Going to college has never just been about getting a degree for me. It’s personal. It’s emotional. It’s something I carry in my heart every single day because of the people who aren’t here to see it. When I walk across campus at the University of Oklahoma, I’m not walking alone, I’m walking with the memories of my dad, my grandpa, and even the version of my brother I grew up with before life pulled him onto a path he wasn’t meant to take. My dad and my grandpa were two of the biggest OU fans you could ever meet. I grew up on stories about OU football, watching games with them, seeing their faces light up every time the Sooners made a big play. OU wasn’t just a team to them, it was a part of our family, a tradition, and something that connected us through good days and bad ones. Losing both of them changed my world. There are days where it still hits me that they’re not here, that they won’t get to see me reach the milestones they always wanted for me. But going to OU feels like a way to keep them close. Every class I take, every step I make toward my future, it’s like I’m honoring them. It’s like I’m keeping their dreams alive alongside mine. My grandma, my Meme, is another reason this means so much. She raised me when my parents couldn’t. She has been my mom, my dad, my safe place, my everything. She worked hard to give me the life she never had, and she made sure I grew up knowing right from wrong, knowing how to love people, and knowing how to survive even when life gets heavy. Being raised by my grandma shaped me into who I am, and becoming a first-generation college student feels like a gift I’m giving back to her. I’m the first one in my family to go down this path, and I want to finish it not just for myself, but for her, to show her that every sacrifice she made built something bigger. My brother was supposed to be here with me too. He was my only full-blood sibling, and he was the one person I could talk to about sports for hours without ever getting bored. We planned on going to OU together, him to play football, me to become what I wanted to be. But things changed. He got caught up in the wrong crowd, and addiction pulled him into a life that none of us saw coming. I lost him in a different way, not to death, but to choices and circumstances that took him away from the future he deserved. Sometimes that kind of loss is its own kind of grief. College, for me, is about rewriting that story. It’s about being the one who keeps going, for him, for my dad, for my grandpa, and for the younger version of me who used to sit in front of the TV dreaming about this life. Every time I step on OU’s campus, I feel like I’m doing what all three of them wished they could see. I feel like I’m carrying their hopes with me. What I’m trying to accomplish here isn’t just academic success. Yes, I want to graduate. Yes, I want to become a sports physical therapist and help athletes recover physically and mentally. Yes, I want to open my own clinic one day and make a difference. But behind all of that is something deeper.

My name is Kassi, and if there’s one thing that has shaped my future more than anything else, it’s my journey with pain, healing, and the people who helped me believe in myself again. I grew up dealing with medical challenges, severe asthma, GERD, PCOS, repeated pneumonia, and an ankle injury that still affects me years later. I spent a lot of my childhood and teenage years feeling scared of my own body and feeling like no one fully heard or understood what I was going through. But everything changed when I met the physical therapist who treated my ankle and, without even knowing it, changed my entire life. For a long time, I thought I wanted to be a dentist. I even took classes and did clinicals through Southern Oklahoma Technology Center. But once my ankle injury led me to physical therapy, I realized how much more meaningful this field was to me. I didn’t just fall in love with the science , I fell in love with the environment. I fell in love with the way physical therapists talk to patients, the way they comfort them, the way they celebrate every small victory. I fell in love with how real and human the work felt. The PT who treated me used to be a teacher, and that showed in everything he did. He explained things gently. He never rushed me. He made me feel safe and seen, something I didn’t grow up feeling very often. He became like a dad to me without even trying, and that experience made me realize that I wanted to help people the way he helped me. That is what pushed me toward becoming a sports physical therapist. I’m now a Health & Exercise Science major at the University of Oklahoma, working toward PT school. My dream is to take my love for athletics and combine it with everything I learned from my own recovery. Athletes deal with so much more than physical pain, they deal with fear, pressure, identity loss, and stress. I want to create a space where they feel heard, valued, and safe. One day, I hope to open an athlete-centered PT clinic that focuses not just on physical treatment, but also on mental health support, confidence-building, injury education, and long-term resilience. My goal is to make a positive impact by being the kind of provider who listens first. The provider who believes patients when they say something hurts. The provider who doesn’t rush, doesn’t dismiss, and doesn’t judge. I want to help athletes recover, but I also want to help them rebuild their self-esteem and trust in their own bodies. I know what it feels like to be scared, confused, and brushed off, and I never want anyone else to feel that way under my care. My medical career will be built on compassion. On patience. On hope. On the belief that healing is not just physical, it is emotional, mental, and sometimes even spiritual. I want to serve, support, uplift, and empower others the same way I was once supported. My impact on the world will come from every athlete who leaves my clinic stronger than when they walked in, every person who feels believed, and every young patient who discovers that their body is capable of healing and so are they.

Entering higher education has always felt like stepping into a world I was never fully prepared for. I didn’t grow up with parents who understood college systems or who could explain financial aid, degree plans, or even what college life was supposed to look like. I am a first-generation college student, and on top of that, I come from a Choctaw family where survival, resilience, and hard work were taught long before anyone ever talked about universities or majors. Because of this, I often feel like an outsider navigating a system that wasn’t built with people like me in mind. My experience as a Native student has shaped my journey in ways that are both empowering and isolating. On one hand, my heritage carries a deep history of strength, community, and survival. My ancestors endured hardship so I could have opportunities they never received. On the other hand, the higher-education system can feel disconnected from the cultural values I grew up with. Many of my family members never had the chance to pursue college. I didn’t grow up with someone who could guide me through admissions, enrollment, or academic planning. Instead, I had to teach myself, piece by piece, how to navigate everything. This sense of being an outsider has created both hope and concern. My biggest hope is that earning my degree will not only change my life but also break generational barriers within my family. When I walk across the stage one day, I’m not walking alone; I’m carrying my Meme, my little cousins, and every person in my family who sacrificed so I could get here. My education feels like a promise to them. But I also have concerns. Sometimes I worry about making mistakes, choosing the wrong classes, or failing because no one ever taught me how to balance academic pressure with the weight of financial stress and family expectations. Being a first-generation and Native student means constantly figuring things out without a map. I’ve had to learn how to advocate for myself, ask questions even when I feel embarrassed, and accept that I’m allowed to take up space here. These experiences have shaped my future goals in powerful ways. Because I know what it feels like to struggle through systems alone, I want a career where I can guide others. As a future sports physical therapist, I want to support people who feel lost, scared, or overwhelmed, physically or emotionally. My long-term dream of opening an athlete-centered physical therapy clinic is rooted in my desire to serve, uplift, and advocate for people who don’t always feel seen in traditional medical settings. Most importantly, being an outsider taught me that education is more than a pathway to a career; it’s a form of generational healing. It allows me to rewrite the story for my family, honor my Choctaw heritage, and become someone younger relatives can look up to. My journey may not look like everyone else’s, but that’s exactly why I’m determined to keep going. Higher education may feel unfamiliar, but I’m here now—and I’m not leaving. I’m carving out space for myself and for the ones who will follow.

Being a first-generation college student shapes every part of my journey, how I think about my future, how hard I work, and why I’m determined to build a career that helps people. I wasn’t raised in a home where college was normal or expected. I didn’t grow up with parents who could guide me through financial aid, course planning, or career paths. I’m doing all of this for the first time, on my own, while carrying the hopes of the family that raised me. Because of that, my career goals are deeply personal. I want to become a sports physical therapist, not just because I love sports and the human body, but because I know what it feels like to grow up without consistent support. I know what it feels like to face medical struggles, anxiety, and setbacks without someone explaining everything or walking me through it. Being first-generation made me want to be the person I needed, someone who listens, guides, and truly cares. It also pushed me to dream bigger. I plan to work with athletes and eventually open my own athlete-centered clinic that supports both physical and mental health. When you’re the first in your family to go to college, you don’t just earn a degree, you build a legacy. You open doors for the ones who come after you. You show them what’s possible. Being first-generation motivates me every day. It’s the reason I wake up determined, the reason I refuse to give up, and the reason my career goals are rooted in service, compassion, and helping others overcome the things I once faced alone.

My name is Kassi, and if there is one thing that has shaped my life more than anything, it’s my love for sports and the way health care has affected me personally. I grew up dealing with a lot of medical challenges, severe asthma, GERD, repeated pneumonia, an ankle injury that still affects me today, and a long history of doctor visits. Because of that, I’ve always paid close attention to the people who helped me. Some made me feel safe and cared for, and others made me feel ignored or brushed off. I didn’t realize it until I got older, but those experiences built the foundation for the kind of career I want: one where I can help people feel supported, understood, and truly cared for. I am currently a student at the University of Oklahoma, majoring in Health and Exercise Science, and my dream is to become a sports physical therapist. I want to work with athletes, not just because I love sports, but because I understand how much pressure athletes carry on their bodies and their minds. I’ve been around OU Athletics, and that experience opened my eyes. I saw how injuries affect every part of an athlete’s life, not just their ability to perform. Physical pain, fear of losing playing time, pressure from coaches or fans, and the stress of trying to stay mentally strong all at once can take a huge toll. My goal is to help change that. I want to be the kind of physical therapist who treats the whole person, not just the injury. I want athletes to feel safe talking about their pain, their fears, and their mental health without feeling judged or weak. One day, I hope to work with the Oklahoma City Thunder, because combining professional sports with athlete-centered care feels like the perfect way to make a real impact. But my plans don’t stop there. In the long term, I want to open my own sports physical therapy and athlete-wellness clinic. This clinic would be different from what people are used to seeing. I want it to combine physical therapy with mental-health awareness, education, nutrition support, and a space where athletes, high school, college, professional, or even retired, can get the help they need without feeling alone. I especially want young athletes to learn early on that their health and their worth don’t depend on how they perform. My life hasn’t always been easy, but every hardship pushed me toward wanting to help others. I know what it’s like to feel scared, overwhelmed, injured, or misunderstood, and I don’t want anyone else to feel that way without support. Through physical therapy, I want to make the world better one person at a time by helping people heal, feel heard, regain confidence, and get back to the things they love. I truly believe God put this path in front of me for a reason, and I’m excited to use my passion, my experiences, and my heart to make a positive impact through my career.

