I volunteered at the Seminole County Library for 3 years during my high school career. When I first started, I was shy, quiet little bookworm who felt I belonged more in fictional books than in the real world. My social anxiety seemed like a mountain with no summit, I had been climbing and climbing my whole life. By sophomore year, endeavoring to go out of my comfort zone by taking part in the community felt like a last-stitch effort. I attended a volunteer orientation, hiding my shaky hands behind my back. That's when I met Miss Katharine, the volunteer coordinator, who welcomed me with such enthusiasm that for the first time in a long time, I was happy to be somewhere. Panic attacks have been something I've struggled with all my life. They come out of nowhere, possessing my mind and body with pure fear. When I was a kid, I would disappear from playdates and birthday parties, wondering why I felt this way. What was wrong with me? At least in books, I could find calm. The ocean in me settled into stillness. It was just me and the pages. Volunteering at the library meant I was with books, but also around a crowd of other people. On the way to my shifts, the panic would wash over me. At this point, I was used to it. I'd been worn down over the years, and instead of trying desperately to climb out of myself, I laid down on the shore in surrender and let the storm take me. When the other volunteers arrived, I thought for sure that they didn't experience the same anxiety I did, so I kept my distance. The volunteers would have a group book club every month. This was usually the hardest day of the month for me. The idea of taking up space and speaking about what I read that month while everyone listened in silence was too much for me to handle. Most times I would wait to go last, until there was no time left and my mom was there to pick me up. Months went by, and none of the club members knew my name or the sound of my voice. But Miss Katharine always had my back. She would ask me questions and always remember to include me when no one else did. It was a hard and long battle, but after 9 months, I was finally brave enough to participate. The smile on Miss Katharine's face told me why I had been holding out hope all this time. One person believing in me was enough. Over the summers, I oversaw youth summer reading events, and I got to witness little kids fall in love with reading as I once did. I got to comfort kids who were too shy to sit with everyone else and hopefully make them feel less alone. I never want anyone to think that feeling different is wrong, or that shyness is a flaw. They showed me that my social anxiety is not irredeemable, it is an experience that gives me empathy for others. Getting a college degree is important to me because I get to show my younger self that I have grown to do all the things I thought were impossible. Throughout my life and career, I hope to embolden others who struggle with mental health. I can only hope that I gave back to the library as much as it gave me, even if that contribution is just a friendly face for a kid who is shy like me.

When I was a little girl, I thought I was a mermaid. This is somehow not the strangest thing about me, which was exactly the point. I heard tales of mythical girls who washed ashore one day and were fated to spend their life on legs when their true home was in another world entirely. They were pearls lost from their oysters. Inside, I felt the same displacement. When the missing piece couldn't be filled by God, lies, or love stories of princes and princesses, surely the answer must be something far more magical than that. I knew for certain when I made "potions" with my best friend on Daytona beach, and when we wished on seashells to be each other's friend forever. There was something in me that had no name. It could only be heard on the waves in Key West or the pages of a fairytale. As I got older, the mystery of my own heart felt like more of a curse than a blessing. To a stranger's eye, I looked no different than my circle of friends, giggling at a sleepover in cross necklaces, betting on which boys would be our future. But I could see that the burden of difference was not hanging over their heads like it was mine. I knew the words "coming out", but they were unspeakable to me. That was for other people, but not a girl in a small Florida town full of churches and lawn signs that promised not to love her if she didn't let her secrets drown in the swamp. It was an unremarkable Tuesday when I felt the bravest I have in my life. I sat on my bed beside my mom, visibly shaking while telling myself I was totally pulling off casual. That day I learned that your mother becomes your mother two times in life. The first time is when she brings you into the world, and the second when she chooses to love you for who you become. That was also the day I learned that I am the luckiest person in the world, because if I have her love and acceptance, nothing else matters as much. It was my amazing mother's simple response of "Slay." that gave me the courage to come out to everyone else in my life, not to mention her continuous support since then. Slowly but surely, I came out to others. It was the people who I thought for sure would stand by me who turned me away, and those who I was most nervous to tell whose support is the fiercest. Coming out is a funny thing. Your whole life, you convince yourself you're okay breathing underwater, that the oceans you carry alone in your lungs are not drowning you. And then, one day, you look into the eyes of your best friend, your grandparents, the ones who watched you grow up, and you ask them to learn to swim with you. For the first time, you learn that you are worth this lightness, the newfound casualty of being yourself. This is how it feels to float.

For a long time, I've been imagining what it'd be like to be the age I am now. 17 was a bold and glittering number shining in my head; the end of high school, on the edge to adulthood and freedom. It always felt far away, until it was so close it was all I could see. So far, in my senior year, I've been thinking about that little girl and all that she hoped to become. Would she like the person I am now? I've tried to stay close to that vision of myself, harnessing my ambition and passion with all my might. But to see the reason why, what drove me to work hard to be someone I'm proud of, I'd have to go back to the very first time I let myself dream like that. The first time I saw the woman I wanted to become, I wasn't looking at a made up daydream. I was 8 years old and watching the Disney Channel show Girl Meets World. Sabrina Carpenter's character, Maya, was strong-willed and unapologetically herself. Off the show, Sabrina was just starting her musical career. She had the confidence to put herself out there and follow her dreams. Too often, confident women are seen as arrogant and vain, but Sabrina showed me that you can be who you are and be kind, too. The impact of seeing a girl who was not so different from me believing that she had something to say was immeasurable. I wanted to be just like her. The inspiration she gifted me has come through when I need it most. In middle school, when people tried to make me ashamed of who I was, I took solace in Sabrina's Eyes Wide Open album. Her music was a friend to me and taught me how to be a friend to myself. In high school, when I became the editor for the school magazine, I remembered how the character Maya always stood up for others. She influenced me to highlight stories that would uplift people and give them voices. Without her, I don't know if I would've found my passion for journalism and let that dream go as far as it has. I've stayed a loyal fan over the years, making it a tradition to get her CDs the day the album comes out. I've watched Sabrina grow and evolve, coming closer to a true expression of herself every time she changes. I didn't even notice, but I was changing along with her. She was a north star throughout my coming of age. Last week, the journey came full circle, and I saw her concert in Orlando, Florida. All of my little sisters came with me, and we danced the night away. I hope my sisters are inspired by her, too. When I see Sabrina Carpenter's booming success over the past year, I don't just see all the glitz and glamor. I see a woman who worked hard and never gave up to get to where she is. It's not just a coincidence (pun unintended) that people love her for being exactly who she is, undeniably Sabrina. Being yourself always pays off. I know that this is only the beginning, and Sabrina will continue to be a role model to me for years to come.