My experience with mental health has irreversibly shaped my passions, relationships, and career aspirations, igniting a passion to help others navigate their way through life's darkest moments. I've struggled with severe depression and anxiety since childhood, compelled by circumstances beyond my control to endure a measure of suffering I never thought possible. These circumstances were bleak, but when they were compounded in my adult life by the trauma of an abusive relationship that riddled my psyche with PTSD, they were debilitating. I felt utterly lost, my mental health spiraling beyond my ability to manage. I was terrified of what I might do to myself, and the lack of accessible care deepened my despair, poisoning every aspect and relationship of my life. Without the means to support myself, accepting my parents’ offer to fund counseling was humbling but necessary. It wasn't a matter of 'if', but 'when' I did something that was irreversible to myself. With shame and complex grief, I trembled as I embarked in the counseling experience for the first time. In those sessions, I was shocked to find comfort in the presence of a compassionate listener who saw value in my story. As our relationship grew, my therapist suggested I consider becoming a therapist myself. The idea initially seemed absurd. How could someone as broken as I felt aspire to heal others? Yet, over time, that suggestion lingered in my heart, the whisper growing louder and louder through prayer and reflection. I realized that my struggles weren’t disqualifications; they were qualifications, that I could turn my pain had a purpose. Sharing my aspirations felt vulnerable, as I feared judgment for pursuing a path so intertwined with my struggles. When I voiced my insecurity to my sister, her words pierced my doubt: “You’ve been through hell, and now you’re carrying back buckets of water for those going through it themselves.” I was awed by her grace, humbled by her encouragement. That affirmation reframed all of the self doubt and consternation. My pain wasn’t just something to overcome; it was something to use—fuel to guide and support others as they navigate their own battles. With these realizations, I began my pursuit of a master’s degree in mental health counseling with a deep sense of calling. With the empathy, resilience, and a unique capacity to connect with those who feel weighed down by pain that I contrived only through suffering itself, I aspire to create a safe space for others--professionally and personally. I am passionate about providing a source of safety for those who need to unravel before they rebuild, just as my therapist did for me. The beauty of this path lies in its reciprocity: as I help others heal, I too am healed. Carrying buckets of water back into the fire is no longer a burden but a calling and a blessing. It’s a testament to the transformative power of pain and the profound hope that emerges when we use our struggles to trailblaze a better way for others.

My decision to pursue a career in clinical mental health counseling stems from deeply personal experiences that have shaped my understanding of the human spirit’s capacity for both struggle and resilience. Growing up, I struggled with severe depression and anxiety, challenges that were magnified by later trauma caused by an abusive relationship. At my lowest, suffering from PTSD and feeling utterly isolated, I feared for my well-being and had no means of accessing the help I desperately needed. I was floundering when I finally turned to counseling. My counselor’s compassionate presence and ability to hold space for my pain taught me the profound impact of being seen and heard. During one life-changing session, she asked “Have you ever considered being a therapist?” Though I laughed at the time, her words lingered. Over months of reflection and prayer, I realized that perhaps my struggles weren’t merely obstacles to overcome but the life lessons that I could use to help others. My academic success, including maintaining a 4.0 GPA in my master’s program, reflects my commitment to this calling. I am driven to excel not just for personal achievement but because I see education as a foundation for serving others effectively. Each course, assignment, and practicum equips me with the skills to better support individuals navigating their own mental health challenges. I hope to make a meaningful difference by providing a safe, empathetic space for clients to process their struggles and discover their strength. My background in working with special needs and underserved populations has deepened my commitment to inclusivity and accessibility in mental health care. I aim to advocate for those who feel marginalized or misunderstood, ensuring they receive the care and compassion they deserve. My personal goals include building a private practice that emphasizes holistic healing, incorporating evidence-based practices like cognitive-behavioral therapy with creative modalities such as art and mindfulness. I also aspire to mentor future counselors, paying forward the guidance I’ve received. Ultimately, I want to create ripples of healing that extend beyond individuals to families and communities. The metaphor my sister once shared resonates deeply with me: “You’ve been through hell, and now you’re carrying back buckets of water for others.” This sentiment embodies my journey and my aspirations. Every challenge I’ve faced has prepared me to walk alongside others in their darkest moments, offering hope and guidance. Clinical mental health counseling isn’t just a career; it’s a calling to transform pain into purpose and use my story to empower others to reclaim theirs.

