My favorite piece I’ve created is Zone, a digital artwork depicting a Black man playing the cello. This work is special to me because it captures more than just a musician, it embodies the stillness, focus, and deep emotional connection that comes when an artist is completely immersed in their craft. When designing Zone, I wanted to transport viewers into that quiet, transformative space where the outside world fades and all that remains is the music. The subject’s closed eyes, the relaxed yet intentional posture, and the careful placement of his hands all work together to convey that meditative state. Using digital tools allowed me to layer soft lighting, rich textures, and warm tones to create depth and intimacy while preserving the organic, painterly feel of traditional media. Representation was also at the heart of this piece. Black classical musicians are rarely depicted in fine art, and I wanted to honor their talent and presence in spaces where they have historically been overlooked. By framing the subject in a dignified and centered composition, I sought to challenge stereotypes and highlight the elegance and discipline behind his performance. For me, Zone bridges the worlds of visual and musical storytelling. It’s a visual symphony, no sound, yet full of rhythm and feeling. This piece reminds me why I create: to tell stories, preserve moments, and invite viewers into experiences that deserve to be seen, celebrated, and remembered.

I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because they have been shaped through resilience, sacrifice, and an unwavering refusal to let my circumstances dictate my future. My journey has not been a straight path. It has been winding, with detours, quiet battles, and moments where I questioned whether my voice and vision truly mattered. At seventeen, I left for college chasing a path that was never my own, following what others told me I should want. When it fell apart, I carried the weight of feeling like a failure, as if my dreams no longer had a place in the world. But I have learned that failure does not erase worth; it reveals it. Coming back to school later in life was an act of courage. I returned with a clearer sense of purpose: to live a life I chose for myself. My art became my anchor, my way of processing the world, honoring my history, and amplifying the voices of those often unheard. As a Black woman, I understand the importance of representation, not as a fleeting trend, but as a fundamental necessity. My work is an act of creation and reclamation, rooted in truth and lived experience. One of the most affirming moments in my journey was when my piece Street Sonata was selected for the West Michigan Art Show. Seeing it displayed alongside talented artists from across the region was more than an honor; it was a turning point. In that gallery, I realized my voice belonged in the larger artistic conversation. People stopped, looked, and connected with my work. It wasn’t just a piece of art; it was my story, translated through color, line, and form, resonating with strangers. That experience proved that my art could reach beyond my own hands and heart. I am worth my dreams because I have persisted through long nights of balancing work and studies, through scarcity when resources were limited, but determination was not. I have taught myself new techniques, adapted to challenges, and embraced change without letting it dull my vision. I have learned that discipline and creativity must walk hand in hand if a dream is to survive. My dreams extend beyond myself. I want to curate spaces where art sparks conversation, where history is preserved, and where the next generation of creators feels seen and supported. I envision exhibits that celebrate the beauty, complexity, and resilience of underrepresented communities, bringing their stories into spaces where they have long been excluded. I want my work, whether on display, in a classroom, or within a curated collection, to be a bridge between past and future, carrying forward stories that might otherwise be lost. I am worth my dreams because I have earned them through persistence, authenticity, and the belief that my vision matters. I carry my story like a lantern, lighting the way not only for myself, but for those who will come after me. And I will keep that light burning, no matter how long the night lasts.

