Technology has always been a part of my life. As early as 2, I was playing educational CD games on my dad’s old Dell computer. I learned to read both English and Spanish at 3, and began the 1st grade at 5 immediately after finishing pre-K. I got my first cellphone at 9 and my own bulky hand-me-down computer at 13. I graduated high school at 16, became a published writer at 17, and got my degree in graphic design at 18. My parents were really big into using technology to mold me into some sort of genius. And for a long time, that’s who I thought I was. A genius. Yet at the age of 4, I began throwing up almost every day before school. By the time I entered high school, I had become nervous about everything: raising my hand in class, going to a new place alone, answering a phone call, ordering food at a restaurant— everything. It impacted my class participation greatly, and it held me back from doing so many things I wanted to do. But technology, once again, played an important role in my life. I remember bringing my dad’s GPS with me when I took my SATs because I was so scared I’d lose my way home on the subway. To attend an after-school program, I printed out step-by-step directions from MapQuest with pictures from Google Earth just to ensure I wouldn’t make a wrong turn. I’d rehearse what to say to cashiers, teachers, waiters, everyone. As I learned to cope with these feelings and push through the fears, years passed. Just when I thought I had conquered them, a trip in 2018 changed my life completely. A bad bout of food poisoning created an infection that left me with a chronic incurable gastrointestinal disorder, exacerbating my already fragile gut. The next year, I was also diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and a stomach ulcer. I have since undergone 8 surgeries and procedures, and I continue taking medication and following a strict diet. Naturally, as time went on, I began to question whether or not I’d ever be “normal” again, if my health would ever improve. But I finally decided that I was never truly “normal” anyway—I was a genius, right? And so, I asked myself if that little genius girl was still there. That little girl who sat at the computer for hours, learning literature, while everyone else was on LimeWire. Had she been hiding under all that anxiety? Was she limiting herself to just her illnesses? Could she embrace them instead? And, by doing so, could she help others experiencing the same fears and debilitations? And thus was born my interest in pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology, with a concentration in child and adolescent development. Before enrolling in the program, I once again turned to technology to become self-taught in all things related to my health. I learned what functional disorders are and what cognitive behavioral therapy is— all using scientific journal articles and wellness platforms. I am a big advocate for the continued use of technology to aid neurodivergent people, creating spaces to do talk therapy, journaling, breathing, etc. Through the opportunities offered by STEAM programs, I want people to know that their health is more important than they imagine. I want them to know that technology can be useful for people with anxious and intrusive thoughts. These thoughts don’t have to be so loud that they silence their self-esteem. Even with fear embedded in every step, we can dare to be everything our brain tells us is impossible.

I grew up thinking I was a "genius." Well, at least that’s what my parents thought I was. I began walking at 9 months of age and learned to read English and Spanish at the age of 3. When I finished preschool, I was sent to first grade while all my buddies entered kindergarten. From then on, I was always a year younger than everyone else, remaining in gifted classes, graduating high school at 16, becoming a published writer at 17, and getting my associates degree in art & design at 18. You’d think I was set for life, on my way to becoming an architect or something. But at the age of 4, I began throwing up almost every day before school. By the time I entered high school, the vomiting had subsided, but the anxiety only increased. I became nervous about everything: raising my hand in class, going to a new place alone, answering a phone call, ordering food at a restaurant— everything. I remember I brought my dad’s GPS with me when I took my SATs because I was so scared I’d lose my way while going home on the subway. To attend an after-school program in my senior year, I even printed out step-by-step directions with pictures from Google Earth just to ensure I wouldn’t make a single wrong turn. I’d rehearse what to say to cashiers, teachers, everyone. I truly envied people who could just speak up whenever and to whomever they wanted. This isn’t to say I was a loner with no social skills and no friends. By nature, I am a very social person and I enjoy getting to know people. I had a lot of friends in high school and still do to this day. But it would take extreme physical and mental effort to get comfortable encountering new people and new surroundings. Because of this, art class became my safe haven. It was a place where I could work with familiar tools from my childhood like paint and paper, distract myself from intrusive thoughts, and be proud of what I could create. My