My experience with mental health has irreversibly shaped my career aspirations, igniting a passion to serve others in their darkest moments. I've struggled with severe depression and anxiety since childhood, compelled by circumstances beyond my control to endure a measure of suffering I never thought possible. These circumstances were bleak, but when they were compounded in my adult life by the trauma of an abusive relationship that left me with PTSD, they were debilitating. I felt utterly lost, my mental health spiraling beyond my ability to manage. I was terrified of what I might do to myself, and the lack of accessible care deepened my despair, poisoning every aspect and relationship of my life. Without the means to support myself, accepting my parents’ offer to fund counseling was humbling but necessary. It wasn't a matter of 'if', but 'when' I did something that was irreversible to myself. With shame and complex grief, I trembled as I embarked in the counseling experience for the first time. In those sessions, I was shocked to find comfort in the presence of a compassionate listener who saw value in my story. As our relationship grew, my therapist suggested I consider becoming a therapist myself. The idea initially seemed absurd. How could someone as broken as I felt aspire to heal others? Yet, over time, that suggestion lingered in my heart, the whisper growing louder and louder through prayer and reflection. I realized that my struggles weren’t disqualifications; they were qualifications, that I could turn my pain had a purpose. Sharing my aspirations felt vulnerable, as I feared judgment for pursuing a path so intertwined with my struggles. When I voiced my insecurity to my sister, her words pierced my doubt: “You’ve been through hell, and now you’re carrying back buckets of water for those going through it themselves.” I was awed by her grace, humbled by her encouragement. That affirmation reframed all of the self doubt and consternation. My pain wasn’t just something to overcome; it was something to use—fuel to guide and support others as they navigate their own battles. With these realizations, I began my pursuit of a master’s degree in mental health counseling with a deep sense of calling. With the empathy, resilience, and a unique capacity to connect with those who feel weighed down by pain that I contrived only through suffering itself, I aspire to create a safe space for others. To provide the safety to unravel and rebuild, just as my therapist did for me. The beauty of this path lies in its reciprocity: as I help others heal, I too am healed. Carrying buckets of water back into the fire is no longer a burden but a calling and a blessing. It’s a testament to the transformative power of pain and the profound hope that emerges when we use our struggles to trailblaze a better way for others.

"Dear dad..." I listened to my own dad tearily speak the words over the pulpit of the old chapel, the smell of old wood and salty tears permeating the room. With heavy hearts we endured through the short program before we receded to the familiar church gym for a light luncheon, heavy with mourning. Where once we held lively family reunions, we now held a somber funeral, the age lines on what used to be well-known family faces made more prominent in their grief. We had all grown and changed. Aunt Gail, Grandpa's last living sibling's words were heavy with heartache as she asked me and my daddy "Who's going to come to my funeral?" I bet you think this story is about the loss of my grandpa. You'd be right...and decisively wrong. Not long after the death of my grandfather, I returned home one day to meet with my pale and somber father. My blood ran cold with shock as he spoke. Aunt Gail and her daughter Tausha, along with her five young children, had been unmercifully slaughtered by her estranged husband in a murder-suicide that rocked, not only the small Utah community, but the entire nation. My father was, in a word, devastated. This wasn't supposed to happen to us. This happened on the news, not to us. For days, I watched as he grappled with his grief, my stomach lurching every time I looked at the hollow contours of his face, the bags under his eyes. I wept in secret places, mourning in part for the fear and pain my aunt and her family surely endured, and in part for my father. People as gentle and kind as them deserved only good things from life, not this. Never this. Days passed, when with surprise I saw light return to his countenance once more. When I asked, he said with great comfort that his prayers had been answered and that he had made peace knowing that God would make everything right. If not now, later. My sagging spirits breathed a sigh of relief, unburdened with the pain of seeing him suffer. It wasn't long before their funeral was planned. With awe and deep gratitude, the realization dawned on us. The answer to her question: "Who's going to come to my funeral?" was answered with a resounding and overwhelming display of community. Thousands mourned the loss of Aunt Gail and her family, churches filled to the brim, bursting with love and support throughout her community to attend her funeral. It was through this experience that I learned something nothing beyond pain can teach: that God is in the details of every heartache, every hardship, and every day, even (and especially) when we have the hardest time seeing Him. Through the love and support of community in the face of tragedy, we saw and felt divinity. My heart and mind were moved to realize that I can feel God's love, especially in times of suffering, and that as I look for Him, He will always be in the details of my life.

