-symptom day, her songs remind me that feeling deeply is a strength—not a flaw. And honestly? If I ever need a soundtrack for a dramatic science fair flashback or a moody forensic pathology montage in my future career, I know exactly where to start.

Mental health has played a powerful role in shaping who I am, both in quiet, everyday ways and through moments of deep grief. I’ve lived with anxiety for most of my life, learning how to navigate its challenges while also trying to show up for others. That personal experience has made me more introspective, more compassionate, and more committed to creating a future where mental health isn’t something we whisper about—but something we understand, support, and protect. Last fall, two of my classmates died by suicide. Though we weren’t particularly close, the impact of their loss has stayed with me. One was the brother of a friend; the other, someone I had known for years—we went through daycare, pre-K, elementary school, middle school, and part of high school together. When I heard the news, it didn’t matter that we weren’t in daily contact anymore. The grief and shock felt personal, like a piece of the community had suddenly gone missing. What struck me the most was how invisible their pain had been. On the surface, nothing seemed different. That realization forced me to rethink how we view mental health—not just as an individual challenge, but as a shared responsibility. It made me start checking in more with people around me. I realized how easy it is to assume someone is okay just because they’re smiling or showing up to school. And I saw clearly how silence around mental health can be devastating. My own journey with anxiety has made me more attuned to others’ emotional states, but I’ve also learned that mental health isn’t something anyone can handle alone. I’ve relied on supportive friends, my family, and trusted adults to get through difficult moments. Those experiences helped me recognize the value of compassion and communication—skills that now shape how I move through the world and the kind of person I strive to be. It’s also a big part of why I want to become a forensic pathologist. I want to serve in a field where I can give voice to those who can no longer speak. Working in forensic science won’t change the past, but it can provide clarity, justice, and sometimes even peace. Experiencing loss in my own community deepened my resolve to contribute to meaningful work—work that honors lives and helps families find answers in the face of heartbreak. Mental health awareness has also changed my relationships. I’ve become more open about what I’m going through, and in return, others often feel safe opening up to me. I’ve learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s how we connect and support each other through difficult times. My dance team, Key Club, and volunteer work have all become spaces where I try to bring empathy and encouragement, making sure others know they’re not alone. Understanding mental health has shifted how I see the world. I no longer view strength as pretending everything is fine. I see strength in asking for help, in speaking up for others, in being gentle in a world that can be harsh. Mental health affects every part of who we are—how we learn, how we lead, how we relate to others—and I believe it deserves just as much care and attention as our physical health. Losing classmates to suicide changed me. It made me more determined to speak up, to listen more closely, and to work toward a future where no one feels like their pain has to stay hidden. It also reminded me that healing happens in community—and I hope to be someone who helps build that kind of support wherever I go.

In Olivia Rodrigo’s “ballad of a homeschooled girl,” she sings, “Each time I step outside, it’s social suicide.” While the line is written with humor, it struck a deeply personal chord with me. That lyric captures what so many teenagers—myself included—quietly experience: the overwhelming anxiety of simply existing in a world that feels like it’s always watching and judging. My name is Jude-Desiree Boone, but I go by Harper, and I’ve spent much of my teenage life learning to live with anxiety, as well as chronic conditions like POTS and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. These invisible illnesses add another layer to the already complicated puzzle of adolescence. There were many days when just walking into a classroom or showing up to dance practice felt like stepping into a spotlight I never asked for. I’d overthink everything I said, how I looked, and whether I was being “too much” or “not enough.” That one lyric sums up the mental loop that’s played in my head far too often. And yet, even through those struggles, I’ve learned to push forward. I’ve led my high school dance team as captain, worked hard academically, and found ways to support others in my community. But Rodrigo’s lyric reminds me that the strength we show on the outside often masks the battles we’re fighting within. It also reflects the bigger truth of adolescence—trying to find where you fit while constantly feeling like you don’t. One of the reasons I’m such a fan of GUTS is because Olivia Rodrigo doesn’t shy away from these kinds of uncomfortable feelings. She puts them front and center—awkwardness, insecurity, heartbreak, overthinking—and in doing so, gives her listeners permission to feel all of it without shame. For me, this kind of honesty is powerful. It reminds me that it’s okay to not have everything figured out and that there’s value in simply being real. This fall, I’ll be attending West Virginia University to major in forensic biology, with the ultimate goal of becoming a forensic pathologist. I want to give a voice to those who can no longer speak for themselves—to bring justice and truth into the world. My experiences living with anxiety and chronic illness have taught me empathy, resilience, and the importance of listening closely to what others may not be saying. I plan to carry those lessons with me into my studies and my future career. Connecting Rodrigo’s lyric to my own life has helped me realize that I’m not alone in these feelings—that the messiness of being a teenager is more common than it seems. Adolescence is complicated and often uncomfortable, but it’s also full of growth and unexpected strength. I’m proud of how far I’ve come, and even more excited about where I’m going.