friends and family would always tell me I was good at art, and this encouraged me even more. At the same time, I excelled at writing, and kept journals of poems, songs, and sketches. Teachers marveled at my work. I felt like I was finally coping with my anxious thoughts and letting my creativity shine through. On a trip in 2018, though, my life changed completely. A bad bout of food poisoning created an infection that left me with a chronic gastrointestinal disorder. The next year, I was also diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and a stomach ulcer. I have since undergone 8 surgeries and procedures; I continue taking medication and follow a strict diet. Nothing has exacerbated my anxiety more than my decline in physical health. Surprisingly, I now yearn for the times in which I would throw up before school. Everything seemed so simple then. As time went on, though, I began to question whether or not I’d ever be “normal” again, if my health would ever improve. But I finally decided that I was never truly “normal” anyway— I was a "genius," right? And so, after years of working in higher education and helping other people obtain their degrees, I asked myself if that little genius girl was still there. Had she been hiding under all that anxiety? Was she limiting herself to just her illnesses? Could she embrace them instead and, by doing so, could she help children and teens experiencing the same fears and debilitations? And thus was born my interest in pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology, with a concentration on child and adolescent development. I want to learn why my young brain was so high strung, why the world felt so scary, why a little girl like me from a loving family was so insecure. Studying human development will allow me to understand my past but also shape my future and that of others. I’ve learned there is no cure for my chronic conditions, so I have no other choice than to just keep fighting with the three Fs: faith, family, and friends. That’s why I want gifted youth to know that anxious and intrusive thoughts don’t have to be so loud that they silence their self-esteem. Illnesses do not make them weird or weak. They don’t make them inferior or unworthy. We are stronger, more resilient, and empowered because of them. And we fulfill our highest calling when we use that to help others. This is what I do now as a part-time case manager for immigrant students, helping them to access the resources they need to achieve their dreams and win their fight. The world can be scary, yes, relationships can be difficult, but we can reach an understanding of ourselves and each other, and we can still reach our goals and aspire to be more. This is what I will do if I am a recipient of this scholarship: maintain an unwavering commitment to wellness, growth, and healing.

I grew up thinking I was a "genius." Well, at least that’s what my parents thought I was. I began walking at 9 months of age and learned to read English and Spanish at the age of 3. When I finished preschool, I was sent to first grade while all my buddies entered kindergarten. From then on, I was always a year younger than everyone else, remaining in gifted classes, graduating high school at 16, becoming a published writer at 17, and getting my associates degree in art & design at 18. You’d think I was set for life, on my way to becoming an architect or something. But at the age of 4, I began throwing up almost every day before school. By the time I entered high school, the vomiting had subsided, but the anxiety only increased. I became nervous about everything: raising my hand in class, going to a new place alone, answering a phone call, ordering food at a restaurant— everything. I remember I brought my dad’s GPS with me when I took my SATs because I was so scared I’d lose my way while going home on the subway. To attend an after-school program in my senior year, I even printed out step-by-step directions with pictures from Google Earth just to ensure I wouldn’t make a single wrong turn. I’d rehearse what to say to cashiers, teachers, everyone. I truly envied people who could just speak up whenever and to whomever they wanted. This isn’t to say I was a loner with no social skills and no friends. By nature, I am a very social person and I enjoy getting to know people. I had a lot of friends in high school and still do to this day. But it would take extreme physical and mental effort to get comfortable encountering new people and new surroundings. Because of this, art class became my safe haven. It was a place where I could work with familiar tools from my childhood like paint and paper, distract myself from intrusive thoughts, and be proud of what I could create. My friends and family would always tell me I was good at art, and this encouraged me even more. At the same time, I excelled at writing, and kept journals of poems, songs, and sketches. Teachers marveled at my work. I felt like I was finally coping with my anxious thoughts and letting my creativity shine through. On a trip in 2018, though, my life changed completely. A bad bout of food poisoning created an infection that left me with a chronic gastrointestinal disorder. The next year, I was also diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and a stomach ulcer. I have since undergone 8 surgeries