For a long time, I thought mental health was something people only talked about after everything got too heavy to hide. I thought being strong meant staying quiet. I thought it meant handling things on your own and not making other people worry. I would rehearse what I wanted to say before asking for help, but when the moment came, I still could not get the words out. I did not want anyone to think I was being dramatic. I also did not want to be the person who needed too much. I do not see it that way anymore, but it took me a while to get there. My experience with mental health taught me that people should not have to fall apart before someone notices they need help. It also taught me that silence can make pain feel even heavier. When people can talk about mental health without feeling judged, shame does not feel as strong. One moment that stayed with me happened in my counselor’s office. I walked in with so many thoughts, but I did not know where to start. I remember looking at the floor because saying the words out loud felt harder than thinking them. My counselor did not rush me. She did not make me feel embarrassed. She just let the silence sit for a little while. When I finally started talking, I did not say everything perfectly. I talked in pieces, and she still listened. I remember leaving that office feeling lighter, which surprised me because nothing had been fixed yet. Part of me still felt like asking for help meant I had failed. I think about that more than I probably admit. But that moment helped me understand that needing support does not make someone weak. Sometimes asking for help is what allows a person to keep going. I also saw mental health affect my family in ways I did not fully understand when I was younger. I learned that one person’s struggle does not stay inside one person. It can change the whole house. The house felt tense, as if everyone were waiting for the next problem. People were careful with their words. Some days felt normal, and then suddenly they did not. That was hard for me to understand because I wanted love to be enough. Love matters, but love alone is not always enough. Sometimes people need counseling, structure, honest conversations, and support before things become too big to hide. Pain should be taken seriously while it is still quiet. This changed what I want my future to mean. I still want to be successful. I still want to work hard, build a strong future, and keep growing. But I no longer want success to mean proving I can handle everything on my own. If anything, my experience with mental health has made me more determined because I know how much effort it can take to keep going when no one else sees the hard parts. I also want to be someone people can be honest around. I do not want this degree to just be for me. That is part of why I care about Communication. I care about what people say, but I also notice when they do not yet have the words. My experience with mental health changed my relationships, too. I listen differently now. I do not assume someone is fine just because they say they are. I notice when people get quiet, stop raising their hands, pull away, or say “I’m fine” too quickly. Before, I might have missed those signs. Now I understand that silence can sometimes be a way of asking for help without saying the words. I saw this with a student I knew who often sat alone before class and answered people with only a few words. At first, I thought maybe she wanted to be left alone. Then I thought about how I acted when I did not know how to ask for support. So I started saying hello. I asked simple questions. I did not push her to explain anything. I just wanted her to know someone noticed. Slowly, she started talking more. It was not a big movie moment. She did not suddenly tell me everything. She just looked up more often when I walked over. She gave longer answers. She smiled a little more. That stayed with me because it showed me that small acts of attention can matter more than people realize. Mental health made me slower to judge people. I used to think everyone else was moving through life with more confidence than I had. Now I know many people are carrying things they do not want to show. Some people hide anxiety behind silence. Some people hide pain behind humor. Some people act independently because they are afraid of needing too much. I do not have everything figured out. I do not think anyone does. But my experience with mental health has helped me understand the kind of person I want to become. I want to work hard without becoming the kind of person who stops noticing other people. I want people around me to feel like they can say what they really mean, even if it comes out messy. I want to be the kind of person who notices when someone is starting to fall behind and tries to help sooner. Mental health taught me that strength is not always about carrying everything alone. Sometimes, strength is asking for help. Sometimes it is accepting help. And sometimes it is helping someone talk before everything feels too heavy to say out loud.

I used to rehearse what I wanted to say before asking for help, but I still stayed quiet. For a long time, I thought needing help meant something was wrong with me. I thought strong people handled things on their own and kept moving. I also worried that if I opened up, someone might think I was being dramatic or making my problems bigger than they were. I did not want to be the person who needed too much. That started to change because of my high school counselor. She became one of the first adults who made me feel seen without making me feel judged. She did not try to fix everything for me right away. She listened. She remembered small details about my life, like a class I was worried about or something I had mentioned the week before. Sometimes she would let the silence sit for a little while instead of rushing me to talk. I think that mattered more than I understood at the time. At first, I would walk into her office feeling nervous and embarrassed. I would sit down and not know where to start. Sometimes I had the words in my head, but I would stare at the floor because saying them out loud felt harder. I was used to keeping things inside, so even saying one honest sentence felt hard. She never made me feel rushed. She let me talk in pieces, even when I repeated myself or did not make sense right away. I wish I had understood sooner that asking for help does not make a person weak. Over time, I realized people do not always need the perfect advice first. Sometimes they need someone to stay with them long enough for them to feel safe. My counselor helped me realize that some people are asking for help long before they say the words. After that, I started noticing people differently. I started noticing the people who got quiet, stopped raising their hands, or said they were fine too quickly. Some people laugh when they are uncomfortable. Some people act like they do not care because they are afraid of needing too much from others. I understood that feeling because I had done it too. I started noticing this more in my own friendships and at school. There was one student I knew who often sat alone before class and answered people with only a few words. Before, I might have assumed she wanted to be left alone. After working with my counselor, I saw it differently. I started saying hello. I asked simple questions. I did not push her to open up, but I made sure she knew someone noticed her. Slowly, she began talking more. It was not a big movie moment. She did not suddenly tell me everything. She just started looking up more often when I walked over. She gave longer answers. She smiled a little more. That stayed with me because I was becoming someone who notices quiet people the way my counselor noticed me. That is the biggest way this relationship changed me. It did not just help me through hard moments. It changed the kind of person I want to become. I want to be the kind of person someone can sit next to without feeling like they have to explain everything right away. I want to listen before I judge. I want to be patient when someone is not ready to say everything. I want people to feel like they do not have to have everything figured out to matter. I think about this a lot now, especially when I meet someone quiet. In college, I want to carry that with me in classrooms, study groups, and friendships, especially when someone seems quiet or unsure where they fit. I may not always know the perfect thing to say. I may not always know how to help. But I can notice. I can slow down. I can choose not to ignore someone just because they seem fine. The relationship with my counselor shaped me by teaching me that kindness is not always loud. Sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes it is steady. Sometimes it is one person choosing to notice another person when they feel invisible. That kind of connection changed me. Now I try to be the person who notices before someone has to ask.