Living with a chronic medical condition has changed every part of my life, both physically and emotionally. It affects how I move through each day, how I plan for the future, and even how I see myself. Some days I feel strong, ready to take on anything, and other days it feels like my body and mind are working against me. The pain, fatigue, and unpredictable symptoms make everyday tasks more difficult, and sometimes even simple things, like walking to class or concentrating through discomfort, feel like an uphill battle. But through all of this, I’ve learned how strong I really am. One of the hardest parts of living with this condition is the feeling of invisibility. On the outside, I look fine. Most people don’t realize that I’m fighting through pain, exhaustion, and the emotional toll that comes with never knowing when my symptoms will hit. It’s isolating to feel like no one truly understands. Over time, though, I realized I can either let that silence define me or use it to build empathy for others who are struggling quietly. What inspires me to keep going is the hope of helping others through my future career in healthcare, specifically sports physical therapy. I know what it feels like to be told “you’re fine” when you know something is wrong, or to feel brushed aside when you’re in pain. I’ve lived through months of discomfort, countless appointments, and the frustration of not being believed. But I’ve also met medical professionals who truly listened, who made me feel seen and cared for. They reminded me that medicine isn’t just about fixing the body, it’s about healing the person. I want to be that person for someone else. I want to create a safe space for patients who feel overlooked, especially athletes and young people dealing with chronic pain or long-term injuries. I want to combine empathy with science, understanding that recovery isn’t always a straight line. My goal is to show patients that setbacks don’t define them, and that they are capable of far more than their diagnosis might suggest. This condition has also taught me patience and resilience. There are days when it’s easy to feel defeated, but every time I push through, I remind myself that progress takes time. I’ve learned to listen to my body, to rest when I need to, and to keep faith when things get hard. It’s not always easy, but it’s made me more compassionate, grounded, and determined. I believe my experience will make me a stronger healthcare professional and a better person. Living with a chronic condition gives you a unique perspective, it teaches you how to care deeply, advocate fiercely, and never take good health for granted. My struggles have shaped not only my goals but my heart. Through my education and career, I hope to empower others facing invisible battles to find strength within themselves. I want to remind them that they are not alone, that their story matters, and that healing, both physical and emotional, is possible. My chronic condition may limit what my body can do at times, but it will never limit my purpose. It’s made me more determined than ever to turn pain into purpose, empathy into action, and challenges into change

Growing up, I didn’t have a typical mother in my life, but I had my Meme. She’s my grandma by title, but she’s been my mom, my dad, my everything since the very beginning. When people talk about strong women raising kids alone, they usually mean a single mother. In my case, it was a single grandmother, and she did it all. My birth mom was not a consistent presence. She struggled with drug addiction and never truly stepped into the role of a mother. Sometimes she’d send a message or a book, but those moments were rare, and they always left a hole behind. My dad wasn’t a great father either, though I still miss him now that he’s passed away. With both of them absent in their own ways, it was Meme who stepped up, and never once stepped away. She raised me through heartbreak, health scares, and everyday life, all while carrying more than anyone should have to. When I got sick, it was Meme holding me. When I struggled in school, Meme was at every meeting, pushing for help I needed. When I had dreams, no matter how big, she was always the first to believe in me. She worked hard, gave up so much, and poured every bit of herself into giving me a chance at something more. Meme taught me to be tough but kind, to love fiercely, and to never back down from something just because it’s hard. Watching her handle everything alone, bills, meals, discipline, love, showed me what real strength looks like. And it made me want to be someone who never gives up, no matter what life throws at me. She taught me the value of education, respect, and working for what you want. And even now, as I chase a career in physical therapy, start planning my own business, and carry the legacy of my family’s name, I carry her voice with me every step of the way. She’s been my reason, my motivation, and my biggest supporter. I didn’t grow up with a traditional single mother, but growing up with Meme, my single grandmother, shaped me into someone who values hard work, compassion, and family more than anything. Her love wasn’t easy or perfect, but it was steady and real. And I wouldn’t trade that for the world. Because of her, I know what it means to fight for your future. Because of her, I’m determined to make something of myself, not just for me, but for her too. I owe everything to the woman who raised me, and one day, I hope I can give her the life she always deserved.

Growing up as a proud member of the Choctaw Nation, my identity has never been just a box to check, it’s been the foundation of who I am, where I come from, and what drives me forward. As a Native American, a first-generation college student, and someone who’s faced chronic illness, injury, and loss, I’ve learned that being part of an underrepresented group means carrying both strength and responsibility. It means knowing what it feels like to be overlooked, and deciding to use that experience to fight for others who are, too. From a young age, I knew my path wouldn’t be easy. I come from a small town where college wasn’t guaranteed and healthcare access wasn’t always fair. My grandmother raised me, and even though she didn’t have a lot, she gave me everything. When I suffered a major ankle injury that changed my life and limited my athletic future, I met a physical therapist who didn’t just treat me, he listened. He made me feel seen. That’s when I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to become a physical therapist, not just for the science, but for the human connection, especially for athletes, Native students, and people like me who are often misunderstood or misjudged. Being Native in healthcare is rare. Being Native in sports medicine? Even more so. But that’s exactly why I want to be there. Native communities face unique barriers to healthcare, mental health support, and representation. If I can be part of changing that, even just for one person, then I’m doing what I’m meant to do. I don’t want to just treat injuries. I want to advocate. I want to educate. I want to show young Native athletes that their pain matters and their healing is possible. I’ve struggled with ADHD, dyslexia, anxiety, and depression, but those aren’t setbacks to me. They’re part of my story. They’ve taught me how to work harder, how to ask for help, and how to support others who feel overwhelmed or alone. That’s why I plan to open a facility one day that combines physical therapy, mental health care, and athlete support, especially for underrepresented and underserved populations. I want it to feel like home for people who’ve never felt safe asking for help. My identity isn’t just a detail, it’s my why. Being Choctaw, being a first-gen student, and being someone who’s lived through hardship gives me the heart and the fight to keep going. I’m not walking this path for just me. I’m walking it for my family, my community, and every student who doesn’t see themselves in the system yet. We belong here, and I’m going to prove it.

In a world where health and performance are constantly evolving, sustainability must be a core value in every profession, including physical therapy. As someone studying Health and Exercise Science and planning to become a sports physical therapist, I believe sustainability doesn’t stop at recycling or conserving energy. In my field, it means creating a long-term model that protects both our environment and the well-being of the athletes and communities we serve. Athletes push their bodies to the limit, and physical therapists are there to help them recover, rebuild, and return stronger. But the facilities, tools, and methods we use can leave a lasting environmental footprint if we aren’t mindful. From excessive energy use in clinics and gyms to the disposable materials used during rehab sessions, bandages, electrodes, tape, and more, our profession has room to grow greener. My vision is to build a sustainable model of physical therapy that protects both people and the planet. In the future, I plan to open a unique athlete-centered business that combines sports physical therapy, mental health support, and a safe space where athletes can just be themselves. This space would be designed with sustainability in mind, starting with energy-efficient equipment, reduced plastic use, reusable therapy tools when safe and possible, and eco-conscious cleaning and laundry systems. I also want to support local, sustainable vendors for things like towels, drinks, or merchandise instead of relying on mass-produced, high-waste options. More importantly, I believe sustainability also means caring for the long-term mental and physical health of athletes. Too often, athletes are treated like machines instead of people. My dream is to create a place where they feel valued even off the field. A place where they can hang out, get support, and relax without pressure or cameras. Where they’re allowed to heal at the pace their body and mind need, not rushed back just to meet expectations. This kind of sustainability, one that focuses on the person as a whole, creates a ripple effect. Athletes who feel safe and supported are more likely to give back, make thoughtful decisions, and lead by example. And when we build a culture that values people over performance, we build a better future. Alongside running this business, I still plan to work as a physical therapist for a sports team, hopefully with the OKC Thunder or another organization close to home. Whether I’m taping an ankle courtside or helping a player recover from surgery, I’ll be finding ways to reduce waste, educate others about sustainability, and advocate for changes in how teams operate behind the scenes. Sports and sustainability may not seem like an obvious pair, but they should be. Just like training an athlete’s body to last a lifetime, we need to train our systems to last, too. I want to be part of that shift. Because real strength doesn’t come from cutting corners, it comes from doing what’s right, even when it’s hard.

For me, becoming an entrepreneur isn’t about money or titles. It’s about building something that changes lives, something I wish had existed when I needed it most. My dream is to open a space that blends sports physical therapy and mental health support, a place made for athletes by someone who has lived their struggles. I want to build a safe, judgment-free center where athletes can heal, breathe, and just be themselves without pressure. I was inspired by my own journey. I was an athlete, and I loved it. But then I got injured. What followed wasn’t just physical pain, it was emotional exhaustion. I felt like just another number in a long line of patients. I had to push through expectations, pressure, and anxiety while pretending I was fine. I was thrown into a student sports medicine job with no training, terrified I would mess up and ruin someone’s career. I felt like I had to be perfect, and I didn’t know how to ask for help. That experience lit a fire in me. No one should feel alone like that, especially not athletes who are already carrying the weight of performance, identity, and expectation. That’s why I want to create a place that’s different. I envision a wellness and recovery center where athletes are treated like people, not problems to fix. There will be licensed physical therapists and specialists who take time with each athlete, making sure they feel safe, seen, and supported. But I want it to go beyond just the physical. Athletes also need mental recovery, a space to talk about anxiety, burnout, depression, or just the stress of always being “on.” So, I will partner with mental health professionals to ensure every athlete has access to support that goes beyond a treatment table. And I want to take it one step further: I will have a separate lounge and hangout area for athletes only. So they can hang out with other athletes. A space with no pressure, no spotlight, and no outside noise. Somewhere they can just laugh, unwind, and be human. If they don’t want their pictures posted, I won’t post them. No exceptions. My place won’t be about marketing, it’ll be about healing and respect. I’ll only post with their permission. I want to start small, likely in Oklahoma, where I’m from, and if it works out expand to other cities and states if it goes well. Whether it’s college athletes, pro athletes, or high school kids, I want them all to have a place where they can recover fully, body and mind. Too often, we separate the two, and athletes are left suffering in silence. I want to be the one who changes that. Entrepreneurship excites me because it means I don’t have to wait for someone else to fix the system. I can build the thing I wish I had. I can be the support I once prayed for. And if I do this right, maybe one day another young athlete won’t feel like they’re falling apart inside while trying to look strong on the outside. They’ll know they’re not alone, because I built a place just for them.