and procedures; I continue taking medication and follow a strict diet. Nothing has exacerbated my anxiety more than my decline in physical health. Surprisingly, I now yearn for the times in which I would throw up before school. Everything seemed so simple then. As time went on, though, I began to question whether or not I’d ever be “normal” again, if my health would ever improve. But I finally decided that I was never truly “normal” anyway— I was a "genius," right? And so, after years of working in higher education and helping other people obtain their degrees, I asked myself if that little genius girl was still there. Had she been hiding under all that anxiety? Was she limiting herself to just her illnesses? Could she embrace them instead and, by doing so, could she help children and teens experiencing the same fears and debilitations? And thus was born my interest in pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology, with a concentration on child and adolescent development. I want to learn why my young brain was so high strung, why the world felt so scary, why a little girl like me from a loving family was so insecure. Studying human development will allow me to understand my past but also shape my future and that of others. I’ve learned there is no cure for my chronic conditions, so I have no other choice than to just keep fighting with the three Fs: faith, family, and friends. That’s why I want gifted youth to know that anxious and intrusive thoughts don’t have to be so loud that they silence their self-esteem. Illnesses do not make them weird or weak. They don’t make them inferior or unworthy. We are stronger, more resilient, and empowered because of them. And we fulfill our highest calling when we use that to help others. This is what I do now as a part-time case manager for immigrant students, helping them to access the resources they need to achieve their dreams and win their fight. And with this scholarship, I can continue doing so: helping myself and others become a testament to the first-generation college student opportunity and accomplishment, an unwavering commitment to human and family wellness, success, and health healing.

I grew up thinking I was a genius. Well, at least that’s what my parents thought I was. I began walking at 9 months of age and learned to read English and Spanish at the age of 3. When I finished preschool, I was sent to first grade while all my buddies entered kindergarten. From then on, I was always a year younger than everyone else, graduating high school at 16, becoming a published writer at 17, and getting my associates degree in art & design at 18. You’d think I was set for life, on my way to becoming an architect or something. But at the age of 4, I began throwing up almost every day before school. By the time I entered high school, the vomiting had subsided, but the anxiety only increased. I became nervous about anything and everything that felt unfamiliar, changed my routine, or required me to speak out loud. This isn’t to say I was a loner with no social skills and no friends. By nature, I am a very social person and I enjoy getting to know people. But it would take extreme physical and mental effort to get comfortable encountering new people and new surroundings. On a trip in 2018, though, my life changed completely. A bad bout of food poisoning created an infection that left me with a chronic gastrointestinal disorder. The next year, I was also diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and a stomach ulcer. I have since undergone 8 surgeries and procedures; I continue taking medication and follow a strict diet. Nothing has exacerbated my anxiety more than a debilitating, unpredictable condition. As time went on, I began to question whether or not I’d ever be “normal” again, if my health would ever improve. But I finally decided that I was never truly “normal” anyway— I was a genius, right? And so, after years of working in higher education and helping other people obtain their degrees, I asked myself if that little genius girl was still there. Had she been hiding under all that anxiety? Was she limiting herself to just her illnesses? Could she embrace them instead? And, by doing so, could she become an inspiration to children experiencing the same fears and debilitations? And thus was born my interest in pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology, with a concentration in child and adolescent development. I want to learn why my young brain was so high strung, why the world felt so scary, why a little girl like me from a loving family was so insecure. Studying human development will allow me to understand my past but also shape my future self. I’ve learned there is no cure for my chronic conditions, so I have no other choice than to just keep fighting. That’s why I want kids to know that anxious and intrusive thoughts don’t have to be so loud that they silence their self-esteem. I want them to know that illnesses do not make them weird or weak. They don’t make them inferior or unworthy. And there’s no shame in being scared. Everyone gets scared. Even with fear embedded in every step, we can dare to be everything our brain tells us is impossible. Little by little, we can take strides of confidence—because the driving force behind a daring spirit has always been a dash of fear.

