My path toward becoming an SLP and educator was not one that I initially envisioned for myself, but in hindsight, I can see how every step of the way has led me to this moment with purpose. My passion is fueled by a combination of personal history, supportive mentors, and an innate sense of fostering development within others. And so, as I begin to enter a role wherein I will work with students and help them improve their communication and academic performance, I hope to inspire others with the imbuement of warmth, patience, and determination into my duties. One of the earliest experiences that influenced my decision to pursue a career as an educator was working as a summer camp counselor and later as the Arts and Activities Director of Camp Shoreline. As a summer camp counselor at that time, I worked with children from diverse backgrounds and with differing abilities, needs, and aspirations. I loved planning activities, assisting campers through new experiences, and watching them progress. I learned early on the importance of being flexible, patient, and the power of positive reinforcement—all qualities that would be crucial as an SLP later in life. Additionally, personal experience as a student was also paramount in guiding my career path. I have always enjoyed having teachers who supplemented the curriculum to make their students feel valued and loved. At high school level, I had some teachers that recognized my potential and nurtured my interests, while others compelled me to push through adversity. A particular teacher, my high school Social Studies teacher during my junior year, taught me the tremendous potential that a compassionate, empathetic mentor could exert. He nurtured my enthusiasm for becoming a global citizen, built confidence in my abilities, and created a classroom environment where everyone was able to be themselves. He was also a steadfast source of unwavering support as I dealt with a prolonged, debilitating mental health crisis. It is indisputable that he is part of the reason I am still alive today. His example led me to approach my future students with the same degree of care and intention. A second significant influence has been my experience in higher education, namely graduating with a Bachelor of Arts in Communication Sciences and Disorders from Western Washington University and my eventual Master of Science in Speech-Language Pathology from Emerson College. The rigorous academic course work combined with practical clinical experience solidified my own belief in the life-changing power of education and intervention. One of the practicum experiences that solidified my decision to work in schools was in a pediatric clinic, where I witnessed the impact that concentrated speech therapy had on a child's confidence and ability to engage with the world. Seeing the smile on a child's face when they are finally able to express a thought or acquire a new skill is something that I will never tire of. My own life experience with chronic illness has also shaped the way I support students. Having been diagnosed with Sjogren's syndrome and rheumatoid arthritis at fifteen years old, I understand the value of being adaptable, standing up for oneself, and the need to meet people where they are. I understand what it is like to struggle with disabilities that are not visible, and I would like to bring that sense of empathy into my practice. I want students—especially those who face obstacles that others may not necessarily notice—to know that they are not alone and that their labor matters, that whatever they are able to show up with is enough. As an SLP, I plan on encouraging students by establishing a culture of trust and positive reinforcement. Communication is a fundamental human right, and I want to empower my students with the tools they need to communicate effectively. Whether I am helping a student with articulation, social communication, or reading development, it is always my goal to make learning fun, relevant, and individualized to their specific needs. Along with direct practice, I also see myself as inspiring and mentoring other educators and future professionals. I believe students with communication disorders require a committed advocate, and I am committed to collaborating with families, teachers, and administrators to offer support for all students. I also plan to mentor future SLPs and educators, sharing experiences and motivating them to work with compassion and dedication. Lastly, my motivation to become an educator stems from a passion for learning established long ago, the desire to help others, and believing in the power of communication to change people's lives. My journey was led by great mentors, challenges, and believing that every student deserves their voice to be heard. By doing my share, I hope to pay that inspiration forward to colleagues and students whom I have the privilege of working with and make a lasting positive contribution.

For the past four years, I have served as a registrar in the Edmonds School District, where I have witnessed firsthand the barriers that students with special needs face in accessing an education that truly serves them. I have seen the overwhelming amount of paperwork required to justify basic accommodations, the battles parents fight to secure services for their children, and the exhaustion on the faces of educators who want to do more but are stretched too thin. These experiences have ignited a fire within me—a relentless drive to fight for these students, to ensure they are not overlooked, and to be a voice that refuses to let them be silenced. In today’s political climate, special education is under siege. The Department of Education continues to face pressure that undermines the very foundation of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA). Individualized Education Programs (IEPs), which are meant to guarantee students the support they need, are often challenged, underfunded, or even disregarded in favor of budgetary constraints. The push for school choice and privatization further threatens the rights of students with disabilities by funneling resources away from public schools, where the majority of these students rely on federally protected services. These systemic issues have only strengthened my resolve to advocate for the unalienable right of every student to access an education that works for them and fosters their ability to learn. I refuse to accept a future where these students are left behind. That is why I am pursuing a career as a speech-language pathologist (SLP) in the very district I have already dedicated years of my life to. My time as a registrar has given me a deep understanding of the school system and the students who need the most support. I have seen how crucial it is for those in special education to have advocates who genuinely care—who go beyond compliance and paperwork to see each student as an individual with limitless potential. I strive to be that person. When I return as an SLP, I will be on the front lines of special education. No longer just facilitating processes from behind the scenes, I will be actively working with students, helping them develop the communication skills they need to express themselves and advocate for their own needs. Through speech therapy, I will empower students to find their voices—both literally and figuratively—so they can participate fully in their education and their communities. My goal is not just to work within the system but to challenge and improve it. I will push for stronger IEPs, fight for services that are at risk of being denied, and collaborate with educators and families to ensure that every student receives the individualized support they deserve. I will continue to educate myself on policy changes, advocate for funding that prioritizes special education, and ensure that the students I serve are not just accommodated but truly included. Education is not a privilege—it is a right. And for students with special needs, that right must be protected with unwavering dedication. I am ready to be that advocate, that fighter, and that voice until my students find their own. This is not just a career for me; it is a mission. One I intend to see through.

Anxiety is an unrelenting force. It is more than just feeling nervous before a test or overthinking a decision—it is a constant hum in the back of my mind, a weight pressing down on my chest, a voice whispering that I am not enough. It turns small tasks into mountains, convinces me that every misstep is a disaster, and drains my energy before I even begin. It is exhausting, frustrating, and at times, suffocating. But despite its attempts to hold me back, I have refused to let it define me. Pursuing a college degree is not just an academic achievement for me—it is an act of defiance. It is proof that I am capable, that I am strong, that I am more than my anxiety. There have been countless moments when I have questioned my abilities, when my mind has spun worst-case scenarios until I felt paralyzed by fear. Anxiety tells me I am an imposter, that I will fail, that I should give up before I embarrass myself. But I have learned that anxiety is a liar, and I refuse to let it control my future. College represents more than just education; it is a gateway to the life I want to build. I have always been passionate about helping others, about making a tangible difference in the world. My own struggles with mental health have deepened my empathy, allowing me to understand the silent battles so many people face. I want to be a voice for those who feel unheard, a support system for those who feel alone. Pursuing my degree is not just about personal success—it is about using my knowledge and experiences to uplift others. Of course, the journey has not been easy. Anxiety makes the pressure of deadlines and expectations feel unbearable. It turns minor mistakes into overwhelming failures. There have been nights spent staring at the ceiling, my heart racing as I replay every perceived misstep of the day. But I have learned to fight back. I have built systems to manage the chaos—color-coded lists, structured routines, mindfulness practices. I have sought support, recognizing that strength does not come from struggling alone but from allowing others to help. And most importantly, I have learned to be kind to myself, to celebrate the victories, no matter how small. Earning this degree is not just about proving something to the world—it is about proving something to myself. That I am not weak for struggling. That I am not broken because my mind works differently. That I am capable of achieving everything I set my heart to, even if the road is harder for me than it is for others. Anxiety may always be a part of my life, but it will not be the author of my story. Every step I take toward my degree is a step toward a future where I can use my experiences to help others, to foster understanding, and to advocate for those who feel trapped in their own minds. This is my fight, and I refuse to let anxiety win.