My name is Kassi Latimer, and I am currently a student at the University of Oklahoma majoring in Health and Exercise Science, a path rooted in the STEAM fields and one I chose because of both personal experience and a deep desire to make a difference in the world of sports and rehabilitation. Growing up in Gene Autry, Oklahoma, and attending school in Ardmore, I didn’t come from a family with money or access to opportunities. I was raised by my grandmother, my Meme, who is my hero, my mom, my dad, and my rock all in one. I’ve faced more obstacles than I can count, including a lifelong struggle with asthma, ADHD, depression, dyslexia, and a chronic ankle injury that ended my high school track career. But it was that injury that changed everything for me, and ironically, it’s the reason I discovered my love for STEAM. When I got hurt, I was passed around from doctor to doctor for months. I was told it was a sprain, then found out I had an extra bone in my foot. I couldn’t walk properly for a long time, and the pain never fully went away. But one physical therapist didn’t give up on me. He not only tried to help me heal, he became like a father to me. That experience inspired me to become a sports physical therapist, so I can be that person for someone else. I want to work in professional sports, helping athletes recover and stay strong, especially those who might not feel seen or heard. Pursuing a degree in STEAM has not been easy. I’m taking 23 credit hours this semester across multiple schools OU and Barton Community College just to afford it and graduate early. I’m currently over $15,000 in debt and still have years of school ahead of me, including graduate school. I receive no financial help from family. It’s just me, fighting for this future every single day. I even stepped away from an athletic trainer position at OU to focus on my mental health, which was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. But I’m learning that taking care of myself matters too. This scholarship would mean the world to me. It wouldn’t just relieve financial stress, it would allow me to focus more on my studies, pursue more observation hours, and build the future I dream about every single day. A future where I work with athletes, give back to my community, and create a safe space for those struggling like I once was. A future where I prove that even with every diagnosis, every disadvantage, and every setback, I was still capable of something amazing. I chose STEAM because I want to heal. I want to build. And I want to serve. Thank you for considering me.

Taylor Swift’s career has been filled with unforgettable performances, but none have moved me more deeply than her haunting, vulnerable delivery of “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)” on Saturday Night Live in November 2021. This performance wasn’t just a song; it was a living, breathing piece of storytelling that captured the emotional depth of an entire era in her life. As someone with ADHD, dyslexia, and anxiety, I’ve often struggled to process my emotions and find the words to explain how I feel. But watching Taylor reclaim her own story in front of the world gave me the strength to reclaim mine. She didn’t rely on a flashy stage setup or backup dancers. Just her, her guitar, and the raw truth of her lyrics. The film reel playing behind her added an almost cinematic weight to the performance. Every moment felt intentional, from the red lighting that echoed the Red album’s re-release to the way her voice cracked slightly on certain lyrics, as though she was reliving the heartbreak in real time. It was personal. It was brave. As someone who’s also experienced loss, confusion, and growth, I saw pieces of myself in her. I saw how pain doesn’t vanish when the lights go out, and how strength sometimes looks like letting yourself feel everything. That performance reminded me that even when people don’t believe in you, or when your world feels like it’s falling apart, your voice still matters. And that voice can be used to tell your story, to process it, and to heal. Taylor’s performance on SNL wasn’t just music. It was a mirror. It showed me that being sensitive doesn’t mean you’re weak. That being emotional doesn’t mean you’re broken. And that there is power in being both a storyteller and a survivor.

My name is Kassi Latimer, and I am currently pursuing a degree in Health and Exercise Science with the dream of becoming a sports physical therapist. From a young age, I’ve been drawn to the world of science and how it intertwines with healing, particularly the way it supports athletes both physically and mentally. I’ve always believed that the body is capable of extraordinary things, but even more so when supported by someone who cares enough to understand it. My journey in STEM is deeply personal. I developed tarsal tunnel syndrome and live with flat feet and no arch, inherited from my dad. I wear 4E wide boys’ shoes, and my injuries have kept me from doing sports myself, no matter how much I love them. That didn’t stop me. I love sports I grew up watching them. If I couldn’t be on the field, I was going to be right beside it, helping others get there and stay there. I’ve had to navigate sports not only from the sidelines but also from the inside out, as someone who understands the pain, the setbacks, and the fight to get back up. But the truth is, it wasn’t just physical barriers I faced. My mental health has been a bigger opponent than any injury. I live with severe anxiety that affects me every single day. I’m terrified of being judged, not being good enough, or letting people down. Presenting in class makes me panic. I overthink everything. I know I’m not alone in this, and that’s exactly why I’ve made it my mission to raise awareness for mental health in the athlete community. I’m working to build something greater than just a career, I’m building a platform. I want to create a safe space for athletes, both in-person and online, where they can be vulnerable without fear. A space where their injuries, anxieties, and burnout aren’t seen as weakness, but as battles they’re strong enough to face with support. My goal is to combine my scientific knowledge with compassion, advocacy, and real-life experience. And because I understand the stigma around mental health, I’ll always ask for permission before sharing stories. Trust is the foundation. As a woman in STEM, I recognize the importance of not just showing up, but standing out. I want to be an example for young girls who feel out of place in science or medicine, who struggle with anxiety, or who think their body makes them less worthy. I want to show them that your heart, your empathy, and your curiosity are your greatest strengths in this field. We need more women who lead with understanding and power, who rewrite what success looks like, especially in health sciences. Knowledge gives us the tools, but curiosity is what pushes us to find better ways. I want to be someone who does both. Through this scholarship, I hope to continue my education and eventually open my own practice, one where I can give back to the athlete community, break stigmas around mental health, and prove that women in STEM can be unstoppable forces of change. Because we aren’t just supporting muscles and bones, we’re supporting dreams and real people with feelings that matter!

Mental health is something no one warned me about. Growing up, I thought I had to be the strong one. The quiet one. The one who didn’t speak unless spoken to. I didn’t know that the tight feeling in my chest, the racing thoughts in my head, and the tears I cried alone in my room weren’t just part of being “sensitive.” I thought it was just me. Maybe I was too weak to handle life. That maybe something was wrong with me. I carried those thoughts like bricks on my back for most of my life, never realizing the truth: I was struggling with anxiety, and it was silently affecting every part of who I was becoming. My relationship with mental health started before I even understood what that term meant. I grew up in an environment where emotions weren’t always safe to express. My mom wasn’t around, my dad wasn’t supportive, and my aunt, who was supposed to be a caretaker, was abusive. She hurt me physically and emotionally, pushing me to the ground so hard that it busted open my chin; it left a scar on my chin that I still have to this day. I didn’t feel safe, loved, or protected. That kind of trauma doesn’t just leave a mark on your skin; it buries itself in your mind. I was a child who smiled in public and cried in silence. Who clung to school and sports as distractions. Who tried to be everything for everyone because deep down, I was scared to be nothing. As I got older, the pressure got heavier. When I got to college, I thought things would finally feel better. I had goals, a plan, and for the first time, a chance to build a future on my own terms. I became a student athletic trainer, excited to step into a world where I could help others, only to be thrown into it without training or support. I didn’t feel ready. I didn’t feel good enough. My social anxiety flared up worse than it ever had. I panicked every time I had to help someone, convinced I was being judged, that I was failing, that I was slow or stupid or in the way. I cried in my dorm. I had panic attacks walking into work. But I kept pushing through, because I thought that’s what strength looked like. Until I broke. One day, I couldn’t take it anymore. My friend looked at me and asked, “Are you okay?” I said yes, but she just stared into my eyes and replied, “No, you’re not.” And that’s when I crumbled. I finally let someone see the truth. I told her everything. And instead of leaving, she held me. She reminded me that being strong doesn’t mean hiding your pain. It means facing it. Naming it. Fighting through it with the people who love you. That moment changed everything. I decided to step away from the job. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made, because I felt like a failure. OU is everything to me, especially sports, but in reality, it was the bravest thing I could’ve done. I chose my mental health over my pride. I chose to heal instead of hide. Now, I’m still working toward my degree in Health and Exercise Science. I still want to be a physical therapist for a professional sports team, preferably the Oklahoma City Thunder. But my reasons have changed. I don’t just want to help athletes recover from injuries; I want to be someone who sees them. Who checks on the athlete who’s quiet in the corner? Who reminds them that their mental health matters just as much as their physical recovery? Because I know firsthand how easy it is to feel invisible when you’re hurting inside. So many athletes are praised for being “tough,” but no one teaches them that vulnerability is just as powerful. I want to change that. I want to be the person who walks into the training room and creates a space where someone can say, “I’m not okay,” and know they’ll be met with compassion, not judgment. I want to advocate for mental health in the sports world because it’s so often ignored. Athletes are expected to push through everything, but they’re human, too. And they deserve care in every way. Mental health has reshaped my entire outlook on life. It’s made me more empathetic, more patient, more open. It’s helped me build better relationships, especially with the people I live with now. I have amazing friends who constantly support me through everything, even when I’m overwhelmed or spiraling. I have the best friends who sit with me when I’m quiet, who make me laugh when I need it, and who never make me feel like a burden. I’ve learned to open up to them when I’m struggling instead of disappearing. Of course, I still have bad days. There are times I feel like I’m not enough, or that I’ll never be able to accomplish my goals. But those days don’t define me anymore. Because I’ve learned tools, and more importantly, I’ve learned that asking for help isn’t a weakness, it’s survival. To me, selflessness is about showing up for people when they’re going through something they can’t even explain. It’s about noticing the signs when someone says they’re “fine” but you can tell they’re not. I want to use my education and my experiences to be that person for others. I want to help create a culture of support and mental wellness within athletic programs across the country, because the mind matters just as much as the muscles. This journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s made me who I am. And honestly, I wouldn’t change it. Because now I know what it’s like to be in the dark, and that’s why I fight so hard to be a light for someone else. My experience with mental health didn’t break me. It built me. It gave me purpose. And I plan to use that purpose to change the world, one athlete, one conversation, one heart at a time. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Deep down, I worry that my anxiety might ruin the very future I’ve worked so hard for, that maybe it’ll hold me back from the dream job I’ve prayed about and worked toward for so long. I’ve been open about my struggles on social media and with my friends. I've written essays and spoken up to remind people that asking for help isn't a weakness, it's a strength.

