As children in school, many of us wrote “All About Me” posters with silly little drawings in frames of our favorite things or our families, and they usually included a section called “What I Want to be When I Grow Up”. My classmates followed the cliches, firefighters, police, rockstar, etc. I watched as people evolved their career choices through elementary school, having certain passions for everything they wanted. Sometimes these little assignments can truly predict the course of our lives. That wasn’t exactly my experience. When it came to writing mine, it changed every year. I didn’t really have a passion, I just wanted to get the day over to go home and watch the fish swim in their tank, or watch another episode of whatever was on Disney channel. No job really interested me. Granted, what five-year-old yearns to work a 9 to 5, but any options one would pose to me seemed dull. Over the years, I didn’t really give it any more thought. That decision was miles away. I always respected my teachers, but the little versions of my parents in my head told me not to follow that path. until I worked at a summer camp one year, and fell in love with working with kids. So the next year I enrolled in a program through my high school to spend time mentoring elementary students in the classroom. It was a wildly different environment to camp, but I adjusted. And I got to know this group of kids in an entirely different light. I found ways to meet their learning needs with games and activities that matched their personalities. It was immediately a feeling I couldn’t let go of, to get to know these kids and how I can help them to become the future of our community, of our world. When I tutor my 13-year-old cousin who hates math, I try to tell her why a method works, instead of how to do it. Rather than pull up a YouTube video on the subject like her teacher does, I work out the problem with her, show her how to do it, and then ask her to repeat back to me each step and why we did it. I know she struggles with math and has been bullied for it, but I make sure to push her, not letting her get discouraged, showing her tricks, tips, shortcuts, and why those work, because I want to share how cool math can be, not only because I love it, but because I know that everyone struggles with something. To be there, not only working through the math, but also challenging the beliefs behind how they view themselves, school, and the world, is astounding. That once-defeated girl lit up at my offer of tutoring her regularly. Simply because she knows I understand her, and how she learns. I know that every kid learns differently, and I want to be the teacher who meets them where they are. Who teaches them how to use how their brain works to an advantage. Because while I was growing up being offered into the TAG program every year, I was never really being met. My ADHD was never addressed. No one knew what was going on with me at home. Taking just twenty minutes with someone can change your whole view about them, and can tell you so much about who they are and who they could be.

Taylor Swift has been my idol and favorite musical artist since I was young. Her first studio album came out before I was one year old, and I was essentially raised by her in my hardest times. My CD copy of "1989" played on repeat as I wrote essays and figured out how to draw or multiply or read. These most recent eras, we have seen a very vulnerable and anxious Taylor, whom I very much relate to. I was never able to see her in person due to monetary limits, but I watched burry streams of her Eras Tour and played Mastermind (a game to guess which costumes she would wear each night) often. I often think about the nights in the summer or in the South American leg of the tour where we could see as Taylor struggled to catch her breath from exhaustion, but then could pop right back into her performance as if she was simply full of energy once again. I'm a future teacher who finds that it can be exhausting working with children, but that every day is a new adventure that you can learn and teach from. I want to have even an ounce of the influence on my students as Taylor had on me. Teach them to remember every moment, to build castles when others throw bricks at you. You can simply shake it off, because some people are only ever going to be mean. As I've grown, Taylor has grown with me and so have her performances and abilities. Every show holds an impact from when she was at small hometown music festivals, to opening for Tim McGraw, to selling out 149 stadium shows, her character shines through in her commitment and showmanship in every performance.