My name is Taryn, and my journey with mental health has shaped every aspect of who I am—my beliefs, my relationships, and my career aspirations. Living with an OCD-fueled eating disorder, anxiety, panic, and depression has been an unrelenting battle, but it has also forged in me a deep sense of empathy, resilience, and purpose. My struggles have not defined me, but they have guided me toward a career in speech-language pathology, where I will make a meaningful difference in the lives of those who, like me, have felt unheard or unseen. Mental illness has fundamentally changed the way I view the world. I have experienced firsthand the stigma, the misunderstandings, and the difficulty of seeking help. I know what it’s like to feel trapped inside my own mind, to be dismissed when my struggles were invisible to others, and to fight daily battles that no one else could see. But I also know the power of support, the importance of a compassionate professional, and the relief that comes when someone finally understands. These experiences have shaped my belief that mental health care—and healthcare as a whole—must be rooted in patience, validation, and an individualized approach. No one’s experience with mental illness is the same, and treatment should never be one-size-fits-all. My struggles have also impacted my relationships, making me both more selective and more intentional about the people I surround myself with. I have learned to value authenticity and deep connections over surface-level interactions. The people in my life know that I will always be there for them, because I know how much it means to have someone who truly listens. In turn, I have also learned the importance of setting boundaries and prioritizing my own well-being. Strength is not just pushing through—it’s knowing when to rest, when to say no, and when to ask for help. These experiences have fueled my passion for a career in speech-language pathology, where mental health and communication intersect in profound ways. I want to help individuals who struggle to express themselves—whether due to anxiety, neurodiversity, trauma, or a communication disorder—feel heard and understood. So often, individuals with speech and language difficulties are dismissed, underestimated, or excluded. I want to change that. Through my work, I will advocate for accessible, inclusive, and compassionate communication support, ensuring that every voice is valued. My journey with mental illness has been painful, but it has also been transformative. It has given me purpose, direction, and the drive to create change. I plan to make a positive impact not only through direct patient care but also through advocacy, awareness, and systemic change in how we view and address communication and mental health needs. The world needs more professionals who truly understand the weight of invisible battles. I intend to be one of them.

I have chosen to pursue a degree in speech-language pathology because communication is fundamental to connection, identity, and opportunity. I want to help people find their voice—whether that means supporting a child with a speech delay, assisting a student with a language disorder, or empowering a neurodivergent individual to express themselves in a way that feels authentic. My passion for this field stems from a lifelong desire to make a tangible difference in people’s lives, and I know that working in healthcare will allow me to do just that. Living with Sjogren’s syndrome and mental illness has given me firsthand insight into the challenges of navigating the healthcare system. I understand the frustration of being dismissed, the exhaustion of advocating for myself, and the relief of finding a provider who truly listens. These experiences have shaped my approach to patient care—I want to be the kind of professional who ensures every person feels heard, validated, and supported. My own struggles have made me deeply empathetic, and I will bring that empathy into my work, treating each client with the respect and patience they deserve. As a woman in healthcare, I hope to challenge outdated notions of leadership, strength, and success. Women are often expected to be endlessly nurturing while simultaneously proving our competence in male-dominated spaces. I reject the idea that kindness and authority are mutually exclusive—I intend to lead with both. I want to be a role model for young women entering the field, showing them that they do not need to sacrifice their warmth, their boundaries, or their personal well-being to be successful. Beyond individual patient care, I also aim to advocate for greater accessibility, awareness, and inclusivity in speech-language services. Communication disorders do not exist in isolation; they intersect with cultural, social, and systemic factors that must be acknowledged and addressed. Whether it’s fighting for better resources in schools or working to ensure therapy is inclusive of diverse communication styles, I want to contribute to a field that values every voice—not just the ones that fit neatly into a standardized box. My journey into healthcare is driven by both personal experience and professional ambition. I want to make a difference—not just in the lives of the people I work with, but in the broader structures that shape healthcare itself. By bringing compassion, advocacy, and a commitment to equity into my practice, I hope to leave a lasting impact on my community and on the field as a whole.

I want to build a life that is meaningful—not just for me, but for the people I serve. As a future speech-language pathologist, I am not just building a career; I am building a space where students feel seen, heard, and understood. I want to create a future where communication is not a barrier but a bridge—where every child, regardless of ability, has the tools and confidence to express themselves fully. This vision is deeply personal. Living with Sjogren’s syndrome and mental illness has shown me what it feels like to struggle in ways that others may not see. Fatigue can be isolating, and anxiety can make even the strongest voice feel small. But I have also learned the power of support—the strength that comes from someone believing in you, advocating for you, and giving you the tools to succeed. I want to be that person for my students. Beyond my career, I am also building a foundation of resilience, balance, and connection. I have spent years pushing myself to my limits, working full-time while putting myself through school, managing chronic illness, and striving to be a leader in my community. But building a future isn’t just about endurance—it’s about sustainability. I want to create a life where I can give my best to my students, my family, and myself, without burning out. That means learning to set boundaries, prioritizing my health, and embracing the idea that rest is not weakness—it is necessary for growth. I am also committed to building strong, lasting relationships. As a coach, a mentor, and a friend, I want to be someone who uplifts others, who creates spaces where people feel safe and valued. Whether it’s on the track, in a therapy session, or within my own circle, I want to cultivate a culture of encouragement, understanding, and empowerment. The future I am building is one of impact—one where my work helps others find their voice, where my presence makes people feel supported, and where my own well-being is not sacrificed in the process. This is how I hope to make a difference—not just in my own life, but in the lives of those around me.

My name is Taryn, and I am a speech-language pathology graduate student, a high school registrar, and a track and field coach. My journey has been shaped by perseverance, determination, and a deep desire to make a difference. However, my path has not been without challenges. Living with Sjogren’s syndrome—a chronic autoimmune disease that causes debilitating fatigue—along with OCD, anxiety, panic, and depression, has tested my limits in ways I never expected. Despite these struggles, or perhaps because of them, I have become a stronger, more empathetic leader, dedicated to advocating for those who need a voice. Sjogren’s syndrome is relentless. Fatigue isn’t just feeling tired; it is an all-consuming exhaustion that makes even the simplest tasks feel insurmountable. Some days, my body feels weighed down by an invisible force, making it difficult to push through long hours of work and study. Yet, I refuse to let it define me. Instead, I have learned to adapt, balancing self-care with ambition, and embracing flexibility without sacrificing my goals. This experience has reinforced my belief in the importance of accessibility, accommodation, and understanding—values I will carry into my career as a speech-language pathologist. Mental illness adds another layer of complexity. My OCD-fueled eating disorder has made control feel like a necessity, anxiety has made even small decisions feel paralyzing, and depression has tried to convince me that my successes are not enough. Yet, in the face of these struggles, I have fought back. I have learned that asking for help is not weakness, but strength. I have cultivated resilience, recognizing that setbacks do not define me. These experiences have shaped my relationships, allowing me to connect deeply with others who feel unseen, unheard, or overwhelmed by their own battles. My leadership has been forged in these challenges. As a high school registrar, I have become a steady presence for students navigating difficult transitions. As a track and field coach, I have mentored young athletes, teaching them not only about sports but also about perseverance in the face of adversity. My ability to lead comes not from having an easy road, but from knowing what it means to struggle and to rise again. In my career as an SLP, I will bring this same empathy, resilience, and determination to my work. I understand what it feels like to be held back by something outside of one’s control. I know the frustration of pushing through fatigue and the exhaustion of fighting mental battles no one else can see. This insight will make me a better clinician—one who listens, validates, and adapts therapy to meet the needs of each individual. Disability has not broken me; it has shaped me. It has fueled my belief in advocacy, strengthened my relationships, and solidified my commitment to a career that helps others find their voice. My challenges do not define me—but they have made me the leader, the professional, and the person I am proud to be.

