The first night I feared my dad might kill my mom is burned into my memory. I was only twelve, crouched in the hallway outside my bedroom where I had hidden my three younger siblings from the fight. I was listening to the sounds of another fight turn into something far worse. That night in 2018, he finally hit her. I was the only child to see it happen, and the memory is burned into my mind. My mom didn’t hesitate—she grabbed what little we had and fled with all four of us. We had no money, no plan, and no idea what was coming next. All we had was each other and the desperate need to feel safe. We spent our first weeks in a domestic violence safehouse. It was unfamiliar and scary, and I remember the way my mom looked—shaken, exhausted, but determined. She tried to get a restraining order after he threatened to shoot her, but the system didn’t seem to care. Despite multiple court appearances, recorded phone calls, threatening text messages, and police reports, the court still gave my father visitation rights. Even with overwhelming evidence, they believed he was mentally fit to parent four children under thirteen. That decision shattered me. I was terrified, but I still showed up to those visits—for my siblings. I couldn’t bear the thought of them going alone. I became their protector, taking on pain to shield them from his verbal attacks, mental manipulation, and emotional abuse. He tore me down every chance he got, and that damage lingered long after the visits ended. I endured until I turned eighteen and legally chose to stay with my mom full time. But my siblings still have to go. Living in that kind of environment changes you. I spent my teenage years walking on eggshells, learning to anticipate people’s moods, learning how to shrink myself to stay safe, and learning how to hide tears so my siblings wouldn’t worry. But more than anything, I learned what fear looks like in a child’s eyes—and I knew no child should ever have to live that way. That experience lit a fire in me. I want to become a child advocate because I’ve seen what happens when the system fails. I’ve lived the consequences of silence. I want to be the person who notices the signs others ignore, the one who speaks when no one else does. I plan to minor in social work because I believe every child deserves safety, support, and someone in their corner. My parents’ divorce was not just a legal separation—it was a lifeline. It was the beginning of a hard but necessary journey to healing. That trauma shaped me, but it didn’t break me. Instead, it gave me resilience, compassion, and a sense of purpose. I’ve turned my pain into drive, and I carry that with me into everything I do. There are still so many kids out there who are too scared to speak. I want to be the voice that helps them find their own.

Jack Terry’s story is a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the power of perseverance in the face of unimaginable adversity. His resilience, as he survived the Holocaust and went on to build a life of purpose and success, inspires me deeply. As someone who has faced my own personal challenges, I find Jack’s journey not just motivational, but a blueprint for how to overcome obstacles and emerge stronger. Growing up in a household where abuse was prevalent from my father, I often found myself trapped in a difficult situation. My father’s actions created an environment of fear, and my siblings and I often felt isolated and helpless. Despite this, I knew I had to be there for them, to provide a sense of comfort and stability in an otherwise tumultuous home. The emotional toll it took on me was immense, yet I couldn’t abandon my siblings, even when it seemed like the only way out was to leave. Ultimately, I had to make the difficult decision to leave my father’s household and seek a better future. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was also a moment of growth and self-discovery. I learned the importance of resilience, not just for myself, but for the people I care about. While I had to put my own well-being first, I also had to ensure my siblings felt supported and loved, even from a distance. The adversity I’ve faced has shaped me into someone who values education, stability, and personal growth. I’ve learned that in order to heal, I need to focus on my own development and future, which is why I am determined to pursue higher education. My studies will not just be a path to personal success, but a way for me to give back to others who have experienced hardship. I want to work with at-risk youth, providing them with the support and guidance they need to overcome their own challenges while also running my own small business in photography. I also plan to work in social services, helping families navigate difficult situations, and offering a source of hope to those who may feel trapped, as I once did. Jack Terry’s life reminds me that no matter how difficult the circumstances, there is always hope and opportunity for growth. By using my education and experiences, I hope to continue his legacy of resilience and kindness, giving back to society in meaningful ways.

“You have power over your mind, not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength. … The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts. … Take care that you don’t treat in a disorderly way the events which happen to you, and you will not be disturbed by them.” - Marcus Aurelius, "Meditations", Book 2, Section 1. Marcus Aurelius’ timeless insight on the human condition encapsulates a central tenet of Stoic philosophy: the supremacy of internal over external forces. In this passage from "Meditations", Aurelius presents a profound argument that the quality of one’s life is determined not by external circumstances, but by the way one engages with and interprets those circumstances. His assertion challenges the common impulse to seek control over external events and encourages a radical shift in focus toward self-mastery and inner peace. I can relate to the concept of internal strength through a personal experience I had while photographing a live concert. I had meticulously planned every aspect of the shoot: the equipment, the angle, the lighting. Yet, as I prepared to snap the perfect shot of the headlining band, a massive surge of the crowd threw me off balance, knocking my camera slightly askew. In the moment, my frustration grew; I had little control over the chaotic environment around me, and I began to feel overwhelmed. It was only after I took a breath and recalibrated my focus that I realized the only thing I could control was my response to the situation. The quality of the final images, and whether they would be truly successful, depended not on avoiding external chaos but on how I chose to engage with it. Marcus Aurelius’ message is especially relevant today, in an era marked by rapid change and constant external pressures. We live in a world where we are inundated with demands—work obligations, social media expectations, and global crises. Often, these external events feel as though they define us, making it easy to believe that our happiness is contingent on changing the world around us. However, Aurelius urges us to confront the reality that we cannot control most of the events that unfold outside ourselves. We cannot prevent a sudden downpour during an outdoor event, the unpredictable behavior of others, or the unanticipated shifts in political or social climates. But what we can control is our internal response. By cultivating a mindset grounded in Stoic principles, we can learn to navigate life’s uncertainties with grace and maintain a sense of tranquility despite the chaos surrounding us. The idea that happiness is a byproduct of the quality of our thoughts rather than external circumstances holds powerful implications for our approach to mental health. In my experience, I have observed how the simple act of reframing a challenging situation can drastically change its impact on my wellbeing. For instance, when faced with a challenging assignment or a difficult interpersonal interaction, I can choose to view it through a lens of frustration and helplessness or through a lens of opportunity for growth and learning. Marcus Aurelius encourages us to take ownership of our mental space, realizing that our emotional responses are not simply reactions to events, but choices in how we engage with those events. By mastering our own mindset, we are empowered to maintain our peace and happiness despite external challenges. Furthermore, the Stoic practice of mindfulness—paying attention to how we react to external events—can prevent us from being overwhelmed by negative emotions like anger, jealousy, or fear. It enables us to take a step back from our knee-jerk reactions and instead make decisions from a place of clarity and intention. The example Aurelius provides is the antidote to the tendency to feel helpless in the face of life’s inevitable hardships. By training ourselves to be aware of our internal world, we become resilient to external storms. Ultimately, the passage from "Meditations" urges us to confront our greatest source of suffering: our own thoughts. We do not have the power to stop the world from turning or to control how others behave, but we have absolute authority over how we perceive and interpret these events. Through discipline and reflection, we can refine the quality of our thoughts, choosing to respond with calm, wisdom, and equanimity. In doing so, we tap into a deeper strength that no external event can diminish—a strength rooted in the mind itself. By practicing this Stoic approach, I have found that life becomes more manageable, even in the face of uncertainty. The key lies not in resisting external events but in realizing the power within to shape our internal landscape.