As children in school, many of us wrote “All About Me” posters with silly little drawings in frames of our favorite things or our families, and they usually included a section called “What I Want to be When I Grow Up”. My classmates followed the cliches, firefighters, police, rockstar, etc. I watched as people evolved their career choices through elementary school, having certain passions for everything they wanted. Sometimes these little assignments can truly predict the course of our lives. That wasn’t exactly my experience. When it came to writing mine, it changed every year. I didn’t really have a passion, I just wanted to get the day over to go home and watch the fish swim in their tank, or watch another episode of whatever was on Disney channel. No job really interested me. Granted, what five-year-old yearns to work a 9 to 5, but any options one would pose to me seemed dull. Over the years, I didn’t really give it any more thought. That decision was miles away. I always respected my teachers, but the little versions of my parents in my head told me not to follow that path. until I worked at a summer camp one year, and fell in love with working with kids. So the next year I enrolled in a program through my high school to spend time mentoring elementary students in the classroom. It was a wildly different environment to camp, but I adjusted. And I got to know this group of kids in an entirely different light. I found ways to meet their learning needs with games and activities that matched their personalities. It was immediately a feeling I couldn’t let go of, to get to know these kids and how I can help them to become the future of our community, of our world. When I tutor my 13-year-old cousin who hates math, I try to tell her why a method works, instead of how to do it. Rather than pull up a YouTube video on the subject like her teacher does, I work out the problem with her, show her how to do it, and then ask her to repeat back to me each step and why we did it. I know she struggles with math and has been bullied for it, but I make sure to push her, not letting her get discouraged, showing her tricks, tips, shortcuts, and why those work, because I want to share how cool math can be, not only because I love it, but because I know that everyone struggles with something. To be there, not only working through the math, but also challenging the beliefs behind how they view themselves, school, and the world, is astounding. That once-defeated girl lit up at my offer of tutoring her regularly. Simply because she knows I understand her, and how she learns. I know that every kid learns differently, and I want to be the teacher who meets them where they are. Who teaches them how to use how their brain works to an advantage. Because while I was growing up being offered into the TAG program every year, I was never really being met. My ADHD was never addressed. No one knew what was going on with me at home. Taking just twenty minutes with someone can change your whole view about them, and can tell you so much about who they are and who they could be.

It's not necessarily who, but what has had the most profound impact in my life to encourage me to work in education. It's the smile on a kid's face when they finally figure something out. it's the sparkle in their eyes when they know I'm there to help them learn how they need to. my journey to the teaching pathway certainly wasn't linear, but over the years I've discovered how to make their eyes light up every time by just listening to them. As children in school, many of us wrote “All About Me” posters with silly little drawings in frames of our favorite things or our families, and they usually included a section called “What I Want to be When I Grow Up”. My classmates followed the cliches, firefighters, police, rockstar, etc. I watched as people evolved their career choices through elementary school, having certain passions for everything they wanted. From kindergarten to third grade my best friend evolved from wanting to be a teacher to becoming a nurse; now, she is in ROTC to become an army nurse. Sometimes these little assignments can truly predict the course of our lives. That wasn’t exactly my experience. When it came to writing mine, it changed every year. I didn’t really have a passion, I just wanted to get the day over to go home and watch the fish swim in their tank, or watch another episode of whatever was on Disney channel. No job really interested me. Granted, what five-year-old yearns to work a 9 to 5, but any options one would pose to me seemed dull. A nurse? Ew, blood and needles. Firefighter or police officer? Those are man jobs. I was very adamant about being a girly girl. Pop star? Even at five, I was a bit of a pragmatist, it was never going to happen, even if my singing didn’t sound like a cat crying out for help. A teacher? My best friend had wanted to be one, and I liked all of mine, but my mother said I wouldn’t want to do it, so I dismissed the idea completely. In third grade, I finally settled on Marine Biologist, the closest thing to a mermaid I could get, and definitely not at all influenced by a certain Australian tv show about mermaids. Over the years, I didn’t really give it any more thought. That decision was miles away. I always respected my teachers, but the little versions of my parents in my head told me not to follow that path. I never had an inkling of what I wanted to be, or anything I was extraordinarily good at. Then came the summer of my sophomore year in high school. My mom’s best friend sends me a text with a job opportunity for a summer camp that is desperately hiring, and I need job experience. Seems like a win-win situation. What I didn’t expect is to fall in love with working with kids. Watching them learn new things, how they grow and change even in just the course of a week at summer camp. I learned how to treat kids as an authority while also maintaining an air of trust and mutual respect, and they loved me. My