My name is Taryn, and I am a speech-language pathology graduate student, a high school registrar, and a track and field coach. Throughout my life, I have been driven by a passion for helping others find their voices—both literally and figuratively. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand how communication challenges could create barriers, impacting confidence, education, and social connections. These experiences led me to pursue a career in speech-language pathology, where I plan to make a lasting impact by helping individuals express themselves and navigate the world with confidence. As a woman entering the field of speech-language pathology, I recognize the importance of representation and advocacy. Communication is fundamental to human connection, yet many individuals—especially those with disabilities—struggle to have their voices heard. I am committed to being a compassionate and dedicated clinician who not only provides therapy but also empowers my students and clients to advocate for themselves. Every person deserves to be understood, and I want to be the professional who helps bridge that gap. One of the key ways I plan to make a positive impact is by working in the school system. I believe that early intervention and consistent support can transform a child’s academic and social experience. By tailoring therapy to each individual’s strengths and areas of need, I can help students develop the communication skills necessary for success. My goal is to create an inclusive environment where every student—regardless of ability—feels seen, valued, and capable. Beyond my direct work with students, I want to contribute to systemic change by advocating for better policies and resources in special education. Too often, speech and language services are underfunded, leading to high caseloads and limited support for students who need it most. I plan to use my voice to push for more accessible services, ensuring that all students receive the interventions they need to thrive. As a woman in this field, I also recognize the importance of mentorship. Throughout my education and career, I have been fortunate to learn from strong, knowledgeable women who have guided me through challenges. I hope to do the same for future professionals, encouraging young women to pursue careers in speech-language pathology and special education. Representation matters, and I want to show others that they, too, can make a meaningful difference in the world. My passion for helping others communicate extends beyond my professional life. I believe that kindness, empathy, and active listening can create change in all areas of society. Whether in a therapy session, a classroom, or a community setting, I will continue to use my skills to uplift others and create a world where every voice matters. Through my career, I will make a lasting impact—one student, one conversation, and one breakthrough at a time. As a woman, I am proud to bring my strength, empathy, and determination to this field, knowing that the work I do will change lives for the better.

The lyric “Can’t figure out just how you do it, and God knows I never will / Went for me, and not her / ‘Cause girls your age know better” from Olivia Rodrigo’s song “Vampire” captures the raw essence of adolescence—the heartbreak, the self-doubt, and the painful realization of being manipulated by someone who should have known better. It speaks to the naivety of youth, the way we sometimes believe in people who don’t deserve our trust, and the sting of realizing we were just another game to them. As a teenager, I often wrestled with feelings of insecurity, particularly in relationships and social dynamics. I wanted to believe that the people around me had good intentions, that if someone chose me, it meant I was special. But as Rodrigo’s lyric suggests, being chosen isn’t always a prize—it can be a trap. The words “went for me, and not her” perfectly encapsulate the moment when you realize that what felt like love or admiration was actually just manipulation, that someone picked you not because you were special, but because you were easy to deceive. The lyric acknowledges that older, more experienced individuals—those who have been through this before—would have seen the warning signs. But when you’re young, you don’t know better. You want to believe. Adolescence is filled with moments of believing in illusions, whether it’s the idealization of a relationship, a friendship, or even an entire phase of life. The transition from childhood to adulthood is brutal because it’s when the reality of the world starts to sink in. The lyric “Can’t figure out just how you do it, and God knows I never will” highlights the frustration and self-blame that often follows betrayal. It’s the feeling of looking back and wondering how you were so blind, so easily fooled. But it also touches on the deeper pain of realizing that some people move through life effortlessly hurting others, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. For me, this lyric reflects the struggles I had with self-worth and trust as a teenager. I desperately wanted to be seen, to be valued, but I didn’t always know how to recognize when someone’s attention wasn’t genuine. When you’re young, love and admiration can feel like the ultimate validation, but they can also be weapons in the hands of the wrong people. The realization that “girls your age know better” is a painful but necessary lesson in growing up—learning to protect yourself, to see red flags, and to understand that being chosen isn’t always about love. Rodrigo’s words perfectly capture the essence of adolescence because they reflect the universal experience of betrayal—whether by a friend, a partner, or even by our own unrealistic expectations. Growing up means learning the difference between love and control, between admiration and exploitation. And while it’s painful, it’s also empowering. Because once you know better, you don’t fall for the same tricks again.

My name is Taryn, and I refuse to let mental illness define me—though it has certainly tried. I am a speech-language pathology graduate student, a high school registrar, a track and field coach, and a person driven by passion and purpose. But beneath the accomplishments and the determination, I have waged war with an OCD-fueled eating disorder, anxiety, panic, and depression. These battles have left scars, shaped my resilience, and forced me to fight for the life I want. I didn’t fully understand the extent of my struggle with OCD until I was finally able to seek professional help over the last two years. Before that, I thought my thoughts and behaviors were just part of who I was—quirks, perfectionism, and a need for control. But OCD is not just a preference for order or a desire to have things a certain way. It is a relentless, merciless force. It takes the simplest of actions—eating, making a decision, completing a task—and turns them into an exhausting mental battlefield. My brain latches onto rules and rituals that I know are irrational, but knowing doesn’t make them disappear. It whispers that control is the only way to stay safe, convincing me that something terrible will happen if I don’t follow its commands. Even when I recognize the lies, even when I know the compulsions make no logical sense, the fear remains. My eating disorder is deeply intertwined with my OCD. It isn’t about vanity—it’s about control. It’s about silencing the chaos in my mind for just a moment. There is something deceptive about the way an eating disorder convinces you that you are making a choice when, in reality, you are losing yourself to it. I have spent years unraveling these thoughts, trying to understand where my control ends and where the disorder begins. But that control is an illusion, and breaking free from it is a daily fight. Some days, I win. Some days, it wins. But I keep fighting. Anxiety has been my shadow for as long as I can remember. It tightens around my chest like a vice, making every breath a struggle. It turns the ordinary into the impossible, making even minor tasks feel like life-or-death situations. A simple email, a casual conversation, a slight shift in tone from someone I respect—suddenly, my brain is spiraling, my heart racing, my body bracing for disaster. It is exhausting to exist in a constant state of hyper-awareness, scanning for danger where none exists. Panic attacks don’t ask for permission; they strike like a lightning bolt, leaving me shaking, gasping, and barely able to think. In those moments, logic is useless. My body goes into full fight-or-flight mode, and all I can do is ride the wave, hoping it passes quickly. And yet, I push forward. I show up for my students. I meet my deadlines. I refuse to let the fear win, even when it feels like it might. Anxiety tells me that I will fail, that I will let people down, that I am not good enough. But I keep proving it wrong, day after day. Depression, though, is a different beast. It doesn’t crash into me like panic—it seeps in like a slow poison, dulling everything I love and making even the brightest moments feel muted. It tells me I am not enough, that I am failing, that nothing I do matters. Every accolade is not an accomplishment but an expectation I needed to meet. There is no glory in meeting expectations. And if I fail? Then I was worthless all along. That is the cruelest part of depression—it rewrites reality, making even my greatest achievements feel hollow. But despite everything, my experience with mental illness has shaped me in ways I never expected. It has influenced my beliefs, my relationships, and my career aspirations in profound ways. I believe in the power of empathy because I know what it’s like to suffer in silence. I believe in meeting people where they are, and in giving them the space to struggle without judgment. Resilience is not about being fearless—it’s about continuing to move forward, even when fear and doubt scream at you to stop. My relationships have been both tested and strengthened by my mental health struggles. The people who have stood by me—who have listened, who have reassured me when my mind was working against me, who have supported me on the days when I couldn’t do it alone—have shown me the true meaning of unconditional love. But mental illness has also made some relationships difficult. Not everyone can understand. Not everyone knows how to respond when someone is struggling. And I have learned it is not my job to make everyone comfortable with my reality. The people who matter are the ones who see me—not just my struggles, but my strength. As a future speech-language pathologist, I want to be a source of support and understanding for students who feel unseen, unheard, or misunderstood. I know what it’s like to feel trapped inside your own mind, to struggle with something invisible to everyone else. I want to work with students with communication disorders, not just to help them find their voices, but to ensure they feel empowered in a world that often overlooks them. I have lived through the experience of feeling unheard, and I want to make sure the students I work with never feel that way. I will not sugarcoat it—mental illness is brutal. It has torn me down, but it has also built me into someone unbreakable. It has forced me to become stronger than I ever thought possible. It has made me empathetic, determined, and relentless in my pursuit of the life I deserve. I am not just surviving—I am living. I am chasing my dreams, building my future, and refusing to let these struggles take away the life I am determined to build. I am still here. I am still fighting. And I always will be.