There have been studies that support the idea that the farther removed an act of goodwill comes from, the less appreciative of it a person will be. This principle applies to leadership as well, supporting the idea that the more involved with his or her subordinates and the overseeing thereof, the more appreciated he or she will be. A good leader does not lord over those of which he presides, but humbles himself to support them from the bottom up, uplifting those he has responsibility over. But what exactly is a leader? Leaders comes in so many forms. Too often we think of them on a grand scale: influencers, CEOs, politicians. But how often do we give credit to the most impactful forms of leadership that constitute our society? Teachers and parents are the most intimate and important forms of leadership, forming the basis of morality and constructing the building blocks of society: families. Their careful guidance is the most important form of leadership that we have. The enormity of their importance has been impressed upon me the more opportunities I have had to practice these forms of leadership myself. A few years ago, I had the opportunity to nanny anywhere from 60-80 hours a week for a local family. For four years, I had the most nurturing and enriching experience of my life caring for my little ladybug, doing my best to cultivate her growth in both playtime and learning time. I demonstrated my leadership with her through numerous means. I guided her through these developmental stages by being an example to her myself, while also encouraging values and knowledge that would help her through life. But with as much as I taught her, she ended up teaching me just as much. We guided each other to a state of improvement that could only be attained through love and mutual respect. While that little girl is still a fond memory, my position eventually came to an end; but the lessons we taught each other and the person I helped mold her to become have endured. Today I still have the occasion to work with kids, applying myself in a leadership position as a teacher. Beyond just educational instruction, I serve as a moral compass for a lot of the children I teach. I have the blessing of being responsible for hundreds of children, many of which are struggling with difficult upbringings. The horror stories I hear from administration and the children themselves about the failures of their parents--the failures to lead and rear their children in love and support--are devastating. I see the effects this negligence of leadership has had in their lives, and the consequences that will affect not only their children, but their posterity for generations to come. It is often overlooked in society, disregarded as trivial, but leadership in parenting and teaching can mean all the difference in the world. Knowing that, I've set out to establish myself as a leader to others through mental health counseling to help counteract the negative effects of negligent parents and teachers. So many people haven't been given a fighting chance because of circumstances they were born into--whether mental, physical or external. I am determined to be the difference to help them in overcoming whatever setbacks they may be facing--because it is through supporting others in which we show the measure of a true leader.

If you've never done it, mopping the floor with a bunch of children under the age of ten is one of the best ways to unlock a god complex--if you don't already have one. If you do have one, you transcend into an out of body experience. The best game to help you do it? Mario Kart. I am an unashamed destroyer of children--family or otherwise--and this is my story: With sweet innocence my nieces pleaded with their cool aunt (that's me) to indulge them in some family bonding. I smiled tenderly at their adoring faces, warmth filling my sensibilities. Of course I couldn't refuse them. However, as soon as the words "Mario Kart" passed their cherubic lips, that tenderness dissolved, all warmth tempering to a cool resolve. As though a mantle of a higher calling descended upon my shoulders, I lowered myself onto the couch, as one might settle on a throne. They had no idea what they had done. I watched as, with excitement, they designed their cars, unwittingly readying themselves for their impending destruction. Their smiles glowed as the racecourse flashed across the screen. With bursts of noise from the horn, they eagerly awaited the start of the race. Wearing a steely expression, I looked down on them like a hawk eyeing its prey. With the final cue we screeched down the race course. Before long, the consequences of their mistake crushed them. Little by little the light drained from their faces as they realized what was happening. Their beloved aunt was kicking their absolute trash. The unsuspecting children watched in horror as round after round I lapped them, skirting with masterful precision around the turns of rainbow road, unleashing hell's fury in my wake. For hours they did their best to beat me, but to no avail. Until, with my characteristic mercy, I released them from their torment, and let them play amongst themselves. Was it the nature of the game, or was it the sheer thrill of asserting my utter and absolute dominance? The world may never know. But what we can know is that those girls will need extensive therapy after the thorough beating they endured. *disclaimer* no children were harmed during the unforgettable Mario Kart beatdown of 2023.

