Homelessness. Domestic violence. Extreme poverty. Sexual harassment. These are things I have overcome. While my journey to feeling empowered again is not linear, I have accomplished a lot so far—I am a first-generation college graduate and a future Master’s degree holder. Because of my traumas, I see how women can be beaten and bruised, be it at the hands of another human or metaphorically. I advocate for women, especially those who need to be empowered but more needs to be done. First and foremost—women need to be validated. We need to be heard, and we need to be believed. I sometimes carry guilt on my shoulders because of the sexual harassment and times I have been taken advantage of. When I did speak up, I told a college professor via Facebook messenger and included screenshots of a conversation between my abuser and me. But I was left on “read” by a woman. While years have passed, I still carry the guilt, but instead of focusing on what didn’t change, I can now focus on being there for other women now. While there are amazing resources available to women, there should be a focus on free and accessible resources for women in underserved communities. For example, the Centers for Disease Control reports that Black mothers are more likely to experience stillbirths due to racial disparities. Resources like the National Birth Equity Collaborative alleviates these issues by changing policies and offering help. Many women are the backbone of our agricultural industry, working tirelessly in necessary fields, plucking and pruning so the rest of the country can eat. They often don’t have resources other women do, like access to healthcare and low-income housing. Organizations like Lideres Campesinas, based in California, advocate for women in the industry. When talking about women, we also need a focus on trans women, especially in the Black community. According to the Human Rights Campaign, there have been over 10 trans individuals have been murdered. This is an outrageous truth, and I hope there are future policies in place to protect them better. All women should feel empowered. All women should wear what they want, date who they want, and be who they want, without fear of exile, homelessness, death, or trauma. I vow always to support women. I vow to find ways to volunteer for and support organizations that support women. We must stand together.

I attended kindergarten through eighth grade in a two-room schoolhouse in an impoverished area of rural northern California. My kindergarten through third-grade teacher, Professor McKay, was not only my godfather but my favorite educator-- he taught me how to follow my passions, have fun and stay true to myself—all things that saved my life. I’m a domestic violence survivor. I’ve been homeless. I’ve tried to end my own life. I fought to overcome my traumas and became a first-generation college graduate in 2017. Because of my godfather, Mr. McKay, I was able to keep fighting, despite losing him in 2008. I grew up in a very impoverished home in northern California, population 200. My first friend in the world was Billy, Mr. McKay’s son. I lived in a single-wide trailer, and we rarely had running water or food other than stovetop ramen. My parents did the best they could, but it was always a wonderful escape to go to Billy’s home. We had sleepovers, built forts, and ate yummy food. Some of my fondest memories were playing hide-and-seek on his family’s property, a gorgeous 20 acres with a hand-built wooden cabin and a lush garden. Mr. McKay encouraged all of his students to think outside the box, literally! He would give us cardboard boxes, and we were instructed to build tiny homes with them. He encouraged us to get creative and make small furniture with extra cardboard and paint the walls. He would bring in computer parts and look at them through a magnifying glass to inspect them; then, we would use the pieces to build a new creation. Not only did he instill a sense of creativity in me, but he also planted the “writer” seed in me, partly because of his funny writing prompts in class. “When Barbie Meets Godzilla,” he scribbled on the chalkboard one day, prompting us to write a story. In 2004, Mr. McKay was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and underwent numerous surgeries, ultimately losing parts of his neck and tongue as the cancer spread. In 2008, while I was in high school, he passed away peacefully in his sleep. My favorite person in the world was gone. I missed several days of school, spiraling into a deep depression. But I realized I could continue Willie’s legacy if I stayed true to myself, finished high school, and went on to college. During my college years, I suffered through three years of domestic violence and homelessness once I fled from the relationship. I tried to end my own life because of the depression that consumed me, but one evening as I was reorganizing my car, I found a book Mr. McKay had given me when I was little. Inside, he had written, “Keep writing.” It was a message he told me repeatedly when I was young, and I cried myself to sleep that night, thinking over a plan on how to survive. So, I moved in with my family, enrolled in online classes, and transferred to California State University, Sacramento, a few years later, ready to start my journalism career. Because of him, I am strong, fearless and I stay true to myself. I will continue Mr. McKay’s legacy. I am due to begin graduate classes at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, and I owe my journey to Mr. McKay. He would be very proud of me.

I’m a domestic violence survivor. I’ve been homeless. I’ve tried to end my own life. But I fought to overcome my traumas, and I became a first-generation college graduate in 2017. Because of my godfather Willie, I was able to keep fighting, despite losing him in 2008. He taught me how to follow my passions, have fun and stay true to myself—all things that saved my life. I grew up in a very impoverished home in northern California, population 200. My first friend in the world was Billy, Willie’s son. I lived in a single-wide trailer, and we rarely had running water or food other than stovetop ramen. My parents did the best they could, but it was always a wonderful escape to go to Billy’s home. We had sleepovers, built forts, and ate yummy food. Some of my fondest memories were playing hide-and-seek on his family’s property, a gorgeous 20 acres with a hand-built wooden cabin and a lush garden. Not only was Willie my godfather, but he was my kindergarten through third-grade teacher in the two-room schoolhouse I attended. Willie encouraged all of his students to think outside the box, literally! He would give us cardboard boxes, and we were instructed to build tiny homes with them. He encouraged us to get creative and make small furniture with extra cardboard and paint the walls. He would bring in computer parts and enable us to look at them through a magnifying glass to inspect them; then, we would use the pieces to build a new creation. Not only did he instill a sense of creativity in me, but he also planted the “writer” seed in me, partly because of his funny writing prompts during the English portion of our classes. “When Barbie Meets Godzilla,” he scribbled on the chalkboard one day, prompting us to write a story about how that would play out. In 2004, Willie was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and underwent numerous surgeries, ultimately losing parts of his neck and tongue as the cancer spread. In 2008, while I was in high school, he passed away peacefully in his sleep. When the phone rang the next day, I felt it deep down in my soul; it was his wife letting us know he was gone. My mom and I held each other for a very long time, sobbing. My guidepost was gone. My favorite person in the world was gone. I missed several days of school, spiraling into a deep depression. But I realized I could continue Willie’s legacy if I stayed true to myself, finished high school, and went on to college. During my college years, I suffered through three years of domestic violence and homelessness once I fled from the relationship. I tried to end my own life because of the depression that consumed me, but one evening as I was reorganizing my car, I found a book Willie had given me when I was little. Inside, he had written, “Keep writing.” It was a message he told me repeatedly when I was young, and I cried myself to sleep that night, thinking over a plan on how to survive. So, I moved in with my family, enrolled in online classes, and transferred to California State University, Sacramento, a few years later, ready to start my journalism career. I became a first-generation college graduate in 2017. I had a photo of Willie attached to my graduation cap. Because of Willie, I grew into the person I am today. I am strong, fearless and I stay true to myself. I have remained focused on my writing and creative side, something I would never have adopted if it weren’t for Willie. I will continue Willie’s legacy and encourage others to have fun and follow their passions.

I'm a domestic violence survivor. I've been homeless. Once, I tried to take my own life. But I am proud to be a survivor; I am proud to be a fighter. I am a strong LGBTQIA+ woman, and I will continue telling my story and uplifting others. Instagram: @jessnhice Twitter: @jess_hice Work: @DisabilityCA

I'm a domestic violence survivor. I've been homeless. Once, I tried to take my own life. I persevered through my past traumas and became a first-generation college graduate in 2017. Now, I have the opportunity to attend a year-long graduate program in Scotland—a dream come true. I feel lucky to be where I am now. In hindsight, I survived these experiences because of my moxie, coincidentally, the name of my favorite film. Netflix's Moxie, directed by Amy Poehler, is a recent discovery. It's a new coming of age film based on a group of high-school students going against the status quo, standing up for women's rights, and learning to support each other. Although I'm not in high school, I felt so close to the women in this film because, like them, once I began to open up about my traumas, I was able to start the process of healing. Healing is not linear, I have my good days, and I have my bad days. But I am thankful for every day that I'm alive, and I am looking forward to my future. Like the Moxie characters, I understand the importance of uplifting others, and I will continue to do so forever. I have the opportunity to attend the University of St. Andrews in Scotland to pursue a career as a museum director. I want to highlight diverse artists, increase inclusivity, create safe environments for all people; I would also love to create scholarship opportunities for low-income and BIPOC communities. I will continue celebrating my moxie while encouraging others to keep their head high. There is always hope.