Selective mutism and anxiety made me feel trapped inside myself for a long time. I was not just quiet. I could want to answer a question and still freeze. I could know what I wanted to say, but my body would not cooperate. Sometimes I sat in class and acted like I understood because I did not want anyone to know I was confused. I hated that people might think I did not care, because I cared too much. I cared about the class. I cared about what people thought. I cared so much that sometimes I could not get a sentence out. That kind of anxiety affected more than school. It affected how I saw myself around other people. Sometimes I went home tired even though it looked like I had done nothing, because staying quiet took so much energy. I would replay conversations in my head and think about what I should have said. The longer I stayed quiet, the harder it became to break the pattern, and the more alone I felt even in a full classroom. One night at SBCC, I sat with an assignment open, rereading the directions because I could not figure out where to start. I wanted to close my laptop and deal with it later. Instead, I emailed my professor and asked for help, even though I reread the message several times before sending it. I stared at the send button longer than I want to admit. I worried I sounded like I should already know what I was doing. I remember feeling nervous before I hit send, but also relieved because I had stopped pretending I could figure it out alone. Counseling helped because my counselor did not act uncomfortable with my silence. She let me take up time, even when I could barely take up space. She never rushed me when I needed time to speak, even when I was quiet longer than I wanted. That mattered because so much of my anxiety came from feeling watched or judged. She helped me feel less embarrassed about needing support and helped me see that my voice still mattered, even when it took me longer to find it. Anxiety changed how I showed up in school, how I saw myself, and how I connected with people. I also have ADHD and a learning disability, so I sometimes need extra time, tutoring, and support programs. For a long time, I thought needing help meant I was not smart enough. Now I understand that support is part of how I stay in school and keep moving forward. At Santa Barbara City College, I started to become more confident, but it was not instant. I asked classmates questions. I emailed professors. I used support when I needed it. Some days still felt awkward, but every small step helped me feel less stuck in the quiet, scared version of myself. Now I am continuing my education at UCSB, and I want to study communication because I know what it feels like to have something stuck inside and not know how to explain it. I want to become more confident and help people feel heard before they shut down, as I used to. Selective mutism and anxiety shaped me, but they do not get to define my whole future. I am not suddenly fearless. I still overthink. I still get nervous. But I am not the girl who disappears into silence every time something feels hard. That is the part I am proud of.

For most of my life, school has taken more effort than people could always see. I have ADHD, a learning disability, and I also struggled with selective mutism when I was younger. Sometimes my thoughts felt scattered, even when I was trying to focus. Sometimes I needed more time to understand an assignment, finish a test, or explain what I meant. Sometimes I knew the answer but could not say it out loud. From the outside, it may have looked like I was quiet, distracted, or not trying hard enough. Most of the time, I was trying harder than people could see. That was one of the hardest parts. I wanted to do well. I wanted school to feel as easy as it looked for other students. I wanted to ask for help without feeling embarrassed. But for a long time, asking for help felt like admitting I was not smart enough. One night at SBCC, I sat with an assignment open, rereading the directions because I could not figure out where to start. I wanted to close my laptop and deal with it later. Instead, I emailed my professor and asked for help, even though I reread the message several times before sending it. I stared at the send button longer than I want to admit. I worried I sounded like I should already know what I was doing. I remember feeling nervous before I hit send, but also relieved because I had stopped pretending I could figure it out alone. Tutoring, extra time, support programs, patient teachers, and counseling helped me understand how I learn. A counselor also helped me work through the fear of speaking up. She never rushed me when I needed time to answer. That mattered because so much of my anxiety came from feeling watched or judged. She helped me see that my voice still mattered, even when it took me longer to find it. My disability has impacted my schooling, but it has also shaped the kind of person I am becoming. I notice students who are quiet, overwhelmed, or pretending they understand because they are embarrassed to ask. I know what that feels like. At SBCC, I became more confident. I asked classmates questions. I emailed professors. I used support when I needed it. Now I am continuing my education at UCSB, and that means a lot to me. College is not just a checklist for me. It is proof that I can keep growing, even when school takes longer or feels harder than I want it to. I want to study communication because I know what it feels like to have something stuck inside and not know how to explain it. I want to become more confident, more independent, and better at helping people feel heard before they give up on explaining themselves. Additional funds would make a real difference for my family and me. They would help with books, transportation, transfer costs, and support services. It would help me start at UCSB focused instead of already behind. It would mean fewer moments where I am trying to focus on school while money is still in the back of my mind. School has been harder for me than it may have looked from the outside, but I am still here, and I am still moving forward. I am proud that I kept going, even when I was not sure I could.