I grew up thinking I was a genius. Well, at least that’s what my parents thought I was. I began walking at 9 months of age and learned to read English and Spanish at the age of 3. When I finished preschool, I was sent to first grade while all my buddies entered kindergarten. From then on, I was always a year younger than everyone else, graduating high school at 16, becoming a published writer at 17, and getting my associates degree in art & design at 18. You’d think I was set for life, on my way to becoming an architect or something. But at the age of 4, I began throwing up almost every day before school. By the time I entered high school, the vomiting had subsided, but the anxiety only increased. I became nervous about anything and everything that felt unfamiliar, changed my routine, or required me to speak out loud. This isn’t to say I was a loner with no social skills and no friends. By nature, I am a very social person and I enjoy getting to know people. But it would take extreme physical and mental effort to get comfortable encountering new people and new surroundings. On a trip in 2018, though, my life changed completely. A bad bout of food poisoning created an infection that left me with a chronic gastrointestinal disorder. The next year, I was also diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and a stomach ulcer. I have since undergone 8 surgeries and procedures; I continue taking medication and follow a strict diet. Nothing has exacerbated by long-time anxiety more than a debilitating, unpredictable condition, forcing me to map out bathrooms everywhere I travel beforehand to feel safe. As time went on, though, I began to question whether or not I’d ever be “normal” again, if my health would ever improve. But I finally decided that I was never truly “normal” anyway— I was a genius, right? And so, after years of working in higher education and helping other people obtain their degrees, I asked myself if that little genius girl was still there. Had she been hiding under all that anxiety? Was she limiting herself to just her illnesses? Could she embrace them instead? And, by doing so, could she help others experiencing the same fears and debilitations? And thus was born my interest in pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology, with a concentration in child and adolescent development. I want to learn why my young brain was so anxious, why the world felt so scary, why a little girl like me from a loving family was so insecure. Studying human development will allow me to understand my past but also shape my future self and that of others. I’ve learned there is no cure for my chronic conditions, so I have no other choice than to just keep fighting. Thats why attending college is so important to me as a 28-year-old woman. I have been through (and continue going through) severe lapses of disability, but knowing that despite my physical ailments, I can maintain a 3.9 GPA, just keeps me motivated to finally be able to accomplish something I never thought I would. In my career, I want people to know that anxious and intrusive thoughts don’t have to be so loud that they silence their self-esteem. I want them to know that illnesses do not make them weird or weak. They don’t make them inferior or unworthy. Even with fear embedded in every step, we can dare to be everything our brain tells us is impossible.