I’ve loved Broadway musicals for as long as I can remember, but Wicked has always stood out as something truly special. It’s more than just a show to me—it’s a story that mirrors my own journey in unexpected and powerful ways. Elphaba’s story of being misunderstood, judged for things beyond her control, and ultimately finding her inner strength resonates deeply with my own experiences living with anxiety, POTS, and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. Like Elphaba, I’ve often felt like I had to prove myself—whether it was pushing through physical challenges in school or learning how to speak up and lead as dance team captain. Watching her struggle and grow reminds me that it’s okay to be different, and that real strength comes from embracing who you are, even when the world tries to tell you otherwise. One of the lines that sticks with me the most is from the song Defying Gravity: “It’s time to try defying gravity.” Every time I hear that, I feel like it’s speaking directly to me. I’ve had to defy a lot—health limitations, anxiety, self-doubt—but like Elphaba, I’ve found that I’m capable of more than I ever imagined. That message of resilience and transformation has helped me keep going, even on the hardest days. I love Wicked not just for the music and magic (though those are incredible), but because it celebrates the power of being different, the beauty of inner strength, and the importance of staying true to yourself. That’s a message I carry with me every day—and why I’ll always be a fan.

My name is Jude-Desiree "Harper" Boone, and I am a passionate, determined, and community-driven individual. Throughout my high school years, I’ve faced a variety of challenges, including living with chronic conditions like POTS and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, as well as managing anxiety. These obstacles have shaped me in ways that have taught me resilience, compassion, and the importance of perseverance. I’ve learned to not only face my challenges head-on but to use them as stepping stones for personal growth. I believe these qualities make me well-suited to receive this scholarship, as they align with my deep desire to make a meaningful impact in my community and beyond. In addition to overcoming my personal challenges, I’ve always been dedicated to giving back to my community. As a member of Key Club, I’ve worked on various projects that have ranged from organizing dress drives to beautifying my school grounds and supporting younger students in science projects. These experiences have shown me the power of small acts of kindness and how they can have a ripple effect on others. By contributing to my community, I’ve realized how deeply rewarding it is to help others—whether that’s through service, mentorship, or simply providing a supportive environment. One of my greatest passions is dance, which has provided me with a sense of identity and purpose throughout high school. As captain of my dance team, I learned the importance of leadership, teamwork, and fostering an inclusive, positive environment. I used my role as captain to encourage my teammates to push past their limits, build confidence, and support each other. Dance has given me a creative outlet and a way to express myself that I am incredibly grateful for, and I plan to continue pursuing it in college as I know how important it is for personal well-being and community building. I also aspire to use my education to make a positive impact on a larger scale. Whether through healthcare, advocacy, or public service, I am driven to create change that benefits others. I’ve always been drawn to forensic science, and I plan to pursue a career as a forensic pathologist. My goal is to give a voice to victims who can no longer speak for themselves and help bring closure and justice to families. Through this work, I hope to contribute to a society where justice is more accessible, and victims’ stories are never forgotten. This scholarship will allow me to pursue higher education, a step that is critical for achieving my long-term goals. College will equip me with the knowledge, skills, and experiences I need to make a tangible difference in my community and the world. I hope to use my education not only to further my career but also to continue my journey of self-improvement and service to others. By selecting me for this scholarship, you’re not just helping me achieve my academic dreams, but also empowering me to keep giving back to my community, pursue my passion for forensic science, and continue making a positive impact in the lives of others.