The person I admire most is a counselor who helped me when speaking felt almost impossible. Growing up, I had selective mutism. I was not just quiet. I could want to answer a question and still freeze. I could know what I wanted to say, but my body would not cooperate. People probably thought I was shy or rude. I was not trying to be either. I was usually panicking inside, hoping no one noticed. One moment with my counselor still stays with me. She asked me a simple question, and I just sat there. I remember looking down and feeling my face get hot because the silence felt too long. I worried I was wasting her time. I was also mad at myself because I knew the answer. I just could not say it yet. She did not rush me. She did not fill the silence for me. She waited. That sounds small, but it wasn't to me. I was used to feeling like silence made people uncomfortable. With her, I did not feel punished for needing time. When I finally gave a short answer, she treated it like it mattered. She did not make a big deal out of it, which honestly helped. She made speaking feel less like a test I was failing and more like something I could practice. That is why I admire her. She helped me believe that struggling to speak did not mean I had nothing worth saying. She also made me want to keep going in school. Before that, I sometimes felt like other students were built for college in a way I was not. They could raise their hands, talk to professors, and join conversations without making it look hard. I thought my quietness made me less capable. My counselor helped me see that I was capable. I just needed support, practice, and time. At Santa Barbara City College, I started to feel that change. I asked classmates questions. I emailed professors. I still overthought things, but I did them anyway. Now, as I continue my education toward UCSB, I want college to be more than something I survive. I want it to be a place where I keep building confidence, meeting people, and proving to myself that I can handle bigger rooms and harder conversations. My motivation for speech and debate or mock trial comes from that same place. I am not drawn to it because speaking comes easily to me. It is not. I am drawn to it because it scares me in a way I think I need to face. I like that there are rules and roles because structure makes the room feel less overwhelming. In speech and debate or mock trial, I would have to listen closely, build an argument, think on my feet, and speak even when I feel nervous. Part of me is nervous about that. Another part of me is excited because I am tired of letting fear decide what I do. I am not trying to become the loudest person in the room. I just want to become someone who can speak clearly, even if my voice shakes at first. My counselor inspired me because she did more than help me talk. She helped me believe my voice was worth developing. That is why I want to keep choosing rooms that used to scare me, not because I am fearless now, but because I am finally starting to believe I belong there and have something to add.

My awkward thing was not being tall, left-handed, or bad at basketball. My awkward thing was that sometimes I could not talk, even when I wanted to. Growing up, I had selective mutism. For me, that did not mean I had nothing to say. It meant the words got stuck. I could know the answer in class and still not raise my hand. I could want to respond to someone and still freeze. Sometimes I would look down, smile a little, or pretend I had not heard the question because answering felt too hard. What made it worse was that I knew how it looked. I worried people thought I was rude, strange, or not trying. Inside, I was trying all the time. I was trying to look normal. I was trying not to panic. I was trying to find the right moment to speak, but then it would pass. Afterward, I would replay it in my head and think about what I should have said. For a while, I thought something was wrong with me. I did not always know how to explain that I was scared, overwhelmed, and embarrassed. I just knew that talking felt harder for me than it did for other people. Once I got used to being quiet, it became hard to break the pattern. It felt safe, but it also felt lonely. I also worked with a counselor who was really patient with me. She never rushed me or made me feel strange for needing time to answer. That helped because so much of my anxiety came from feeling rushed or watched. Coming to Santa Barbara City College helped me start over. People did not already know me as the quiet girl. I had room to try again, even if it was in small ways. One of the first times I felt that change at SBCC was after class, when I forced myself to ask a classmate if they understood the assignment. My voice probably sounded nervous. It was not a big conversation. But I walked away thinking, “I did it. I did not disappear.” That may sound small to someone who has always been comfortable talking to people. For me, it mattered. Each small conversation helped me feel a little less trapped in the old version of me. I am still not the loudest person in the room, and I do not think I need to be. I still get nervous sometimes. I still think before I speak. But I feel better about myself now because I know I am not stuck. Selective mutism used to make me feel different in a way I wanted to hide. Now I think it made me more aware of people who are quiet, nervous, or scared to join in. I know how much courage it can take to say one sentence when every part of you wants to stay quiet. As I move from SBCC to UCSB, this scholarship would help me continue that growth. It would take some pressure off my family and let me focus on doing well at UCSB, not just getting there. I want to keep speaking up a little sooner, even when my first instinct is to stay quiet. I also want to notice the student who is still trying to find their voice. SBCC did not turn me into a completely different person. It gave me a place to practice becoming more myself. That is what makes me proud. My awkward thing is still part of me, but it no longer feels like the whole story.

