This is a photo of me at 6 years old, taking my gold belt test in Tae Kwon Do. Martial Arts is one of the Boldest things I've ever done, It pushed me physically and mentally, and I gained so much knowledge, but the best thing I ever got from it was confidence. It made me realize that I could do anything I ever wanted, no matter if someone bigger, stronger, or older stood In my way. I got my brown belt in 6th grade, which made me the highest-ranking student in the studio at age 12.

Heart racing, shaking, tears rolling down my face. My mind is the speed of light, a spaceship soaring around every inch of the galaxy. It’s long past the time I should be asleep on a school night. I try to concentrate on the glow in the dark stars sprinkled across my ceiling. Mom sits at the edge of my bed. We both know that the only way we’ve found to calm my body and mind down is by talking about anything but [it]. We focus on the matter-of-fact: how there are more combinations in one deck of cards than there are atoms on earth; how the world may have been formed; how each side of our brains work to give us completely different characteristics, and anything else scientific in origin. The known calms me. There’s a safety in the explainable, a starting and ending, indisputable. We never stray from the path. Things that make sense. Things that have evidence and reasoning. Things that are logical. Anything to avoid the real root of my thoughts. We don’t talk about my severe anxiety because that is the one thing I have no reasonable explanation for. Between the ages of twelve to fifteen, this was just an ordinary habitual event, but how it has affected me is as far from ordinary as I could imagine. Today, I am a self-editor, in charge of my own accountability. I learned to reevaluate my way of thinking; to be more positive about the world, and to find the good within my struggles. I’ve discovered how to create a tangibility for my emotions, to convince myself that there is always a reasoning for the ache of worry I carry. During this timeframe I survived with a dark cloud over my head, wondering at what point the next wave of worry would surface. I no longer live with that fear. I embrace the present without worrying about the future because if a scientist was convinced that he or she would face problems later on in experimenting, nothing would ever be created. The beauty in creation is to face struggles and find strength in overcoming them. My own struggles also founded the desire to help people. I constantly dream of using the safety net that is science and research, driven by a force pushing me to create something real. I thrive on the idea that everything has its own explanation, whether obvious or obscure. My struggles helped me to be adaptable, to recognize that a bad day is okay, and to bounce back from it. As I think back to my childhood bedroom and those shiny glow in the dark stars, each has come to represent a steadfast characteristic within myself, differing in color and size. Like real stars, each trait has slowly morphed over time, always there, but not always recognized.

Heart racing, shaking, tears rolling down my face. My mind is the speed of light, a spaceship soaring around every inch of the galaxy. It’s long past the time I should be asleep on a school night. I try to concentrate on the glow-in-the-dark stars sprinkled across my ceiling. Mom sits at the edge of my bed. We both know that the only way we’ve found to calm my body and mind down is by talking about anything but [it]. We focus on the matter-of-fact: how there are more combinations in one deck of cards than there are atoms on earth; how the world may have been formed; how each side of our brains work to give us completely different characteristics, and anything else scientific in origin. The known calms me. There’s a safety in the explainable, a starting and ending, indisputable. We never stray from the path. Things that make sense. Things that have evidence and reasoning. Things that are logical. Anything to avoid the real root of my thoughts. We don’t talk about my severe anxiety because that is the one thing I have no reasonable explanation for. Between the ages of twelve to fifteen, this was just an ordinary habitual event, but how it has affected me is as far from ordinary as I could imagine. Today, I am a self-editor, in charge of my own accountability. I learned to reevaluate my way of thinking; to be more positive about the world, and to find the good within my struggles. I’ve discovered how to create a tangibility for my emotions, to convince myself that there is always a reasoning for the ache of worry I carry. During this timeframe I survived with a dark cloud over my head, wondering at what point the next wave of worry would surface. I no longer live with that fear. I embrace the present without worrying about the future because if a scientist was convinced that he or she would face problems later on in experimenting, nothing would ever be created. The beauty in creation is to face struggles and find strength in overcoming them. My own struggles also founded the desire to help people. I constantly dream of using the safety net that is science and research, driven by a force pushing me to create something real. I thrive on the idea that everything has its own explanation, whether obvious or obscure. My struggles helped me to be adaptable, to recognize that a bad day is okay, and to bounce back from it. As I think back to my childhood bedroom and those shiny glow in the dark stars, each has come to represent a steadfast characteristic within myself, differing in color and size. Like real stars, each trait has slowly morphed over time, always there, but not always recognized.