My “why” in the world of visual arts and design comes from a deep need to tell stories that reflect the beauty, complexity, and resilience of underrepresented voices, especially the Black female experience. Art has always been my language for exploring identity, emotion, and truth. Whether I’m working with acrylic paint, digital illustration, or animation, my motivation comes from the idea that someone, somewhere, might see themselves in my work and feel seen in a way they never have before. That connection, the spark of recognition, is what keeps me creating. In a time when technology like artificial intelligence, digital art tools, and automatic script writing has redefined what’s possible, I see these advancements not as threats to originality, but as opportunities to expand storytelling in ways unimaginable 50 years ago. Just as earlier generations embraced photography, film, and digital editing, I want to embrace these tools to enhance, not replace, the human touch. Technology can speed up the technical side of creation, but the “spirit” comes from the artist’s own lived experiences, choices, and emotional truths. That’s something no machine can replicate. As a student of the arts, my long-term vision is to develop a multimedia project blending animation, illustration, and narrative storytelling, a TV show and companion comic book series centered on a Black, plus-size female protagonist navigating a surreal, Afrofuturistic world. This project would merge bold visuals, layered character arcs, and culturally rich worldbuilding, weaving themes of self-acceptance, family, and resilience. My goal is to create something that resonates on multiple levels: entertaining audiences, sparking important conversations, and visually pushing boundaries. I want my future projects to feel alive, full of emotion, texture, and humanity, whether they’re brought to life with hand-drawn animation, digital techniques, or a hybrid approach. Technology may evolve, but my “why” remains the same: to tell stories that matter, in ways that only I can.

My passion for design comes from the way visual storytelling can connect people, challenge perspectives, and preserve culture. From an early age, art was more than a hobby, it was a language I could speak when words felt limiting. I began with acrylic, oil, and ink, but once I explored digital tools, I saw how technology could amplify creativity and create work that is both visually compelling and deeply purposeful. I originally pursued medicine, believing helping others had to follow a traditional path. Over time, I realized art and design could also be transformative forms of care, healing, inspiring, and empowering people in ways that reach beyond physical well-being. My work often addresses body image and the Black female experience, offering representation and sparking dialogue in spaces where these narratives are overlooked. The projects that excite me most combine strong visual storytelling with meaningful themes, especially those highlighting underrepresented voices or blending multiple creative disciplines. I’m drawn to concept art, character design, and works that merge fine art with motion graphics or animation. I love when a piece can live in more than one space: a character design that becomes part of an animated series, a poster that doubles as a cultural statement, or a gallery piece that also thrives as a digital campaign. I’m especially inspired by projects with a cultural or social justice focus. Whether designing for a community event, a digital exhibition, or an educational animation, I thrive when my work has a purpose beyond aesthetics. One of my favorite personal pieces, Street Sonata, uses composition and color to capture the rhythm of music and movement. Projects like this, where emotion, storytelling, and craft intersect, are where I feel most creatively fulfilled. Collaboration also excites me. My experiences in animation, short film production, and gallery work have shown how teamwork fuels innovation. Working alongside other artists, writers, and filmmakers produces richer, more layered creative outcomes than one vision alone. I see digital design tools as extensions of the artist’s hand. Programs like Procreate, Adobe Illustrator, and Photoshop allow me to experiment freely, refine quickly, and adapt work for multiple platforms. I often begin with traditional sketches in pencil or ink, then reimagine them digitally to achieve greater precision, versatility, and depth. Blending handcrafted textures with digital elements is one of my favorite techniques. Scanning acrylic brushstrokes or ink patterns and layering them into digital compositions creates organic, one-of-a-kind visuals. This approach maintains a personal, tactile feel while benefiting from the adaptability and efficiency of digital workflows. I also plan to expand my skills in animation and interactive media. Motion graphics, web-based visuals, and AR/VR experiences offer new opportunities for immersive storytelling. These tools make it possible to reach broader audiences and adapt designs for both physical spaces and digital environments. In the future, I aim to contribute to museum exhibitions, cultural archives, and public art projects. Digital tools will allow me to design work that is accessible, adaptable, and lasting, preserving important narratives for future generations. Ultimately, my passion for design lies in its ability to merge artistry, technology, and purpose. I strive to create work that resonates emotionally, sparks conversation, and reflects the richness of the communities and cultures that inspire me.