I used to think asking for help meant I had already failed. That is how school felt sometimes. One night, I sat at my desk, a paper open on my laptop, and kept rewriting the same few sentences. I would type something, hate it, delete it, and write almost the same thing again. I knew what I wanted to say, but I could not get it to sound right. I remember thinking, “Why is this so hard for me?” That night, I prayed, but it was not a perfect prayer. It was more like, “Please help me do one thing.” The one thing was emailing my professor. I reread the email too many times. I almost wrote, “Sorry for bothering you,” even though I was asking for help. I worried I sounded needy. Then I sent it. That is probably where faith has helped me most. It has not fixed everything. It has helped me stop hiding. I grew up Jewish and went to Hebrew school at Congregation Beth Am. I went to Friday night Shabbat services, celebrated the High Holy Days, and had my Bat Mitzvah. When I was younger, I mostly thought of those things as part of what our family did. Now I see them differently. They gave me a place to belong, a history I care about, and a reason to think about how I treat people when no one is grading me. One value that stayed with me is tzedakah. When I was younger, I thought it meant giving money or helping because it was the right thing to do. Now I think it also means helping someone without embarrassing them. Faith taught me that needing help does not make me weak, and helping someone else should never make them feel small. I have ADHD and a learning disability, so school has not always felt simple to me. I have needed tutoring, extra time, support programs, and reminders. Sometimes I sat in class and nodded as I understood, then walked out knowing I would have to figure it out later. I was scared people would think I was not trying when I was trying hard. My mom pushed me toward higher education because she did not let me treat struggle like failure. She reminded me that college is not only about being smart. It is about staying with something when it gets hard. There were nights when she told me to stop hiding how overwhelmed I felt and ask for help before the problem got bigger. My family, teachers, tutors, and support programs helped me feel like I still had a place in school. At Santa Barbara City College, I started noticing classmates who reminded me of myself. I could tell when someone was nodding along but did not seem sure. Sometimes I would say, “I had to ask too,” or “Tutoring helped me with this.” Once, after class, I helped another student email a professor. It was a small thing, but I remembered how scary it felt the first time I had to do it. That is the kind of person I am still trying to become. I do not need to be perfect. I want to be someone who notices when another person is quietly struggling. I am proud of my work at SBCC and proud to be transferring to UCSB. At UCSB, I do not want to just get by. I want to prove to myself that I can do hard things without hiding. I want to study communication at UCSB because I know what it feels like to have something stuck inside and not know how to explain it. I do not know every step of my future yet, but I know I want to use communication to help people say what they need before they feel stuck. I hope to become more active in Jewish student life through Santa Barbara Hillel. I want to keep choosing my faith as my own, not only as something I grew up with. I want to be successful, but I do not want to become the kind of person who forgets what it felt like to need help. More than anything, I want my faith to show up in how I treat people, especially when they are embarrassed to need help. I am not active on public social media, so I do not have any handles to include.

One moment that still stays with me happened when I was working on a paper for my communications class. I had notes everywhere. I had part of an introduction, a few quotes, and some ideas I cared about, but the paper still felt messy. I remember staring at my screen because I knew I had something to say, but I could not get it into the right shape. That paper showed me one of the hardest parts of school. I had to learn how to ask for help without feeling embarrassed. For a long time, I thought asking for help meant I was behind. I thought it meant other students understood things faster than I did. I would read the same instructions over and over and still feel stuck. I have ADHD and a learning disability, so school has not always felt simple for me. I can work hard, but I still need more time to process information. I can understand a topic when someone explains it out loud, but writing it clearly can be hard. My ideas do not always come out in the same order that I feel them in my head. With that communications paper, I started writing an email to my professor asking for more time. Then I deleted part of it. Then I rewrote it. Then I sat there wondering if I sounded irresponsible. I remember my hands shaking a little before I sent the email because part of me still believed that needing more time meant I had failed. She answered with more kindness than I expected, and I realized I had made the moment much scarier in my head. That moment taught me that I was spending too much energy trying to look like I had everything under control. I was not failing because I needed help. I was struggling because I waited too long to ask for it. After that, I started changing how I approached school. At Santa Barbara City College, I started using DSPS, tutoring, quiet study spaces, planners, and smaller work blocks because I needed a real system, not just more motivation. I learned to start earlier, ask questions sooner, and break big assignments into steps I could handle. Those changes helped me earn a 3.9 GPA at Santa Barbara City College. That number still means a lot to me because it came from habits I had to build on purpose. It did not happen because school suddenly became easy. It happened because I became more honest about how I learn and more responsible about getting support before I fell too far behind. This did not make school easy overnight. I still had assignments that took longer than I wanted. I still had to reread directions, rewrite paragraphs, and push myself to stay focused when my brain wanted to go in five directions at once. But I stopped seeing those things as proof that I did not belong in college. I started seeing them as part of my learning. Being admitted to both UCSB and UCSD was one of the first times I could look back and see that all those small choices at SBCC had added up to something real. Those acceptances reminded me that I am not the same student who once sat down to an assignment and felt too embarrassed to ask for help. Going through this also changed how I see other students. I know what it feels like to sit in class and assume everyone else understands more than you do. I know what it feels like to be embarrassed to ask a question because you do not want people to think you are not smart. Because of that, I became someone who notices students who are quietly struggling. That is part of why I chose to study Communication. I do not know my exact career yet, but I know I want to do work where people feel listened to, especially when they are having a hard time explaining what they need. I am proud of how far I have come because I did not overcome this challenge by pretending it did not exist. I overcame it by facing it directly. I learned how to advocate for myself, communicate with my professors, and organize my work in a way that fits how my brain works. I also learned that needing support does not take away from my effort. This scholarship would mean a lot to me because school has not always been easy, but I have kept showing up and doing the work. I am not the student who can say school has always come naturally. I am the student who kept going anyway. I have learned how to build a routine, ask for help, and keep going even when school feels hard. Sometimes growth looks like sending the email you were afraid to send. Sometimes it looks like going to tutoring. Sometimes it looks like starting over on a paragraph until it finally sounds like what you meant. My challenge taught me that I am stronger than I thought. It also taught me that asking for help is not a weakness. Now I notice people who are trying to get through hard things quietly, because I know what that feels like. That is one of the reasons I am still here, still learning, and still moving forward.