I've learned the most through my past roles in life: Domestic abuse survivor. Homeless individual. Suicide attempt survivor. But most importantly, the roles I obtained by persevering: Newspaper reporter. Activist. Artist. First-generation college graduate. Through my most recent roles, I found myself looking for stories and clients that aligned with my morals and ideals—uplifting underrepresented communities. As I embark on a new journey to get a Master's degree, I'm hoping to get more involved with disability activism through museum exhibitions and community outreach. My biggest dream is to create an art exhibition showcasing artists with disabilities, whether they are performance artists, visual storytellers, or wordsmiths. There's a saying in the disability community that is "nothing about us without us.” In creating an exhibition, I won't just showcase those with disabilities but also encourage people within the disability community to join me in the planning and implementation stages. This idea is a creation from my life thus far—growing up in an impoverished home, suffering through domestic violence, and being homeless. It is also a culmination of my undergraduate degree and employment history. I grew up in a severely impoverished home in rural Northern California, with rarely running water or meals other than stovetop ramen. I graduated from high school and 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, to pursue general education courses at a local community college. I worked as a marketing assistant at a local non-profit dedicated to helping those experiencing homelessness. Little did I know, I'd soon be in a situation mirroring theirs. After four years, including a brief period of homelessness and the pain of bruised ribs from an unhealthy relationship, I packed my bags for home, sure I would find my path soon. In 2014, I enrolled in my very first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I also began studying art as my minor, intrigued by art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought out internships at local newspapers where I reported on art, culture, politics, and education. I became the first person in my family to graduate from college three years later. Since graduation, I have worked as a communications specialist for a protection and advocacy agency, advancing people with disabilities' rights. This rewarding work has also allowed me to see the ableism that our world seems to accept—discrimination in favor of "able-bodied" people. This includes portraying a person with autism in a music video without hiring someone with autism, buildings without braille on signs, or depicting a person with limb differences in a movie who is the "evil villain" character. Almost everyone will experience life phases with a disability, whether momentarily after surgery, experiences with mental health issues, or pregnancy. Beginning September 2021, I will be attending the University of St. Andrews in Scotland (pinch me) as a Master's student, studying Museum and Gallery Studies. When I have obtained my degree and started work as an art curator or executive director at a museum, I would love to make my dream exhibition a reality. There will be a multi-genre exhibition, with dance floors, audio-visual rooms, and art featured in a frame. There will be braille offered in each room. Someone at each painting or performance available to describe each movement and form, or headphones will be available with pre-recorded information. This will be an experience intended to celebrate inclusion and encourage the rest of the museum world (and outside world) to cast away regular scheduled ableism and celebrate all communities. But I don't want to stop there; I hope to continue exhibitions honoring those with disabilities and support and uplift the community, always.

I've been homeless. I've been a victim of domestic violence. During 2020, I had to face my past traumas head-on, something I have failed to do for almost a decade. The usual distractions or ways to ease my anxieties—an evening at the movie theater, lunchtime walks at work, meeting up with friends and family for dinner; were suddenly gone. I was faced with a decision—to ignore my traumas and sink or heal? I learned so much in 2020 that I will carry into 2021 and beyond. In 2009, I left my rural northern California home, population 200, to live in San Diego with my then-boyfriend. A few weeks after we moved into our apartment, he began to verbally and physically abuse me. I suffered through three years of this, sometimes maintaining the distance between myself and friends or family because those were my boyfriend's wishes. My anxieties became full-force, causing me to fail classes and miss work—we were already living paycheck to paycheck, so finances were even tighter. There were times when I battled depression and thoughts of suicide, once attempting to take my own life. The last night we were together, my boyfriend forcibly kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks. Hope was all I had. In 2014, I enrolled in journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I chose art as my minor, focusing on art history and jewelry making. I landed well sought-out internships at The Sacramento Bee and Capitol Weekly. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. A few weeks later, I packed my Subaru and traveled to Indiana to work as a summer reporting intern for the USA Today network. Since then, I have been working in California as a freelance reporter and working full-time as a communications professional. In November 2019, I was offered a spot to study Museum and Gallery Studies at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland in September 2021. But the pandemic hit, stealing my sunshine. While struggling with a new way of living in 2020 and wondering what 2021 had in store, my PTSD and anxieties kept creeping in. I had previously only been to a few therapy sessions, and after I was diagnosed, I thought I could take care of myself and didn't need anything else. But quarantine changed that. I was forced to see my past traumas for what they were; horrible and damaging. I was forced to see how they had taken a toll on me. It was a strange process to have distractions as my coping mechanism to suddenly not having any. But I eventually began to focus on taking care of myself, truly. Working from home was a much-needed break from hours of driving through traffic each day, and I was able to appreciate the outdoors more. I researched ways to cope with and discovered things that make me happy. I edited my Pinterest boards to include happy and funny things; I downloaded a "motivation" app on my phone to see inspirational quotes when I am feeling down. I purchased a humidifier and essential oils for my apartment to smell lavender and vanilla in stressful times. This past year, there has been a lot of loss. But what I will remember most is seeing communities come together; drive-through celebrations, front porch photography, and a genuine appreciation for your neighbors. I will never again take a hug or a handshake for granted, and I have learned to appreciate family phone calls and roommate game nights more. Moving forward, I have vowed to continue taking care of myself and staying positive in the face of change. If I can travel to Scotland for school, I will soak in as much travel, education, and culture as possible; life is fleeting, and we have no idea what the future holds. I will make the most of every situation.

Homelessness. Domestic violence. Extreme poverty. These have been themes in my life, truly dark times that almost caused me to end my own life. But despite these setbacks, I have continuously pushed through and found ways to connect with others and give back to my community. I refused to push others away and give up on those less fortunate and in need. I grew up on a horse ranch in rural Kettenpom, California. My family and I didn't have electricity in our single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Weekends were spent with my Girl Scout troop cleaning trash along the side of our rural roads and volunteering at community events. I learned so much from everyone I was raised around, the importance of hard work and giving back to my community. I carried this love of helping my community even after graduating from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009. I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend. I enrolled in general education courses at Palomar College. I volunteered at a local non-profit dedicated to assisting the homeless community. This volunteer work, which turned into full-time employment, was soon to be all I had, as I also had to juggle mental health issues. Time with my boyfriend was a massive blur of tears and anxiety. He frequently threw me over our couch or locked me out of our home. The last night we were together, he kicked me out for good. I was homeless for two weeks after that, moving from couch to couch. Shortly after, I packed my bags for Kettenpom, feeling defeated. I began taking online classes at a community college and volunteering my time cleaning elderly community members' homes. I was broken because of the traumas I had faced at the hands of my boyfriend. But seeing the small impact, I made in someone's life reminded me there was more to life than my darkness. In 2014, I enrolled in my first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I learned how to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I began studying art as my minor, focusing on art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought-out internships at local newspapers. I volunteered as a member of my campus chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists, giving back to a community that helped me gain access to scholarships. In 2017, I became a first-generation college graduate. Since that summer, I have worked full-time as a marketing and communications professional. I have also volunteered as a board member of the Sacramento Press Club to assist young journalists and joined the Diversity Committee and LGBTQIA Resource Group through my current employer. I have been offered a spot to study Museum and Gallery studies for a year-long program at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. I am looking forward to learning how to become an art curator or a director of a museum. While I study full-time, I hope to volunteer at campus events to give back to a community excited to embrace me and give me the tools to create my future. During my time in Scotland and beyond, I will help others as much as I can. When I finally work in a museum, I plan to create free museum events for community members and free art classes for domestic abuse survivors.

I was homeless for a brief period. I am a domestic violence survivor. I have a mental health illness. I am many things, including a writer, artist, first-generation college graduate, and future Master's student. But above all else, I am an advocate for the disability community, the artistic community, and low-income communities. I've been committed to diversity and inclusion my entire life, within many roles. As a newspaper reporter, I focused on telling stories from within underrepresented communities. As a public relations executive, I focused on clients assisting disadvantaged communities, including those with terminal illnesses. As a communications specialist now, I focus on social media and website story messaging for a protection and advocacy agency in California that assists those with disabilities. Now, I’m about to embark on a journey across the world to obtain a Master’s degree in the hopes of continuing my commitment to creating a more inclusive world. I grew up in a severely impoverished home in rural Northern California, with rarely running water or meals other than stovetop ramen. I graduated from high school and 13 of my peers in 2009; I packed my bags for San Diego, California, to pursue general education courses at a local community college. I worked as a marketing assistant at a local non-profit dedicated to helping those experiencing homelessness. Little did I know, I'd soon be in a situation mirroring theirs. After four years, including a brief period of homelessness and the pain of bruised ribs from an unhealthy relationship, I packed my bags for home, sure I would find my path soon. In 2014, I enrolled in my very first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I also began studying art as my minor, intrigued by art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought out internships at local newspapers where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. I became the first person in my family to graduate from college three years later. Since graduation, I have worked as a communications specialist for a protection and advocacy agency, advancing people with disabilities' rights. This rewarding work has also allowed me to see the ableism that our world seems to accept—discrimination in favor of "able-bodied" people. This includes portraying a person with autism in a music video without hiring someone with autism, buildings without braille on signs, or depicting a person with limb differences in a movie who is the "evil villain" character. Almost everyone will experience life phases with a disability, whether momentarily after surgery, experiences with mental health issues, or pregnancy. My biggest dream is to create an art exhibition showcasing artists with disabilities, whether they are performance artists, visual storytellers, or wordsmiths. There's a saying in the disability community that is "nothing about us without us.” In creating an exhibition, I won't just showcase those with disabilities but also encourage people within the disability community to join me in the planning and implementation stages. This idea is a creation from my life thus far—growing up in an impoverished home, suffering through domestic violence, and being homeless. It is also a culmination of my undergraduate degree and employment history. Beginning September 2021, I will be attending the University of St. Andrews in Scotland (pinch me) as a Master's student, studying Museum and Gallery Studies. When I have obtained my degree and started work as an art curator or executive director at a museum, I would love to make my dream exhibition a reality. There will be a multi-genre exhibition, with dance floors, audio-visual rooms, and art featured in a frame. There will be braille offered in each room. Someone at each painting or performance available to describe each movement and form, or headphones will be available with pre-recorded information. This will be an experience intended to celebrate inclusion and encourage the rest of the museum world (and outside world) to cast away regular scheduled ableism and celebrate all communities. But I don't want to stop there; I hope to continue exhibitions honoring those with disabilities and support and uplift the community always.