I grew up thinking I was a genius. Well, at least that’s what my parents thought I was. I began walking at 9 months of age and learned to read English and Spanish at the age of 3. When I finished preschool, I was sent to first grade while all my buddies entered kindergarten. From then on, I was always a year younger than everyone else, graduating high school at 16, becoming a published writer at 17, and getting my associates degree in art & design at 18. You’d think I was set for life. But at the age of 4, I began throwing up almost every day before school. By the time I entered high school, the vomiting had subsided, but the anxiety only increased. I became nervous about anything and everything that felt unfamiliar, changed my routine, or required me to speak out loud. This isn’t to say I was a loner with no social skills and no friends. By nature, I am a very social person and I enjoy getting to know people. But it would take extreme physical and mental effort to get comfortable encountering new people and new surroundings. On a trip in 2018, though, my life changed completely. A bad bout of food poisoning created an infection that left me with a chronic gastrointestinal disorder. The next year, I was also diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and a stomach ulcer. I have since undergone 8 surgeries and procedures; I continue taking medication and follow a strict diet. Nothing has exacerbated my anxiety more than a debilitating, unpredictable condition. As time went on, though, I began to question whether or not I’d ever be “normal” again, if my health would ever improve. But I finally decided that I was never truly “normal” anyway— I was a genius, right? And so, after years of working in higher education and helping other people obtain their degrees, I asked myself if that little genius girl was still there. Had she been hiding under all that anxiety? Was she limiting herself to just her illnesses? Could she embrace them instead? And, by doing so, could she become help children and adolescents experiencing the same fears and debilitations? And thus was born my interest in pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology, with a concentration in child and adolescent development, hoping to go into young adult healthcare, specially in counseling. I want to learn why my young brain was so high strung, why the world felt so scary, why a little girl like me from a loving family was so insecure. Studying human development will allow me to understand my past but also shape my future self and that of others. I’ve learned there is no cure for my chronic conditions, so I have no other choice than to just keep fighting. That’s why I want youth to know that anxious and intrusive thoughts don’t have to be so loud that they silence their self-esteem. I want them to know that illnesses do not make them weird or weak. They don’t make them inferior or unworthy. And there’s no shame in being scared. Everyone gets scared. Even with fear embedded in every step, we can dare to be everything our brain tells us is impossible.

I’m Jessica and I have had chronic gut disease for almost 5 years, and anxiety disorder for over 20 years. I am an artist, educator, and aspiring children’s book author. This is my story: I grew up thinking I was a genius. Well, at least that’s what my parents thought I was. I began walking at 9 months of age and learned to read English and Spanish at the age of 3. When I finished preschool, I was sent to first grade while all my buddies entered kindergarten. From then on, I was always a year younger than everyone else, graduating high school at 16, becoming a published writer at 17, and getting my associates degree in art & design at 18. You’d think I was set for life, on my way to becoming an architect or something. But at the age of 4, I began throwing up almost every day before school. I became anxious about anything and everything that felt unfamiliar, changed my routine, or required me to speak out loud. This isn’t to say I was a loner with no social skills and no friends. I am a very social person and I enjoy getting to know people. But it would take extreme physical and mental effort to get comfortable encountering new people and new surroundings. I did not stop vomiting before school until the 8th grade. That was a big accomplishment in my life. In 2018, though, my life changed completely. I was diagnosed with a chronic gastrointestinal disorder and the next year, I was diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis and gastritis/ulcers. I have since undergone 8 surgeries and procedures; I continue taking medication and follow a strict diet. Rightly, I began to question whether or not I’d ever be “normal” again, if my health would ever improve. But I finally decided that I was never truly “normal” anyway— I was a genius, right? And so, after years of fear, I asked myself if that little genius girl was still there. Had she been hiding under all that anxiety? Was she limiting herself to just her illnesses? Could she embrace them instead and, by doing so, help children experiencing the same fears and debilitations? Thus was born my interest in pursuing a bachelor’s degree in developmental psychology. I want to learn why my young brain was so high strung, why the world felt so scary, why a little girl like me from a loving family was so insecure. Sure—you might say I did well despite my obstacles, but I don’t want to just appear strong on paper. I want to FEEL strong. I’ve learned there is no cure for my chronic conditions, so I have no other choice than to keep fighting. That’s why I want kids to know that anxious and intrusive thoughts don’t have to be so loud that they silence their self-esteem. This is why I’ve created positive art spaces online, to share things that I might not be confident enough to say aloud, and to feel like the boss I want to be, selling my illustrations to others. This is also why I’ve written a children’s book about self-esteem and friendship. I want kids to know that illnesses don’t make them weird or weak. They don’t make them inferior or unworthy. There’s no shame in being scared. Everyone gets scared. Even with fear embedded in every step, we can dare to be everything our brain tells us is impossible. Little by little, we can take strides of confidence—because the driving force behind a daring spirit has always been a dash of fear.

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