My name is Taryn, and I refuse to let mental illness define me—though it has certainly tried. I am a speech-language pathology graduate student, a high school registrar, a track and field coach, and a person driven by passion and purpose. But beneath the accomplishments and the determination, I have waged war with an OCD-fueled eating disorder, anxiety, panic, and depression. These battles have left scars, shaped my resilience, and forced me to fight for the life I want. I didn't know how greatly I struggled with OCD until I finally was able to seek professional help over the last two years. OCD is a relentless, merciless force. It takes the simplest of actions—eating, making a decision, completing a task—and turns them into an exhausting mental battlefield. My brain latches onto rules, rituals, and patterns that I know are irrational, but knowing doesn’t make them disappear. It whispers that control is the only way to stay safe, convincing me that if I don’t follow its commands, something terrible will happen. My eating disorder isn’t about vanity—it’s about control, about silencing the chaos in my mind for just a moment. But that control is an illusion, and breaking free from it is a daily fight. Anxiety is no kinder. Anxiety has been with me for my whole life, tightening around my chest like a vice, making every breath feel like a struggle. It turns the ordinary into the impossible, making even minor tasks feel like life-or-death situations. Panic attacks don’t ask for permission; they strike like a lightning bolt, leaving me shaking, gasping, and barely able to think. And yet, I push forward. I show up for my students. I meet my deadlines. I refuse to let the fear win, even when it feels like it might. Depression, though, is a different beast. It doesn’t crash into me like panic—it seeps in like a slow poison, dulling everything I love and making even the brightest moments feel muted. It tells me I am not enough, that I am failing, that nothing I do matters. Every accolade is not an accomplishment, but an expectation I needed to meet, there's no glory in meeting expectations. And if I fail? Then I was worthless all along. But here’s the truth: depression lies. It wants me to believe I am powerless, but I am not. I fight back, even on the days when that fight looks like simply getting out of bed. I will not sugarcoat it—mental illness is brutal. It has torn me down, but it has also built me into someone unbreakable. I am still here. I am still fighting. And I will not let these struggles take away the life I am determined to build.

What makes me a non-traditional student is the balancing act of pursuing my master’s degree while working full-time, supporting myself, and building financial security—step by step. I am a high school registrar by day, a grad student by night, and a careful planner 24/7, determined to fulfill my dream of becoming a speech-language pathologist without taking on student debt. Every paycheck goes almost entirely to tuition, leaving little for extras, but I have learned to manage down to the last dollar through careful budgeting and creativity. I know that this road is not easy, but for me, it’s essential. Growing up, financial insecurity was a constant reality. I know what it’s like to feel the weight of wondering if there will be enough, and that’s a feeling I am determined to leave behind. Today, at 26, I have over $30,000 saved in retirement through a Roth IRA, a non-retirement savings account I set up through an LLC, and a pension from working in public education. While I may live on less than $200 each month after my bills, I prioritize even the smallest contributions to my future because I’m building something that gives me a sense of peace and stability I didn’t have growing up. What drives me is a vision of the life I want for my future family. I want to be a mom someday, and I want my children to know security and comfort. I want them to feel safe, to know that their needs will be met, and to have opportunities that I had to fight for on my own. This sense of purpose pushes me through the long days and tight budgets, knowing that every sacrifice today is laying a foundation for the life I want to create for them. Beyond financial security, my heart is set on helping others find their voices. I want to be an SLP because I know the power of communication, of self-expression, of feeling heard and understood. For me, this isn’t just a career; it’s a calling. My own journey has shown me that every person deserves someone who will be there, who will listen, and who will help them break through barriers. This dream—of helping people thrive and building a secure, loving home for my future family—is what keeps me going, no matter the challenges. Every step I take is not just for me but for the life I want to create for those I love and for those I will serve in my career. I am working hard now, investing in every way I can, so that I can look back and know that I built a future filled with both purpose and security.

My goal is to become a speech-language pathologist, allowing me to merge my passion for language and communication with my drive to help others. To achieve this, I’m working full-time as a high school registrar while putting myself through graduate school at Emerson College. This balancing act requires precise financial management, careful budgeting, and a lot of resourcefulness, as nearly my entire monthly paycheck goes toward my tuition installments. Since each monthly payment is around $3,000, I rely heavily on strategic budgeting to keep myself afloat. A core part of my financial strategy is a Spending Plan budgeting spreadsheet I designed myself. It has built-in formulas that calculate exactly how much I can spend in a month. For example, once I enter my monthly paycheck amount ($3,216.07), the spreadsheet automatically deducts key expenses like rent and my “Going towards Grad School” payment, showing me what’s left. While it hasn’t been possible to contribute to savings recently, the spreadsheet keeps me financially aware and gives me confidence that every penny is accounted for. If there’s even $137.45 left, I know that’s the only money available for the month, and I can make informed decisions. To cover essential living expenses with limited funds, I also rely on community resources and support from family and friends. With minimal funds left after tuition and rent, I visit the local food bank weekly for groceries. I’m fortunate that my birthday falls in November, close to the holiday season, so I often ask for Fred Meyer gift cards for gas and groceries, along with any contributions toward school expenses. This support has been invaluable, allowing me to manage month to month while avoiding student loans—an intentional decision to keep future financial burdens as light as possible. To bring in additional income, I seek out advisor roles, stipends, and pre-approved overtime hours at work. While it requires careful time management with my grad school schedule, these small income boosts have been essential. By making the most of these opportunities, I’m able to navigate the expenses associated with my degree without having to rely on loans. The holiday season also calls for some extra creativity. I’m an avid crafter, and rather than buying gifts, I’m hand-making them using materials I already own. For my nieces and nephews, I’m creating felt play food like pretend sugar cookies; for my best friend, I’m making felt and fabric pumpkins that add to her collection. I’m also working on stockings and sequined ornaments inspired by the classic Bucilla stocking kits, using supplies I have on hand. These handmade gifts allow me to celebrate the holidays without additional costs and bring personal touches to my gifts. In the short term, my plan is to stay focused on balancing work, grad school, and the creative budgeting strategies that allow me to avoid debt. Long term, I look forward to a career as a speech-language pathologist where I can give back to my community. Every sacrifice I make now brings me closer to my goal of helping others find their voice and supporting them on their path to greater independence and fulfillment.