Art has always been my way of speaking when words fail me. It gives me the space to express my thoughts, my culture, and my truth in ways that feel both personal and universal. I create art to tell stories, to honor overlooked beauty, and to connect with others who might see a part of themselves in my work. My art is deeply inspired by the Black experience, identity, emotion, and everyday moments that are often passed by. I am moved by quiet strength, unspoken history, and the power of simply existing in spaces that try to erase us. Whether I am using digital tools or traditional media like ink and acrylic, I want each piece to hold meaning. I aim to uplift, challenge, and reflect the lives of people who don’t always see themselves celebrated. One of my favorite pieces is a drawing titled Street Sonata, which shows a man in a suit playing the cello on an empty sidewalk. He sits against a brick wall, lost in his music, with nothing but his instrument and an open hat at his feet. This piece speaks to the resilience and soul of Black artists, many of whom create beauty even when the world overlooks them. I was inspired by the idea that music, like visual art, has the power to rise above circumstance. The image is quiet, but emotional. It is a reminder that creation is an act of survival and grace. Street Sonata has become a special piece for me, not only because of what it represents, but also because of how it has been received. It was one of the works selected to be shown at the West Michigan Art Show, which was an incredible honor. I was also invited to display it at the Juried Art Showcase, a competitive exhibition that gave me the chance to see my art in a professional setting among other talented creators. Both experiences gave me the confidence to take my work more seriously and helped me realize that people are connecting with what I have to say visually. Art has opened up doors for me that I never expected. Beyond recognition, it has brought healing and clarity. It has taught me patience, and how to stay true to myself while continuing to grow. It has also connected me with mentors, instructors, and peers who believe in my vision. After college, I hope to work in a museum, specifically in exhibit curation. I want to help tell stories that matter and make sure that underrepresented voices are not just included, but centered. I would love to curate spaces that celebrate Black artists, especially women, and build exhibits that are immersive, emotional, and educational. Eventually, I hope to also show my own work in those same types of spaces. I believe museums have the power to change how people see the world, and I want to be part of that impact from both sides, curator and creator. Art has shaped not just how I see the world, but how I see myself. It’s more than just an outlet, it’s a purpose. Every brushstroke, sketch, or composition is my way of speaking, remembering, and dreaming. With each piece, I move closer to who I am meant to be, and I hope that along the way, others will feel inspired to do the same.

Growing up, I always felt like I was walking in someone else’s footsteps, living a version of life that wasn’t mine. I was expected to be the responsible one, the success story, the healer. For years, I chased a dream of becoming a doctor, not because it was my passion, but because it made sense to everyone else. But deep inside, I was drawn to something else entirely: color, shape, expression, and movement. I found peace in sketchbooks, escape in animation, and a mirror in the art I created when no one was watching. Choosing to pursue art was not a light decision. It was a bold step toward reclaiming my identity. I had to unlearn the idea that art was just a hobby and accept that it was my calling. Art gave me the language I didn’t always have to talk about my experience as a Black woman, the hurt I carried from religion, and the anxiety that often makes me go quiet. It allowed me to tell the truth without having to explain myself. When I finally stepped into my purpose as an artist, I realized I wasn’t just creating for myself. I was creating for the version of me that felt invisible growing up, and for the people like me who are still looking for representation, beauty, and truth in what they see. My artistic inspiration comes from many places, but most deeply from the Black female experience, our strength, our softness, and our complexity. I am especially drawn to themes of body image, mental health, and identity. There is something powerful in capturing what society tries to ignore or diminish. Through digital illustration, acrylic, ink, or oil, I try to show the humanity and divinity in people who look like me. I don’t just want to create pretty pictures. I want to create work that feels, that holds space, that demands recognition. A lot of my inspiration also comes from film and storytelling. I love movies, not just for the entertainment but for the way they allow us to time travel, empathize, and imagine new futures. Animation especially excites me because it blends art and motion, emotion and narrative. As someone who once felt silenced by expectations, I find power in creating characters and stories where people like me are centered. I dream of building worlds where Black girls are the heroes, where our struggles and our joy are honored without stereotypes or shame. What keeps me going is the idea that art can heal and connect. I have seen it happen in my own life, how a drawing could say what I couldn’t, how a film project helped me work through anxiety, how sharing my work allowed others to feel seen. I think about the future and imagine my art hanging in homes, in galleries, in schools, making people feel proud, curious, or brave. I want to build a legacy not rooted in perfection but in authenticity. In a world that often tries to box us in or break us down, art has given me the freedom to just be. To be emotional. To be critical. To be soft. To be bold. And above all, to be real. That is why I chose this path, not just to make things, but to make meaning. If my work can spark one person to feel seen, to dream bigger, or to tell their story, then I will know I am exactly where I am meant to be.