Living with anxiety, along with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, has shaped my journey in ways that I never could have predicted. Every day, I face a series of challenges, both physical and mental, that require me to navigate life with patience and perseverance. While these conditions can sometimes feel overwhelming, they have also given me the strength to push forward and the clarity to understand why pursuing a college degree is so important to me. Anxiety, especially, has been a constant companion in my life. At its worst, it can paralyze me, making even simple tasks feel like insurmountable obstacles. It’s often triggered by uncertainty, changes in routine, or stress, and it can affect my ability to focus and interact with others. On days when my anxiety spikes, it can be difficult to even leave the house, let alone keep up with schoolwork or personal commitments. But over time, I’ve learned how to manage my anxiety by recognizing my triggers and finding coping mechanisms that work for me, like grounding exercises and relying on my support network. One of the ways I’ve been able to keep going is by focusing on my passions, particularly dance. Dance has been my therapy, my escape, and my way of grounding myself. The physical movement allows me to focus on something other than my worries, and the creative expression lets me channel my emotions in a healthy way. Even on days when anxiety is heavy, dancing brings a sense of peace, helping me regain control when everything feels out of my grasp. It’s taught me the importance of self-care and resilience, and it’s one of the reasons why pursuing a college degree is so crucial to me. For me, college represents more than just an academic achievement—it’s a place where I can continue to grow, both personally and professionally. I’ve faced many obstacles, but I’ve never let them define me. Instead, they’ve motivated me to pursue a path that aligns with my passions and long-term goals. My health conditions may limit me in certain ways, but they’ve also pushed me to develop a strong sense of determination. I want to pursue a college degree to gain the skills and knowledge that will allow me to make a positive impact, especially in areas like healthcare, education, or advocacy, where I can use my experiences to help others facing similar struggles. Pursuing a degree will also allow me to take on new challenges, but with the added support and resources that college provides. I’m excited by the idea of being in an environment that encourages growth, offers opportunities to learn from diverse perspectives, and allows me to collaborate with others. In many ways, my health struggles have made me more resilient and better prepared to handle the ups and downs of college life. I’ve learned how to manage setbacks, stay organized despite challenges, and reach out for support when I need it. These skills will be invaluable as I move into the next chapter of my life. Ultimately, my experiences with anxiety and chronic illness have taught me that life is unpredictable, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less worth pursuing. College is important to me because it represents a chance to build the future I’ve always dreamed of, despite the hurdles I may face along the way. It’s an opportunity to learn, grow, and, most importantly, prove to myself that no challenge is too big to overcome.

For me, continuing my education is all about unlocking new opportunities and growing in ways I never imagined. I want to dive deeper into the subjects that interest me, gain the skills to help others, and use my education to make a difference. I’ve always felt connected to my home state of West Virginia, and I hope to use what I learn in college to give back to the community that’s shaped me. Education isn’t just a way to get a degree—it’s the foundation for making the world a better place, and I’m excited to take the next step in that journey. One of the things that has really shaped who I am is dance. Being on my high school’s dance team wasn’t just about learning new moves—it completely transformed me. Dance gave me a way to express myself, build confidence, and find a community that felt like family. It’s hard to explain, but there’s something so powerful about moving your body to music, and it became my go-to way of dealing with stress. Whether it was a tough school day or just a rough moment in life, dance was always there to lift me up. Being captain of the dance team my senior year was definitely one of the highlights. I loved the chance to lead and support my teammates, watching everyone grow in their own way. I made it a priority to create an environment where everyone felt comfortable, valued, and motivated to do their best. Seeing the team bond and improve together was so rewarding. It also taught me the importance of being a good leader—not just by giving orders, but by listening and encouraging others to shine. But dance wasn’t just about team spirit—it was also a way for me to cope with some of the tougher moments in my life. I deal with health challenges that can make day-to-day tasks feel overwhelming, but dance always gave me an outlet. On days when everything felt like too much, dance was my escape. It wasn’t just a hobby—it was a way for me to clear my mind, express how I was feeling, and reset. I honestly don’t know how I would have made it through some of those tough moments without it. When it comes to crime, I’ve been fortunate that it hasn’t impacted me directly, but it has shaped my career aspirations. I’ve always been interested in forensic science and have a deep desire to become a forensic pathologist. I want to be the voice for victims who can no longer speak for themselves. I believe that by uncovering the truth behind a person’s death, I can help bring justice to those who have been wronged and give closure to families. Forensic pathology blends my interest in science with a desire to make a real difference in the world, and I’m eager to pursue the education and training needed to follow this path. At the end of the day, art—especially dance—has been a huge part of my life. It’s given me the confidence to keep going, the joy of being part of something bigger than myself, and the ability to cope with challenges. I want to keep building on that by furthering my education and using it to help others. I’m ready for the next chapter, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me.