My name is Taryn Keller, and I’m pursuing a career in speech-language pathology (SLP) to help people find their voice and connect deeply with those around them. I’m drawn to SLP because it uniquely combines communication, human connection, and the opportunity to foster individual growth—qualities that I value deeply. My journey into this field has been shaped by a range of experiences, from working in special education settings to mentoring young people in sports. These experiences have shown me the impact of compassionate guidance and the importance of helping others feel seen, heard, and valued. Growing up, I became aware of how communication challenges affect every aspect of a person’s life. I witnessed peers struggling to express themselves, and I saw how difficult it was for them to engage in friendships, participate in classroom discussions, and feel a sense of belonging. I was always struck by how much more there was to each person than what they could express, and I wanted to help bridge that gap. This desire, combined with my love of language and my experiences in education, naturally led me to speech-language pathology. My role as a coach has deepened my understanding of what it means to connect and communicate with others, especially young people. As a track and field coach, I’ve been known as the "team mom"—someone who provides guidance and support and who helps young people grow both in skill and confidence. I’ve seen how much encouragement and a trusted, understanding presence can transform a young person’s belief in themselves. This same spirit of encouragement is central to my approach as a future SLP. I want to be that trusted advocate, especially for students who face speech and language challenges. Whether helping a child communicate their thoughts for the first time or working with a teenager to build social communication skills, I am motivated by the idea of making someone’s life a little easier, more fulfilling, and more connected. In addition to personal experience, my academic background in Communication Sciences and Disorders has provided me with a strong foundation in the mechanics of language and communication. I’m inspired by the science behind language development and the methods we can use to help students reach their potential. I am particularly passionate about working with older children and teenagers, helping them develop the skills to engage meaningfully with their world. Knowing that communication challenges can impact a person’s ability to succeed academically, build relationships, and live independently motivates me to approach each individual with dedication, warmth, and a focus on their unique strengths and goals. I’ve chosen this field because it allows me to make a lasting impact, supporting people in finding their voice and expressing themselves. To me, being an SLP is not just a career—it’s a calling that aligns with my values, my experiences, and my commitment to helping others thrive. I am excited to bring my passion, compassion, and determination into this profession, where I can be a source of strength and encouragement to those navigating the journey of communication.

My mental health isn’t just important—it’s everything. It’s the thread that holds the rest of my life together, and when it unravels, so does everything else. I’ve learned that the hard way, time and time again. It affects how I function at work, how I engage with the people I love, and how I cope with the small and large challenges that inevitably come. For years, I tried to push through without addressing my mental health, believing I could just keep going, that I could force myself to be okay. But ignoring it didn’t make things better; it only made the crash that much harder when it came. There have been days, or really, weeks where I’ve felt completely defeated. When exhaustion clings to every fiber of my being, and the anxiety is so overwhelming that it feels like I can’t breathe. The simplest tasks, like sending an email or even getting out of bed, can feel like climbing a mountain. I’ve found myself staring at my monitors at work, the screen blurred by tears I’m too tired to wipe away, knowing I have a hundred things to do but frozen by a deep, unshakable fear of failure. I live with Sjogren’s syndrome, a chronic illness that exacerbates both my physical and mental fatigue, making it feel impossible to keep my head above water. But I’ve learned that acknowledging the weight I carry is the first step. I’ve learned that my mental health matters because if I don’t care for it, everything falls apart. When I’m struggling, I’m not the person I want to be—not for myself, not for my friends or family, and not for the students I love to serve. I become a hollow version of myself, going through the motions but feeling completely disconnected. And when I crash, I crash hard. So I’ve had to start asking myself: What’s the point of pushing through if I’m destroying myself in the process? Why am I worth less than my passion or anyone else’s needs? Maintaining my mental health is a constant battle. I can’t pretend it’s easy because it isn’t. I’ve had to learn to be gentler with myself, to give myself permission to slow down when I need to. Therapy through eating disorder recovery has been a lifeline for me, a space where I can be brutally honest about how I’m feeling without fear of judgment. I attend weekly, even when it feels like I don’t have the time or energy because I know it keeps me grounded. I’m learning how to set boundaries—both at work and in my personal life—something I never did before because I thought saying no meant I was weak or unworthy. But I’ve come to realize that saying no, stepping back, and prioritizing rest doesn’t mean I’m failing. It means I’m surviving. I also try to carve out small moments of joy in the chaos. For me, it’s being with my dog, Remi, who’s been my constant through everything. She gets me out of my head, reminding me to step outside for fresh air and take a breath. It’s in those quiet moments that I feel most at peace. Mental wellness isn’t about being perfect or having it all figured out—it’s about holding on and doing whatever it takes to get through. Some days, the smallest victories—like taking a shower or making it through work without breaking down—are worth celebrating. I’ve learned that I can’t pour from an empty cup, and that my mental health matters because without it, I have nothing to give.

Choosing speech-language pathology wasn’t just a career decision—it was an act of devotion to the power of human connection. From an early age, I understood the profound impact communication has on relationships, self-worth, and belonging. But it wasn’t until I faced the hurdles of chronic illness, particularly Sjogren's syndrome, that I truly understood the deep frustration of being unable to fully express myself—both physically and emotionally. This personal battle gave rise to my passion: to help others reclaim their voice in a world that so often silences them. Living with a condition that exhausts me in ways I never knew possible, I’ve often felt isolated, even though my mind is full of words and thoughts I want to share. The layers of fatigue and emotional strain have been both debilitating and enlightening. They’ve shown me how easily those who struggle with communication can be overlooked or misunderstood. My journey to speech-language pathology is about more than addressing disorders—it’s about restoring dignity, unlocking potential, and giving people the tools to be heard. I want to be the advocate for those who, like me, have faced barriers to expressing their truth. The work I desire to do extends far beyond clinical settings. Yes, I’ll use evidence-based practices, but my real mission is to create spaces where my clients feel safe, empowered, and understood. My goal is to make a lasting impact on their lives by fostering confidence and resilience. I want to partner with families, educators, and communities to ensure that those who struggle with communication are never sidelined, that they are given every opportunity to thrive, to participate, and to feel whole. The challenges in this field are immense. It’s emotionally demanding, and progress can be slow and painful. But those challenges are also the reason I feel so deeply connected to this path. There’s nothing more powerful than watching someone break through their barriers, no matter how small the victory may seem to the world. I know, from my own experience, that each breakthrough is monumental. Ultimately, I want to be a champion for those who feel silenced. I want to give them not just words, but hope and power. Through speech-language pathology, I will dedicate myself to helping others find the voice they’ve always deserved, ensuring that their stories, like mine, are heard and remembered.

I’m a theatre kid through and through, and Wicked holds a special place in my heart. It was one of the first musicals I learned when preparing my audition repertoire, and I still remember the excitement of learning the powerful vocals of Defying Gravity and the fun, bubbly tones of Popular. Wicked is more than just a musical; it’s a theatre kid’s dream, and I’m no different. The music alone is enough to make me a fan. Defying Gravity is iconic. It’s the kind of song that every theatre kid dreams of belting, feeling the swell of emotion as you hit those high notes and feel like you’re soaring alongside Elphaba. That song represents so much more than vocal range—it's about breaking free, standing up for who you are, and defying expectations, all things I’ve faced in my own life and in my journey through theatre. Whether in rehearsal or belting it out alone in my room, Defying Gravity reminds me of the power and freedom that theatre brings into my life. Then there’s Popular, the playful contrast to Elphaba’s intensity. It’s bubbly, light, and so much fun to perform. The character of Glinda has this charming way of hiding deeper complexity under layers of humor and confidence, and singing that song is like tapping into a carefree side of myself that’s hard to find elsewhere. Glinda’s over-the-top enthusiasm and wit bring joy to both the audience and the performer. As someone who's been involved in theatre for over a decade, performing or even just singing Popular feels like stepping into a familiar and joyful world that I’ve known and loved for years. Wicked isn’t just popular because of its music, though. Its story has depth that resonates with so many people, myself included. It’s about understanding, seeing past the surface, and questioning who the real heroes and villains are. As someone who has spent over a decade in theatre, I’ve learned that these are themes that weave through almost every show, and they reflect truths about the world we live in. Wicked challenges us to rethink what we know about good and evil, much like the transformative experiences I’ve had on stage—learning new roles, embracing different perspectives, and exploring stories that broaden my understanding of human nature. Being a fan of Wicked isn’t just about the music or the story for me. It’s about how it embodies what I love most about theatre: the chance to express every facet of yourself, from the intense and powerful to the light and fun. It’s a chance to explore new stories, new worlds, and new versions of myself. Wicked will always be a part of my theatre journey, and I’ll never tire of its magic.