superiors even asked me to come back the next summer as a unit manager because of how well I worked with those kids. That’s when it clicked- maybe I didn’t love how the camp was run, or how we were treated as employees, but the most important thing that rang true time and time again was that the kids were the most important part. Their safety, their fun, building friendships, and learning how to become a good person apart from their parents. Guiding them in their journey to become independent human beings. That was what I loved, my passion, what I was really good at. So the next year I enrolled in a program through my high school to spend time mentoring elementary students in the classroom. It was a wildly different environment to camp, but I adjusted. And I got to know this group of kids in an entirely different light. I found ways to meet their learning needs with games and activities that matched their personalities. I knew when they were having bad days, or when they needed a little extra help, or when they just needed to tell me something that they were so excited about, just from body language. It was immediately a feeling I couldn’t let go of, to get to know these kids and how I can help them to become the future of our community, of our world. When I tutor my 13-year-old cousin who hates math, I try to tell her why a method works, instead of how to do it. Rather than pull up a YouTube video on the subject like her teacher does, I work out the problem with her, show her how to do it, and then ask her to repeat back to me each step and why we did it. I know she struggles with math and has been bullied for it, but I make sure to push her, not letting her get discouraged, showing her tricks, tips, shortcuts, and why those work, because I want to share how cool math can be, not only because I love it, but because I know that everyone struggles with something, and while it might come easy to me now, everyone has been in her shoes at some point, struggling to do something they know is easy for many of their peers. To be there, not only working through the math, but also challenging the beliefs behind how they view themselves, school, and the world, is astounding. That once-defeated girl lit up at my offer of tutoring her once a week. Not only because we are family, not because I know math well, but because she knows I understand her, and how she learns. I know that every kid learns differently, and I want to be the teacher who meets them where they are. Who teaches them how to use how their brain works to an advantage. Because while I was growing up in the highest reading group, being offered into the TAG program every year, I was never really being met. My ADHD was never addressed. No one knew what was going on with me at home. Taking just twenty minutes with someone can change your whole view about them, and can tell you so much about who they are and who they could be.

As children in school, many of us wrote “All About Me” posters with silly little drawings in frames of our favorite things or our families, and they usually included a section called “What I Want to be When I Grow Up”. My classmates followed the cliches, firefighters, police, rockstar, etc. I watched as people evolved their career choices through elementary school, having certain passions for everything they wanted. Sometimes these little assignments can truly predict the course of our lives. That wasn’t exactly my experience. When it came to writing mine, it changed every year. I didn’t really have a passion, I just wanted to get the day over to go home and watch the fish swim in their tank, or watch another episode of whatever was on Disney channel. No job really interested me. Granted, what five-year-old yearns to work a 9 to 5, but any options one would pose to me seemed dull. Over the years, I didn’t really give it any more thought. That decision was miles away. I always respected my teachers, but the little versions of my parents in my head told me not to follow that path. until I worked at a summer camp one year, and fell in love with working with kids. So the next year I enrolled in a program through my high school to spend time mentoring elementary students in the classroom. It was a wildly different environment to camp, but I adjusted. And I got to know this group of kids in an entirely different light. I found ways to meet their learning needs with games and activities that matched their personalities. It was immediately a feeling I couldn’t let go of, to get to know these kids and how I can help them to become the future of our community, of our world. When I tutor my 13-year-old cousin who hates math, I try to tell her why a method works, instead of how to do it. Rather than pull up a YouTube video on the subject like her teacher does, I work out the problem with her, show her how to do it, and then ask her to repeat back to me each step and why we did it. I know she struggles with math and has been bullied for it, but I make sure to push her, not letting her get discouraged, showing her tricks, tips, shortcuts, and why those work, because I want to share how cool math can be, not only because I love it, but because I know that everyone struggles with something. To be there, not only working through the math, but also challenging the beliefs behind how they view themselves, school, and the world, is astounding. That once-defeated girl lit up at my offer of tutoring her regularly. Simply because she knows I understand her, and how she learns. I know that every kid learns differently, and I want to be the teacher who meets them where they are. Who teaches them how to use how their brain works to an advantage. Because while I was growing up being offered into the TAG program every year, I was never really being met. My ADHD was never addressed. No one knew what was going on with me at home. Taking just twenty minutes with someone can change your whole view about them, and can tell you so much about who they are and who they could be.

