My name is Jeremy Jefferson, and I’m a kinesiology major at the University of Texas at Tyler. I’m someone who has always been fascinated by how the body works and how it can be strengthened, healed, and transformed—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. I’m also someone who navigates life with autism, which has shaped how I learn, how I connect with others, and how I see the world. My experience as a neurodiverse student and athlete is what drives my passion for becoming both a physical trainer and a chiropractor. Growing up, I often felt misunderstood in traditional classroom settings. But when I was on the basketball court or in the gym, everything made sense. Movement gave me clarity, focus, and a way to communicate without words. Over time, I discovered that this wasn’t just helpful for me—it could help others too. Whether it was teaching younger athletes how to stretch or sharing workout tips with friends, I began to realize that I had a gift for helping people connect with their bodies in meaningful ways. As I continued my education, I became even more passionate about physical therapy, rehabilitation, and injury prevention. I want to take that knowledge into a career where I can make a real difference—especially for communities that lack access to affordable health and wellness services. My long-term goal is to open a community-based wellness center that combines chiropractic care, physical training, and holistic education. I want it to be a space where people of all backgrounds—especially youth and neurodiverse individuals—can feel seen, supported, and empowered to take control of their health. Beyond the science and technique, my goal is to make healing personal. I believe that building trust and connection is just as important as building muscle or improving mobility. That’s why I also stay grounded in creative outlets like poetry and filmmaking. These hobbies help me express myself and understand the human experience in a deeper way. They also allow me to reach people who might not feel comfortable in traditional health spaces. Making a positive impact on my community means showing up with empathy, knowledge, and consistency. It means offering accessible resources, mentoring youth, and using my voice to promote awareness around neurodiversity, mental health, and physical wellness. I want to be someone who not only treats pain but helps prevent it—someone who listens, supports, and educates. In everything I do, I’m motivated by one goal: to help people feel strong in their bodies and confident in their lives. I know what it feels like to be overlooked or misunderstood, and I never want someone else to feel like they have to go through that alone. Through my future career, I hope to be a source of healing, resilience, and positive change for the communities I serve.

For most of my life, I saw myself as someone who had to navigate the world a little differently. As a person with autism, I often found it hard to connect with others in traditional ways. I communicated better through movement, creativity, and action rather than small talk or long conversations. For a long time, I struggled to find where I fit in. But everything began to change when I started using my talents—not just for myself, but for others in my community. One of the most impactful moments came during high school when I volunteered to lead warm-ups and stretch routines for the youth basketball league at my local recreation center. At first, I was nervous. I wasn’t sure if the kids would listen to me or if I could communicate clearly enough to guide them. But something happened the moment we got moving. As I demonstrated stretches and talked about injury prevention, posture, and teamwork, I saw the kids begin to engage—not just physically, but emotionally. They laughed, they asked questions, and they listened. Week after week, the bond between us grew. Some of them came from tough backgrounds—single-parent homes, financial struggles, or academic challenges. But on that court, none of that mattered. They showed up. They gave their best. And they looked up to me as someone who was helping them grow. What I realized is that giving back doesn’t require you to be perfect—it just requires you to show up with heart and consistency. That experience taught me that community is about shared effort. It’s about people showing up for one another, even in small ways. I didn’t just teach those kids how to stretch; they taught me how to believe in myself as a leader. They helped me realize that even though I might learn or think differently, I had something valuable to offer—and that my presence alone could inspire someone else. Since then, I’ve continued to stay involved in my community through fitness, poetry, and creative projects. I write and share poetry that speaks to mental health, self-acceptance, and growth. I’ve helped friends and peers start fitness routines and become more confident in their bodies. And through filmmaking, I tell stories that reflect the beauty, struggle, and resilience of people who often go unseen. Being part of a community has given me something I didn’t always have—hope. Hope that no matter what challenges I face, I’m not alone. Hope that connection isn’t just about words—it’s about action, presence, and compassion. And most importantly, hope that I can be part of a generation that makes things better for the next one. Now, as I pursue careers in physical training and chiropractic care, I carry that hope with me. I want to continue serving my community, using my knowledge and experience to help others move, heal, and believe in themselves. The future is never guaranteed, but with strong communities, it’s always possible.