As someone who struggled for years to find my voice and understand my place in the world, I know firsthand how powerful visual arts can be for self-expression, healing, and connection. I also know that not every young person has access to the tools, spaces, or encouragement they need to explore their creativity. That is why one of my biggest goals is to give back to youth in under-resourced communities through the visual arts. Growing up, I often felt different. I spent years battling anxiety, depression, and undiagnosed neurodivergence. It wasn’t until I began creating art; drawing, painting, designing, that I found a way to process my emotions and tell my story. Art gave me the freedom to express things I couldn’t always put into words. It helped me feel seen and gave me the courage to step into who I truly am. But I was fortunate to have a few people in my life, including my mom and a couple of teachers, who encouraged my creativity. I think often about what my journey might have looked like if I hadn’t had access to even the limited resources I did, what if I had never picked up a sketchbook or had anyone tell me that my art mattered? Too many young people in under-resourced communities face exactly that reality. They have talent, vision, and stories to tell, but lack access to art supplies, mentorship, or safe spaces to create. I want to change that. After I graduate, I plan to use my education, artistic skills, and lived experience to create more opportunities for youth to explore the visual arts. One way I hope to do this is by partnering with community centers, schools, and local organizations to offer free or low-cost art workshops. These workshops would not only teach basic drawing and design skills but would also emphasize art as a tool for self-expression and empowerment. I want young people to know that their voices matter and that art is one way to share their truths with the world. Another project I hope to develop is an after-school or weekend program that focuses on visual storytelling, teaching students how to use illustration, digital art, and animation to tell their own stories. Many youth in under-resourced communities rarely see themselves reflected in mainstream media, and I believe helping them create their own narratives is incredibly powerful. By providing access to equipment, mentorship, and collaborative opportunities, I want to foster a space where young artists can explore their creativity and build confidence in their unique voices. In addition to direct teaching, I also want to curate community art exhibits that showcase the work of young artists from these communities. Too often, youth art is undervalued or kept out of professional spaces. I want to help change that by creating opportunities for their work to be seen and celebrated in public galleries, libraries, or museums. Seeing their art displayed can be a life-changing experience, affirming their talent and encouraging them to keep creating. Finally, I believe giving back is not just about what you teach but how you show up. I want to be a consistent presence, someone youth can trust and relate to. I know what it feels like to be lost and unsure, and I want to be the kind of mentor I once needed. Visual arts changed my life. They gave me a voice when I didn’t have one. Now, I want to use everything I’ve learned to open doors for others.