Selflessness isn't always about grand gestures; it’s about showing up, even when no one asks you to. It’s about noticing the quiet struggles, the silent pain, and choosing to step in because your heart won’t let you walk away. I don’t think selflessness is something you turn on or off; it’s something you live by. It’s how I was raised, and it's how I try to move through the world every day. One of the biggest ways I embody selflessness is simply by being aware. I notice when someone isn’t okay, even when they say they are. I’ve always had a strong emotional radar, and instead of ignoring it, I act on it. There was a time when one of my close friends, who normally lights up every room, suddenly started withdrawing. Most people brushed it off, assuming she was just tired or having a bad day. But I knew something was wrong. I gently reached out, gave her space to talk, and eventually, she opened up about how overwhelmed and alone she felt. I didn’t fix everything overnight, but I showed up every day after that, whether it was to study together, bring her food, or just sit in silence so she wouldn’t feel alone. Another example is when I was working as a student trainer. Even though it was part of the job to help athletes physically, I often took it further emotionally. I could tell when someone was anxious, in pain, or trying to hide something deeper. There was an athlete who had a recurring injury, and one day after practice, I sat with him for an extra hour, not because I had to, but because I saw how frustrated and defeated he looked. I listened, reassured him, and reminded him that healing wasn’t just physical, it was mental too. That conversation became a turning point in his recovery. He later thanked me, saying it was the first time someone had made him feel like more than just a number on a roster. Even with my professors, friends, or family, I never think twice about dropping everything to be there. I’ve held hair back during sickness, taken the blame to keep someone from getting in trouble, and stayed up all night just to make sure someone didn’t feel alone in their pain. Not because I expect anything back, but because I know what it’s like to need someone and not have anyone show up. I refuse to let people feel that way if I can help it. To me, selflessness is love in action. It’s the quiet “I’m here” when someone needs it most. It’s noticing the little things, when someone’s voice sounds off, when their smile doesn’t reach their eyes, when they’re pretending to be okay, and choosing to care, every time. That’s how I live my life. And that’s the kind of person I will always strive to be.

My name is Kassi Latimer, and I’m a Health and Exercise Science major at the University of Oklahoma, working toward becoming a sports physical therapist. I’ve taken classes at three different colleges at once to graduate early, including OU, Murray State, and Barton Community College. But what matters most to me isn’t the workload or the titles. It’s about using my experiences, especially the hard ones, to help others feel safe, seen, and healed. I didn’t grow up with the most stable or easy life. My mom struggled with addiction and wasn’t in the picture. My stepdad was abusive, and I watched my mom suffer in ways no child should ever have to witness. There were nights when we had to run from the house barefoot, hide, or stay with friends. I still remember one night when my sister and I had to sprint two blocks in the dark to a friend’s house, while he sat in the driveway smiling, just watching. That kind of fear lives deep in your body, and it never fully goes away. My Meme, who is my grandma, is the one who raised me. She’s my everything. Watching her strength through everything we went through is part of what made me want to go into healthcare. But it wasn’t just family trauma that shaped me. I’ve also seen what it looks like when people lose hope in themselves. My brother attempted suicide when I was younger, and I still remember seeing him in the hospital with someone assigned to sit in the room and watch him. In middle school, a sweet girl who sat near me in chemistry ended her life. We all wore her favorite color to honor her, even the kids who had bullied her. That broke me. I wish I had known how to help her. I still carry that with me. These experiences taught me that healing isn’t just about the body; it’s about the heart and mind, too. That’s why I want to be a physical therapist who sees the full person, not just the injury. Athletes are under so much pressure. They’re expected to be tough all the time, even when they’re breaking inside. I want to be someone who makes them feel human again. Someone who helps them walk, run, and play again, but also someone who listens when no one else does. My dream is to work with a professional team one day, hopefully with the OKC Thunder. But no matter where I end up, I want my patients to leave feeling cared for, not just treated. I want them to know they’re not alone. I’ve lived through pain, fear, anxiety, and loss. But I’ve also found purpose. I want to use my life, every broken part of it, to make someone else’s story feel just a little less heavy. That’s what healthcare means to me. That’s how I’ll make my impact.

My journey toward a healthcare career started with pain, both physical and emotional. When I was in high school, I injured my ankle during track practice. What seemed like a small sprain turned into months of pain, frustration, and confusion. I saw multiple doctors before finally finding a physical therapist who changed everything for me. He didn’t just treat my ankle, he treated me like a person. He listened, cared, and gave me hope when I didn’t think I’d ever feel normal again. That moment changed my life. It was then that I knew I wanted to become a physical therapist so that I could be that same person for someone else. But getting to where I am today hasn’t been easy. I grew up in a home that wasn’t always safe. My mom struggled with addiction, and my stepdad was abusive. I’ve seen things no child should ever see, from nights spent hiding and running to staying with friends because we couldn’t go home. My grandma, whom I call my Meme, stepped in and raised me. She’s been my mom, grandma, and best friend all in one. Everything I am today is because of her. She taught me that even when life breaks you down, you can still get back up and choose kindness. On top of that, I’ve battled anxiety, PCOS, asthma, and GERD, all while pushing through college. I’m currently taking 23 credit hours across three schools, the University of Oklahoma, Murray State College, and Barton Community College, so I can graduate early and start PT school as soon as possible. It’s exhausting, but I remind myself that this isn’t just about me. It’s about the people I’ll get to help one day. Every hour, every class, every sacrifice is part of something bigger. My experiences have given me a unique kind of empathy. I know what it’s like to feel broken, to feel like your body or mind has failed you. I also know how powerful it is to have someone believe in your ability to heal. That’s what I want to give to my future patients, especially athletes who face intense physical and emotional pressure. My dream is to work as a sports physical therapist for a professional team, hopefully the OKC Thunder. But no matter where I end up, my goal is the same: to be the steady, kind presence that reminds people they’re more than their pain. I plan to take a gap year after graduating from OU to gain more clinical experience and make my PT school application as strong as possible. I want to learn, grow, and serve in every way I can. Healthcare isn’t just about fixing bodies; it’s about helping people find hope again. It’s about meeting them where they are and showing them that healing is possible, no matter how broken they feel. If I can do that, if I can help people feel seen, safe, and capable again, then I’ll know I’m living out my purpose.

My faith is the foundation of who I am and the reason I keep pushing forward even through life’s hardest moments. Being part of OU Delight, a women’s Christian group that meets weekly for Bible study, and planning to attend OUBCM services with my friend, has reminded me that faith isn’t just something you keep to yourself, it’s meant to be lived out. My faith helped me through difficult moments, especially when my anxiety felt overwhelming and I questioned if I was strong enough to keep pursuing my dream of becoming a sports physical therapist. In those moments, I turned to prayer and Scripture, asking God for strength and peace. Each time, I walked away reminded that I am never walking alone, and that my purpose is bigger than my struggles. I love God with everything in me, and every single day is a constant reminder of how real He is. It often feels like I have a battle happening in my head, like God and the devil are both sitting on my shoulders. The devil tries to use my past and my anxiety to hold me back, to convince me I’m not good enough or strong enough to reach my goals. But God always steps in and reminds me that I am chosen, loved, and fully capable of becoming the person I am meant to be. My faith keeps me fighting, keeps me getting up every morning and putting in the work to chase my dreams, no matter how hard things get. I want so badly to make God proud and to go to heaven. My biggest fear is not going to Heaven. Serving others has always been a huge part of my life. I have volunteered at the Norman Food Bank, Mission Norman, and the OKC Regional Food Bank, and participated in OU’s Big Event community service day. These experiences have taught me the joy of working alongside others to make a difference, whether it’s packing food boxes or helping at a blood drive. I also spent months working in a physical therapy clinic during my clinicals at Southern Oklahoma Technology Center, where I got to see firsthand how compassionate care can change a person’s life. That experience strengthened my calling to work in sports medicine and help athletes recover not only physically but mentally after injuries. Service has shaped me into someone who leads with empathy and takes action when others need support. Family has always been one of the most important parts of my life. I was raised by my grandmother, my Meme, who taught me how to be strong, kind, and compassionate even when life is difficult. She is the person who showed me what love and sacrifice really mean, and I work hard to make her proud. My family’s challenges, from losing my dad to watching my brother struggle with serious issues, have shaped me into someone who values connection and stability. I’ve learned that family isn’t just about who you’re related to, but about who stands by you and helps you grow. Looking toward the future, I am determined to graduate from the University of Oklahoma a bit early despite taking a very heavy 23-hour course load between OU and Murray State College. I hope to continue taking classes year-round so I can begin physical therapy school as soon as possible. My dream is to work as a sports physical therapist, supporting athletes as they recover from injuries and preventing future ones, so they can keep doing what they love. Receiving this scholarship would help ease the financial burden of pursuing this dream and allow me to focus on my education, my faith, and my community. My goal is to not only be successful for myself but to use my career to encourage others, showing them that with faith, determination, and service, they can overcome their own challenges and live purposeful lives.