As children in school, many of us wrote “All About Me” posters with silly little drawings in frames of our favorite things or our families, and they usually included a section called “What I Want to be When I Grow Up”. My classmates followed the cliches, firefighters, police, rockstar, etc. I watched as people evolved their career choices through elementary school, having certain passions for everything they wanted. From kindergarten to third grade my best friend evolved from wanting to be a teacher to becoming a nurse; now, she is in ROTC to become an army nurse. Sometimes these little assignments can truly predict the course of our lives. That wasn’t exactly my experience. When it came to writing mine, it changed every year. I didn’t really have a passion, I just wanted to get the day over to go home and watch the fish swim in their tank, or watch another episode of whatever was on Disney channel. No job really interested me. Granted, what five-year-old yearns to work a 9 to 5, but any options one would pose to me seemed dull. A nurse? Ew, blood and needles. Firefighter or police officer? Those are man jobs. I was very adamant about being a girly girl. Pop star? Even at five, I was a bit of a pragmatist, it was never going to happen, even if my singing didn’t sound like a cat crying out for help. A teacher? My best friend had wanted to be one, and I liked all of mine, but my mother said I wouldn’t want to do it, so I dismissed the idea completely. Over the years, I didn’t really give it any more thought. That decision was miles away. I always respected my teachers, but the little versions of my parents in my head told me not to follow that path. I never had an inkling of what I wanted to be, or anything I was extraordinarily good at. Then came the summer of my sophomore year in high school. My mom’s best friend sends me a text with a job opportunity for a summer camp that is desperately hiring, and I need job experience. Seems like a win-win situation. What I didn’t expect is to fall in love with working with kids. Watching them learn new things, how they grow and change even in just the course of a week at summer camp. I learned how to treat kids as an authority while also maintaining an air of trust and mutual respect, and they loved me. My superiors even asked me to come back the next summer as a unit manager because of how well I worked with those kids. That’s when it clicked- maybe I didn’t love how the camp was run, or how we were treated as employees, but the most important thing that rang true time and time again was that the kids were the most important part. Their safety, their fun, building friendships, and learning how to become a good person apart from their parents. Guiding them in their journey to become independent human beings. That was what I loved, my passion, what I was really good at. So the next year I enrolled in a program through my high school to spend time mentoring elementary students in the classroom. It was a wildly different environment to camp, but I adjusted. And I got to know this group of kids in an entirely different light. I found ways to meet their learning needs with games and activities that matched their personalities. I knew when they were having bad days, or when they needed a little extra help, or when they just needed to tell me something that they were so excited about, just from body language. It was immediately a feeling I couldn’t let go of, to get to know these kids and how I can help them to become the future of our community, of our world. When I tutor my 13-year-old cousin who hates math, I try to tell her why a method works, instead of how to do it. Rather than pull up a YouTube video on the subject like her teacher does, I work out the problem with her, and then ask her to repeat back to me each step and why we did it. I know she struggles with math and has been bullied for it, but I make sure to push her, not letting her get discouraged, showing her tips, shortcuts, and why those work, because I want to share how cool math can be, not only because I love it, but because I know that everyone struggles with something, and while it might come easy to me now, everyone has been in her shoes at some point, struggling to do something they know is easy for many of their peers. To be there, not only working through the math, but also challenging the beliefs behind how they view themselves, school, and the world, is astounding. That once-defeated girl lit up at my offer of tutoring her once a week. Not only because we are family, not because I know math well, but because she knows I understand her, and how she learns. I know that every kid learns differently, and I want to be the teacher who meets them where they are. Who teaches them how to use how their brain works to an advantage. Because while I was growing up in the highest reading group, being offered into the TAG program every year, I was never really being met. My ADHD was never addressed. No one knew what was going on with me at home. Taking just twenty minutes with someone can change your whole view about them, and can tell you so much about who they are and who they could be.