Growing up, I was always fascinated by how the human body works—how it moves, heals, and adapts. But my journey toward a career in physical therapy didn’t begin in a classroom or clinic. It began with my own experiences: as a student with autism, as a passionate athlete, and as someone who found strength in creative expression and physical movement. As someone on the autism spectrum, I’ve always processed the world a little differently. Communication and learning didn’t always come through traditional means for me. But when I played basketball, everything clicked. On the court, I felt focused, connected, and empowered. Basketball taught me the importance of discipline, balance, and how the body can be a tool for both growth and healing. It also showed me how essential physical health is—not just for athletes, but for everyone. My interest in physical therapy was solidified as I began studying kinesiology at the University of Texas at Tyler. The more I learned about the body’s mechanics and rehabilitation, the more I realized this path was about more than just helping people recover from injuries—it was about giving people their confidence, mobility, and independence back. That idea inspired me deeply. What truly drives me is the opportunity to connect with people and improve their quality of life. I know firsthand how powerful it is when someone takes the time to understand your needs, to work with your body instead of against it, and to tailor a plan that supports your goals. I want to be that person for others—someone who not only treats physical pain but also helps people believe in their ability to heal and thrive. In addition to my academic focus, I spend my free time writing poetry, making films, and staying active through sports. These creative and physical outlets help me connect to myself and others, and I believe they also make me a more empathetic and well-rounded future therapist. Whether I’m writing, training, or planning a film project, I’m always thinking about how people express themselves, how they move, and how they grow. Ultimately, my dream is to become both a physical therapist and chiropractor who works not only in clinics but also in schools and underserved communities. I want to advocate for more movement-based learning in education and make physical wellness more accessible, especially for neurodiverse individuals like myself. Everyone deserves to understand their body, trust it, and know how to care for it—and I want to be part of making that happen. This journey is personal for me. I’m not just pursuing a career—I’m pursuing a purpose. And I’m ready to dedicate my life to helping others move, heal, and live fully.

Education has always been a major part of my life—not only as a student but also as someone who one day hopes to teach, mentor, and support others in their learning journey. If I could change anything in education, it would be how we recognize, support, and engage neurodiverse students and kinesthetic learners. Too often, the traditional classroom is built around a one-size-fits-all model that works best for auditory or visual learners, but neglects those of us who process the world differently. I speak from experience—not just as a kinesiology major passionate about the power of movement and physical learning, but also as someone with autism. Growing up, school didn’t always feel like a place where I could thrive. While I could understand the content, the delivery didn’t always match the way I learned best. I needed hands-on experiences, movement, structure, and clear communication. I often felt like I had to work twice as hard just to keep up in a system that wasn’t built for me. Over time, I learned to advocate for myself. I leaned into my strengths—discipline, focus, empathy, and creativity—and began finding ways to make education work for me. I discovered the power of poetry as a form of self-expression, basketball as a way to stay physically engaged and develop leadership skills, and filmmaking as a means of storytelling and communication. These hobbies helped me stay grounded and helped me see that everyone learns in different ways—they just need the right environment and support. If education were more inclusive of diverse learning styles, especially kinesthetic learners like myself, I believe more students would thrive. In my vision for a better educational system, movement-based learning would be embedded into everyday lessons, not just physical education. Students would have opportunities to walk, stretch, or move around while learning core subjects, and this would be seen not as a distraction, but as an asset to their learning. Educators would be trained to understand how autism and other forms of neurodiversity affect learning—and not from a deficit perspective, but from a strengths-based one. My goal is to become both a physical trainer and a chiropractor. These professions go beyond the classroom, but they are rooted in education. Every time I help someone understand how their body works or how to prevent injury, I am teaching. Every time I connect with a client who may feel discouraged or disconnected from their body, I have a chance to make a difference. And I know from my own experience that many people just need to be taught in a way that fits their unique style—whether that’s through demonstration, hands-on experience, or creative expression. If I could design a school or program, it would have flexible seating, standing desks, and space for movement. Lessons would be designed around physical examples and community-based projects. Students would be encouraged to express themselves through art, writing, film, and physical activity—not just through tests and worksheets. Most importantly, teachers would be trained not just in content knowledge but in understanding how to connect with and support students who learn differently. No student should have to feel broken because the system doesn’t fit them. Being someone with autism has never held me back—it’s simply given me a different lens through which to see the world. That lens helps me connect more deeply with people who feel like outsiders or who haven’t found their place in the system yet. Whether I’m writing poetry, training someone in the gym, or helping an athlete recover through chiropractic care, I always approach people with empathy and patience. I believe educators and future educators must lead with understanding. That’s how real learning happens. In the future, I hope to work in schools and community spaces to promote physical health, wellness, and neurodiversity awareness. I want students to know that they are not alone and that their way of learning is valid. I want to use my story—my challenges, my growth, and my passions—to encourage others to stay motivated and to see that success doesn’t have to look the same for everyone. If we change education to better support all learners—especially those who are often overlooked—we change lives. We help students find their confidence. We reduce dropout rates. We empower future leaders. That’s why I’m committed to becoming an educator who doesn’t just teach, but listens, adapts, and believes in every student’s potential.