Being a fan of Sabrina Carpenter has been more than just following a singer and actress, it has been following someone whose story and strength have impacted my own. I first connected with Sabrina because she wasn’t afraid to be herself in the spotlight. She shows that it’s okay to be different, to stand out, and to carve your own path, even when the world tries to put you in a box. That message has stuck with me as I’ve worked through my own challenges with anxiety, overthinking, and self-doubt. Sabrina’s music has often felt like it was written for people like me, people who feel things deeply, sometimes don’t quite fit in, and are still figuring out their place in the world. Listening to her songs has helped me realize I’m not alone in those feelings. She takes the struggles and turns them into art, reminding me that there’s always beauty to be found even in hard times. When I was having a rough day or doubting myself, her music gave me comfort and motivation to keep pushing forward. What inspires me most about Sabrina is her growth. She started young, and she didn’t let people’s expectations define her career. Instead, she worked hard, took risks, and grew into the artist she wanted to be. That lesson translates into my own life. I’ve had moments where I questioned whether I was capable of chasing my goals in school and my career, but watching her success reminds me that I can build my future my way too. It takes persistence, confidence, and the courage to keep going even when others underestimate you. Sabrina Carpenter has also shown me the importance of using your platform to bring joy to others. She has a way of making fans feel seen and understood, and that’s something I admire. In my own life, I want to do the same, whether it’s supporting classmates, being there for my friends, or one day helping athletes as a sports physical therapist. Just like Sabrina makes her audience feel cared for, I want to be that uplifting presence for others. In short, being a fan of Sabrina Carpenter has taught me that success is about authenticity, resilience, and heart. She inspires me to believe in myself, to never give up on what I want, and to turn my challenges into motivation. Her career has been a reminder that even when things feel impossible, you can write your own story, stay true to who you are, and make an impact on the world.

My name is Kassi, and I am a Health and Exercise Science major at the University of Oklahoma with the dream of becoming a sports physical therapist. My journey toward this field started after I suffered a serious ankle injury in high school. For months, I lived with pain and uncertainty, feeling like no one in the medical system believed me or cared. But when I finally went to physical therapy, everything changed. My therapist, who had once been a teacher, became like a father figure to me. He treated me with kindness, patience, and respect, and helped me see that healing is about more than just the body; it’s also about the mind and heart. That experience shaped my values of empathy, perseverance, and compassion. I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed, anxious, and in pain, and I never want anyone to feel alone in those moments. My background has made me passionate about health and wellness because I’ve lived both the struggle and the relief. I want to be the person who encourages, listens, and supports others as they work to recover, not just physically, but mentally as well. To me, empathy means more than simply understanding someone’s feelings, it means stepping into their world and treating their pain, fear, and struggles as if they were your own. It means listening with patience, responding with compassion, and never forgetting that every patient is a person with a story, not just a case or condition. I know the importance of empathy because I’ve been on the other side of care. After injuring my ankle in high school, I spent months in pain without answers. I felt invisible, as though my voice didn’t matter. That experience made me anxious and hopeless. Everything changed when I met my physical therapist. He didn’t just see an ankle injury; he saw a young girl who was scared, hurting, and desperate for support. He spoke with me, encouraged me, and reminded me I was more than my pain. He taught me that true healing comes when a provider cares for the whole person, not just the diagnosis. This lesson is what drives me to become a sports physical therapist. Athletes face not only physical injuries but also intense pressure, criticism, and mental strain. Empathy is essential in this career because recovery isn’t just about getting back on the field, it’s about making sure athletes feel understood, supported, and confident in themselves again. I want to be that smiling face in their corner, reminding them they are not alone. I also believe empathy means creating a human-centered approach to care. For me, that looks like taking the time to listen to every athlete’s story, understanding their personal goals, and adapting treatment to fit not just their injury, but their unique needs as a person. It means acknowledging their mental health as much as their physical health. For example, I want to use my own experiences with anxiety to connect with athletes who may feel overwhelmed by their injuries or the weight of expectations. By sharing encouragement and building trust, I can help them heal both body and mind. In practice, I will ensure empathy stays at the center of my work by being approachable, communicative, and consistent. I will listen before I speak, explain treatments in ways that make patients feel empowered, and create an environment where they know their concerns are valid. I will measure success not only by physical progress but also by whether the patient feels more hopeful and supported than when they first walked in. Empathy is the bridge between science and humanity in healthcare. It is what turns a provider into a healer, and it is what I aspire to bring into every patient interaction. My journey has taught me how powerful empathy can be, and I want to use it to help others find strength, resilience, and confidence in their own healing journeys.

I grew up learning the hard way that financial stability is not something to take for granted. Losing my dad when I was young and watching my family struggle made me realize early on how important money management is. I saw firsthand what happens when unexpected events change everything, and I promised myself I would prepare differently for my future. That’s why building credit early is so important to me, it’s the key to security, independence, and making sure I never feel powerless when life throws challenges my way. Credit is more than just a number. It determines whether someone can get approved for an apartment, a car, or even a job. Without good credit, doors close before they even open. As a first-generation college student, I know I don’t have the safety net that some people do. Building strong credit from the start will help me achieve my goals, whether it’s pursuing graduate school in physical therapy, buying my first home, or eventually building the stable life I’ve always wanted. One of the smartest money moves I’ve made so far is being very cautious about debt. Like many students, I already carry student loan debt, and I know how heavy that burden can feel. Because of that, I’m careful about the money I borrow and always read the fine print. I’ve also learned the importance of paying bills on time, no matter how small, because every payment adds up to building credit. A lesson I learned the hard way came during my freshman year of college. I was balancing school, work, and my anxiety, and I had to quit my student athletic training job because my mental health was suffering. Without that income, I realized just how quickly expenses pile up. It forced me to sit down and make a strict budget, cutting out extras I didn’t truly need. It was difficult, but it taught me discipline and reminded me that financial planning is just as important as my academic planning. Looking ahead, I plan to take control of my financial future by using credit responsibly. That means opening a credit card but using it wisely, only for small purchases I can pay off immediately. It also means tracking my spending, continuing to budget, and building savings, even if it’s just a little at a time. These small steps will add up to a stronger financial foundation and protect me from feeling trapped when unexpected expenses come. What motivates me most is the future I want to build. I’m working toward becoming a sports physical therapist, helping athletes recover both physically and mentally. I know it will take years of education, dedication, and sacrifice to get there. But I also know that achieving my career dreams won’t matter if I don’t have a stable financial foundation to stand on. I want to create a life where I’m not just chasing my passion, but where I have the security to enjoy it. For me, building credit early is about more than buying power, it’s about freedom, opportunity, and peace of mind. Every financial choice I make now is shaping the life I will have later. I’ve learned from my struggles, and I’m determined to use those lessons to build a strong, independent future.

When Olivia Rodrigo sings, “Each time I step outside, it’s social suicide” in Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl, it feels like she’s reading straight out of my head. Those words capture something I’ve never been able to explain to people who don’t live with anxiety, the exhausting mental war that starts the second I step out my front door. For me, social anxiety isn’t just shyness. It’s overthinking every move, every word, and every glance until it feels like my presence is a mistake. It’s walking into a room and being certain everyone notices every flaw, the way my hair sticks up in the wind, how I stumble over my words, or the fact that my hands shake when I’m nervous. Even when nothing is wrong, my brain convinces me I’ve already messed up. That lyric perfectly describes the way it feels to be trapped in that mindset. Every time I’m around people, my mind starts running through a mental checklist: Am I standing weird? Did I say the wrong thing? Do they even want me here? Even the smallest interactions can feel like high-stakes tests where one wrong answer could ruin everything. And because I care so much about not embarrassing myself, I end up feeling like I’m always on the edge of doing exactly that. I’ve missed out on so many experiences because of those fears. There are days when I want to join in, to make memories, to laugh with everyone else, but the idea of showing up and possibly saying or doing the wrong thing feels unbearable. It’s not that I don’t want to connect, it’s that I don’t trust myself not to ruin it. That’s why Olivia’s lyric resonates so deeply; it doesn’t just capture the fear, it captures the heaviness of living with it every single day. But there’s another reason that line matters to me, it’s not just about fear, it’s about honesty. Olivia doesn’t try to hide the awkwardness, the self-consciousness, or the messiness of being human. She turns it into art. Hearing someone be so open about those feelings has helped me stop hiding mine as much. I’m learning that I’m not broken just because I overthink, I’m human. And if Olivia can sing about it to the whole world, maybe I can step outside without feeling like it’s the end of the world. This lyric has become a reminder that even though anxiety makes me feel like every move is dangerous, the truth is that life doesn’t happen if I keep avoiding it. Every time I push through and show up, whether it’s for school, friends, or something new, I’m proving to myself that I can survive it. Sometimes it’s still hard. Sometimes I leave feeling drained. But sometimes, I leave with a good memory I wouldn’t have made if I’d stayed inside. Each time I step outside, it’s social suicide will always be one of those lines that lives with me, not because it’s hopeless, but because it’s a mirror. It shows me where I’ve been, and it challenges me to keep stepping outside anyway.

From the first time I heard Sabrina Carpenter’s music, I knew there was something special about her. She’s not just a talented singer and performer, she’s an artist who tells stories that make you feel understood. Whether it’s a catchy pop hit or an emotional ballad, she pours herself into every lyric, and it’s impossible not to connect with the honesty in her songs. I admire the way she blends fun, confidence, and vulnerability in her music. She’s proof that you can be strong and independent while still being real and open about your emotions. Sabrina’s career has impacted me in more ways than I can count. Watching her grow from her early acting days to becoming a global music star shows me that dreams take time, hard work, and resilience. She’s faced her share of criticism and pressure in the public eye, but instead of letting it stop her, she’s used it as motivation to keep creating. That inspires me to keep going after my own goals, even when I feel doubt or fear creeping in. Her confidence on stage and in her music has helped me step out of my comfort zone. When I listen to her songs, I feel like I can be unapologetically myself, quirks, flaws, and all. She’s also taught me the importance of expressing my feelings, because music, like life, is meant to be honest. One of the most powerful things about Sabrina is how she connects with her fans. She makes you feel seen, like she’s speaking directly to you. That’s a rare gift, and it’s made me realize the kind of impact one person can have on others. Through her music and career, she’s shown me that success isn’t just about talent, it’s about passion, persistence, and staying true to yourself. I’m a fan of Sabrina Carpenter because she’s more than just an artist I listen to, she’s someone who inspires me to keep pushing forward, chase my dreams, and never be afraid to be myself. Her journey reminds me that with dedication and heart, anything is possible.