Collaboration has always been at the heart of the creative work I love to do. While art can sometimes be a solitary process, I’ve found that the most inspiring and transformative experiences happen when you’re working with others, sharing ideas, building off one another’s strengths, and watching a project grow into something larger than any one person could have imagined. In my intended field, whether in animation, visual storytelling, or museum curation, collaboration is not just a practical necessity; it is where the magic happens. Great creative work often depends on the relationships you build throughout the process. Each person brings their own unique perspective, skills, and life experiences to the table, and when you truly listen and engage with your collaborators, the result is richer, more meaningful work. I’ve had the privilege of experiencing this kind of collaborative energy in several projects that have shaped my path as an artist. One of the most impactful experiences was working on a short thriller film project for my video production class. I not only acted in the film but also contributed to storyboarding, and post-production editing. What stood out to me most during this project was how every team member’s input mattered. From the director’s vision to the sound designer’s careful layering of effects to create tension, each piece relied on the others. No one person had all the answers, but through ongoing dialogue and trust, we built a story that truly resonated. That experience taught me how powerful it is to approach collaboration with openness and curiosity, and that sometimes the best creative moments happen when someone else sparks an idea you hadn’t considered. I’ve also seen the value of collaboration in my work with character design and illustration. Developing a character illustration series for my portfolio was an individual project at first, but when I shared my early drafts with peers and mentors, their feedback elevated the work. Through collaborative critique, I was able to refine my designs, think more deeply about how costume and body language tell a story, and push my style further than I could have alone. Beyond specific projects, I see collaboration as essential to the future work I want to do. One of my goals is to work in museum spaces or curatorial roles where I can help tell diverse and inclusive stories through visual art, fashion, film, and media. That work is inherently collaborative, bringing together artists, historians, designers, educators, and community members to co-create experiences that resonate with a wide audience. Collaboration also means listening, especially to voices that haven’t always been centered in the art world. I believe that fostering an inclusive and supportive collaborative environment is key to creating work that matters. My experiences with mental health and neurodivergence have taught me the importance of building spaces where everyone feels valued and heard. Ultimately, for me, collaboration means community. It means building relationships where trust, respect, and creative freedom can thrive. Some of my best memories as an artist come from those in-between moments, storyboarding with classmates over coffee, bouncing ideas around late at night during a film edit, or seeing someone else’s eyes light up when their suggestion makes the final cut. Those moments remind me that while the finished piece matters, the process, the connections you make along the way, is just as valuable. As I continue my journey in art and storytelling, I am excited to keep collaborating, learning from others, and contributing my own voice to projects that inspire and connect. In the end, that is what art is about: building something beautiful together.

Mental health has shaped nearly every aspect of my life, both personally and academically. For years, I struggled in silence, not understanding why certain things seemed harder for me than for others. Anxiety, depression, and an undiagnosed neurodivergence (AUDHD) affected my focus, motivation, and ability to navigate the structure of school. I often felt lost, ashamed, and overwhelmed without knowing why. At 17, I left home for college, hoping for a fresh start. Instead, it became one of the hardest experiences of my life. I became so depressed that I couldn’t get out of bed. Even simple tasks, like taking out the trash, felt impossible. I missed classes, couldn’t complete assignments, and quickly fell behind. I felt trapped in my dorm room and disconnected from the world around me. Eventually, I failed out of school. I returned home feeling broken and full of self-blame. At 18, I hit another breaking point, a severe panic attack on my kitchen floor left me gasping for air, terrified and confused. That experience finally pushed me to seek help. It was during therapy that I began to understand that what I was facing wasn’t a personal failure, but a set of mental health challenges that needed compassion, support, and tools to manage. Receiving my AUDHD diagnosis as an adult was life-changing. It allowed me to reframe so many of my past experiences. The constant struggle with focus, sensory overwhelm, emotional regulation, and executive functioning suddenly made sense. I wasn’t lazy or incapable, my brain just worked differently. Returning to school as an adult has been both rewarding and challenging. When I first came back, I struggled with a 2.1 GPA. I often felt like I was running uphill, battling my inner critic and self-doubt. But this time, I approached things with a different mindset. I prioritized my mental health alongside my academic goals. I built better systems for managing tasks, using planners, setting timers, and breaking assignments into smaller steps. I also learned to advocate for myself, communicating with professors when I needed flexibility. Counseling services on campus provided ongoing support, and I finally understood the value of self-compassion in my learning process. These changes have made a huge difference. I’ve steadily raised my GPA to a 3.0, and for the first time, I’m proud of my academic progress. Personally, prioritizing mental health has transformed my relationships and sense of self. I’ve learned to set boundaries and communicate my needs clearly. I’m more aware of how stress and overwhelm affect me, and I actively practice techniques to manage them, whether through mindfulness, creative expression, or reaching out for support. I’ve also found community with others who share similar experiences. Being open about my mental health challenges has allowed me to build deeper, more authentic connections. It has taught me that vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness. Most importantly, this journey has shown me that success doesn’t have to look like perfection. It’s about resilience, growth, and the ability to keep moving forward even when things are hard. I used to believe that my mental health struggles defined me in a negative way. Now, I see them as a source of strength, empathy, and determination. As I continue my education and work toward my future goals, I know that mental health will always be a part of the equation. But now, it’s one I understand and can navigate with greater confidence. The tools I’ve gained through this process have not only improved my academic performance but also enriched my life in ways I never imagined.