I want to build a peer support network that helps students find guidance before they feel lost, embarrassed, or alone. I know that may not sound like something you can build with wood or tools. But to me, it is still something real. It would be built through trust, honest conversations, useful resources, and students helping other students take the first step. I care about this because I know what it feels like to seem fine on the outside while feeling unsure on the inside. I know what it feels like to sit in class and act like I understand everything, even when I am quietly trying to figure out where to start. That feeling can be lonely, especially when everyone around you seems like they already know what they are doing. As I transfer to UCSB as a Communication major, I want to learn how people ask for help, why they stay silent, and what makes support feel safe instead of embarrassing. Communication matters because one honest conversation can change whether someone keeps struggling alone or takes the next step. I would start small. Before building anything new, I would first learn from programs already helping students on campus. I would listen to what students need, especially transfer students, first-generation students, and students who feel overwhelmed but do not know where to begin. Then I would volunteer, join student support or peer mentoring programs, and learn what works before trying to grow anything bigger. Over time, I would want to help build a simple peer-to-peer support network where students can ask basic questions without feeling judged. It could help students find tutoring, counseling, financial aid guidance, campus groups, or just someone who remembers how hard the beginning can feel. The goal would not be to solve every problem. The goal would be to make the first step easier. This would also help me build my own future. It would push me to become more disciplined, confident, and brave. I would have to speak up, follow through, ask better questions, and keep showing up even when I feel unsure. That kind of growth matters to me because I do not want to build a future around my own success alone. I want to build something useful. The positive impact on my community would be practical. A student who feels lost could find someone to talk to. A transfer student could learn where to go first. A student who feels embarrassed could realize they are not the only one struggling. I want my future to be built on connection, trust, and action. If I can help create a space where students feel seen sooner and supported earlier, then I will be building something bigger than myself.

I do not think addiction always looks like a crisis at first. Sometimes it looks normal, until it does not. It can sound small. It is just stress. It is just marijuana. But when someone cannot stop, it is no longer small. Addiction changed the air in our house before I understood what addiction was. I thought addiction only affected the person using drugs. Living through my brother’s struggle taught me something different. The person struggling with addiction may be at the center of the crisis, but the whole family ends up carrying the weight. My older brother is now 30, but when he was in high school, he struggled with drug abuse, mostly marijuana and hashish. At one point, he smoked about five times a day. I was younger, but I remember the house feeling different. My parents were always worried. His mood changed. His choices changed. Some nights dinner was quiet. On other nights, small conversations turned into arguments fast. I remember hearing my parents talk quietly late at night after they thought everyone else was asleep. Even when the house looked calm, it did not feel calm. After a while, everyone started walking on eggshells. Sometimes I avoided bringing friends over because I never knew what mood the house would be in. I tried to act normally at school while wondering what was happening at home. Sometimes I felt angry that addiction seemed to control every decision. Then I felt guilty for even thinking that. My parents tried to help my brother, but it went past what they could handle at home. Eventually, they sent him to a therapeutic wilderness program and then to boarding school during his junior and senior years. That decision hurt, even though it may have been the only choice left. When my brother left, the house suddenly felt different. It was quieter. The quiet felt peaceful for a second, and then it felt strange. Part of me felt relieved, and that made me feel guilty too. The program did not fix everything overnight, but it ended the pretending. My brother’s experience taught me that love alone is not always enough. My parents loved him, but they still needed outside help. That does not mean they failed. It means addiction can become bigger than one family can handle alone. Before this, I saw addiction mostly as bad choices or a lack of discipline. Now I understand how much deeper it goes. Addiction damages trust, communication, stability, and safety inside a home. It can make someone act like a person their family barely recognizes. That is hard to say, but I saw it. Watching my brother struggle changed how I think about my choices. I am careful around drinking or marijuana because I have seen how something social can become something a person depends on every day. I do not want to use anything as a crutch for stress or sadness. Because of that, I believe families need help sooner, clearer warning signs, and treatment before addiction reaches the breaking point. School became important to me because it gave me structure during a chaotic time. At UCSB, I see how many students struggle in ways other people cannot see. I want to use what I learn and what I've lived through to help families feel less alone. I want to be someone people can talk to before things fall apart.

“It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it. Life is long enough, and it has been given to us in generous measure for accomplishing the greatest things, if the whole of it is well invested. But when life is squandered through soft living and useless activity, and when we are not directed toward any good end, we are forced at last to realize that it has passed away before we knew it was passing.” — Seneca, On the Shortness of Life In this passage, Seneca argues that people waste their lives not because time is short, but because distractions and emotional avoidance prevent intentional living. He believes many people move through life automatically, rather than stopping to think carefully about how they are actually spending their time and attention. Most people probably read this passage and think it is mainly about time management. At first, I did too. But the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable it became. What makes this so interesting is that Seneca wrote it almost 2,000 years ago, yet parts of it still sound painfully modern. Seneca seems to have a keen insight into people. A lot of us stay busy because slowing down forces us to face things we do not want to. Honestly, part of me did not want Seneca to be right about this. I remember reading the paragraph for the first time and immediately thinking about my own habits. Not dramatic moments. Small ones. Scrolling on my phone longer than I meant to. Keeping myself busy all day and still feeling disconnected from what I was actually trying to accomplish. Avoiding assignments because starting them felt emotionally overwhelming. Seneca wants the reader to stop making excuses. It is easy to say, “I do not have enough time.” But I think Seneca would say the harder truth is that many people do have time. They just spend it on things that do not matter. They give their attention to comfort, distraction, worry, and empty routines. Then, later, they feel surprised that life moved so fast. That idea honestly bothered me a little once I started thinking about it. People constantly distract themselves now. Phones, social media, schedules, streaming, work, notifications, and pressure from other people make it easy to avoid sitting alone with your thoughts for very long. A person can fill every hour and still waste time. Being busy is not the same as living well. I think the most important phrase in the paragraph is “useless activity.” Seneca is not criticizing work or ambition. He is criticizing unconscious living. Sometimes being “busy” is just another way people avoid thinking about what is making them unhappy. That sentence stayed with me because it felt personally true. I even caught myself thinking about it later while scrolling on my phone instead of doing work. The paragraph stopped feeling like philosophy and began to feel personal. Seneca also talks about “soft living.” That part stood out to me, too. Comfort is not always bad. People need rest and peace. But comfort becomes dangerous when it keeps people from growing. If someone spends their whole life avoiding difficult choices, difficult conversations, or responsibility, they may end up comfortable but not fulfilled. Time is not well used just because we are doing something. I think that is one of Seneca’s biggest warnings in this passage. That part especially connected with me because of my own experiences with ADHD and learning challenges. Growing up, there were times when I spent more energy avoiding assignments than actually doing them. I used to think that meant I was lazy or unmotivated. Reading Seneca made me realize that some of that behavior came from fear and emotional avoidance, rather than from the behavior itself. I would open homework, stare at the screen for a long time, and then distract myself with something completely unrelated because beginning the work felt stressful. Looking back, I do not think that was laziness as much as fear. Fear of failing. Fear of falling behind. Fear of not being good enough. Part of me knew Seneca was right, while another part of me still wanted to believe staying constantly busy meant I was doing well. One reason I love literature is that sometimes a writer explains something about your own behavior before you are fully ready to admit it to yourself. I used to think ancient philosophy would feel distant or outdated. Instead, reading Seneca felt surprisingly personal. At UCSB, I have noticed how easy it is for students to get trapped in a constant state of motion. There were weeks where I felt productive every hour of the day, but still felt disconnected from what I was actually trying to accomplish. People move from classes to work to studying to internships without much time to pause and reflect on whether they are mentally present in their own lives. I think that is one reason literature has become important to me. The best writing does more than communicate information. It forces people to recognize parts of themselves they normally ignore. The ending of the paragraph feels serious, too. Seneca says people often realize too late that life was passing while they were not paying attention. That warning feels uncomfortable because it is easy to imagine happening slowly, without noticing. Life does not always disappear in one big moment. It can disappear in small pieces. One wasted day becomes a habit. One habit becomes a year. After reading the passage, I started noticing how often people say they are exhausted but still cannot stop moving. That honestly feels like part of Seneca’s warning, too. Seneca wants people to live more awake. He wants people to choose what matters before regret teaches them the lesson. A good life is not only about having many years. It is about using those years well. That is what I think makes this passage so powerful. Even after thousands of years, it still forces people to ask uncomfortable questions about how they are living right now.