There is substance abuse and all other types of abuse on every side of my family throughout the generations. I come from a line of smokers, drunks, hoarders, meth users, physical abusers, and emotional abusers. The closest? My biological (paternal) grandfather, my uncle, and even my own mother. For the first thirteen years of my life, I was forced to be the adult in our mother-daughter relationship, clearing pathways so that I could walk around the house and pitching a tent in our front yard during the summer nights when we didn't have any air conditioning or fans. I wore clothes far too small for me and waited for hours on the daily as she shopped, only to complain the next day how we didn't have the money to pay the gas bill or the mortgage each month. I spent a little over half my time there, and the rest of my time recovering with my dad and the woman I now call "Mom", where I was constantly sick from exhaustion. Every year, my dad would make consistent calls to the sheriff's office to do a welfare check, ensuring that it occurred while I was away to avoid further trauma. I remember in fifth grade, spring of 2017 when I was lied to. My mother told me I was going to be staying with my dad for a while due to a "gas leak" at our house. The real story was that she had confessed to my dad's wife, the woman I now consider to be my Mom, that she had been taking, and addicted to, methamphetamine. She asked that my Dad take me for a while so that she could get treatment and help for her addiction. She did no such thing, and a month later I was staying with her again like nothing had happened. A little over a year later, in early September 2018, DHS was called instead of the local sheriff, and I never stepped into the house I was abused in again. I'm grateful that they were able to save me from the abuse occurring there when they often don't for so many others. Since then, I've only seen her twice, since the court proceedings state that she must show valid proof of soberness through a drug test, and be chaperoned by either my Dad or my Nana. It has now been almost 4 years without contact with my mother, and 5 years since everything first occurred. After this time (and a LOT of therapy), I've become more confident in myself than I've ever been. Of course, life hasn't been perfect. I've had severe episodes of PTSD and depression, and due to trauma, I have severe insecurities about money. My mom has Rheumatoid Arthritis, a chronic illness, and due to her disability and the rapidly rising prices of living in our economy, I'm worried about my future and how I will be able to pay for college. I know that I have a purpose here, and that I didn't go through all of this for nothing. I am dedicated to making sure that my future never dips as low as my past, because I've already hit rock bottom, so it can only get better from here.