The biggest influence in my life has always been my mom. She is the reason I keep pushing forward, no matter the obstacles I face. My mom taught me resilience, patience, and creativity, often without even saying a word. Watching her navigate life with determination and love has inspired me to do the same in my own way, through art. Growing up, I was a shy, anxious child who didn’t always feel like I fit in. But my mom saw something in me. She encouraged my creativity from the beginning, buying me sketchbooks, watching movies with me, and always reminding me that my voice mattered. Even when I struggled, through mental health challenges, failing out of college at 17, and fighting my way back to success, she never gave up on me. Her belief in me became the foundation for my own belief in myself. Now, as I move closer to graduating, I am focused on using my artistic skills in innovative ways to give back and make an impact. I believe art is a powerful tool for storytelling, connection, and healing. My goal is to combine my passion for art with my interest in culture and community to create meaningful work that inspires empathy and understanding. After graduation, I plan to explore opportunities in both the museum world and digital media. I want to use my skills in animation, illustration, and visual storytelling to bring underrepresented stories to life. One of my dreams is to create exhibits or visual projects that showcase diverse cultural experiences in ways that are accessible and engaging to all audiences. I also hope to design visual content that promotes mental health awareness, particularly for young people navigating challenges similar to the ones I’ve faced. What makes my artistic gift different is the lens through which I see the world. I spent many years feeling “other”, undiagnosed with ADHD and autism, struggling to find my place. That journey has given me a deep well of empathy and a unique way of expressing emotion through my work. I often focus on themes of identity, body image, and emotional complexity in my art. Whether I’m illustrating a character, creating a visual essay, or designing a gallery piece, I aim to capture the feelings beneath the surface, those small moments of vulnerability, joy, or resilience that connect us all. My style is also a blend of influences. I work across mediums, digital art, acrylic painting, mixed media, and I draw inspiration from fashion, film, and history. I love creating pieces that feel layered and textured, both visually and emotionally. Recently, I completed a character illustration series that showcased the same figure in different outfits and moods, exploring how clothing and body language can tell a story. Ultimately, my goal is not just to make “pretty” art, but to make art that matters, to spark conversations, to help people feel seen, and to encourage reflection. I want my work to live in spaces where it can reach those who need it most, whether that’s in a museum, a public installation, an online community, or a classroom. As I continue to grow as an artist and as a person, I carry my mom’s influence with me every step of the way. Her strength and unwavering support remind me why I do this work. Art has been a lifeline for me, and I want to use it as a bridge for others, a way to connect, to heal, and to celebrate the richness of human experience.