For me, watercolor painting has always felt connected to emotion, uncertainty, and memory. You can guide the brush, but you cannot fully control what the water does. Colors spread into each other. Edges soften. Sometimes the painting turns out to be something different from what you originally planned. I think that is one reason watercolor always reminded me of my uncle Thom. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting quietly near him while he painted for hours at a table covered in brushes, watercolor paper, and cloudy jars of paint water. I remember hearing the soft scratching of the brush against the paper as he worked, saying little. Sometimes I would pretend to check my phone while watching him so I wouldn't seem annoying. But honestly, I watched constantly. I do not think he realized how closely I was paying attention. What stayed with me most was how calm he looked while painting. I admired that because my own thoughts usually felt loud and disorganized growing up. I think part of me wanted to paint like him even when I was younger, but I was nervous to say that out loud. He could take something simple, like light reflecting on water or a quiet window, and somehow make it feel emotional. Not dramatic. Just real. Honestly, I still do not fully know why watching him paint affected me so much, but it did. That feeling stayed with me when I started painting myself. Watercolor never felt perfect to me, and I think that is part of why I connected with it. Earlier layers still show through. Mistakes do not fully disappear. The paint moves in directions you did not expect. Sometimes, imperfect parts become the most important part of the painting. One of the watercolor samples I uploaded was inspired by those quiet moments watching my uncle Thom paint. I wanted it to feel calm and reflective, almost like a memory that fades a little around the edges but never completely disappears. I cared more about atmosphere and feeling than making technically perfect. I think watching my uncle Thom paint changed the way I think about people and communication more than I realized at the time. My intended career path involves helping people feel understood and supported, and I think art shaped that part of me early on. Watching taught me people sometimes express themselves more honestly through creativity.

Mental health is important to me because I know how easy it is for people to struggle quietly while everyone around them assumes they are doing fine. Growing up with ADHD and learning challenges affected my confidence more than I admitted for a long time. In school, I often felt like I was working twice as hard just to keep up. I would reread assignments over and over and still feel confused. Sometimes I would open homework, stare at the screen for twenty minutes, and then do something random like clean my room instead of starting it because I felt overwhelmed before I even began. I also stayed quiet in class because I worried about sounding unintelligent or asking the wrong question. Looking back, I think a lot of my stress came from feeling like I needed to hide when I was struggling instead of asking for support. That is one reason mental health matters so much to me now. I realized how many students are carrying anxiety, embarrassment, burnout, or pressure that other people cannot immediately see. At Santa Barbara City College, things began to change slowly for me. I started using tutoring, DSPS support, planners, and better routines instead of pretending I could figure everything out on my own. One moment I still remember clearly was emailing a professor to ask for an extension on a paper because I felt completely overwhelmed. My hands were shaking a little while I typed the message because part of me still felt like asking for help meant I had failed. I still remember how relieved I felt when I read her response. That experience changed the way I think about mental health and support systems. Sometimes people do not need someone to completely solve their problems. Sometimes they just need someone to respond with patience instead of judgment. I try to advocate for mental health in small but real ways. One moment that stayed with me happened during a class project. Another student became frustrated because they did not understand part of the assignment. I remember them staring down at their paper and getting quieter while everyone else kept working. They kept tapping their pencil and avoiding eye contact while people around us started packing up to leave. I knew exactly what that feeling was like. After class, I sat with them and helped break the assignment into smaller pieces. Once the pressure came down, they started talking more and seemed much more comfortable. It was probably a small moment, but it reminded me how closely mental health is connected to feeling supported, understood, and not embarrassed. I also try to create that same kind of support within my school community by being open about asking for help and checking in on students who seem overwhelmed, rather than assuming they are fine. I think students sometimes feel pressure to appear confident all the time, even when they are struggling. More than anything, I want people to feel less alone during moments that used to make me feel alone, too.