Ever since I first saw Wicked, I’ve been hooked. The story isn’t just a fantasy, it’s about friendship, being misunderstood, and finding your voice, all wrapped up in stunning visuals and unforgettable songs. Ariana Grande’s performance brings such a fun, magical energy to the film, and her voice gives me chills every time. I love how Wicked flips the classic story we all think we know, showing a different side to the characters and making you question what’s “good” or “bad.” It’s the kind of movie that makes you feel everything, laughter, awe, and even a little sadness, and that’s why I can watch it over and over again. What really sticks with me is the way the characters start off as enemies, judging each other and seeing only the worst. But as the story unfolds, they begin to understand each other, and that hate turns into respect, loyalty, and love. It’s a reminder that people’s first impressions don’t always tell the whole story, sometimes you have to look deeper to find the good. That message, mixed with the magic, music, and heart of Wicked, is what makes me such a huge fan. It’s a good movie for families to watch and learn lessons!

I never thought I would lose my father before I became a teenager. His death wasn’t just a personal tragedy, it was the moment everything in my life changed. It marked the beginning of a long, uphill journey of healing, growing up too fast, and learning how to survive when the odds were stacked against me. That moment made me an underdog in the most painful and personal way. But it also lit a fire in me that has never gone out. My father had diabetes, and it complicated nearly every part of his life. One day, during an argument with my stepmother, he stepped outside our trailer home without shoes on. While walking on the porch, his foot caught on a nail, leaving a deep, gaping wound. He fell down the stairs into the grass, crying in pain while my stepmother stood nearby, indifferent, smoking a cigarette. She came inside and casually told my brother and me, “You might want to go help your dad.” We rushed out and found him lying there, hurting not just from the injury, but from the weight of everything he carried in silence. That wound never healed. I remember the bandages, the infection, the constant draining, and how he kept going anyway. He was in pain for months. And then, just like that, he was gone. On April 4, 2017, I was pulled out of school early during fourth grade. I noticed my teacher acting especially kind and looking at me with sad eyes. My mom and grandmother picked me and my siblings up and took us to the park. That’s where they told us that my father had passed away. I sat in silence, frozen, while my siblings cried around me. It didn’t hit me until later, when we were sitting in a McDonald’s parking lot and the tears finally came. I couldn’t believe I would never hear his voice again. I was just eleven years old. Two months later, I turned twelve. On the same day as his visitation, I started my first period. It felt like life was forcing me to grow up all at once. Shortly before his death, we had moved in with my grandmother, my Meme, and she’s been my rock ever since. But even with her support, I went from being a carefree kid to someone carrying emotional wounds no child should ever bear. My stepmother had never treated me like I belonged. She favored her own children, and even my brother, over me. After I visited my grandmother, she would ignore me, making it clear I wasn’t her priority. My dad told me he wanted me to live with them, but looking back, it was more about avoiding child support than truly making space for me. Still, he was my dad, and I loved him. Losing him hurt more than I can explain. After he passed, I could have let that pain define me. Instead, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t give up. I threw myself into school, determined to build a better future. I took care of my siblings, leaned on my grandmother, and kept pushing forward, even when it felt impossible. I knew education was my way to turn pain into something meaningful. That’s what led me to pursue Health and Exercise Science at the University of Oklahoma, with the goal of becoming a sports physical therapist. My own injuries played a big role in this decision. In high school, I suffered an ATFL sprain that turned out to be much more complicated, I have an extra bone in my foot that now causes long-term pain. Months of medical visits, physical therapy, and uncertainty taught me how much a knowledgeable, compassionate therapist can impact a person’s recovery and confidence. One of my physical therapists became like a father figure to me, showing me that true care is about more than just fixing the injury, it’s about helping the person behind it. I’m passionate about this field because I know how it feels to be in pain for months and wonder if you’ll ever get better. I know how much it means when someone actually listens and takes your concerns seriously. As a sports physical therapist, I want to give athletes the kind of care I wish my father had, care that goes beyond the physical to address the whole person. I want my patients to feel like they have someone in their corner, because I know firsthand how rare and powerful that is. My financial circumstances have made this journey even more challenging. Coming from a home that was often unstable and marked by loss, I’ve had to work for every step forward. College is a financial stretch, but I’ve refused to let that stop me. I’ve balanced my coursework with volunteering in the community, like participating in the Oklahoma City Food Bank, the Norman Food Bank, and OU’s Big Event, where I helped restore an old school building in the MLK neighborhood. These experiences have taught me that impact comes from showing up consistently, even in small ways, a principle I plan to carry into my career. OU also holds deep personal meaning for me. My dad was a huge OU fan, and my love for this school came from him. Every time I walk across campus, I feel like I’m keeping his memory alive. My grandfather also shared that love, so being here is my way of honoring both of them. When I graduate, it won’t just be my accomplishment, it will be a tribute to the two men who shaped who I am. In the future, I see myself running a physical rehabilitation with mental and emotional support for athletes. I want my patients to feel empowered, informed, and cared for, not just treated for an injury. I also hold multiple SOTC certifications and have completed hands-on physical therapy observation hours, giving me real-world insight into patient care and rehabilitation techniques that will strengthen my future career!

For most of my life, I watched sports from the sidelines, literally. I didn’t play them growing up, not because I didn’t want to, but because my anxiety was so overwhelming that even the thought of being on a team felt impossible. I would sit in the stands and dream about being part of the action, but my fear always held me back. That changed during my senior year of high school. I decided I couldn’t let anxiety control me forever. I joined the track team, determined to push through the fear and prove to myself that I could do it. For the first time, I wasn’t just watching, I was out there, running. I was proud of myself for trying, even though it felt like a daily battle against my own mind. Then came the injury. During practice, I landed wrong and injured my ankle badly. What I thought would be a quick recovery turned into months of pain, frustration, and doctor visits. I was told it was a sprain, but the pain didn’t go away. Eventually, I found out I had an extra bone in my foot that had been aggravated by the injury. I went through physical therapy, but for months it felt like no one really believed me or understood how much pain I was in. That experience opened my eyes to how isolating and exhausting it can be to navigate the medical system, especially when you’re young and people underestimate your pain. After my injury, I became a student athletic trainer. I thought this would be my way to stay connected to sports while also helping others. But my anxiety, combined with the pressure of the role, became overwhelming. I was thrown into the job without an interview or proper training, and every mistake felt like proof that I didn’t belong there. I had panic attacks, felt judged constantly, and eventually had to step away for my mental health. At first, I saw this as a failure. But now, I see it differently. Stepping away was the first time I truly prioritized my mental and emotional health. I realized that my worth wasn’t tied to my ability to push through to the point of breaking. Taking a step back gave me clarity about what I really want: to help athletes not only physically, but mentally and emotionally too. I know firsthand the pressure athletes are under, the expectation to push through pain, the fear of losing your spot if you speak up, the stress of always performing at your best. I want to be the safe place for them. I want to be the shoulder they can cry on, the person who listens, believes them, and helps them find real solutions. My own injury taught me the importance of empathy in healthcare, and my struggles with anxiety taught me how deeply mental health impacts physical performance. This experience has shaped my future in every way. In school, I’m working toward a degree in health and exercise science so I can become a sports Physical Therapist and I can support athletes’ physical recovery while also prioritizing their mental well-being. In life, I’ve learned that strength isn’t just about pushing through, sometimes it’s about knowing when to slow down, listen to yourself, and take care of your health. By putting my own mental, emotional, and physical health first, I’ve discovered the path I want to take. I’m preparing for a future where I can be the person I needed during my hardest times, for every athlete who feels alone, unheard, or unseen.

Growing up, I wasn’t the athletic kid who played every sport. In fact, I didn’t do sports at all, I just watched them. I was obsessed. I could watch football, basketball, baseball, you name it, for hours, and it gave me a kind of happiness I can’t explain. But as much as I wanted to join in and be part of the world I loved watching, my anxiety always held me back. I was scared, scared of messing up, being judged, or not being good enough. It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that I finally pushed myself to play, and even though it was hard, I was proud of myself for doing it. That same year, I got hurt. I injured my ankle running track, and what was first thought to be a simple sprain turned into months of pain, frustration, and confusion. I went from doctor to doctor, and no one seemed to know what was wrong. I felt like I was being dismissed, like maybe I was just being dramatic. But I wasn’t. The pain was real, and it wasn’t going away. Eventually, I ended up in physical therapy. I was terrified at first, I didn’t know what to expect. But one of the physical therapists made me feel seen, heard, and safe. He treated me like I mattered. He believed me when I said something hurt. That changed everything. It wasn’t just the exercises that helped, it was the way he cared. That’s when I realized I wanted to be that person for someone else. Today, I’m working toward a career in sports physical therapy because I want to be there for athletes, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. I know firsthand how much pressure athletes are under, especially young ones. There’s the pressure to perform, to stay strong, to never show weakness. And when they do get hurt, it can feel like their whole world is falling apart. I want to be the kind of physical therapist who understands that. I want to be the safe place, the person they can open up to, the one who helps them heal both inside and out. I also tried to work as a student athletic trainer, but my anxiety got in the way again. Carrying heavy water jugs, rushing between games, and constantly being around so many people, it was a lot. Add in my health issues like GERD and asthma, and it just became too hard. But even though I had to step back, it didn’t make me love the field any less. In fact, it made me more determined to be in it. I understand what it’s like to push through pain, both physically and mentally, and I know what it’s like to feel invisible in the medical system. That’s why I want to be someone who actually listens. This isn’t just a job to me, it’s a calling. I want to serve my community, help athletes get back to doing what they love, and be a reminder that their pain is real and they are not alone.

