For me, education is the light that illuminates the inside of a kaleidoscope. Without it, the fragments of my experience, the Autism, the history of my trauma, and the years of surviving this world, remain dark, heavy, and stagnant. Education provides me the clarity needed in order to see that those same fragments can form a map toward a better future. It is not merely about the addition of facts, it is the process of reclaiming my intellectual agency and proving that my mind, even though it processes the world differently, is a powerful tool for change. In the regards of my history with domestic violence and the challenges of being autistic in a linear world, education is an act of defiance. It is the bridge between surviving and thriving. It allows me to take the broken glass of my past and study its edges, and molding them back into the mirror in which I understand the world I see. Education gives me the vocabulary to advocate for myself, and hopefully others who have a hard time with advocating as well. The legacy I hope to leave is one of resilience. I want to be the point in my family lineage where the patterns of disabilities finally shift into a design of resilience and expression. I hope to leave behind a body of work, whether it's through the lens of a camera, the stroke of a brush, or the rhythm of a poem, that serves as something helpful for others. I want my community to see that being different does not mean you are a finished puzzle with missing pieces, it means you are a kaleidoscope with infinite potential for rearrangement. Ultimately, I want my legacy to be the proof that you can take a life normally viewed as fragmentation and turn it into a masterpiece of your own making. I want to be remembered as someone who didn't just endure the darkness, but also as someone who learned how to manipulate the light until, eventually, every shard of her experience shone with great purpose. My education is the tube of that said transformation, ensuring that the shapes and colors in which I create are built on a foundation of knowledge, awareness, and an unshakable resolve to never stop turning the lens. By having this evolution, I hope to leave a trail of light for others to follow, proving that the most beautiful patterns are often born from the most difficult shifts.

For me, art is a telescope to help me manage my sensory-overloaded world into resilience. Trying to manage the shards of f Autism, ADHD, high Anxiety, and PTSD often feels like living within a storm of scrambled focus and invasive memory. In this prism, creative expression, through photography, drawing, painting, crafting, and poetry, acts as my personal kaleidoscope. It doesn’t just stop the spinning pieces of experience, it gathers those shards of light and shadow, rearranging them into a deliberate and beautiful pattern. Photography might be the most immediate way I use this kaleidoscope to manage the ADHD and sensory sensitivities of my Autism. While my ADHD can make the world feel like a blur of color and noise, the camera lens acts as the tube of the kaleidoscope, narrowing my vision. It allows me to isolate one thing and find the hidden glass in a chaotic environment. When I capture the texture of a leaf or the angles of a building, I am rotating the lens until the visual noise clicks into a balanced creation. This provides a form of mindfulness that allows me to find order in my surroundings. The nature of drawing, painting, and crafting provides a way to manipulate the shards of my daily life. There feels to be a small weight lifted from my chest in the stroke of a brush or the process of a handmade craft that contrasts sharply with the unpredictable nature of PTSD triggers. These activities help me take the heavy, jagged fragments of past trauma and domestic violence and rearrange them into something colorful. Through art, these memories lose their power to wound me and instead become part of a larger, more chaotic design. Crafting, specifically, satisfies my brain through steady progress, turning the restless energy of ADHD into a tangible, colorful reality. When words are too difficult to speak, poetry gives my emotions a structured architecture. As someone who navigates an autistic perspective, standard conversation often feels confusing or exhausting, like looking at the world through broken black and white glass. Poetry allows me to take those black and white pieces and find the rainbow within them. Writing is a process of my identity, morphing my vulnerabilities into a form of expression that others can finally see clearly. Ultimately, these creative practices keep me motivated by redefining my disabilities as the very elements that make my life’s pattern unique. My heightened sensitivity is the vibrant color in the glass, my divergent thinking is the mirror that reflects it in unexpected ways. By engaging with art, I reclaim my narrative. I am reminded every day that while the pieces of my life may be fragmented, I am the one holding the kaleidoscope, able to turn the tube and create a future defined by my own vision, light, and resilience.

Growing up, my life was shaped by experiences that no child should ever have to carry. Living through domestic violence before I was adopted left me with more than just memories, it left me with PTSD. This often made the world feel loud, unpredictable, and overwhelming, especially since I also have Autsim and high Anxiety. For a long time, my main challenge wasn’t just navigating school or crowds, it was learning how to understand the complicated way my own mind worked. The trauma I experienced early on didn't just disappear when I got adopted. My PTSD and anxiety meant that my body was often stuck in a fight or flight mode, making it difficult to feel safe even when I was in a secure environment. Coupled with my Autism, processing sensory information and social cues felt like trying to translate a language I was never fully taught. There were days when the simplest tasks felt like swimming in the opposite direction of a current, and the weight of my past felt like an anchor holding me back from the ocean I wanted to explore. However, these challenges did not break me, instead, they carved me. They forced me to develop a level of resilience that many people my age haven't had to find yet. I learned how to advocate for my needs, how to manage sensory overload, and how to keep moving forward even when my anxiety told me to stop. Being adopted gave me a second chance, and the support I received from my family, dedicated counselors and mentors showed me that I didn't have to be defined by what happened to me. I realized I could be defined by how I chose to grow from those experiences. Pursuing higher education is the next step in this journey of growth. I don’t just want a degree, I want to learn as much as I possibly can about the human experience and the psychological systems that help people heal. College provides the structured environment I need to sharpen my intellect and gain the professional tools necessary to make a difference in the lives of others. Navigating a campus will allow me to continue practicing the coping strategies I’ve developed, proving that my diagnoses are not barriers to success, but rather unique perspectives. My ultimate goal is to enter a field where I can help others the way others have helped me. Whether in social work, psychology, or advocacy, I want to be the person who truly understands the quiet struggle of a child with a complicated history. My past is a significant part of me, but it is not the end of my story. By pursuing a higher education, I am choosing to turn my history and my daily battles into a source of empathy and strength for the future.