Throughout high school, my volunteer work has helped shape my goals for higher education and deepened my love for my home state of West Virginia. Through projects that serve others, I’ve gained a clearer understanding of the kind of person I want to become—someone who gives back, lifts others up, and works to strengthen the communities that raised them. As an active member of Key Club, I’ve participated in a wide range of service activities, each leaving a unique impact. One of the most meaningful was the Jefferson High School Dress Drive, where we collected homecoming and prom dresses, suits, accessories, and even interview clothing for students in need. Watching students light up as they found outfits that made them feel confident and included reminded me that true service preserves people’s dignity. That experience helped me understand how something small—a dress, a tie—can spark a sense of belonging and self-worth. It also inspired me to think about how I can continue creating opportunities for others, especially in areas like rural West Virginia, where access to resources can be limited. In another project, I helped plant flowers around our school grounds. While it may seem simple, this effort showed me how even small beautification projects can change the atmosphere of a place. Seeing students and teachers enjoy the bright, welcoming environment reminded me how much our surroundings affect how we feel. I began to think about how environment, wellness, and education are all connected—ideas I hope to explore more deeply in college through studies in public health or community development. One of the most rewarding aspects of my service work has been engaging with younger students. As part of National Honor Society and my science class, I visited local elementary schools to lead hands-on science projects. Watching the excitement and curiosity in those kids’ eyes reminded me how powerful education can be. It also helped me realize how much I enjoy mentoring and teaching—experiences that have made me consider how education might play a role in my future career, whether as a teacher, healthcare provider, or advocate. All of these experiences have shaped my belief in the importance of service, especially in my own state. West Virginia is more than just where I live—it’s home. It’s a place filled with resilient, hardworking people who care deeply about one another. Through volunteering, I’ve come to appreciate the unique challenges and strengths of our communities, and I’m determined to use my education to give back. Whether by improving access to health resources, supporting local schools, or starting new initiatives to empower youth, I want to use what I learn in college to strengthen the state that has given me so much. Volunteering has also helped me develop real-life skills like leadership, teamwork, and time management. But more than anything, it’s taught me that service is not just about helping others—it’s about growing alongside them. Each project has brought me closer to understanding who I am and what I value: community, kindness, and perseverance. I’m excited to pursue higher education not just to earn a degree, but to prepare for a life of purpose. I want to be someone who listens, who leads, and who brings hope—especially to places like West Virginia, where I see endless potential. My service experiences have shown me that change starts with those who care enough to act. I’m ready to take that next step.

As a dancer and student with POTS and Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, my journey on stage—and in the classroom—has been a constant exploration of resilience, where every step forward is a testament to my ability to overcome limitations. While my body may not always cooperate, my passion for dance has fueled my determination to find creative solutions and redefine what it means to be a dancer. Instead of being defined by my diagnosis, I’ve chosen to let it become a part of my strength. My dance training, coupled with my academic pursuits in subjects like anatomy and physiology, has given me a deeper understanding of the intricate workings of the human body. This knowledge hasn’t just helped me academically—it has become essential to managing my conditions in a thoughtful and proactive way. By learning how muscles, joints, and systems function (and malfunction), I’ve been able to build daily routines, adjust my training methods, and listen to my body with intention. This unique combination of dance and science has been incredibly empowering, transforming my challenges into tools for growth. But beyond managing my health and academics, I’ve had to navigate what it means to be a young woman in a world that still often places male voices and bodies at the forefront—whether on stage, in medicine, or in leadership. While dance is one of the few sports dominated by female participation, it’s still heavily influenced by male choreographers, directors, and traditional ideals of beauty and strength. Similarly, in classrooms and doctor’s offices, I’ve had to learn how to speak up, advocate for myself, and be taken seriously, even when my pain was invisible or misunderstood. These experiences have taught me that strength doesn’t always look like perfection or power—it looks like persistence. It looks like showing up to class even on days when standing feels like a victory. It looks like learning to say “no” when my body needs rest, even when my heart wants to keep going. It looks like rewriting the rules for what it means to be both a dancer and a young woman who leads with empathy and determination. Balancing my health, schoolwork, and training has taught me valuable lessons about time management, boundary-setting, and self-worth. I’ve learned how to create schedules that allow for flexibility and rest, how to communicate openly with teachers and peers, and how to measure success not by comparison but by personal progress. Each of these skills has helped me grow into a more confident, capable individual, both in and out of the spotlight. What I’ve found most powerful, though, is the sense of community I’ve built through vulnerability. By being honest about my conditions and sharing my experiences, I’ve connected with others facing similar struggles—especially other young women who are learning to own their voices and challenges. Through these connections, I’ve realized that our stories matter, and that the strength we build through adversity can ripple outward and inspire change in others. The support I received throughout high school—along with my own willingness to adapt and grow—has been paramount to my success on and off the stage. My journey has not been easy, but it has shaped me into someone who is resilient, compassionate, and unafraid to challenge norms. I am proud of who I am becoming: a stronger, more self-aware young woman ready to thrive in a world that often underestimates those who move differently, speak softly, or take their time to rise.