Okay, so picture this: the villa is buzzing, people are coupling up left and right, feelings are getting involved, and drama is definitely in the air. That’s when it’s the perfect time to shake things up with a challenge I’d call “Truth or Fumble.” This challenge would be all about finding out who’s really being honest, who’s holding back, and who can handle the heat under pressure. Here’s how it works: All the Islanders are split into their current couples, but they sit across from each other on little podiums surrounded by foam pits. (Yes, foam pits. Gotta make it dramatic and hilarious.) Each round, the host asks one Islander a spicy or deep question, stuff like, “Have you been fully honest with your partner?” or “Who else in the villa are you attracted to but haven’t said out loud?” Now, here’s the twist: they either answer truthfully and explain why, or they “fumble” and get pushed off the podium into the foam pit by their partner. But, and this is the best part, the partner only gets to push them if they think they’re lying or avoiding the question. So now we’ve got honesty, trust, and a bit of chaos all in one. If the person answers honestly and their partner believes them, they stay on the podium and earn a “Trust Token” for their couple. At the end of the challenge, the couple with the most Trust Tokens gets a private romantic reward, like a sunset picnic or a night in the hideaway. Why this would be iconic: “Truth or Fumble” adds tension, laughs, and major vulnerability. It forces the Islanders to open up in front of everyone, while also giving their partner a chance to physically react (in a funny way) if they feel something’s off. And viewers would eat this up because it’s not just drama, it’s about testing real emotional connections and seeing if people are actually building trust or just coasting. Plus, imagine the visuals: people flying into foam pits mid-confession, yelling “I KNEW IT!” or “I SWEAR I’M TELLING THE TRUTH!”, that’s Love Island gold. This challenge fits everything I love about the show: the awkward moments, the messy emotions, and the big laughs. And it would definitely get people talking, both in the villa and at home.

Most mornings, I wake up coughing so hard I dry heave or throw up. It’s like my body isn’t ready for the day yet. If I wake up naturally, it’s a little better, but when my alarm goes off early, it feels like my body panics. I have severe GERD and asthma, and the combination makes every day feel like a battle. My throat burns constantly, I’m always thirsty, and I can’t stop coughing. On top of that, my asthma makes me tired quickly, even doing simple things. But I still show up, for class, for my goals, and for the life I want. To me, that’s resilience. Living with chronic conditions as a college student means every day comes with extra challenges. I don’t get to wake up feeling refreshed. I have to push through the nausea, the breathing issues, and the exhaustion. I tried working as a student athletic trainer because I wanted experience in the field I love, but I ended up having to quit. Carrying heavy water jugs and equipment took too much out of me. I couldn’t breathe, I was dizzy, and it became too much for my body to handle. It was heartbreaking because I felt like I was letting myself down. But I’ve come to realize resilience doesn’t mean pushing through at any cost. It means being honest with yourself, adjusting when necessary, and still finding a way to keep moving forward. I didn’t give up on my dream of becoming a sports physical therapist, I just found another path to get there. I continue my studies in Health and Exercise Science, I take care of my health, and I advocate for myself when I need accommodations or support. My chronic conditions have made college harder, but they’ve also made me stronger. They’ve taught me how to balance ambition with self-care, and how to keep going, even when it feels impossible. I know what it’s like to be in pain, to feel like no one understands what you’re going through. That’s why I want to help others, because I’ve been there, and I’m still here, pushing forward every day.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with sports, not as a player, but as a fan. I didn’t grow up on a field or court; I grew up watching from the sidelines, cheering, analyzing, and dreaming of being part of that world. But anxiety held me back. The idea of being out there, being watched, making a mistake, it terrified me. I always wanted to play, but I just couldn’t push through that wall. Finally, during my senior year of high school, I found the courage to join the track team. It felt like a personal victory. I was proud of myself for trying. Then I got hurt. I sprained my ATFL, and what followed was months of constant pain, frustration, and appointments that led nowhere. I saw doctors who brushed me off, told me I was fine, or gave me vague advice that didn’t help. I felt invisible, like no one believed me or cared that I was still hurting. That changed when I went to physical therapy. One of the therapists made me feel seen for the first time. He listened, he believed me, and he treated me like a whole person, not just a sore ankle. That experience is why I want to become a sports physical therapist. I want to be that person for someone else. What gives me an advantage over other applicants is my perspective and purpose. I didn’t start in sports young. I didn’t have a long athletic career. But I understand athletes, how much pressure they’re under, how hard it is to be expected to stay strong and push through pain. I know what it’s like to feel defeated, to be dismissed, to battle mental health on top of physical setbacks. And I know what it means when someone finally shows up for you, not just to treat the injury, but to care about you. I want to be a physical therapist who brings that kind of care into every session. Yes, I’ll focus on healing the body, but I also want to be the safe space athletes rarely get. The one who asks how they’re really doing. The one who notices when they’re not themselves. The one they feel safe crying with if they need to. Because I’ve been there, not just physically injured, but emotionally exhausted and feeling alone. I also know how broken the medical system can feel. I know how it feels to wait for answers that don’t come, to feel like a burden, to walk out of appointments more confused than when you walked in. I want to be part of changing that. I want to be the kind of provider who takes time, who listens, who never lets a patient leave feeling ignored or invalidated. I want to be their advocate, their teammate, and their support system. I’m currently studying Health and Exercise Science at the University of Oklahoma, working toward my goal of becoming a sports physical therapist. The financial side of school has been hard. I’ve had to make tough choices between taking care of my mental health and keeping jobs, between debt and staying enrolled. But I’ve never let go of this goal. It’s not just something I want, it’s something I need to do. This scholarship would give me the chance to continue moving forward. It would give me the freedom to focus on my education and training, without constantly worrying about how I’ll afford it. More importantly, it would help me become the kind of physical therapist the world, and athletes, truly need. Someone who understands. Someone who believes them. Someone who cares.

Calculus is often seen as one of the most challenging subjects students encounter in their academic careers. Still, its significance in the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) field cannot be overstated. Far more than just a set of equations or a collection of limits, derivatives, and integrals, calculus forms the foundation for understanding and solving real-world problems that drive innovation, discovery, and progress. At its core, calculus allows us to model and analyze change. This ability is essential across all STEM disciplines. In science, for example, calculus is used to track changes in velocity, growth rates in populations, or the decay of radioactive substances. Chemists use calculus to determine reaction rates, while physicists rely on it to describe the motion of objects, the behavior of electric and magnetic fields, and even the structure of the universe itself. Without calculus, many scientific theories would remain untested or incomplete. In technology and engineering, calculus plays a crucial role in the design and optimization of systems. Engineers use it to analyze stress and strain on materials, model heat and energy transfer, and design everything from bridges to computer chips. Calculus helps software developers create algorithms for machine learning, optimize code, and model virtual environments or artificial intelligence. In essence, calculus equips engineers and technologists with the tools needed to build systems that are both efficient and safe. Mathematics, of course, is the field where calculus lives and breathes. In pure math, it serves as a gateway to more advanced topics such as differential equations, linear algebra, and real analysis. In applied math, it’s the basis for statistical modeling, data analysis, and operations research. These applications are critical in medicine, finance, environmental science, and more. One of the most important aspects of calculus is its ability to unify STEM concepts. It creates connections between otherwise separate disciplines. For example, a biologist studying blood flow can use calculus-based fluid dynamics models originally developed by physicists and refined by engineers. This cross-disciplinary utility is what makes calculus not just useful, but essential. Moreover, studying calculus develops critical thinking, problem-solving, and analytical skills. It teaches students how to approach complex problems in logical and systematic ways. These are core skills not only for success in STEM careers but for navigating a data-driven world. The ability to interpret rates of change, understand patterns, and predict outcomes is invaluable in research, policy-making, and technology development. In conclusion, calculus is far more than a subject to “get through” in school; it’s a cornerstone of the STEM world. Its ability to describe, model, and predict change makes it indispensable for scientific discovery, technological advancement, and mathematical understanding. By learning calculus, students gain access to a powerful language that underpins nearly every aspect of modern life, and it enables them to become the problem solvers and innovators of the future.

Growing up, I always thought I wanted to be a dentist. I was fascinated by the medical world, and I loved the idea of helping people feel better and more confident. But everything changed during my senior year of high school when I injured my ankle during track. What I thought would be a quick recovery turned into a long, painful, and mentally draining journey that introduced me to a completely different path, one that shaped not only my education but my purpose. The injury wouldn’t heal. I was in pain for months, bouncing between appointments and feeling frustrated and unheard. No one could give me real answers, and it started to take a toll on my mental health. That’s when I was referred to physical therapy. I was terrified. I didn’t know what to expect, and honestly, I wasn’t sure anyone would finally understand me. But when I walked into the PT clinic, everything changed. One of the physical therapists there saw me, not just my injury, but the anxiety behind my eyes and the exhaustion from constantly fighting to be taken seriously. He used to be a teacher, and something about him just clicked. He made me feel safe, like I mattered. He talked to me with patience and encouraged me without judgment. He reminded me that healing isn’t just physical, it’s emotional, too. That moment made me fall in love with physical therapy. It made me realize that I wanted to be just like him. After that, I asked if I could do my high school clinical rotation at that same PT clinic. My instructor and the therapist worked it out, and I spent my senior year learning everything I could. I couldn’t touch patients, but I asked questions, watched treatments, and got to know each person. I saw firsthand how science, compassion, and trust come together in that field. I loved every second of it. I went on to earn certifications in both medical assisting and medical administrative assisting at Southern Oklahoma Technology Center before starting my degree in health and exercise science at the University of Oklahoma. I’m now on track to become a sports physical therapist, someone who doesn’t just treat injuries but supports athletes through some of the hardest moments of their lives. My dream is to work for a professional team, like the Oklahoma City Thunder or a Formula One organization, helping athletes not just recover, but feel whole again. As someone with severe anxiety and ADHD, I know how hard it is to feel like you’re falling behind or drowning under pressure. I want to be the person who reminds athletes they’re not alone. That they’re more than stats and performance. That they’re human. STEM, to me, is more than science and data. It’s what gives people their lives back. It’s the connection between biology and hope. My experience in PT didn’t just try to help heal my ankle, it gave me direction, confidence, and a mission. It showed me how deeply science can impact people’s lives, not just in labs, but in treatment rooms, weight rooms, and even in the quiet conversations that happen when someone feels like giving up. Now, every class I take feels meaningful because I know exactly where I’m going and why. And it all started with one injury, one therapist, and one act of kindness that turned into a lifetime of purpose.