I believe some things are better left in the past. I was abused. It wasn’t your typical physical abuse, the one that leaves visible bruises and marks, but it was the emotional and mental kind, the one that leaves it’s marks in a different way. The way that leaves the marks unnoticed by so many and yet glaringly obvious to others. I rarely talk about it, because it isn’t what people typically think of when they think of abuse, and I always have the feeling that someone is going to say something to make my experience less valid. Because that is exactly what abuse does to you. It changes the way you think, questioning anything and everything. You constantly ask yourself, “Are they trying to manipulate me?” or “Are they faking it?”. Typically this line of thought completely screws me over leaving a lot of friendships over the years completely destroyed. I’ve even thought this about my parents, the ones who got me out of the mess in the first place. Problem is, the line between parenting and abuse is extremely thin. My abuser was my own mother. I was being abused by her for so much time, not even realizing what was happening. I knew things were bad, but I didn’t realize that it was being taken out on me. Even now, It’s all very hard for me to think about. After weeks, months, and now, years, it’s hard to process that I’m a victim. I don’t want to be a victim. I don’t want to be meek. I want to be the one that is confident and gets everywhere in life. I want to be the one who little kids take as an example, to spread the message that you can become something from nothing. I don’t want my past to define who I am. I want to define who I am. After all this time, I try to keep everything in the past because I don't want my abuse to define me. I still have my challenges to face because of my past, sure, but I don’t want people to look at me differently because of it. I want people to see past the poor little kid who had their mind messed with, who was neglected and left to raise themself. I want people to see the me that I am, the artsy person who will speak their truth, but gets scared to ask for extra sauce at a restaurant. I want people to see the person who works hard for everything they have, working towards an improbable future, but doing it anyway because as Americans, we are taught that we can get everywhere from anywhere. The past is the past. And I think it happened for a reason. But why let it bring you down, when you can not waste your time stressing over it, and instead tell it that it doesn't define you? That you define yourself? I believe some things are better left in the past, and that when you leave them in the past, you can truly be who you want to be.

The Vampire Diaries was not something I would have picked for myself, it seemed all cliche, cringe, out of my era. But even after I had no connection with this friend, this show was something that brought me a sliver of joy. A group of motley supernatural teens fighting thousand year old vampires and doppelgängers for eight seasons was probably the most consistent thing in my life. In the finale, after 171 episodes, came the song, “Take on the World'' was something that felt immensely familiar, like something I'd been listening to since forever. It’s nostalgic for me because while it was only featured in one episode of a show that I loved, it was a farewell, marking the end of an era. It echoed the sentiment of every song played throughout the show, the feelings of sorrow, love, the idea of what is yet to come. The Vampire Diaries is known for two vampires who fight over a girl, but it's more than that. It's a story of teenagers growing up with challenges, just like everyone else. They go through mental health crises, with metaphors for addiction, conversion therapy, depression. “Take on the World'' is a ballad that brings comfort, its lyrics like that of talking someone down from the ledge. The lyrics that say “No I won't, I won't pretend to know what you've been through” or “Just say you're hurt, we'll face the worst” are affirming, they show the bond between friends, family, lovers, and strangers. And that’s really the message of it all, the theme of the show and the song, that there’s always someone there for you, someone to help you out of the hole. You may not know them yet, but they’re there. All you have to do is Just Say The Word.

As I look back at the pictures I've taken over the years to see our smiling faces I wonder, "What happened?" because the polaroids depicting happiness only bring me Pain. - Oh to be a fly on the wall busily buzzing to watch it all unfold to chaos with the World in it's wake. - eat strong, be strong. but what if i am not yet strong? where will i fall but far away? i am but a weak little bug squished so easily maybe i shall squish myself

When you lose someone, in any manner of the word, it's crippling. you doubt everything you ever knew, and ask yourself how you go on without them. "Loss" as a word can be general. You can lose someone emotionally, but still have their form physically in your life; In today's technological age, you could be connected to someone so deeply emotionally, even from halfway across the world. You can lose someone, they can lose you, or you can lose each other. When I cut off my abusive parent at the age of twelve, I blamed myself for so long. I would say things to myself like, “I should have done more”, “I could have stopped her addiction”, or even, “It’s not really abuse if it isn’t physical”. I told myself that this was a healthy relationship with my mother, that it was completely normal to be without a furnace for years, to have every room in the house piled with boxes and containers just waiting to topple over. I think about that one Sunday afternoon in 2018, how I could mention a small thing like rats and suddenly, two days later, CPS was at our door and I would be staying with my Dad 24/7. In the beginning, I lost her. Then I lost myself. And in picking up the pieces of myself, I let her lose her grasp on me. I turned it into fuel for my own power, to prove something to myself: I was more than a victim. I could be the first of my family to stay away from drugs and alcohol completely, to graduate from college, and to make a name for myself. And, even with some setbacks, I’m getting there.