For a long time, I thought service meant doing something big or impressive. As I got older, my understanding of service changed. I now think some of the most important forms of service happen before anyone else notices there is a problem. Growing up with ADHD and learning challenges changed the way I see other people. In school, I often felt like I was working twice as hard just to keep up. I would reread assignments over and over and still feel confused. Sometimes I would open homework, stare at the screen for 20 minutes, and then do something random, like clean my room, instead of starting it. I stayed quiet in class because I worried about sounding unintelligent or asking the wrong question. Those experiences made me much more aware of how many people struggle quietly without showing it. One moment that stayed with me happened during a class project at Santa Barbara City College. Another student became frustrated because they did not understand part of the assignment. I remember them staring down at their paper and getting quieter while everyone else kept working. They kept tapping their pencil and avoiding eye contact while people around us started packing up their bags to leave. My stomach honestly dropped a little because I knew exactly what that feeling was like. After class, I sat with them and helped break the assignment into smaller pieces. Once the pressure came down, they started talking more and seemed much more comfortable. It was a small moment, probably, but I still think about it. That experience changed the way I think about service and leadership. I do not think service is only about volunteering hours or organizing events. Sometimes, the service notices when someone feels embarrassed, overwhelmed, or isolated and helps them feel supported again. That mindset shaped how I approached volunteer work through organizations such as Second Harvest of Silicon Valley and St. Anthony’s Padua Dining Room. I still remember watching volunteers slow down and speak patiently to people who seemed embarrassed to ask for help. That stayed with me. A lot of people remember who made them feel less embarrassed during difficult moments. My education helped me rebuild my confidence. At Santa Barbara City College, I started using tutoring, DSPS support, planners, and better routines instead of pretending I could figure everything out on my own. One time, I had to ask a professor for an extension because I felt completely overwhelmed by a paper. My hands were shaking a little when I sent the email because part of me still felt like asking for help meant I had failed. I still remember how relieved I felt when I read her response. That moment changed the way I thought about asking for support. I know how easy it is for students to stay quiet when they feel overwhelmed or embarrassed. I want students to feel comfortable asking for help before they completely shut down. More than anything, I want people to feel supported earlier than I did.

About You (Identity & Background) I would describe myself as someone who has become more resilient and self-aware through struggles that were not always obvious to others. Growing up with ADHD and learning challenges affected my confidence a lot more than I admitted for a long time. In school, I often felt like I was working twice as hard just to keep up. I would reread assignments over and over and still feel confused. Sometimes I would open my homework, get overwhelmed, and then do something random, like clean my room, instead of starting it. I know that probably sounds small, but it happened a lot. I also stayed quiet in class because I worried about sounding unintelligent. I would reread discussion posts three or four times before replying because I was worried about sounding stupid. I still sometimes compare myself to people who seem naturally confident. At Santa Barbara City College, things began to change slowly. I started using DSPS support, tutoring, planners, and better study routines instead of pretending I could figure everything out on my own. Those habits helped me rebuild my confidence and eventually earn a 3.9 GPA. I do not have a direct connection to Nigeria or the African diaspora, but I respect how deeply culture, family history, and community shape people’s lives and opportunities. Learning Across Cultures One thing I learned from being around people from different cultural and educational backgrounds is that many carry pressure you cannot immediately see. At school, I met students from very different backgrounds than mine. Some were international students, some were supporting family members, and some were trying to adjust to completely unfamiliar environments. I remember feeling intimidated sometimes because other students seemed much more confident than I was, both socially and academically. Over time, I realized I was not the only person quietly struggling. Travel also shaped how I think about culture and communication. During family trips, I noticed that even when language barriers existed, people could still make each other feel comfortable through patience and kindness. That stayed with me more than I expected. Perspective & Growth My educational journey changed the way I think about success. I used to think successful people were naturally organized, confident, and good at school. I do not think that anymore. At Santa Barbara City College, growth looked pretty ordinary most of the time. It looked like using planners, studying in quieter places, asking questions earlier, and breaking assignments into smaller pieces instead of panicking. Once, I asked a professor for an extension because I felt completely overwhelmed by a paper. My hands were shaking a little when I sent the email because part of me still felt like asking for help meant I had failed. That experience changed the way I see other people, too. I became much more aware of how many people struggle quietly without showing it. Education & Future Direction My academic interests in communication and human connection are closely tied to the impact I hope to make in the future. I want to build a career helping students and families get support earlier, rather than waiting until they are already overwhelmed. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue my education while preserving the routines and study structure that helped me succeed academically. It would also reduce financial pressure on my family and allow me to stay focused on finishing my degree and continuing to grow personally and professionally.