When I was a little girl, my dad and grandpa used to talk nonstop about the University of Oklahoma. They were die-hard OU fans, and some of my earliest memories are watching football games with them, hearing about how special that school was. Neither of them had the chance to go to college, but they always dreamed I would. Now that they’ve both passed, I carry that dream for all of us. OU is more than a school to me. It’s home. It’s legacy. It’s where I believe I belong. I’m currently studying health and exercise science at the University of Oklahoma with the dream of becoming a sports physical therapist. I’ve always loved sports, but after injuring my ankle during high school track, I was thrown into physical therapy and saw it in a whole new light. The pain lasted for months, and I couldn’t get clear answers. It wasn’t just physically exhausting, it took a huge toll on me mentally. Then I met a physical therapist who completely changed my outlook. He didn’t just help me heal; he helped me feel heard. He saw my fear, my frustration, and helped me feel like I wasn’t alone. That experience changed everything. I wanted to be like him. In high school, I attended Southern Oklahoma Technology Center where I earned certifications as a Certified Medical Assistant and a Certified Medical Administrative Assistant. I even did my clinicals at the same PT clinic that treated me. I wasn’t allowed to physically treat patients, but I learned so much by observing, asking questions, and building relationships. It confirmed that this is exactly where I’m meant to be. But my journey hasn’t been easy. I live with severe anxiety and ADHD. I overthink everything, presentations leave me shaking and in tears for days leading up to them. I push myself hard, but I’ve had to work twice as hard just to stay steady. Last year, I worked as a student athletic trainer at OU. I was so excited, but I had no interview, no training, and was thrown into a fast-paced environment where I constantly felt judged and overwhelmed. My anxiety spiraled, and I eventually had to step away for my mental health. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made, but it taught me that choosing myself isn’t weakness, it’s strength. Through it all, my Meme, the woman who raised me, has been my rock. She’s not just my grandma; she’s my mom, my dad, my everything. She’s taught me what it means to love fiercely, give without hesitation, and keep going even when the world tries to break you. I want to make her proud. I want to carry her strength with me into every patient interaction I ever have. I also want to help athletes, not just physically, but emotionally. I want to be the person who helps them feel like they matter beyond their performance. I want to help them heal, grow, and come back stronger. My long-term goal is to work for a professional team like the OKC Thunder and be the kind of support I once needed. My story is filled with setbacks, but it’s also filled with heart. I’ve worked hard. I’ve stayed kind. I’ve kept going. This scholarship would give me the financial support I desperately need and help me continue writing the story I’ve fought so hard to begin. I just need someone to believe in me.

If I was only able to watch one movie for the rest of my life, it would have to be the Hunger Games. I picked that movie because I feel like it is an excellent story. I think it also teaches you a lot of lessons. It is a lesson that we should learn in life. We are reading the book in English class right now. The book is like the movie, just with a lot more details. Again, The Hunger Games teaches people a lot of lessons. Lesson one is to never take anything for granted. Especially your family and friends. You never know when it will be the end for you. Lesson two is to always be prepared for anything. Even if in the movie and book they did not think they were going to get picked, I feel like everyone should train just in case. Especially everyone between the ages of twelve to eighteen since that is the age range you have to be in to get picked for the games. It would probably be good for people over eighteen to train so they could help future generations. The third lesson would be to always be prepared for anything. It kind of goes with the training, but you never know when someone will strike on you. So you should always be prepared because even if you think you are friends to someone, they can always stab you in the back. The fourth lesson is just because you have more things, it does not mean you are better than anyone else. The capital in The Hunger Games is rich, and all the districts besides a few are poor. The capital wants to act all bad and do whatever they want which they can because they are the capital, but the districts each have the things they are good at and that they can make. The capital probably does not know how to make and do most of the things. This is a life lesson that we need to learn. Just because someone does not have all the stuff you have does not make you better than them. There are a lot of lessons you can learn from The Hunger Games that I did not mention. I think this would be a good movie to keep watching because it will remind you of all the lessons you will need to learn for life.

I need to learn how to drive and to get my license. I need to keep my grades up for college so I can graduate and have good grades for my degree. I am a high school senior this year so I will be graduating in May. I got accepted into my dream college which is the University of Oklahoma. I want to be a Physical Therapist which will take me around eight years to do. So, in 10 years, I see myself just now getting settled into my new job as a Physical Therapist. I see myself being able to do what I love and helping others. I used to want to be a Dentist until I hurt my ankle in Track and had to go to Physical Therapy for the first time. I was terrified of going but they were all great and pretty cool people. There I got to meet one of the therapists and we became pretty close quickly. He used to be a teacher, but it just amazed me how great he was with the patients. You could tell he cared and loved his job. He is the reason I switched from Dentistry to Physical Therapy. In my college class at my local Technology center, I am taking a class called medical assisting and I get to do clinicals. We can pick where we want to do our clinical as long as the site agrees and signs papers. Thankfully the physical Therapy place I went to allowed me to do my clinicals there. Ever since then Justin has taken me under his wing and has become a dad to me. I want to try to help someone's life like he did mine. My parents were never really around. My dad passed away when I was almost twelve. My mom is not around. I see her maybe once every two years. She will comment on my post and send me holiday and birthday texts. She will also randomly text me about how proud of me she is and how she is sorry she is not there for me. Justin is like a dad to me, and I am so thankful for him. I live with my grandma and my sister. I have a brother, but he got involved in gang stuff and has been to jail a lot. Of course, I love him he is my brother, but he terrifies me, and he is so unpredictable.

I feel like I am a very sweet, smart, caring, and loving person. I work hard. I am currently a senior at Ardmore High School in Ardmore, Oklahoma. I had a really hard life growing up. My mom and dad always took me and my siblings to my aunt and grandma's house on my dad's side. My aunt did a lot to us, and she was very abusive. She did so much to us that if I was to write about just that I would have reached my limit and can not write about anything else. The most impactful thing she did to me was push me down on the sidewalk and bust my chin open. She blamed it on my siblings. Now I have a scar on my chin that I have to live with. People want to tell me I have something on my face when it is just my scar. I look at it as a battle scar, though. It reminds me how strong I am and how I have lived through all of it. My aunt got caught stealing money from my parents so they finally cut ties with her. My mom and dad would fight all the time and me and my siblings would hear it. My dad was cheating on my mom and eventually moved out and married the other girl without us knowing. He put his new wife and her kids first and did not want to see us at all. He would run away from us if he saw us in public and act like he did not know us. My mom remarried to an abusive husband. He was so controlling, and I had to watch her get beat up. It got so bad that I finally moved in with my grandma on my mom's side, and I was happy. When my dad wanted me to come spend the night, I knew that meant moving in with him. I did not want to go. He already had my brother in his room. He lived in a trailer house and there was no room at all for me. He was not even happy I was there, he just did not want to pay child support. My dad eventually let me and my brother go back and live with my grandma. He passed away not too long after. I still barely see my mom. I only see her once every two years or so. She will comment on my posts and text me on birthdays and holidays, but that is it. My parents showed me what not to do with my kids. Now, I am trying my hardest in school to be a better person. I am in the NHS, NTHS, and Superintendent Honor Roll. I am taking a college class at Southern Oklahoma Technology Center for medical assisting. I am going to the University of Oklahoma to become a Physical Therapist. This is my dream school, and I am surprised I got in, but now I know the real work is starting. I have no money at all for college and I have to go eight years. I want to make people happy and to help them feel better! I think being a Physical Therapist will help me to be able to make a good impact on the world just like my Physical Therapist did to me and he is like a dad to me. He is the reason I want to be a Physical Therapist. I want to have the impact he has on me to other people.

I lost my dad when I was twelve, almost thirteen. Diabetes runs in my family. My dad had diabetes, and he stepped on a nail while barefoot. The nail caused an infection that never healed, and he ended up passing away. I was in fourth grade when it happened. I had just finished taking state tests, and my mom and my grandma picked me and my siblings up. I was living with my grandma at that point. My mom was never really around, and my dad picked my stepmom and her kids over me and my siblings. I knew something was up when we all just randomly got picked up, and then they told us. My dad was not the best dad by any means, but he was still my dad. He used to call me his little monkey, so now monkeys are my favorite animals. I've had to grow up going to school and hearing people talk about their moms and dads. Having to ask their moms and dads for stuff. I always felt like I was odd and that something was wrong with me because I always had to say something to my grandma. I love my grandma, but sometimes I do wish I still had my parents and were able to live with them and visit my grandma, not live with her. It feels like I do not even know my mom at all. I was up last night until around midnight, just crying my eyes out. I need a good cry, but I have not cried like that in a while. I am just so stressed out with graduation coming up, trying to learn to drive, keeping my grades and GPA up, doing my pre-college class work, doing clinical for my college class, trying to keep my relationship with everybody up, taking time for myself, and a whole lot of other things. I truly believe that senioritis is a real thing. I was up crying all night because cancer runs in my family, and my great grandpa has prostate cancer. My great-grandmother has breast cancer, and she is going to have to have surgery. My great-great aunt had a blood clot in her brain, and now she has another one and is declining. She is going to have to have surgery again, and they do not think she is going to make it through, so they told us to come see her if we wanted to see her alive again. I was up all-night thinking about all that, and then it just made me want my dad to hug me and tell me that everything's going to be okay. I wanted a hug that only dads could give. It made me realize that my dad would not be there for the big moments in my life. He won't see me graduate from high school, start college, graduate college, get married, have my dream career, and have kids. It just all came to me at once. I could not stop thinking about it. I just wanted my dad. I got accepted into my dream school, the University of Oklahoma. I grew up loving OU because of my dad and my grandpa. They both loved OU, and that was all I knew, and it rubbed off on me. I want to make him proud of me. I will be a first-generation student. I want to be a physical therapist, so I am trying to figure out how to pay for eight years of college, especially at OU. I really have no money at all.