This is by far the most creative way I have ever seen to ask someone for a Netflix recommendation. There are much easier ways, but I commend you for the creativity. It's brilliant. My beans to spill are quite possibly the most quality of beans, so you're gonna want to pay close attention. Have you ever heard of Business Proposal? Listen. I'm not saying that it's the most enthralling show on Netflix,...but the signs are there. When I tell you me and my best friend were shrieking like absolute banshees, I'm understating the situation. Limbs were almost lost as we beat each other with pillows and yanked at each other's arms in absolute and unmitigated excitement at every plot twist. This Korean drama (I know, don't judge me) is hands down the most dazzling show I have ever had the pleasure of beholding. It's so good, it's absurd. Which is a paradox because it's so absurd, it's good. The plot revolves around a ludicrous business proposal that upends the lives of each uniquely curated character, creating a blend of comedy, romance, and drama that grips viewers in a vice like grip and refuses to release them. I'm telling you, my eyes were bloodshot because I would not blink, it was that good. In addition to having an impeccable storyline, every scene was expertly delivered by the actors. They understood the assignment. And their ancestors would weep with pride at the strength of their bloodline. But wait. There's more. Have you ever seen a movie with an incredible premise, but the cinematography would have been better executed by a toddler cracked out on sugar? Well there's none of that here! They not only had competent filmmakers, but exceptional ones! And like icing on the perfectly executed cake, the music is phenomenal, the wardrobe is always stylish, and it even made me forget about those embarrassing moments from eleven years ago that keep me up at night. Step back big pharma, the dopamine release from this show has come to compete! I haven't felt this much emotion since the Scholastic book fair. 10,000/10 would recommend this show. But I also want to include the disclaimer that once you start watching this, it sucks you in so completely, that given the opportunity, you would voluntarily skip your wedding anniversary to finish "just one more episode". After you watch it, you'll want to thank me, so I look forward to being awarded this scholarship.

Growing up, I watched my mom grapple with mental health issues. I didn't realize it as a child, but as I grew, I recognized the nature of her struggles for what they truly were. Over time it helped me identify the same issues in myself, and as they grew and worsened, my compassion for my mother was magnified. My heart broke for her that she had undergone such pain while struggling to raise six children, often times by herself as my father worked long hours. I have the deepest respect for her strength and abilities to endure raising all of us, but after seeing her go for so long without seeking out the proper help, it pained me deeply. To this day, she is so insecure and closed off, that she still refuses to undergo therapy of any kind. From a young age, it was deeply impressed upon me how critical mental health is to our well-being; however, I also realized that it is far too often overlooked and even stigmatized--especially among women. If I had a dollar for each time I was accused of "just being hormonal" I would have enough money saved up that I wouldn't need to apply for scholarships. But here's the thing: women face immense idiosyncratic mental health challenges, resulting from crushing societal expectations to discrimination and harassment of all kinds. While biological factors, such as hormones, do play a role in our emotional health, it shouldn't be used as a means to attack or disregard the torrent of hardships that weigh upon us each day. Seeing my mother, and so many others, suffer in silence made me realize how desperately I wanted to give a voice to those who are voiceless. Getting my graduate degree in mental health counseling will help me realize my goal of helping women feel comfortable enough to prioritize their mental health, dismantling the apprehension they might feel in admitting they're struggling. To the women screaming in silence, I want to gift the release they need. I am determined to make a meaningful difference in the lives of millions through my contributions as a mental health counselor and through publishing original works on mental health. By awarding me this scholarship, you would not only investing in my pursuit of a graduate degree, but in the well-being of numerous women who will benefit from a well trained and empathetic counselor. Thank you so much for your contribution to the well-being of women, and for your consideration of my scholarship application.