I attempted to end my own life when I was in my early 20s. Now I am a first-generation college graduate about to embark on a journey to obtain my Master’s degree. I look back at my life thus far, plagued with domestic violence, homelessness and other traumas, and I feel fortunate I continued to keep living. I grew up on a rural horse ranch in rural Northern California. The city consists of dirt roads and a two-room schoolhouse. My family and I didn't have electricity in the single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Life was bleak, and my mom’s own mental health suffered. In turn, it affected me. She spent days off work locked away in her room. Throughout high school, the anxieties increased as I became bullied by my peers. Unfortunately, the public school had less than 30 students, and it was hard to escape the constant torment. Even when I was co-captain of the varsity basketball team, I found shampoo in my gym shoes and was shoved into lockers before games. But I stayed positive and focused on college so I could create a life for myself. In 2009 after graduation, I moved from Northern California to the San Diego area of California with my then-boyfriend. But what was supposed to be a great adventure turned to turmoil. He threw me over our couch and pushed me down the stairs frequently. I suffered through three years of this, and my anxieties became full-force, causing me to fail classes and miss work—we were already living paycheck to paycheck, so finances were even tighter. There were times when I battled depression and thoughts of suicide, once attempting to take my own life. The last night we were together, my boyfriend kicked me out of our home because he caught me texting someone how scared I was of him. I was homeless for two weeks after that, hopeless and afraid. I spent a year living with my mom and step-father after giving up Southern California life, taking online classes at a community college to build up my credits. Despite how sad I was, I knew I had to keep going. Hope was all I had. I transferred to California State University, Sacramento, in 2014. The space from an abusive relationship allowed me to begin therapy and re-focus on my goals in life. I became a first-generation college graduate in 2017 and added some fantastic items to my resume, like well sought-out internships and fellowships. Currently, I work as a communications professional for an organization in the Sacramento area. I'm about to embark on a journey to Scotland to obtain my Master's degree at the University of St. Andrews. I plan to work in a museum and showcase artists from underserved communities and those who have lived experience with mental health issues and domestic violence. In the last year, I started therapy again and have started to face my past traumas head-on. I know healing is not always linear, but I am grateful for every chink in the armor I have and every battle scar. Because of these traumas, I am hard-working, and I have a new life motto—Life is more than traumas and darkness, and the possibilities are endless.

Homelessness. Domestic violence. Attempted suicide. These are all things I have lived through. These are all things that have inspired me to keep living and telling my story. These are things that inspire me to tell other's stories. I've always been drawing to creatively telling stories. In elementary school, I was instructed to write about fruit's health benefits, so I created a story about a girl who finds a talking grape in her house. I also made my greeting cards and poems on stationary and sent them to my family across the state every month. In college, I swapped the stationary for a laptop and studied journalism, and told stories of low-income, homeless and underserved communities for local newspapers. But for a period in my life during my college years, I suffered through a domestic violence situation. I ultimately ended up being homeless myself after I escaped after three years of torment. At the height of the relationship, I tried to end my own life. But I kept fighting. I kept living. I am a first-generation college graduate now, and I tell stories in another form through social media posts, videos, and website stories. I work for a protection and advocacy organization in California dedicated to assisting the disability community. I share stories to celebrate the disability community and also shed light on injustices affecting them. I have suffered at the hands of someone who hurt me, and I know first-hand how important it is to have hope. I don't want anyone to feel like they are alone in times of need. Later this year, I will be studying Museum and Gallery Studies in Scotland in the hopes of coming back to California to continue telling stories. I plan to continue sharing stories online, derived from the communities I showcase at whatever museum I work at—Communities of color, the disability community, the LGBTQIA + communities, domestic violence survivors—everyone! Communities should be celebrated, especially when we live in now when the world can feel bleak. I plan to capture moments of hope in the world; I plan to capture the soul of what artists are saying in their work, the struggles they are facing, or the issues they care about. I will also use my social media knowledge to promote these stories to inspire others to create or keep living. Personal stories are the most important form of information we have because they capture the soul of what we need to say. They're honest and real, whether they are created by pen, painted on canvas, or shared online. They are no match for fraudulent stories. My existing work: Homeless man becomes downtown ambassador, Sacramento Bee: https://www.sacbee.com/news/local/article88694317.html Celebrating National Disability Employment Awareness Month, Disability Rights California: https://www.disabilityrightsca.org/post/october-is-national-disability-employment-awareness-month-increasing-access-and-opportunity

I used to live with a physically abusive boyfriend. I’ve been homeless. I attempted to end my own life. Now, I am a first-generation college graduate looking forward to a Master’s program. “Expect the unexpected” has been my life’s motto for a very long time. When life became bleak, it felt like it would be never-ending. But I view it differently now, after surviving dark situations and accomplishing so much. I believe that this will be one of the legacies I leave behind—Proof that sometimes the unexpected can be troublesome, but we have to hold on to hope for better days. I grew up on a horse ranch in rural northern California. My impoverished family and I didn’t have electricity in the trailer we lived in, so we spent evenings in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of boil snow on the stove. I attended Kindergarten through Eighth grade at a local two-room schoolhouse and fell in love with learning. During recess, I always had a book in hand—reading about far-away places and living vicariously through adventurers. When I graduated from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend. I enrolled in general education courses at Palomar College and felt excited about my future. But my fairytale turned into a horror story. Time with my boyfriend was a massive blur of tears and anxiety. He threw me over our couch once because the soup I made was too hot and pushed me down the stairs once because I was angry at him for cheating on me. The anxiety and darkness that consumed me for the next three years grew heavy, and I attempted to end my own life by taking over the counter medications. When it didn’t work, and I was lying on the cold bathroom floor, I knew I had to keep fighting, keep surviving. The last night my boyfriend and I were together, he caught me texting someone about his abuse, and he slammed my head into a cement wall and then promptly began packing my bags before forcibly removing me from our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that, moving from couch to couch. Shortly after, I packed my bags for my parent’s house, feeling defeated. I hadn’t expected my life to be thrown so off course, but I began taking online classes at a community college. Hope was the only thing I had—hope for a future, hope for a college degree. I was broken, both mentally and physically. But I pushed through. In 2014, I enrolled in my first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I began studying art as my minor, focusing on art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought-out internships at local newspapers, where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. Since that summer, I have been working in the communications field for a non-profit, telling stories of underrepresented communities and working to advance their protection and advocacy. I have been offered a spot to study Museum and Gallery studies for a year-long program at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. I hope to continue my storytelling efforts as an art curator or museum director through exhibitions and community events. I plan to offer free art classes for the underserved in the community and create safe spaces for domestic violence survivors. This will be my legacy—the stories I tell, including my own. Perhaps I will share the stories of other’s legacies and inspire future generations. One thing is for sure; life is more than the moments of darkness. Expect the unexpected and never be afraid to share your story and your gifts, which is ultimately your legacy.

The communities I grew up in raised me and made me the person I am today. I am proud of the many things I have accomplished in my life so far—Overcoming traumas, homelessness, and other adversities. But what I am the proudest of is being a first-generation college graduate. I am an only child raised by impoverished, divorced parents and the rest of the community surrounding me. Since moving away from this tight-knit community, I have taken the knowledge I have learned and used it toward everything I do, including continuing volunteering. I grew up on a horse ranch in rural Kettenpom, California. My family and I didn't have electricity in our single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of boil snow on the stove. Weekdays were spent going to school at a two-room schoolhouse and later assisting my parents with chores around the ranch. Weekends were my favorite, as they were spent with the rest of my Girl Scout troop cleaning trash along the side of our rural roads and volunteering at community events. I learned so much from everyone I was raised around, the importance of hard work and giving back to my community. I carried this love of helping my community even after graduating from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009. I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend. I enrolled in general education courses at Palomar College against my parent's wishes. While I juggled a brand-new world, one with traffic lights, one-way streets, traffic, and a faster pace than I was used to, I also volunteered at a local non-profit dedicated to assisting the homeless community. This volunteer work, which turned into full-time employment, was soon to be all I had, as I also had to juggle mental health issues. I don't remember the first time my boyfriend hit me, but I remember the gradual progression of control and abuse that started a few months after moving to San Diego. Time with him was a massive blur of tears and anxiety, but I recall specific times he became physically violent. He threw me over our couch once because the soup I made was too hot and pushed me down the stairs once because I was angry at him for cheating on me. The last night we were together, he caught me texting someone about his abuse, and he slammed my head into a cement wall and then promptly began packing my bags and kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that, moving from couch to couch. Shortly after, I packed my bags for Kettenpom, confident I would find my path soon. I began taking online classes at a community college and volunteering my time cleaning elderly community members' homes. I was broken, both mentally and physically, because of the traumas I had faced at the hands of my boyfriend. But I pushed through and was determined. In 2014, I enrolled in my first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I began studying art as my minor, focusing on art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought-out internships at local newspapers, where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. I volunteered as a member of my campus chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists, giving back to a community that helped me gain access to scholarships. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. A few weeks later, I packed my Subaru and traveled across the United States to work in Indiana as a summer reporting intern for the USA Today network. Moving across the country broke my parent's hearts. Since that summer, I moved back to California, several hours from my parents, and work full-time as a marketing and communications professional. I have also volunteered as a board member of the Sacramento Press Club to assist young journalists and the Diversity Committee through my current employer. I have been offered a spot to study Museum and Gallery studies for a year-long program at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. I am looking forward to learning how to become an art curator or a director of a museum. While I study full-time, I hope to volunteer at campus events to give back to a community excited to embrace me and give me the tools to create my future. I am thankful for the tight-knit community I grew up in. The tools I was lucky enough to learn I have carried with me through my life thus far. Because of the traumas I have faced, I know how important it is to help others because that was often the reason I survived. During my time in Scotland and beyond, I will help others as much as I can. When I finally work in a museum, I plan to create free museum events for community members and free art classes for domestic abuse survivors.