Too Young for the Photo Pit? I stood at the entrance of the Kia Center, camera in hand, heart pounding. The security guard squinted at my press pass, then at me. “You’re the photographer?” he asked, eyebrows raised. At seventeen, I was used to being underestimated, but this was a new level. Twenty One Pilots was about to take the stage, and I was about to miss the chance of a lifetime. Ever since I first picked up a camera, I dreamed of capturing the energy of live music—the rush of flashing lights, the blur of movement, the raw emotion frozen in a frame. I worked tirelessly, building a portfolio, networking, and proving myself in smaller venues. When I finally landed a press pass for one of my favorite bands, I thought I had made it. That is, until security took one look at me and decided I was too young to belong. I stood my ground, explaining that I was there on official assignment. The guard called over a supervisor. The supervisor called over another supervisor. Time was slipping away, and with it, my chance to shoot one of the biggest concerts of my career. Finally, after several phone calls and a few skeptical glances, I was let in—just in time to sprint to the photo pit. That night, I captured some of my best work, proving to myself and everyone else that age doesn’t define ability. Since then, I’ve continued to push past barriers, determined to carve out my place in the industry. My experience at the Kia Center taught me that sometimes, you have to fight for your opportunities—but once you’re in, you make every shot count.

When I was young, I found solace in the lens of a camera. It became my way of understanding the world, capturing moments that words often failed to express. But as I grew older, I realized that photography could be more than just an art form—it could be a powerful tool for change. This realization, coupled with my deep-seated passion for child advocacy, shaped my decision to pursue a major in photography with a minor in social work. I plan to use my education to shine a light on the struggles of vulnerable children and make a lasting impact on the world. My passion for child advocacy stems from personal experiences and a keen awareness of the injustices many children face daily. I have seen firsthand how neglect, poverty, and lack of resources can shape a child’s future. Rather than standing idly by, I have chosen to use my skills to make a difference. Photography, when used effectively, can give a voice to those who are often unheard. It has the power to elicit empathy, tell powerful stories, and inspire action. By combining my artistic vision with social work, I aim to create compelling visual narratives that bring awareness to issues such as child neglect, homelessness, and the foster care system. One of my most meaningful experiences was volunteering at a local shelter for children in crisis. I witnessed the resilience and strength of young individuals who, despite their circumstances, held onto hope. Their stories pushed me to take action, and I began documenting their experiences through photography—always ensuring that their dignity remained intact. These images were later used in a campaign that raised funds and awareness for the shelter, proving to me that photography could serve as a catalyst for real change. Beyond capturing images, I want to work directly with children through social work, ensuring they receive the support, protection, and advocacy they deserve. By understanding their struggles on a deeper level, I can create more impactful visual stories that accurately represent their experiences and needs. My ultimate goal is to collaborate with nonprofit organizations to use photography as a means of education and reform, influencing policies that better serve vulnerable youth. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education and develop the necessary skills to merge photography with social advocacy effectively. I am determined to use my passion and education to create meaningful change—one photograph, one story, and one child at a time.

Growing up in a home filled with uncertainty, photography became my escape. As the eldest of four, raised by a single mother and burdened with responsibilities beyond my years, I found solace behind the lens. It wasn’t just about capturing moments—it was about preserving proof that beauty could exist even in chaos. Being a first-generation college student means more than just pursuing a degree; it’s about breaking cycles. My father’s absence left my mother struggling to support us, and I took on the role of a second parent. Late nights soothing my siblings, early mornings helping with homework, all while balancing my own ambitions. But photography gave me purpose—a way to tell stories that needed to be seen. This journey fuels my career goals. I aspire to be a concert photographer, blending my passion for visual storytelling with the energy of live music. Just as music provided an escape for me, I want my images to transport others, to make them feel something real. College isn’t just a stepping stone; it’s the foundation I need to turn my passion into a sustainable career, to prove that where you start doesn’t define where you end up. Every click of my camera is a reminder that I’m not just taking pictures—I’m rewriting my future.