It's in the thrumming of your fingertips and toes as you tap them to the beat of your racing heart, the stillness of paralysis as your breath is sucked out of your lungs, unable to move, or even still in the harsh gasp of oxygen as you try to get your hyperventilating under control. Anxiety is quick to shift between roles, but every one of them share the same underlying dread, dragging like ocean tides at the legs of its victims' psyche, doing everything it can to undermine them. Anxiety has been my constant companion. Even as a child, I silently endured the tumultuous thoughts and emotions that held me captive. As I grew older, the push against this mental illness was a steady drain on my willpower; but I always resisted, struggling to overcome the hampering effects it had on my ambition. That is, until I fell prey to a series of traumatic experiences. My mental illness fever pitched to a boiling point, fueling a mental break that took me years to recover from. This crippled me from pursuing school after attaining my bachelor's degree. I was inconsolable, untouched by medication and the numerous therapies I was silently undergoing. It bled me financially and caused my sense of hope to hemorrhage at the continual failures to get better. It was in the midst of these trials that my counselor stopped me on one occasion. I had identified various conclusions on my character and the situations. In impressed bewilderment, she asked "Have you ever considered being a therapist yourself?" I paused in shock. Here was a woman who had heard all of my twisted and illogical emotions, and she was suggesting that I be a therapist? It was inconceivable. Through the months of struggle following this discussion, this earth shifting comment remained firmly rooted in the back of my mind, an idle thought that would resurface often. Time moved like tar, thick and unyielding, until one day I realized with shock I didn't feel as bad as I once had. Healing came reluctantly, and it was only recently that I was finally able to pull myself from the rubble of the aftermath. When I did return to some semblance of my former self, the thought of pursuing counseling resurfaced once more. I mulled the idea over in my head, but after having received such a devastating blow of mental illness myself, I was chagrined and more than a little hesitant. Who was I to help anyone else when I had once required it so severely myself? It somehow felt hypocritical. When I tentatively shared with my family that I was considering pursuing a graduate degree in counseling, I was shocked and touched at the fierceness of their support and their elated delight. Despite their support, reluctance continued to hang at my conscience, and it wasn't until I shared my feelings with my sister that I realized the truth of the matter. She told me, "Jillian, you've been through hell, and now you're just going back with buckets of water for those that are going through it themselves." The more I thought about this, the more I realized she was right. There's no shame in wanting to lift someone up from the despondent circumstances of where you once stood. If anything, you're more qualified to do so. I've been blessed with the empathy and understanding that only life can teach. Now I just need the knowledge and training. This degree is what will enable me to fill my buckets with water and walk back to hell.

I've found as a student, the pressure to perform academically, to scrape up enough money to pay for tuition and living expenses, to pick a major, and various other stressors can be highly detrimental to mental health, and as a result, performance and emotional well-being. There's irony in the realization that the very thing we rely upon to carry us through school is being attacked by the very act of being in school. So how do we combat these negative effects on our psyche and the psyche of others? Just as mental health issues are tailor made through world views and experiences, so are their treatments, and in my personal experience I have found one of those treatments to be writing. During my darkest mental health struggles, I've found that I create some of my most raw and personal pieces, such as the following: I coil inside of myself, shrinking from the mass that grows larger and larger, cornering me into the darkest recesses of my mind. Black and poisonous it bubbles, threatening to spill beyond the confines of my existence. I tremble in fear, folding deeper and deeper into myself, trying to hide from its power, begging whatever deity would listen that it won’t take notice and consume what little semblance of me was still left. Even my toes curl beneath me, trying to look smaller; needlessly so, for in the face of this massive force I was merely a speck--a blight in its consuming progress. In the depths of my despondency, I cry out. ‘Oh God, am I so insignificant that you would subject me--forsake me--to this?’ ‘Oh no.’ says a tender voice, and I’m stilled. No light penetrates the darkness, no saving grace cuts in, but the unwavering whisper pervades: ‘No. You are mighty, mightier than even this. And it is your very significance that engenders this trial necessary. For God does not give the monumental to the miniscule. No, he gives it to the strong. He is teaching you to grow bigger, even bigger than this.’ I look to the growing blackness and silently weep. ‘It hurts’ I whimper. The voice kindly responds, ‘As it was with every person who has ever grown into something great.’ I’m left then. Alone, still cowering before the festering, putrid disease, but the voice echoes in my subconscious, the even smaller corners of my mind than those I find myself in now. And with those echoes, my toes uncurl just a touch. Writing this short essay, among others, has been a balm to my soul as I've undergone the college experience. Beyond just this, as I've shared these short works, I have been humbled to have friends and loved ones approach me with heartfelt and tear-filled gratitude. As ironic as the school/mental health paradox is, so is the treatment I find solace through, and its healing effects it has on not only myself, but others. By maintaining my own mental health, I have found that I have been able to help others nourish theirs as well, which has encouraged me to continue writing and sharing these narratives. In sharing my voice, I have inadvertently helped others find their own, enabling them to become more open about their own mental health struggles. I hope as I continue to do so, that I can gain more momentum as a force for good in the mental health crisis.