For a long time, I thought needing help meant I was failing. Growing up with ADHD and learning challenges affected almost every part of how I saw myself. In school, I often felt like I was working twice as hard just to keep up. I would reread something over and over and still not fully understand it. Sometimes an assignment felt too big before I even started it. I would open homework, get overwhelmed, and then do something random like clean my room instead of starting it. I know that probably sounds small, but it happened a lot. I also stayed quiet in class because I did not want people to think I was behind. At Santa Barbara City College, things began to change slowly. I stopped pretending I could force myself through everything alone and started using support systems that helped me succeed. I worked with DSPS, used tutoring, studied in quieter places, color-coded my notes, and relied heavily on planners and routines to stay organized. I learned that my success depends heavily on routine, structure, and starting early rather than waiting until I feel overwhelmed. I still feel weird asking for help sometimes. One time, I had to ask a professor for an extension because I felt completely overwhelmed by a paper. My hands were shaking a little when I sent the email because part of me still felt like asking for help meant I had failed. I think about that more than I probably admit. Her response helped me realize asking for support was not a weakness. It was part of learning how to succeed. Those experiences changed the way I see other people, too. One moment, I still think about what happened during a class project. Another student became frustrated because they did not understand part of the assignment. I remember them staring down at their paper and getting quieter while everyone else kept working. They kept tapping their pencils and avoiding eye contact as people around us started putting their laptops away and leaving class. My stomach honestly dropped a little because I knew exactly what that feeling was like. After class, I sat with them and helped break the assignment into smaller parts. Once the pressure came down, they started talking more and seemed more comfortable. It was a small moment, probably, but I still think about it. That experience changed my understanding of leadership. I do not think leadership is about attention or titles. I think it is about noticing when someone is struggling before everyone else does and helping them feel capable again. That mindset also shaped how I approached volunteering. Through places like Second Harvest of Silicon Valley and St. Anthony’s Padua Dining Room, I learned that many people are carrying things you cannot immediately see. Sometimes helping people is not complicated. Sometimes it is listening carefully, being patient, and treating someone with dignity when they are having a hard day. Sometimes I still worry people think I am not keeping up, even when I am doing fine. My experiences with disability influenced both my relationships and my career goals. I want to build a career helping people feel less overlooked and more confident asking for support. More than anything, I want to be the kind of person who notices when someone else is starting to fall behind and helps them sooner.

For a long time, I thought leadership belonged to the loudest person in the room. I thought leaders were people who always sounded confident, had quick answers, and knew exactly what to do. I never saw myself that way. Growing up with ADHD and learning challenges made school harder than I wanted people to know. I would reread pages over and over and still feel confused. Sometimes I stayed quiet because I did not want anyone to think I was behind. I used to stare at assignments for like twenty minutes before even starting because the whole thing felt overwhelming in my head. I remember pretending to organize my backpack once because I didn't want to look upset after getting overwhelmed in class. Stuff like that stayed with me. At Santa Barbara City College, things began to change slowly. I stopped pretending I could force myself through everything alone and started using support systems that helped me succeed. I worked with DSPS, used tutoring, studied in quieter places, color-coded my notes, and relied heavily on planners to stay organized. Honestly, I still overthink simple things more than other people do sometimes. But those experiences changed the way I see other people, too. One moment, I still think about what happened during a class project. Another student became frustrated because they did not understand part of the assignment. I remember them staring down at their paper and getting quieter while everyone else kept working. They kept tapping their pencils and avoiding eye contact as people around us started putting their laptops away and leaving class. My stomach honestly dropped a little because I knew exactly what that feeling was like. After class, I sat with them and helped break the assignment into smaller parts. Once the pressure came down, they started talking more and seemed more comfortable. It was a small moment, probably, but I still think about it. Maybe more than I should. That experience changed my understanding of leadership. I do not think leadership is about attention or titles. I think it is about noticing when someone is struggling before everyone else does and helping them feel capable again. That mindset also shaped how I approached volunteering. Through places like Second Harvest of Silicon Valley and St. Anthony’s Padua Dining Room, I learned that many people are carrying things you cannot immediately see. Sometimes helping people is not complicated. Sometimes it is listening carefully, being patient, and treating someone with dignity when they are having a hard day. What makes me a leader is not perfection or authority. It is my ability to connect with people, stay patient during challenges, and help people feel less embarrassed about needing support. I want to build a career helping people feel less overlooked and more confident asking for support. More than anything, I want to be the kind of person who notices when someone else is starting to fall behind and helps them sooner.

I remember sitting with my laptop open and reading about UCSB’s Army ROTC program. I saw the name Surfrider Battalion on the Department of Military Science page. I expected to skim it, but I did not. I remember reading the page more slowly than I expected because it stopped feeling like an idea and began to feel like a real choice. That is why I am looking closely at a military career path. I want my time at UCSB to mean something. I do not want college to be only about earning a degree or building a résumé. I want it to help me become more disciplined, more confident, and more ready to serve. I am not pursuing this path because I do not think it will be easy. I am looking at it because I think it will help me grow in the ways I need to. I am still learning how to speak up when I am unsure, and I know that is something I need to build. I also want to become better at staying calm when things feel uncertain and when others may be looking for direction. At UCSB, I plan to explore the Army ROTC program and the Surfrider Battalion through the Department of Military Science. I want to learn more about the officer path and what it takes to serve in the U.S. Army, Army Reserve, or Army National Guard. I am still at the beginning of this decision, and I think that matters. I do not want to write about military service as if I already fully understand it. I want to be honest about what I still need to learn, because interest alone is not enough. Besides ROTC, I want to join activities that help me become more ready to serve. I want to look for student leadership, community service, fitness, and classes that build discipline and teamwork. Leadership activities would help me practice taking responsibility. Community service would remind me that service starts with helping people around me. Fitness would help me build strength and endurance. My classes would help me stay focused and finish hard work, even when it takes time. Service starts before someone puts on a uniform. It starts in the small choices: showing up on time, keeping promises, helping people around you, and doing the work even when nobody is watching. I want to become someone who can be trusted in small moments before being trusted with bigger ones. For me, exploring a military career is about the kind of adult I want to become. I want to become dependable. I want to become brave in a steady way. I want to lead with calm confidence instead of ego. If I choose this path, I want to be ready to give it my best and serve my country with humility, purpose, and honor.