Books have always been an escape—My escape from childhood, the trauma I suffered at the hands of an ex-boyfriend, and my fears. While I have transitioned through different life stages, my role model has stayed the same; Stephen Hawking. I grew up in rural Kettenpom, California. The city consists of dirt roads, a two-room schoolhouse, and a small general store. My family and I didn’t have electricity in the single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil. When I visited my father and step-mother every summer in California’s Fresno area, I loved being able to turn a light on whenever I needed it and enjoyed warm showers with high water pressure. I also loved the museums my father and step-mother took me to and marveled at the works of art and snapshots of history. Regardless of which home I was in, I always had books with me. I loved learning about Leonardo da Vinci, Van Gogh, Stephen Hawking, and even dabbled in Lord of the Rings. Reading allowed me to dream of traveling to more museums, far-away lands, and seeing works of art. I read my first Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time, when I was nine and was entirely captivated by the science of black holes and how vast the universe is. And just as Stephen Hawking strived to learn as much as he could, I wanted to focus on education. When I graduated from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend to pursue general education courses at Palomar College. But what I imagined to be the start of a beautiful chapter together quickly turned into a horror story. Time with my boyfriend was a massive blur of tears and anxiety, but I recall specific times he became physically violent. He threw me over our couch once because the soup I made was too hot and pushed me down the stairs once because I was angry at him for cheating on me. The last night we were together, he caught me texting someone about his abuse, and he slammed my head into a cement wall and then promptly began packing my bags and kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that. This was when I re-discovered my love for Harry Potter and used the books to escape my terrifying reality—do I pay for gas to drive to work or use what little I have to buy groceries? But I had my Stephen Hawking books and I was reminded the world was bigger than what I was experiencing at the moment. So, I packed my bags for Kettenpom, filled with more bravery than I had before, and convinced I would find my path soon. In 2014, I enrolled in my first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I began studying art as my minor, focusing on art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought-out internships at The Sacramento Bee and Capitol Weekly, where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. A few weeks later, I packed my Subaru and traveled across the United States to work in Indiana as a summer reporting intern/ Pulliam Fellow for the USA Today network. Living in a new state was quite lonely, so when I wasn’t in the newsroom, exploring the dunes in Michigan or walking along the canal in downtown Indianapolis, I was immersed in my books. I’ve always loved that Stephen Hawking is continuously inspired to keep learning and exploring, much like myself, so I started to research Master’s programs to re-evaluate what I wanted with my life. Re-reading pages I first discovered when I was little allowed me to reflect on what I wanted back then; education and a lot of travel experience. This year, I was offered a spot to study Museum and Gallery Studies from September 2021 through September 2022 at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. The program has such an excellent reputation, and the university is full of culture and history. Studying there would also allow me to explore my Scottish ancestry. I carry the weight of past traumas with me, a constant reminder of how far I have come. I have had many friends throughout my journey, many of whom I am so thankful for because often they were the reason I got up in the morning. But I also had a literary friend that kept me positive, who showed me there will always be good in the world. For that, I am thankful. I know the feeling of having little to no hope in dark times, and I hope to create a safe space for everyone at a museum I work at in the future. I plan to make after school programs for low-income children and families and offer a safe space for counseling for those who have survived or are currently experiencing domestic violence.

How did a person with an impoverished upbringing, history of domestic violence, mental health issues, and homelessness become a first-generation college graduate? I am looking forward to creating a future career assisting those who are experiencing these traumas. I grew up on a rural horse ranch in rural Northern California. My family and I didn't have electricity in the single-wide trailer and rarely running water. But despite how little we had, I was focused on college. So, in 2009 after graduation, I moved to the San Diego area of California with my then-boyfriend. We moved into a small apartment and enrolled in general education classes. What I thought was a start to a new and fun chapter turned out to be a blur of trauma. He gradually became verbally and then physically abusive. My anxieties became full-force, causing me to fail classes and miss work—we were already living paycheck to paycheck, so finances were even tighter. There were times when I battled depression and thoughts of suicide. The last night we were together, my boyfriend kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that. I spent the next year living back home and taking online classes at a community college to build up my credits. Despite how sad I was, I knew I had to keep going. I transferred to California State University, Sacramento, in 2014. The space from an abusive relationship allowed me to begin therapy and re-focus on my goals in life. I graduated from college in 2017 and landed well sought-out internships and fellowships. Now, I'm about to embark on a journey to Scotland to obtain my Master's degree at the University of St. Andrews. I hope to work towards a career as a museum director or curator, highlighting artists with mental health issues to break the negative stigma. I will also offer free art classes for low-income individuals, and create fundraising events for local organizations, housing families escaping domestic violence situations. Life is more than traumas and darkness, and the possibilities are endless.

I am proud of the many things I have accomplished in my life so far—Overcoming traumas, homelessness, and other adversities. But what I am the proudest of is being a first-generation college graduate. I am an only child raised by impoverished ranch-owning parents determined to encourage me to stay and work with them instead of going to college. All of my life has been affected by this, but it’s a fact I accomplished so much that I am focused on keeping going and carving my path. I grew up on a horse ranch in rural Kettenpom, California. My family and I didn’t have electricity in the single-wide trailer I grew up in, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of boil snow on the stove. Weekdays were spent going to school at a two-room schoolhouse and later assisting my parents with chores around the ranch. Despite the hard work I carried out, weekends were my favorite, like splitting wood, cleaning horse stalls, exercising the horses, stacking hay bales, or making minor repairs to fences. It was fun for me, and the more work I did around the property. I enjoyed the hard work and learned how to become independent as I was the only one working on projects most days. But however poor we were or tired from days of hard work, I always had books with me and made time for reading. I loved learning about Leonardo da Vinci, Van Gogh, and Stephen Hawking. Reading allowed me to dream of traveling to more museums, far-away lands and seeing works of art. Because of this, I had my heart set on college to study and create a life where I could see the world. But my parents were hesitant to encourage me to go, as they were hoping I would stay on the ranch with them, eventually taking over as owner. When I graduated from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend. I enrolled in general education courses at Palomar College against my parent’s wishes. While I juggled a brand-new world, one with traffic lights, one-way streets, traffic, and a faster pace than I was used to, I also juggled the grief I carried with me. When I spoke to my parents on the phone, they would ask when I was moving back home or tell me what jobs were available to come home. As much as I assured them I wouldn’t be moving back home, and I was determined to transfer to a four-year university after community college courses, they didn’t understand. But eventually, I endured another form of grief. I don’t remember the first time my boyfriend hit me, but I remember the gradual progression of control and abuse that started a few months after moving to San Diego. Time with him was a massive blur of tears and anxiety, but I recall specific times he became physically violent. He threw me over our couch once because the soup I made was too hot and pushed me down the stairs once because I was angry at him for cheating on me. The last night we were together, he caught me texting someone about his abuse, and he slammed my head into a cement wall and then promptly began packing my bags and kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that, moving from couch to couch. Shortly after, I packed my bags for Kettenpom, confident I would find my path soon. My parents were thrilled to have me back in their home and to work locally. But that joy faded when I began taking online classes at a community college. Hope was the only thing I had—hope for a future, hope for a college degree. I was broken, both mentally and physically, because of the traumas I had faced at the hands of my boyfriend. But I pushed through and was determined. In 2014, I enrolled in my first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I began studying art as my minor, focusing on art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought-out internships at local newspapers, where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. A few weeks later, I packed my Subaru and traveled across the United States to work in Indiana as a summer reporting intern for the USA Today network. Moving across the country broke my parent’s hearts. Since that summer, I moved back to California, several hours from my parents, and work full-time as a marketing and communications professional. But while the work I am doing is worth-while, I’ve known in my heart for a long time that my next dream is to obtain a Master’s degree. I have been offered a spot to study Museum and Gallery studies for a year-long program at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. But the drawback is being away from my parents for a year or more and feeling the familiar weight of guilt and grief as I know I will have yet again broken their hearts. But despite the knowledge that I will never be the child my parents had hoped I would become, I know deep down they are proud of my accomplishments. I am also proud of myself and proud of where I came from—I wouldn’t be the robust and goal-oriented person I am today.

I've had many roles as an activist, although they were under the guiles of "newspaper reporter" and "public relations executive." But despite being in positions that I was to remain unbiased or work solely on items a client was interested in, I found myself looking for stories and clients that aligned with my morals and ideals—uplifting underrepresented communities. As I embark on a new journey to get a Master's degree, I'm hoping to get more involved with disability activism. My biggest dream is to create an art exhibition showcasing artists with disabilities, whether they are performance artists, visual storytellers, or wordsmiths. There's a saying in the disability community that is "nothing about us without us," In creating an exhibition, I won't just showcase those with disabilities but also encourage people within the disability community to join me in the planning and implementation stages. This idea is a creation from my life thus far—growing up in an impoverished home, suffering through domestic violence, and being homeless. It is also a culmination of my undergraduate degree and employment history. I grew up in a severely impoverished home in rural Northern California, with rarely running water or meals other than stovetop ramen. I graduated from high school and 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, to pursue general education courses at a local community college. I worked as a marketing assistant at a local non-profit dedicated to helping those experiencing homelessness. Little did I know, I'd soon be in a situation mirroring theirs. After four years, including a brief period of homelessness and the pain of bruised ribs from an unhealthy relationship, I packed my bags for home, sure I would find my path soon. In 2014, I enrolled in my very first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I also began studying art as my minor, intrigued by art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought out internships at local newspapers where I reported on art, culture, politics, and education. I became the first person in my family to graduate from college three years later. Since graduation, I have worked as a communications specialist for a protection and advocacy agency, advancing people with disabilities' rights. This rewarding work has also allowed me to see the ableism that our world seems to accept—discrimination in favor of "able-bodied" people. This includes portraying a person with autism in a music video without hiring someone with autism, buildings without braille on signs, or depicting a person with limb differences in a movie who is the "evil villain" character. Almost everyone will experience life phases with a disability, whether momentarily after surgery, experiences with mental health issues, or pregnancy. Beginning September 2021, I will be attending the University of St. Andrews in Scotland (pinch me) as a Master's student, studying Museum and Gallery Studies. When I have obtained my degree and started work as an art curator or executive director at a museum, I would love to make my dream exhibition a reality. There will be a multi-genre exhibition, with dance floors, audio-visual rooms, and art featured in a frame. There will be braille offered in each room. Someone at each painting or performance available to describe each movement and form, or headphones will be available with pre-recorded information. This will be an experience intended to celebrate inclusion and encourage the rest of the museum world (and outside world) to cast away regular scheduled ableism and celebrate all communities. But I don't want to stop there; I hope to continue exhibitions honoring those with disabilities and support and uplift the community, always.

"Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious." This quote from Stephen Hawking has been my mantra for many years by healing from an abusive relationship to college difficulties. It has reminded me that I should remain looking forward and continuing to make my dreams become a reality despite my impoverished upbringing and traumatic past. My current goal is to utilize my public relations background to work as an executive director at a museum. I currently have a B.A. in journalism and have several years of experience working as a marketing intern and a public relations professional in California. My love of storytelling and background will be utilized with my future degree from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland—Master of Literature in Museum and Gallery Studies. In 2017 I became the first person in my family to graduate from college, which was the most rewarding moment of my life. This memory, coupled with the idea that in 2022 I will be graduating with a Master's degree, seems unreal to me—how did I get so lucky? I grew up on a ranch in rural Northern California in a single-wide trailer. Most meals consisted of stovetop ramen and deer meat. But despite how destitute we were, my hopes and dreams were big. I knew I wanted to go to community college—I knew it was the only ticket out of a small and impoverished town and eventually led to an opportunity to transfer to a four-year university. Shortly after my high-school graduation in 2009, I moved to Southern California with my then-boyfriend to attend art, theatre, and business community college classes. Behind closed doors, I was suffering through physical and verbal abuse from my boyfriend. I began to fail courses, miss work, and became severely depressed. On the last evening we were together, he physically threw me from my home. I was homeless for two weeks. All I had was my car, clothes, and hope for college. So, I moved back in with my family and attended online classes, hopeful I could overcome my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and anxieties and enroll in a four-year university. In 2017, I obtained my undergraduate degree in journalism and an academic minor in art from California State University, Sacramento. Since then, I have been working as a communications professional in California and volunteering with local journalism and LGBT clubs. Before that, I worked as a public relations professional, assisting healthcare-related clients that included a social media campaign supporting vaccines and vaccine-related bills in the legislature—which ultimately resulted in the bill's passing, and the client was pleased with the outcome. I plan to combine my love of telling stories, art history, and assisting individuals in the public relations realm after obtaining a Master's degree in Museum and Gallery Studies at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland in 2021. I hope to tell stories in a new way as a museum executive director in the United States after my year in Scotland, focusing on public relations. I hope to implement a progressive view in my future role and ensure the public relations and communications departments work smoothly while creating inclusive work cultures.

I grew up I the rugged, rural hamlet of Kettenpom, California. Population: about 200. My backyard was practically thousands of acres of Shasta- Trinity National Forest and Six-Rivers National Forest. The area is so remote; it’s three hours from major shopping malls and fast-food. Living in an area that experiences all seasons, I have seen the peace and chaos the wilderness can offer—the outdoors shaped me into who I am and help me form my graduate school goals and travel. My family and I lived in a single-wide trailer on 20 wooded acres, filled with dogs, cats, and horses. Our water comes from a natural spring a few miles away, and electricity at the time was from a small generator. During the winter months, the water pipes would freeze, causing us to boil snow on the stove and use an outhouse next to the trailer. The deep snow made regular ranch chores difficult, but we made due. In the summer, without air conditioning, we hoped for a breeze. But despite how little we had control over Mother Nature and the wilderness around us, there were beautiful moments that allowed me to appreciate where I lived. Weekends were spent doing chores and hiking the Mount Lassic Wilderness or heading to Ruth Lake to explore. I cherished these memories and continue to make more wilderness outings when I visit my family. I’m also thankful for the sense of adventure I was blessed with at such an early age—I was fortunate to see amazing landscapes, ice-covered lakes, misty valleys, and snowy peaks. We also went on adventures by horse-back, traversing steep slopes and windy trails. Some summers, we trailered the horses a few hours to ride along giant Redwood tree groves on trails flecked with clover and ferns. This, combined with my education I received at a two-room schoolhouse during Kindergarten through eighth grade and then the small high-school after, flamed the desire to go to college and explore the world more. In 2009, I graduated high-school with thirteen of my peers and moved to the San Diego area of California, excited about living with my then-boyfriend and exploring new hiking spots. I enrolled in full-time study at Palomar College, a local community college, and worked part-time. Behind closed doors, my boyfriend began to physically and verbally abuse me, and I filled my free time with trips to the beach to swim in the ocean and Mission Trails Regional Park to get fresh air. These outings saved me; they created a safe space for me to be alone and reflect on my life. But even with these fleeting moments of safety and clarity, my home life was chaotic and dreary, culminating in a final evening with my boyfriend that resulted in me being kicked out of my own home. I was homeless for two weeks afterward before moving back to Kettenpom to be with my family. I enrolled in online classes and spent more time outside. This, coupled with therapy, allowed me to begin the healing process and understand my newly diagnosed anxiety and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Three years later, I became a first-generation college graduate from California State University, Sacramento, with a B.A. in journalism and an academic minor in art. Currently, I am working as a communications specialist in the Redding area of California, taking weekend trips to hike to the Castle Lake Trail in Dunsmuir, California, or finding local trails in the city. While I am enjoying life here, I look forward to my plans. I was recently offered a position as a graduate student studying Museum and Gallery Studies at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. I grew to love telling stories as a journalism student during my undergraduate studies. Now I am looking forward to telling stories and document history in new ways as an art curator, archivist, or executive director at a museum. The wilderness made me who I am today—strong-willed and fueled by adventure. Whether I am in Scotland or back in the United States, I will always find time to appreciate nature and bask in its glory. I will continue to grow, like the trees that were neighbors to me in Kettenpom.

I am thankful for my past, as it made me the well-rounded, hard-working individual I am. I am also grateful for the role that education has played in my life—at times, it was the only reason I got up in the morning. I am now blessed to be a future University of St. Andrews graduate student, where I will spend a year in Scotland working towards an MLitt degree in Museum and Gallery Studies. When I discuss my plans for graduate school in Scotland, it doesn't feel real. How did someone like me get this lucky? I grew up severely impoverished, suffered through a domestic violence situation, and experienced a brief period of homelessness—all things that allowed me to become the hard-working and motivated first-generation college graduate that I am. And now, I am getting ready to pursue my dream of becoming an art curator. I grew up on a ranch in rural Northern California in a single-wide trailer. Most meals consisted of stovetop ramen and deer meat. But despite how destitute we were, my hopes and dreams were big. I knew I wanted to go to community college—I knew it was the only ticket out of a small and destitute town and eventually led to an opportunity to transfer to a four-year university. Shortly after my high-school graduation in 2009, I moved to Southern California with my then-boyfriend to attend art, theatre, and business community college classes. Behind closed doors, I was suffering through physical and verbal abuse from my boyfriend. I began to fail courses, miss work, and became severely depressed. On the last evening we were together, he physically threw me from my home. I was homeless for two weeks. All I had was my car, clothes, and hope for college. So, I moved back in with my family and attended online classes, hopeful I could overcome my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and anxieties and enroll in a four-year university. In 2017, I obtained my undergraduate degree in journalism and an academic minor in art from California State University, Sacramento, becoming the first person in my family to graduate from college. Since then, I have been working as a communications professional in California and volunteering with local journalism and LGBT clubs. I plan to combine my love of telling stories and art history to obtain a Master's degree in Museum and Gallery Studies at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland in 2021. I hope to tell stories in a new way as an art curator or museum executive director in the United States after my year in Scotland. This fantastic opportunity would not be available to me if it weren't for my undergraduate degree—something I worked so hard for and is so grateful for.

My biggest dream is to create an art exhibition with visual, photography, and audio art, showcasing the intersectionality between people of color, disadvantaged communities, and people with disabilities. This idea is a creation from my life thus far—growing up in an impoverished home, suffering through domestic violence, and being homeless. It is also a culmination of my undergraduate degree and employment history. I grew up in a severely impoverished home in rural Northern California, with rarely running water or meals other than stovetop ramen; I taught myself to draw and paint, flipping through biographies about Leonardo da Vinci and Rembrandt. I grew to appreciate art and history and dreamed of college. I graduated from high school and 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, to pursue general education courses at a local community college. I worked as a marketing assistant at a local non-profit dedicated to helping those experiencing homelessness. Little did I know, I'd soon be in a situation mirroring theirs. After four years, including a brief period of homelessness and the pain of bruised ribs from an unhealthy relationship, I packed my bags for home, sure I would find my path soon. In 2014, I enrolled in my very first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I also began studying art as my minor, intrigued by art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought out internships at local newspapers where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. I became the first person in my family to graduate from college three years later. Since graduation, I have worked as a communications specialist for a protection and advocacy agency, advancing people with disabilities' rights. This rewarding work has also allowed me to see the ableism that our world seems to accept—discrimination in favor of "able-bodied" people. This includes portraying a person with autism in a music video without hiring someone with autism, buildings without braille on signs, or depicting a person with limb differences in a movie who is the "evil villain" character. Almost everyone will experience life phases with a disability, whether momentarily after surgery, experiences with mental health issues, or pregnancy. Beginning September 2021, I will be attending the University of St. Andrews in Scotland (pinch me) as a Master's student, studying Museum and Gallery Studies. When I have obtained my degree and started work as an art curator or executive director at a museum, I would love to make my dream exhibition a reality. I would love to create an exhibition featuring people with disabilities within communities of color, the LGBTQIA + community, and disadvantaged communities. This will be a multi-genre exhibition, with dance floors, audio-visual rooms, and art featured in a frame. There will be braille offered in each room. Someone at each painting or performance available to describe each movement and form, or headphones will be available with pre-recorded information. This will be an experience intended to celebrate inclusion and encourage the rest of the museum world (and outside world) to cast away regular scheduled ableism and celebrate all communities—because each community has individuals with disabilities, and they are often the most underrepresented and underappreciated. But of course, this idea is just an idea. Before its executed, I would invite members of the disability community to assist in planning, to implement, and promoting the event. I love art and history, and I feel museums are a great place to tell stories and document history. I think it's time to document the history of the underrepresented and give people hope! Because of my past, I know how important hope is; sometimes, it was literally all I had.