At 18, I found myself lying on the cold kitchen floor, gasping for air as a wave of panic overtook my body. My heart pounded uncontrollably, and I couldn’t catch my breath. At that moment, I thought I might die. I didn’t fully understand what was happening to me, I only knew that everything felt overwhelming and terrifying. That severe panic attack was a turning point in my life, forcing me to confront something I had avoided for years: my mental health. Before that day, I had spent most of my life feeling "off," like something was wrong with me, but I couldn’t explain it. From a young age, I struggled to focus, felt anxious in situations that didn’t seem to bother anyone else, and constantly battled a sense of restlessness and exhaustion. But no one talked about mental health in the world around me, and I didn’t have the language or support to understand what I was going through. For years, I simply thought I was lazy, broken, or not trying hard enough. My struggles came to a head when I went away to college at the age of 17. What should have been an exciting new chapter quickly turned into one of the darkest periods of my life. Isolated and overwhelmed, I sank into a deep depression. I couldn’t leave my bed, couldn’t bring myself to take out the trash, or complete simple daily tasks. I skipped classes, withdrew from friends, and felt utterly numb. The world outside my dorm room felt impossibly far away, and inside, I was trapped in my own mind. I felt completely alone and lost. Eventually, I flunked out of college. I came home feeling defeated and ashamed. I still didn’t fully understand why everything had spiraled out of control. It wasn’t until that panic attack in my kitchen that I began to realize I needed help. That moment led me to seek therapy for the first time, a decision that would ultimately change the entire trajectory of my life. Through therapy and a lot of personal work, I began to unravel the knots of anxiety, depression, and self-doubt that had been holding me back. A critical piece of this journey came later when I was finally diagnosed with AUDHD as an adult. That late diagnosis was both painful and freeing. Suddenly, so many pieces of my past, my constant sensory overwhelm, my executive functioning struggles, my need for routines, my deep empathy and creativity, made sense. I wasn’t broken; I had a neurodivergent brain that needed understanding, not shame. This journey through mental health challenges and self-discovery has profoundly shaped my life goals. Before addressing my mental health, I had no clear sense of what I wanted to do. I bounced between paths based on what others expected of me or what seemed “safe.” But through understanding myself better, I’ve discovered a true passion for storytelling, creativity, and helping others feel seen and understood. My goal now is to build a career where I can use art, writing, and media to explore human experiences and foster empathy. I want to create work that resonates with people who, like me, may have felt invisible or misunderstood. Whether through visual storytelling, museum work, or educational outreach, I aim to contribute to spaces where conversations about mental health, identity, and resilience are welcomed and valued. My mental health journey has also deeply impacted my relationships. Before therapy, I struggled to maintain healthy connections. Anxiety made me withdrawn and hypervigilant, while undiagnosed ADHD and sensory issues often left me overwhelmed and reactive in social situations. I carried a lot of guilt about being a “bad friend” or “bad family member.” Now, with greater self-awareness, I approach relationships differently. I communicate more openly about my needs and boundaries. I understand the importance of rest, sensory breaks, and honest conversations. I’ve learned to be more compassionate toward both myself and others, recognizing that everyone is navigating their own unseen battles. Perhaps most importantly, my experiences have radically changed how I understand the world. I used to think that success meant perfection, that I had to be constantly achieving, and constantly performing. Mental health struggles taught me the value of resilience over perfection, and the importance of meeting people where they are, not where we expect them to be. I now see the world through a more empathetic lens. I understand how systems of support, or lack thereof, shape people’s opportunities and well-being. I’ve experienced firsthand how stigma and silence around mental health can isolate individuals and prevent healing. That’s why I am committed to being open about my journey and advocating for greater awareness and acceptance. If sharing my story helps even one person feel less alone, it’s worth it. Academically, my path has not been linear. After returning to school, I struggled at first. I had to relearn how to navigate the academic world while managing my mental health and accommodating my neurodivergence. At one point, my GPA was 2.1, and I often questioned whether I belonged in college at all. But I kept going. I sought out resources, built supportive routines, and permitted myself to learn in ways that worked for me. Slowly, my grades improved, and with them, my confidence. Today, I hold a 3.0 GPA, a number that represents not just academic progress, but resilience, growth, and self-acceptance. Mental health will always be a part of my story. It has shaped who I am and how I move through the world. It has taught me that healing is not linear, that progress is worth celebrating in all its forms, and that vulnerability is a powerful tool for connection. As I continue my education and pursue my career goals, I carry these lessons with me. I hope to create spaces, where others feel safe to share their stories and embrace their full, authentic selves. And I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to keep growing, learning, and contributing along the way.