I used to think that humility meant belittling yourself, until someone told me that humility doesn't mean thinking less of yourself. It means thinking of yourself less. With this in mind, and having been raised on a firm admonition to "forget yourself and go to work", I have hinged a large portion of my happiness on the worth and meaningful acts of service that I bring to other people's lives. Over the years I found myself growing in love towards those around me the more that I served them, cultivating a deep sense of charity that has endured to this day. During that same time, I taught myself to play piano and sing, and on many Sundays frequent the nursing home to provide the residents in the dementia unit a reprieve from their usual afternoon routines. I understand that many view these contributions as inconsequential, claiming that they won't remember it anyway. But I've found through many experiences that no act of kindness or generosity is wasted. I hold a firm belief that meaningful and appropriate acts of service cultivate more substance in a soul--both our own and others--than by any other means. I keep this belief at the forefront of my mind in my interpersonal interactions, finding myself blessed with opportunities to help others in various circumstances, whether it be assisting in delivering babies, taking care of children for weeks at a time sometimes, preparing home cooked meals, or sending care packages to those in need. Despite my best efforts, however, I find myself longing to do infinitely more. I felt these longings keenly when I found myself under extreme duress due to traumatic circumstances. I felt guilty that in my time of hardship, I was financially unable to alleviate the suffering of others that came to me for help. It was during that time that I vowed to never be in a financial position to not help others ever again. I wanted to pursue a career field that was both fulfilling and would provide me the means to always be able to give to others. In establishing myself financially it would further position myself to be able to fulfill my dreams of fostering children, adopting unwanted animals, and being a source of dependability to those I love. With this in mind, and with the unprompted words of my therapist suggesting I become a therapist myself, I decided to pursue a master's degree in mental health counseling. Sheepish that perhaps my own struggles with mental health disqualified me as a valuable asset in this field, I was embarrassed to share my pursuits to become a counselor. After stating my intentions and insecurities to my sister, she paused. With perception and compassion that only a sister can, she looked at me with tenderness and said: "You've been through hell, Jillian. And now you're carrying back buckets of water for those going through it themselves." With such unreserved and loving words of encouragement, I am looking forward towards a more beautiful future, while walking back towards hell with pails brimming with water.

For years I've berated myself for not being better, for not feeling better. How dare I feel despondent and hopeless when I have so much to be grateful for; how selfish and abysmal to bemoan a comfortable life with so many modern day amenities and luxuries when there are others who are actually suffering. It was years before I realized it was not a lack of moral fortitude or character, but a deficit of mental health, a veritable tsunami of generational trauma and distorted genetics that coalesced in the perfect storm of mental illness. Years of undiagnosed mental illness insipidly clung to my potential, rooting me in place and preventing me from actualizing any ambition or joy. It was only through an unexpected and dramatic twist of fate that I began to understand. In the years following this catalyst, doctors, medications, therapies, all worked to combat the unprecedented forces combining against me. Through new understanding and diagnoses, I was suddenly enlightened, granted a mercy I had never thought possible. In finding the various means to achieve mental health--medication, therapy, hobbies, meditation, yoga--I discovered the inalienable interdependence between mental health and success. I received a deep witness that it is through our own mental wellness that we are granted peace through whatever circumstances we are dealt in life. It granted me the sense of grace and patience to allow myself imperfections, it helped me uproot myself from the paralyzing misconceptions and self imposed restraints to pursue higher aspirations for myself. In the time since discovering the importance, and the means, to maintain mental wellness, I have found that the healing, nor the maintenance thereof, is linear. Like tides, mental health ebbs and flows, some days it's a gentle lap on the shore, others a raging tsunami, struggling to pull us out to sea. But through it all, I've been able to remain anchored to the shore because of the knowledge and healthy habits I have implemented in my life. I have been through hell, and now I'm pursuing a graduate degree in mental health counseling that will help me go back there, carrying buckets of water for those that are enduring it now themselves. I bear a firm witness that it is in caring for our mental health that we can find peace and strength for ourselves, and in turn lend these invaluable attributes to those around us. In strengthening ourselves, we become a strength to others, creating a buoy of hope where many have believed all hope to be lost.