I have been blessed with the opportunity to study Museum and Gallery Studies at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland next year. I feel like I have to pinch myself because I still don't know how I got here—How did I survive an impoverished home, domestic violence, and homelessness? How did I end up here? Part of me is grateful for my experiences because now I can fully appreciate traveling to Scotland for school—an opportunity to study for my dream job, paint the luscious landscapes, and document my family history. I grew up on a rural horse ranch in rural Northern California. The city consists of dirt roads and a two-room schoolhouse. My family and I didn't have electricity in the single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating Top Ramen. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil. But despite how little we had, I was rich in literature and art. Every night by flashlight, I read books my mom purchased at thrift stores—Van Gogh and Leonardo Da Vinci biographies and Harry Potter. I also read about Scotland and wondered what life was like for my Scottish ancestors. I attended Kindergarten through Eighth grade at a two-room schoolhouse, and my teachers encouraged me to read more. These items combined gave me hope for the future—I dreamt of far-away places and college. In 2005 I began classes at the local public high-school, and with only 30 students, it was still nerve-wracking. But I was happy to have new courses and more experiences. I studied drawing, painting and art history as my elective courses and found online resources during my breaks to further enhance my knowledge of art. In 2009 after high-school graduation, I moved almost 12 hours from home to the San Diego area of California with my then-boyfriend. But what I thought was a start to a new and fun chapter turned out to be a blur of trauma, anxiety, and depression. My boyfriend began to abuse me and then later physically harm me verbally. I suffered through this for three years and didn't reach out to anyone for help, for fear it would cause me more harm, and part of me was hoping he would eventually love me in the way I wanted to be loved. I failed classes, rarely showed up for work, and spiraled into a deep depression. The last evening my boyfriend and I were together, he caught me texting a friend about the abuse I was enduring, so he packed my bags while screaming at me, "Is this what you want?" He kicked me out of our home and threw my house key into the darkness. I was homeless for two weeks, and the only thing I had was hope—hope for my future, hope for college, and hope for my life to be full of adventure. I decided the best plan was to move back home to heal and take online community college classes to catch up. In 2017, I became a first-generation college student with a BA in journalism and studio art. Since then, I have worked in newsrooms and as a public relations professional in California's Sacramento area. But while the work I am doing is worthwhile, I have my sights set on Scotland and getting my Master's degree. So, in 2019 I took a chance and applied to the University of St. Andrews in Scotland to study Museum and Gallery Studies. My biggest dream is to incorporate my love of writing, art, and history to become a media archivist, art curator, or museum executive director. I look back on my life so far, and I am so excited for this new chapter—a fresh start, a chance to explore my ancestry, and a chance to check off items on my bucket list. 2012 was the worst year of my life; I suffered from bruised ribs, split lips, and thoughts of suicide. I was living with a monster and felt entirely isolated from the world. But as I look toward 2021, I am so excited. The version of me in 2012 would have never believed 2020 me telling her to hold on to hope—" life is more significant than the dark moments. Your chance to travel will come, and you will be able to paint Scottish landscapes, document your ancestry and learn about Scottish warriors that came before you."

My life has been full of amazing things—I am a first-generation college student, I'm engaged to the love of my life, and I've been blessed with the opportunity to get my Master's degree in Scotland. But sometimes I don't know how I got here. How did I survive an impoverished childhood, severe trauma, and depression and get to where I am now? I can pinpoint the moment I decided to "step into the daylight" and let go of my past negativity and weight. I came up with the idea, but ultimately it was singer/songwriter Taylor Swift who encouraged me to. I grew up on a rural horse ranch in rural Northern California. The city consists of dirt roads and a two-room schoolhouse. My family and I didn't have electricity in the single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating Top Ramen. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil. But despite how little we had, I was rich in hope. Every night by flashlight, I read books my mom purchased at thrift stores—Van Gogh biographies, Harry Potter, and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I attended Kindergarten through Eighth grade at a two-room schoolhouse, and my teachers encouraged me to read more. These items combined gave me hope for the future—I dreamt of far-away places, true love, and college. In 2005 I began classes at the local public high-school, and with only 30 students, it was still nerve-wracking. But I was happy to have new courses and more experiences. In 2006, I was gifted a Walkman, so I listened to Taylor Swift's debut album every day on the bus ride to school. In 2009 after high-school graduation, I moved almost 12 hours from home to the San Diego area of California with my then-boyfriend. But what I thought was a start to a new and fun chapter turned out to be a blur of trauma, anxiety, and depression. He gradually became verbally and then physically abusive after the first few months we lived together. He threw me over our couch and pushed me down the stairs frequently. I suffered through three years of this, and my anxieties became full-force, causing me to fail classes and miss work—we were already living paycheck to paycheck, so finances were even tighter. There were times when I battled depression and thoughts of suicide. My only escapes were my books and Taylor Swift's music. The last night we were together, my boyfriend kicked me out of our home because he caught me texting someone how scared I was of him. I was homeless for two weeks after that, hopeless and afraid. I spent a year living with my mom and step-father after giving up Southern California life, taking online classes at a community college to build up my credits. Despite how sad I was, I knew I had to keep going. Hope was all I had—along with my books and music. I transferred to California State University, Sacramento, in 2014. The space from an abusive relationship allowed me to begin therapy and re-focus on my goals in life. In 2017 I became a first-generation college graduate. As happy as I was to graduate, my happy thoughts were subdued by another abusive relationship. In November 2017, Taylor Swift released her album "reputation," featuring a song called Call It What You Want. When I first listened to the lyrics, "Trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right/ Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night," I sobbed on my studio apartment floor. I wanted a love like that and feeling exhausted from everything I had endured. So, I left my boyfriend and made a pact to love myself more. But I had no idea that in 2018 I would be able to tell Taylor Swift this story. I spent the rest of 2017 suffering from deep depression and anxiety and again felt thoughts of suicide creeping up on me. So, I turned to therapy and began to heal. I tried to focus on things that made me happy, and I decided I wanted to see Taylor Swift perform live for the first- time during Taylor Swift's upcoming tour. As fate would have it, I won tickets to Taylor Swift's Indianapolis concert in September 2018. Two days before the show, I reached out to a reporter friend in Indianapolis that covered music events, and we made plans to meet up before the show. While I was in line to get into the stadium, he messaged me and said: "Are you sitting down? I was invited to meet Taylor Swift before the show, and I have a plus-one. Want to go?" With shaky hands, I replied, "YES!" After Taylor Swift hugged me, I was able to tell her how her music got me through the most challenging times of my life. It wasn't until after she hugged me one last time and I walked to my seat in the stadium that I broke down crying—never in my wildest dreams did I think I would meet my idol. I thought back to the deep traumas I faced and realized that there is always hope; there is still a light at the end of the tunnel. Even on your darkest days, you can never imagine all the things life has to offer. Anything is possible. Because of this newfound perspective, I took a chance and applied for a Master's program at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. 20-year-old me who was suffering abuse at the hands of a loved one would never have dreamed of this—but my dream is coming true because I am in charge of my life, and I have so much hope.