Choosing just one athlete to cheer for on Team USA is a challenge, but Ilona Maher has captured my admiration in a way few others have. As a rugby player on the U.S. Women’s National Rugby Sevens team, Ilona exemplifies a kind of strength that goes beyond physical prowess. She is a beacon of female empowerment, showing that women can be both devastatingly strong and unapologetically beautiful. Her journey, athleticism, and presence on and off the field inspire me to embrace every part of myself—strength, grace, and everything in between. What sets Ilona apart isn’t just her undeniable skill in rugby, though her athletic achievements are impressive. She has played an integral role in pushing the U.S. Women’s team to success, and her performance at the Tokyo 2020 Olympics was a testament to her dedication and tenacity. But beyond the technical aspects of her sport, what I admire most about Ilona is her confidence and unapologetic embrace of who she is as a woman in a male-dominated world. In a sport known for its physicality and aggression, she embodies a fierce combination of power and femininity that feels revolutionary. Ilona challenges traditional gender stereotypes, especially those around what it means to be a strong woman. Too often, women are told they can either be tough or beautiful, but not both. Ilona dismantles that idea entirely. Watching her play, it’s clear that her strength is not something that detracts from her beauty or femininity—it enhances it. She’s unapologetically herself, whether she’s competing on the rugby field or sharing empowering messages on social media. Ilona’s confidence in her body, her strength, and her identity is infectious, and it resonates with me deeply. In today’s world, where women are often expected to fit into narrow boxes, Ilona’s example is especially powerful. She doesn’t allow societal expectations to define her or limit her potential. Her message is clear: women can be multidimensional. We can be strong and vulnerable, fierce and graceful, powerful and kind. We don’t have to sacrifice one part of ourselves to fit into a mold someone else has created. Ilona inspires me to embrace every part of who I am and reminds me that there is strength in being unapologetically authentic. Her presence off the field is just as impactful. Through her social media platforms, Ilona shares insights into her life, her training, and her experiences as a professional female athlete. She’s open about her challenges, the hard work it takes to maintain her level of performance, and the mental and emotional strength required to navigate the pressures of professional sports. Her transparency makes her not only relatable but also a role model for resilience. She shows that being strong doesn’t mean you’re invulnerable to doubt or struggle—it means pushing through those moments with determination and grace. In cheering for Ilona Maher, I’m not just supporting a gifted athlete; I’m standing behind a woman who embodies everything I aspire to be—strong, confident, and fearless in the face of adversity. Ilona is a reminder that there’s power in authenticity and that we can all be devastatingly strong and beautiful in our own right.

Billie Eilish’s music has always been a deep emotional outlet for me, but three songs in particular—What Was I Made For, lovely, and You Should See Me in a Crown—stand out for how they mirror my own struggles and strengths. What Was I Made For feels like it was pulled from the core of my own experience. Every time I hear it, I cry. It's as if the song lays bare the internal struggle I and so many women face—the deep love for being a girl contrasted against the societal pressures and expectations that can feel suffocating. There’s a bittersweetness to the line "I used to float, now I just fall down" that echoes the transition from girlhood to womanhood, and how that shift sometimes feels like losing pieces of yourself. I love being a woman, but there are moments where it feels like a burden, where being seen as vulnerable or 'less than' weighs heavily on my shoulders. What Was I Made For beautifully captures that dichotomy, that tension between joy and pain that resonates deeply within me and with every woman I know. It’s a song that validates the emotional turmoil of trying to navigate womanhood in a world that often doesn’t make space for our complexity. Then lovely, a collaboration between Billie Eilish and Khalid, never fails to hit me in the gut. From the very first notes, the song wraps you in this haunting yet beautiful sadness. Their voices blend so seamlessly, creating a feeling of isolation and yearning that is almost tangible. What resonates with me is the deeper meaning of the song—this idea of feeling trapped in your own mind, wanting to break free but being held back by inner demons. It speaks to those dark days when the weight of everything becomes too much to bear, when you feel like you’re suffocating under your own emotions. Yet, amidst all that pain, there’s a kind of hope hidden in the music, a promise that even in the darkest moments, you can find beauty, or at least solidarity. For me, lovely is about acknowledging that pain, facing it head-on, and knowing you’re not alone in it. It’s gut-wrenching but in a cathartic way. However, You Should See Me in a Crown is my go-to when I need a burst of energy and motivation. This song taps into a completely different side of me—the side that refuses to be underestimated. The beat is electrifying, and the confidence in Billie’s voice makes it impossible not to feel like you could take on the world. It’s a fun song to jam out to, but it’s also so much more than that. To me, it’s about reclaiming your power, about showing the world that you are stronger than they realize. There’s a defiance in the lyrics that resonates with me on those days when I feel like I’m drowning in responsibilities or the weight of expectations. You Should See Me in a Crown is the anthem that reminds me to stand tall, to own my space, and to not let anyone diminish my worth. Each of these songs reflects a different aspect of my emotional life. What Was I Made For taps into the complexities of womanhood, lovely speaks to the darker struggles of feeling trapped, and You Should See Me in a Crown empowers me to rise above it all. Billie Eilish’s music resonates with me so deeply because it captures the full spectrum of human experience, from vulnerability to power.

Thirteen different types of fatigue come with Sjogren’s syndrome. Thirteen ways to feel drained to the bone, defeated before the day has even started. It’s a fatigue that lives inside me, beyond the kind a nap or a cup of coffee can fix. It’s a constant shadow, creeping into every corner of my life, and it’s been the backdrop to everything I’ve worked for. Living with chronic illness while putting myself through school and working full-time has been nothing short of exhausting, not just physically, but mentally. And yet, even as my body and mind fight against me, I push forward. I don’t quit. But this perseverance comes at a cost. There have been countless nights when I’ve collapsed into bed with nothing left to give, unsure of how I’ll face tomorrow. The weight of school, the demands of my job, and the relentless pull of my illness—each one chips away at my mental health. On some days, just waking up feels like a victory. But pushing through the pain and exhaustion isn’t something to celebrate—it’s often survival. It’s learning to live with that familiar lump in my throat, the one that comes from holding back tears because breaking down doesn’t feel like an option when you’re the one who’s supposed to keep it all together. I’ve spent years pushing myself to the limits and beyond to the point where my body gives out, I can’t concentrate, and even small tasks feel like monumental challenges. I’ve pushed through the brain fog, through the physical pain, through the crushing fatigue that makes everything seem so much harder than it should be. And yet, I continue to push. I don’t give up. It’s not because I’m stronger than others or more capable—it’s simply because I refuse to let this illness, or the mental toll that comes with it, define me. But it shapes everything I do, everything I am. In many ways, my mental health struggles have made me who I am today. They’ve taught me resilience, yes, but they’ve also taught me the importance of grace—when I fall short, overwhelmed when I just can’t do it all. There are days when my mind is so clouded with exhaustion that I forget simple things, days when I want to disappear into the background of my own life. But those are the days I must step back, breathe, and remind myself that perseverance doesn’t mean perfection. This constant battle between pushing forward and knowing when to let go is paramount. I’ve had to learn to lean on others, to ask for help when I’d rather suffer in silence. There’s a vulnerability in admitting that I can’t do it all. But in that vulnerability, I’ve found true connection. I’ve built relationships with people who understand that I’m not just the person who never gives up—I’m also someone who needs support, who struggles, who hurts. And in turn, I’ve become someone who offers that same support to others, someone who recognizes the invisible battles people fight every day, someone who knows that asking for help is a strength, not a weakness. Living with a chronic illness has deepened my empathy for others in ways I never expected. It’s given me an understanding of the silent struggles people endure, the mental health challenges that so often go unnoticed because they don’t present themselves in obvious ways. It’s made me more compassionate, more aware, more sensitive to the pain and difficulty that can exist just beneath the surface of someone’s day-to-day life. And that understanding has shaped my goals, both personally and professionally. I’ve learned that I want to be someone who helps others navigate their own struggles, whether those struggles are visible or invisible. My experience with mental health has solidified my desire to work as a speech-language pathologist, where I can be a support for those who feel unheard or misunderstood. I want to be the kind of professional who doesn’t just treat the issue at hand, but who sees the whole person—who understands that the challenges we face aren’t always written in our medical charts or academic records. I want to help people find their voice, just as I’ve struggled to maintain mine in the face of adversity. But my goals go beyond my career. My mental health journey has made me realize that while it’s important to push forward, it’s equally important to find balance. I want to lead a life where I can achieve my goals without sacrificing my well-being, where I can help others while also taking care of myself. This isn’t easy for me—I’ve spent so many years pushing myself to the brink that slowing down feels foreign, almost wrong. But I know now that true strength lies not just in perseverance, but in knowing when to rest, when to recover, when to give myself the grace I so readily offer to others. My understanding of the world has been profoundly shaped by the intersection of my mental health struggles and my chronic illness. I’ve learned that we’re all carrying something, and that the bravest thing we can do is to keep going even when it feels impossible. But I’ve also learned that life isn’t just about surviving—it’s about finding moments of joy, connection, and meaning amid the struggle. It’s about recognizing that while pain is inevitable, suffering doesn’t have to be. We can choose to fight, to persevere, to push forward, but we can also choose to find peace, to ask for help, to allow ourselves to be human. In the end, my mental health challenges have shaped me in ways I never anticipated. They’ve made me more resilient, more empathetic, and more aware of the importance of balance. They’ve fueled my desire to help others while reminding me to care for myself. And while the road ahead is undoubtedly filled with more challenges, I know now that I am not defined by my struggles—I am defined by how I rise from them.