When I think back on my life so far, I often think my life has been "plagued" with mental health issues, whether they were my mother's or my own. But despite the depression, anxieties, and traumas I have faced, I am very grateful for my experiences. If it weren't for these particular experiences, I wouldn't know if I would be as strong, independent, and hard-working as I am. I grew up on a rural horse ranch in rural Northern California. The city consists of dirt roads and a two-room schoolhouse. My family and I didn't have electricity in the single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil and use an outhouse outside. When my mom wasn't working odd jobs around town or working as a cashier an hour away from home, she spent time locked away in her room. If she fought with my step-dad, she would pack a bag and tell me it was my fault as she walked out the door. She would be gone for a day, or sometimes a few days, but I never knew when she was coming back. Because of this, I started having separation anxiety, and I am still affected by it. Throughout high school, the anxieties increased as I became bullied by my peers. Unfortunately, the public school had less than 30 students, and it was hard to escape the constant torment. Even when I was co-captain of the varsity basketball team, I found shampoo in my gym shoes and was shoved into lockers before games. But I stayed positive and focused on college so I could create a life for myself. So, in 2009 after graduation, I moved from Northern California to the San Diego area of California with my then-boyfriend. We moved into a small apartment near Palomar College, where we were enrolled in general education classes. But what I thought was a start to a new and fun chapter turned out to be a blur of trauma, anxiety, and depression. He gradually became verbally and then physically abusive after the first few months we lived together. He threw me over our couch and pushed me down the stairs frequently. I suffered through three years of this, sometimes maintaining the distance between myself and friends or family because those were my boyfriend's wishes. My anxieties became full-force, causing me to fail classes and miss work—we were already living paycheck to paycheck, so finances were even tighter. There were times when I battled depression and thoughts of suicide, once attempting to take many Ibuprofen in the hopes I would pass out. But nothing happened. The last night we were together, my boyfriend kicked me out of our home because he caught me texting someone how scared I was of him. I was homeless for two weeks after that, hopeless and afraid. I spent a year living with my mom and step-father after giving up Southern California life, taking online classes at a community college to build up my credits. Despite how sad I was, I knew I had to keep going. Hope was all I had. I transferred to California State University, Sacramento, in 2014. The space from an abusive relationship allowed me to begin therapy and re-focus on my goals in life. I became a first-generation college graduate in 2017 and added some fantastic items to my resume, like well sought-out internships and fellowships. Currently, I work as a communications professional for an organization in the Sacramento area. I'm about to embark on a journey to Scotland to obtain my Master's degree at the University of St. Andrews. In the last year, I started therapy again and have started to face my past traumas head-on. I know healing is not always linear, but I am grateful for every chink in the armor I have and every battle scar. Because of these traumas, I am hard-working, and I have a new life motto—Step into the daylight. Life is more than traumas and darkness, and the possibilities are endless.

I adopted Binx when he was 2-years-old; the best decision of my life. He was "Velvet" when I met him, but once I saw how loving and caring he was, I changed his name to Binx after the character of Thackery Binx from the movie Hocus Pocus. When I'm sick or broken-hearted, he doesn't leave my side, and he's constantly making me laugh. This photo shows off his comical and sassy side. He's my best friend, and I encourage anyone interested in owning a pet to check out their local animal adoption centers! Instagram handle: @jessnhice Pet's name: Binx

Books have always been an escape—My escape from childhood, the trauma I suffered at the hands of an ex-boyfriend, and my fears. While I have transitioned through different life stages, my fictional role model has stayed the same; Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter series because she is strong, independent, and faces fear head-on. I grew up in rural Kettenpom, California. The city consists of dirt roads, a two-room schoolhouse, and a small general store. My family and I didn’t have electricity in the single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil. When I visited my father and step-mother every summer in California’s Fresno area, I loved being able to turn a light on whenever I needed it and enjoyed warm showers with high water pressure. I also loved the museums my father and step-mother took me to and marveled at the works of art and snapshots of history. Regardless of which home I was in, I always had books with me. I loved learning about Leonardo da Vinci, Van Gogh, Stephen Hawking, and even dabbled in Lord of the Rings. Reading allowed me to dream of traveling to more museums, far-away lands and seeing works of art. I read my first Harry Potter book when I was nine and was entirely captivated by the magic, the language, and the storyline. I quickly fell in love with the character of Hermione, as I saw myself in her—a book nerd, someone who stood up for what is right, and someone independent. And just as Hermione strived to learn as much as she could, the Harry Potter series encouraged me to pursue college. When I graduated from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend to pursue general education courses at Palomar College. But what I imagined to be the start of a beautiful chapter together quickly turned into a horror story. Time with my boyfriend was a massive blur of tears and anxiety, but I recall specific times he became physically violent. He threw me over our couch once because the soup I made was too hot and pushed me down the stairs once because I was angry at him for cheating on me. The last night we were together, he caught me texting someone about his abuse, and he slammed my head into a cement wall and then promptly began packing my bags and kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that. This was when I re-discovered my love for Harry Potter and used the books to escape my terrifying reality—do I pay for gas to drive to work or use what little I have to buy groceries? But I had my books, and Hermione’s character re-inspired me to keep going. Despite the scary situations Hermione was placed in, like fighting Voldemort or standing up for her friends, she was always confident and brave. So after I finished The Sorceror’s Stone, I packed my bags for Kettenpom, filled with more bravery than I had before and convinced I would find my path soon. In 2014, I enrolled in my first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I began studying art as my minor, focusing on art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought-out internships at The Sacramento Bee and Capitol Weekly, where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. A few weeks later, I packed my Subaru and traveled across the United States to work in Indiana as a summer reporting intern/ Pulliam Fellow for the USA Today network. Living in a new state was quite lonely, so when I wasn’t in the newsroom, exploring the dunes in Michigan or walking along the canal in downtown Indianapolis, I was immersed in my books. I’ve always loved that Hermione is continuously inspired to keep learning and exploring, much like myself, so I started to research Master’s programs to re-evaluate what I wanted with my life. Reading pages that I first discovered when I was little allowed me to reflect on what I wanted back then; education and a lot of travel experience. This year, I was offered a spot to study Museum and Gallery Studies from September 2021 through September 2022 at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. The program has such an excellent reputation, and the university is full of culture and history. Studying there would also allow me to explore my Scottish ancestry and, of course, ride the train that inspired the Hogwarts Express. I carry the weight of past traumas with me, a constant reminder of how far I have come. I have had many friends throughout my journey, many of whom I am so thankful for because often they were the reason I got up in the morning. But I also had a literary friend that kept me positive, who showed me there will always be good in the world. For that, I am thankful.

I carry a lot of weight with me every day—the weight of depression, Post- Traumatic Stress Disorder, and severe anxiety. I carry the weight of remembrance of past traumas when my shoulders ache, or my jaw is stiff. I carry the memories of my mom being depressed when I was growing up, often leaving me for several days while my step-father consistently prepared for her not to come back. But despite the weight I carry, I continue to move forward and remain thankful for the lessons I learned along the way. I grew up in rural Kettenpom, California. My family and I didn't have electricity in our single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces and a generator powered appliances. We mostly ate macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil. Some days my mom never emerged from her room; other days, she blamed me for fighting with my step-father. Those were the days she usually packed a bag and left, never revealing when she was coming back. Faced with a desolate unknowingness at a young age, I escaped to books where I immersed myself in art, history, culture and my dreams of college emerged. When I graduated from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend. We enrolled in general education courses at a local community college and were hopeful about our futures. But my future became bleak when he started verbally and physically abusive toward me. I suffered through life with him for three years while I failed classes and detached from friends and family. But I didn't give in to my thoughts of suicide because I knew I had grown up in an almost impossible situation—If I could grow from that, move away and begin my chapter as a first-generation college student, I could make it. So in 2012, after my boyfriend kicked me out of our home and I was homeless for two weeks, I left San Diego and moved back in with my family. I took time to heal while taking online classes to make up for the ones I failed. In 2014 I enrolled in my first classes at California State University, Sacramento, excited about my journalism major and art minor's possibilities. But as the weight of taking classes full-time and working two part-time jobs began to creep up on me, my depression, anxiety, and PTSD started to get stronger. Some days I didn't want to get out of bed, but the well sought-out newsroom internship was the only reason I left my apartment. I soon realized I loved writing, research, and meeting new people, and I felt confident in myself—the depression and mental health issues were still present, but I could keep them at bay. I realized there was more to live for than my darkest days, and I felt excited about the future. But in 2016, I was in yet another abusive relationship and spent my last year of college in a daze, often leaving class early because I couldn't keep the tears from streaming down my face. How could I be in his position before? Luckily I had a roof over my head and a steady job, but I felt like I had failed myself. After I graduated in 2017 and became the first person in my family to graduate from college, I had enough strength to break up with my abusive boyfriend and focus on the future. I made a pact with myself. I would never make myself small, and I would attend regular therapy to keep myself on track. While I still struggle with mental health issues, especially during this pandemic, I have not let it run my life. I spent a portion of my 20s unhappy, living in the dark. As I'm close to 30 and about to start a Master's program in Scotland, a dream come true, I'm going to make the most of the rest of my life. I am going to surround myself with experiences and people who encourage me to grow and be happy. I am thankful for my past because it made me the strong-willed, kind-hearted person I am today. I plan to encourage everyone to keep their heads up. Life may seem hopeless at times, but it is possible to overcome the darkness and step into the daylight.

I look back at my life, and I am shocked I have overcome so much—severe poverty, a period of homelessness, and domestic violence. I take time to reflect on how far I have come since this time I viewed as a "failure," but I am thankful for every chink in my armor I gathered along the way and the realization that I am not a failure. I grew up in rural Kettenpom, California. My family and I didn’t have electricity in our single-wide trailer, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces with generator-powered appliances. We ate macaroni and cheese, Top-Ramen, or meat from deer my step-father had hunted the previous season. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil. I spent evenings reading books by flashlight, learning about art and history, and feeling excited about college. After I graduated from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009, I moved to San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend, very hopeful of my future. We enrolled in general education courses at a local community college. But my future became bleak when he started verbally and physically harming me. Time with my boyfriend was a massive blur of tears and anxiety. If I didn’t load our dishwasher “correctly,” he threw me over our couch. If I reached out to a family member, he locked me out of our home for a few hours. The last night we were together, he caught me texting someone about his abuse, and he slammed my head into a cement wall and then promptly began packing my bags and kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that, and then headed to Kettenpom, confident I would soon find my path. I worked full-time at a local general store and attended online community college classes, eventually transferring to California State University, Sacramento, in 2014, where I studied journalism and art. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. Since that summer, I have been working in California as a marketing and communications professional. But it is my biggest dream to work as an art curator or executive director at a museum, documenting history, celebrating communities, and telling stories. I have been blessed with the chance to study Museum and Gallery Studies at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland from September 2021 through September 2022. I am so thankful for my past because it shaped me into who I am—a healthy, hopeful, resilient person. I am not a victim; I am a survivor. My time in Southern California was not a failure; it was a life lesson. I don’t let my past define me. Instead, I focus on how much I have grown since then, and I continue to look ahead.