My experience with my cousin's struggle with meth addiction has had a profound impact on my beliefs, relationships, and career aspirations. It has opened my eyes to the harsh reality of addiction and mental health issues, inspiring me to advocate for and support underserved individuals who face similar challenges. Amid my cousin's ongoing battle with meth addiction, I have witnessed the powerlessness that addiction can exert over a person's life. Her journey has been marked by cycles of seeking help and then falling back into the clutches of drugs. I have watched her try in earnest to quit drugs for the sake of her children, but ultimately lose custody of both as she failed to stay clean. I used to believe her failure was her fault, but I now see the depth of addiction and the inadequacies of our society to truly help. These recurring patterns have made me acutely aware of the complexities and challenges that individuals with addiction and mental health issues face. I have come to believe that addiction is not simply a matter of choice but rather a complex interplay of genetics, environment, and personal struggles. This realization has deepened my empathy and compassion for those grappling with similar issues. My relationship with my cousin has been a rollercoaster of emotions. While her addiction has strained our bond, it has also taught me the importance of patience, understanding, and unconditional love. I have learned to separate the person from the addiction, understanding that her struggles do not define her character. While I long for the Sydney I knew as a child, I know she is forever changed but my love for her won't waver. This perspective shift has made me more open-minded and accepting, not only in my interactions with her but also in my relationships with others. I have developed a greater capacity for empathy and support, recognizing that everyone has their battles, and judgment is rarely helpful. The impact of my cousin's addiction on my career aspirations has been substantial. Witnessing her continuous struggle with meth addiction has fueled my desire to make a difference in the lives of underserved individuals facing addiction and mental health crises. I want to contribute to the development of comprehensive, compassionate, and accessible treatment and support systems. My goal is to work with organizations and communities to provide resources and assistance to those who often feel marginalized and abandoned. Moreover, I have become an advocate for raising awareness about addiction and mental health issues. I firmly believe that education and understanding are key to combating the stigma surrounding these struggles. Through my personal experiences, I have found a sense of purpose in spreading awareness and providing a platform for individuals to share their stories. I want to be a part of the movement to remove the barriers that hinder access to quality care and support for those affected by addiction and mental health disorders. In conclusion, my cousin's struggle with meth addiction has left an indelible mark on my beliefs, relationships, and career aspirations. It has taught me empathy, patience, and a commitment to helping underserved individuals battling addiction and mental health issues. I am determined to make a positive impact on their lives and to be an advocate for a more compassionate and understanding society when it comes to these complex issues.

The Importance of Mental Health and Self-Care Practices In today's fast-paced world, the importance of mental health cannot be overstated. It's the foundation of our overall well-being and influences every aspect of our lives. Maintaining good mental health is essential for leading a fulfilling and productive life. This essay explores the significance of mental health and the role of three specific self-care practices in maintaining it: spending time with friends, engaging in creative arts and crafts, and taking moments of solitude with no responsibilities scheduled. Mental health is an integral component of our overall health. It affects our emotions, thoughts, behaviors, and interactions with the world. A healthy mind is vital for our ability to cope with stress, make rational decisions, build and maintain relationships, and pursue our goals. Neglecting mental health can lead to various issues, including anxiety, depression, and more severe conditions. One of the fundamental ways to support mental health is by spending time with friends. Social connections provide a sense of belonging and emotional support, which are crucial for well-being. Engaging with friends allows us to share our thoughts and feelings, gain perspective on our problems, and feel a sense of connection that reduces feelings of isolation. It fosters a sense of joy, relaxation, and stress relief, ultimately improving our mental health. Being creative through arts and crafts is another avenue to nurture mental wellness. Creative activities enable us to express ourselves and engage in a flow state where we lose track of time and worries. This not only helps to reduce stress but also promotes a sense of accomplishment and self-esteem. The act of creating something tangible, be it a painting, a piece of pottery, or a craft project, can be immensely satisfying, boosting our mental well-being. In our hyperconnected world, taking time for solitude with no responsibilities scheduled is often overlooked. Solitude allows us to recharge and reflect on our thoughts and emotions. It provides the space to detach from external pressures, be present with ourselves, and discover a sense of inner peace. Unplugging from the constant demands of life, even for a short time, can be refreshing and restorative. Maintaining good mental health is essential for living a meaningful and satisfying life. It impacts every aspect of our existence, from our relationships to our productivity and overall happiness. Engaging in self-care practices such as spending time with friends, being creative through arts and crafts, and taking moments of solitude can significantly contribute to our mental wellness. By recognizing the importance of mental health and investing in these self-care practices, we can enhance our quality of life and build resilience to face life's challenges. Ultimately, taking care of our mental health is a responsibility we owe to ourselves, and it paves the way to a brighter and more fulfilling future.