Many things inspire me to create art: My impoverished upbringing and the fact I am a first-generation undergraduate degree holder in my family. I am also inspired by my LGBT + community and the severe traumas I have faced at the hands of a loved one. I grew up in rural Kettenpom, California. My family and I didn't have electricity in the single-wide trailer we lived in, so evenings were spent in candle-lit spaces eating Top-Ramen or meat from deer my step-father had hunted. Our water flowed from a natural spring, and during the winter months, the pipes would freeze, leaving us to carry buckets of snow into the house to boil and using a wooden outhouse several yards away from the trailer. When I graduated from high school with 13 of my peers in 2009, I packed my bags for San Diego, California, with my then-boyfriend, to study art and theater at Palomar College. A few weeks after we moved into our apartment, he began to verbally and physically abuse me. The next three years were a blur of tears, split lips, bruised ribs, and shoulders out-of-sockets. Our final evening ended with my head coming in contact with a cement wall. I spent the next few weeks experiencing homelessness after he kicked me out of our home. I moved back home with my family to start over. In 2014, I enrolled in journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I chose art as my minor, focusing on art history, painting, and jewelry making. I landed well sought-out internships at local Sacramento newspapers and eventually the USA Today Network after graduation in 2017. Since then, I have been working in California as a freelance reporter and working full-time as a communications professional for a protection and advocacy agency geared toward assisting people with disabilities. I started dating a girl for the first time in January 2021, and I finally feel safe. This has allowed me some reflection and a safe space to pursue therapy for my PTSD and severe anxiety. The work I am doing in Sacramento's disability community is worthwhile, but I want to work in a museum as a curator or executive director. I feel at home in museums, looking at intimate snapshots of history that allow us to travel thousands of years and miles away. I plan to highlight artists of color, LGBTQ+ individuals, those with disabilities, and domestic violence survivors. I was recently offered a spot to pursue an MLitt in Museum and Gallery Studies at the University of St. Andrews for the September 2021- September 2022 program. I will use this scholarship to fund my travel to Scotland.

During this pandemic, I have had to face my mental illnesses and severe past traumas head-on, something I have failed to do for almost a decade. The usual distractions or ways to ease my anxieties—an evening at the movie theater, lunchtime walks at work, meeting up with friends and family for dinner; were suddenly gone. I was faced with a decision—coming up with ways to self-soothe myself and find online therapy. In 2009, I left my rural northern California home, population 200, three hours away from major shopping centers, and a two-room schoolhouse. I packed my bags after graduating from high school with 13 classmates and moved to the San Diego area of California with my then-boyfriend. A few weeks after we moved into our apartment, he began to verbally and physically abuse me. He loved playing games, whether it was literal games on his computer or talking in riddles. He played the World of Warcraft video game with bots, a very illegal way to run a program to play the game for you. He simultaneously ran a program on his computer that jumbled his IP address, mimicking numbers from other countries. During my second semester at Palomar College, I logged into my student account the day of the class "add/drop deadline" and realized I was suddenly not enrolled in my classes—my boyfriend's doing. I frantically called the campus IT department, explaining it was not my doing. I filed a report with the campus police, but they couldn't track down the computer's correct IP address used to drop my classes. Time with my boyfriend was a massive blur of tears and anxiety, but I recall specific times he became physically violent. He threw me over our couch once because the soup I made was too hot and pushed me down the stairs once because I was angry at him for cheating on me. The last night we were together, he caught me texting someone about his abuse, and he slammed my head into a cement wall before kicking me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that. Shortly after, I packed my bags for Kettenpom. I spent the next year and a half taking online community college classes in the hopes I could transfer to a four-year university, hopeful I would accomplish my dreams to study in a foreign country eventually. In 2014, I enrolled in journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining full-time study. I chose art as my minor, focusing on art history and jewelry making. I landed well sought-out internships at The Sacramento Bee and Capitol Weekly. In 2017, I became the first person in my family to graduate from college. A few weeks later, I packed my Subaru and traveled to Indiana to work as a summer reporting intern for the USA Today network. Since then, I have been working in California as a freelance reporter and working full-time as a communications professional. In November 2019, I was accepted into a year-long Museum and Gallery Studies Master's program at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland that will begin in September 2021. The first person I told was my friend I met in an art class in college—I had a crush on her ever since but denied my feeling since I had never dated a girl before. In January, I began dating her after she played a Taylor Swift song on my doorstep and handed me a dozen red roses. It was a leap of faith as I knew I would lose friends and family due to their biases, and I was correct. I lost a friend of over 20 years and several family members- but I knew the real friends and the actual family members would be supportive, and it was all worth it. We went on a few dates and then became inseparable, but still encouraged and uplifted each other to lead our own independent lives. We decided to move in together and quarantine together at the end of February. The days of going on dates turned into home-cooked meal dates in our home together and making forts under covers. But despite the happiness I felt and the stability I finally had, my PTSD and anxieties kept creeping into my sunshine. I had previously only been to a few therapy sessions, and after I was diagnosed, I thought I could take care of myself and didn't need anything else. But quarantine changed that. Being in a stable relationship and more time to self-reflect as I began working from home, I was allowed to think of myself and take care of myself. I researched ways to cope with and discovered things that make me happy. I edited my Pinterest boards to include happy and funny things; I downloaded a "motivation" app on my phone to see inspirational quotes when I am feeling down. I purchased a humidifier and essential oils for my apartment to smell lavender and vanilla in stressful times. My fiancé and I decided to attend virtual couple's therapy to find ways to cope with our past traumas and uplift each other currently. Despite how bad things feel and how some aren't taking this pandemic seriously by not wearing masks or taking additional safety precautions, I have seen amazing things—Communities coming together to deliver home-made food to those quarantining, virtual celebrations, and front porch photoshoots. This is a reminder that humans are amazing, and when we feel down and alone, we aren't really. There's always someone available a FaceTime, Zoom call, or text.

I grew up in a rural part of northern California, three hours from a Costco or any major shopping center. A generator powered the single-wide trailer I lived in with my family, and since we had no electricity, the rooms were lit by candles and lanterns. Meals generally consisted of macaroni and cheese or Top Ramen, usually paired with whatever deer meat my step-dad had obtained from the previous hunting season. Our pipes would freeze during the winter months, leaving us to boil snow on the stove and use an outhouse a few yards away from the trailer. When people tell me they lived in a small town or grew up impoverished, I understand their struggles, but I wonder if they grew up like me? I have felt like an outsider for most of my life because of how I grew up and how I shaped my life since. When I graduated from high school with thirteen of my peers in 2009, I was one of two students who left the area to pursue higher education—the rest still live in the area. Some did go but never got their degrees or moved back within a few years. I packed my bags a few weeks after graduation, against my parent’s wishes, and moved to the San Diego area with my then-boyfriend to study general education at Palomar College. My parents didn’t understand why I had to leave or why I had to get a degree and hoped I would stay in the area to help them with their ranch. But I had my sights set on studying theater, art, business, and marketing. A few months after starting my community college classes, my boyfriend became verbally abusive. And as the years went on, he became physically abusive. I felt trapped, alone, and afraid for my life. I shut out friends and family, failed most classes, missed work, and gave up on life. In 2012, my boyfriend became upset over something trivial and threw me over our couch. A few days later, he packed my bags and kicked me out of our home. I was homeless for two weeks after that and decided to move back to rural northern California to heal with my parents. I didn’t give up on my college dream, so I studied general education courses online and planned to transfer to a four-year university. In 2014, I enrolled in my first journalism courses at California State University, Sacramento, working two part-time jobs while maintaining a full-time study. I learned how to create great interview questions and gain the tools to share unique stories within culturally diverse communities. I also began studying art as my minor, intrigued by art history, jewelry making, and painting. I landed well sought-out internships at The Sacramento Bee and Capitol Weekly, where I reported art, culture, politics, and education. Being in the newsroom allowed me to be a voice for the voiceless and made me realize how strong I am and how much I have to give. I became the first person in my family to graduate from college three years later. I packed my Subaru and traveled across the United States to work in Indianapolis, Indiana, as a summer reporting intern for the USA Today network. Since that summer, I have been working full-time in rural California, looking forward to starting a Museum and Gallery Studies Master’s program at the University of St. Andrews next year. It is my biggest wish to become a curator or museum director at a small museum. I would love to use exhibits of artifacts to tell the unique stories of the community it’s in; just as the world is changing, so are the ways we tell stories. I plan to offer free classes to low-income individuals in the area, focusing on senior and minority populations. I would also love to create art therapy sessions, especially for those who have survived domestic abuse. I have started to focus my efforts on healing as well. Rather than be bogged down with my diagnoses of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and anxiety, I will celebrate them. I feel like an outcast most days because I don’t know anyone else who has nightmares about their past as much as I do, but those are the experiences that hardened me. They are the experiences that pushed me to want more out of my life.

I was recently accepted into the Museum and Gallery Studies Master's program at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland! I will begin my year of study in September 2021, and I hope to move back to the United States after to pursue a career as a museum director or curator. I would love to focus on providing art or history classes for free and increase museum accessibility for the disability community. Currently, I am working in California as a communications specialist for a protection and advocacy agency geared toward assisting Californians with disabilities. I dream of traveling to Scotland and study, as I have Scottish heritage, and I love experiencing new cultures. I have a deep love of art, history, and museums, and I would love to use this grant to help fund my travel to Scotland to begin my new chapter. Thank you for taking the time to read this and review my application!- Jessica Hice