In today's fast-paced world, the importance of mental health cannot be overstated. It's the foundation of our overall well-being and influences every aspect of our lives. Maintaining good mental health is essential for leading a fulfilling and productive life. This essay explores the significance of mental health and the role of three specific self-care practices in maintaining it: spending time with friends, engaging in creative arts and crafts, and taking moments of solitude with no scheduled responsiblities bearing down on me. Mental health is an integral component of our overall health. It affects our emotions, thoughts, behaviors, and interactions with the world. A healthy mind is vital for our ability to cope with stress, make rational decisions, build and maintain relationships, and pursue our goals. Neglecting mental health can lead to various issues, including anxiety, depression, and more severe conditions. In my worst moments of mental distress, I have had anxiety and panic attacks, and extreme, debilitating physical and emotional distress. One of the fundamental ways I support my mental health is by spending time with friends. Social connections provide a sense of belonging and emotional support, which are crucial for well-being. Engaging with friends allows us to share our thoughts and feelings, gain perspective on our problems, and feel a sense of connection that reduces feelings of isolation. Being in the presence of those who matter most to me fosters a sense of joy, relaxation, and stress relief, ultimately improving my mental health. Being creative through arts and crafts is another avenue to nurture my mental wellness. Creative activities enable us to express ourselves and engage in a flow state where we lose track of time and worries. This not only helps to reduce my stress but also promotes a sense of accomplishment and self-esteem. The act of creating something tangible, be it a painting, a felt Christmas stocking, or a craft project, can be immensely satisfying, boosting my mental well-being. In our hyperconnected world, taking time for solitude with no responsibilities scheduled is often overlooked. Solitude allows us to recharge and reflect on our thoughts and emotions. It provides the space to detach from external pressures, be present with ourselves, and discover a sense of inner peace. Unplugging from the constant demands of life, even for a short time, can be refreshing and restorative for me. Maintaining good mental health is essential for living a meaningful and satisfying life. It impacts every aspect of our existence, from our relationships to our productivity and overall happiness. Engaging in self-care practices such as spending time with friends, being creative through arts and crafts, and taking moments of solitude can significantly contribute to our mental wellness. By recognizing the importance of mental health and investing in these self-care practices, we can enhance our quality of life and build resilience to face life's challenges. Ultimately, taking care of our mental health is a responsibility we owe to ourselves, and it paves the way to a brighter and more fulfilling future.

Volunteering is a transformative experience that can shape one's values and goals. Over the years, my volunteer experiences at a local food bank and with children with disabilities have significantly influenced my core values of advocacy and doing what is right. These experiences have not only impacted my career aspirations as a future speech-language pathologist but have also instilled a deep commitment to advocating for underserved students in all facets of my life. My journey towards advocacy and doing what is right began at a local food bank, where I volunteered during my high school years. At the food bank, I witnessed the harsh realities of food insecurity and poverty, where families struggled to make ends meet and put food on their tables. This experience was a stark reminder that countless individuals in our community faced daily challenges, and their voices often went unheard. My time at the food bank taught me the importance of compassion and empathy. It reinforced my belief that we must advocate for those in need and take meaningful actions to alleviate their suffering. The experience fueled my desire to ensure that underserved populations, like the clients at the food bank, receive the support they deserve in my future career. Volunteering with children with disabilities further solidified my commitment to advocacy. As I spent time with these remarkable individuals, I came to appreciate their incredible resilience, determination, and unique strengths. It was clear that their voices, too often silenced by societal misconceptions, needed to be amplified. Working with children with disabilities opened my eyes to the importance of inclusivity, equal opportunities, and the right to express oneself. It emphasized the vital role of advocacy in ensuring that individuals with disabilities receive the support and opportunities they deserve. Witnessing their progress and the transformation in their lives through speech therapy further inspired me to become a speech-language pathologist. As I pursued a career in speech-language pathology, my volunteer experiences became an integral part of my professional identity. In my journey, I realized that as a speech-language pathologist, I would play a pivotal role in advocating for the communication needs of individuals with disabilities. My role would involve helping these individuals find their voice, express themselves, and access the support they require to thrive. Advocacy, in the context of speech-language pathology, extends beyond therapeutic interventions. It encompasses collaborating with educators, families, and other professionals to ensure that students with communication disorders receive the appropriate services, resources, and accommodations. My volunteer experiences have given me a deep understanding of the challenges these individuals face, and they have strengthened my determination to advocate relentlessly for their rights. Beyond my career aspirations, my volunteer experiences have shaped my broader life goals. I am committed to advocating for underserved students in all aspects of my life. This commitment extends to educational, social, and community settings, where I will strive to create an inclusive environment that values diversity and empowers all individuals, regardless of their abilities or background. The values of advocacy and doing what is right that I have cultivated through volunteering have become an inseparable part of my identity. They guide my interactions with friends, family, and colleagues, as I work to raise awareness about the needs of underserved students and foster a culture of inclusivity and compassion. Whether it's through volunteering, fundraising, or simply lending an ear, I am determined to be a force for positive change in the lives of those who need it most.

There are few words to describe how coasting above the clouds feels as one looks down at the miniature rolling hills, pastures, and homes below. There is an unmatched adrenaline with a powerfully comforting feeling of insignificance. My family has had a home in Plain since I was six years old. We spent entire summers in the Ponderosa community pool, waiting with bated breath for the fire trucks to throw candy during the Ponderosa 4th of July parade. Now residing on Chiwawa Loop Road, just off Fish Lake, there are many excursions and relaxations to be had in our home. Whether walking to the Midway, feeding the neighbors' horses carrots, or hiking around Lake Wenatchee. But the Wenatchee planes, that was the most awe-inspiring part of any trip over the mountains. As a child, I couldn't fathom how we had a place for planes to take off so close to us. Wasn't that just for airports? And since then, I haven't stopped longing for Wenatchee aviation. To be up in the sky, to marvel at the wonders below I have hiked, wandered, and admired. In all honesty, I am not sure which road I will take when pursuing aviation. But I have spent too long pining for the day when I can pursue my aviation dreams, and I no longer wish to wait for idealistic circumstances. I have listened to those around me who have told me to pursue something else, something easier, something stable. But I have been "stable" since I graduated with my first degree, and it has been nothing short of stagnant. I feel I am missing out, and as such, I will be pursuing something within aviation. Perhaps aeronautical engineering is too out of my reality, but that isn't the only option. I work diligently within the realm of technology in my current position. Though, in an education setting, the scope of technology is far more limited than I am capable of. Therefore, pursuing an avionics technician position is one of my primary goals, as through my research this seems the most fascinating and within the scope of my capabilities. And with time, I know it is within my power to first establish myself with a position I am most comfortable, within my chosen field of aviation, and eventually work to train to be in the sky. I owe it to myself to seek out these opportunities to live my most fulfilling life in my home east of the mountains.

One book will forever stand out in my mind for its brilliant writing, the warm embrace of its story, and its meaningful impact beyond its pages. Though I read this book in my twenties, this YA geared story made my heart swell and joyous tears stream. The House on the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune is a beautiful, positive representation of LGBTQIA+ romance filled with fantasy and its heartwarming 'found family' trope. This story follows the self-proclaimed boring and by-the-book Department in Charge of Magical Youth (DICOMY) caseworker Linus, who is charged with evaluating a mysterious group home--specifically the master of the orphanage, Arthur. Children within this home are characterized in their files as the worst of the worst--including Lucy, the six-year-old son of the devil himself. While his paralyzing task is simple enough on paper, further mystery lies in the caretaker himself. Linus can't help but be captivated by the ease with which each child is nurtured, perfectly attuned to the child's needs, past, and personality. Linus finds it increasingly difficult to remain neutral when his heartbeat steadily thrums to the tune of the children, and Arthur himself. There is a vibrant life and energy to this home that Linus never experienced, and its irresistibility is an indulgence Linus fears to let himself partake. This book is proudly displayed on my bookshelf in my home, and I have purchased copies for the library at my place of work. I am fortunate enough to be able to positively shape young minds as an educator in a public middle school. My middle schoolers must have access to positive representations of all varieties of positive romantic relationships. Too often, if LGBTQIA+ stories are included in media, they are laced with an air of tragedy. Forbidden love, familial rejection, or even a tragic premature death--leaving them behind to live without the warmth of their love beside them. LGBTQIA+ youth deserve to see themselves in a positive light, as Klune so masterfully does. If nothing more, with the tragedies that so often plague the very existence of LGBTQIA+ individuals, a simple yet powerful story such as this reminds us all that not only do they exist, but that their stories are a beautiful thing to witness and be privy to. We should be so lucky to have such warmth and acceptance readily portrayed as in The House on the Cerulean Sea.