I was twelve years old the first time I sat in a counselor’s office.
The chairs were too big, the clock was too loud, and the silence between questions felt heavier than anything a seventh grader should have to carry. But my counselor, who was warm, patient, and most importantly, culturally competent, saw through my silence. She made space for me to feel seen, not just heard. That experience did more than help me survive middle school. It planted the seed for who I am today.
I am currently a Social Work student at Fayetteville State University, but my journey started long before college applications and textbooks. It started when life felt unfair and the people who were supposed to protect and guide me sometimes could not because they were fighting battles of their own.
It started when I realized that asking for help is not a weakness. It is one of the bravest things you can do.
Growing up, I watched family members struggle with mental health issues without the words or resources to fully explain what was happening. We did not use terms like "therapy" or "mental wellness" at the kitchen table. Instead, pain showed up in arguments, in silence, and in nights filled with confusion and loneliness.
Attending counseling in seventh grade broke that cycle for me. It showed me that acknowledging pain does not make you fragile. It makes you powerful.
It made me determined to become the kind of person who opens the door for someone else’s healing.
My counselor did not just listen. She truly understood me.
As a Black girl in a world that often mistakes our strength for invincibility, she knew how important it was that I felt seen in all my complexity. Her cultural competence was not just helpful. It was the bridge that made healing possible.
That experience taught me something I have never forgotten: true mental health support must be built on understanding, empathy, and respect for who a person is.
It is a lesson I carry with me into every classroom, every conversation, and every dream I have for the future.
Mental health has deeply shaped my beliefs.
I believe that being vulnerable shows strength.
I believe that resilience is not about pretending everything is fine. It is about trusting yourself enough to ask for help when it is not.
I believe that representation in mental health fields is not just important. It can be life-saving.
These beliefs have shaped my relationships too.
Because of my own journey, I approach others with more patience and compassion.
When friends or family members open up about their struggles, I do not rush to give advice or move past their pain.
I honor the bravery it takes to share what is hidden.
In a world that often tells us to be tough or hide our emotions, I try to be the person who says, "You do not have to go through this alone."
Majoring in Social Work felt natural. It felt right.
I do not just want to work in mental health someday. I want to transform it.
I want to become a counselor who focuses on Black and brown communities, where trust in the system has been broken for too long.
I want to be the person who tells young girls, just like seventh grade me, that their feelings are valid, that their experiences matter, and that healing is not only possible, it belongs to them.
Every lecture I attend, every paper I write, and every practicum hour I complete is fueled by these experiences.
When I sit across from a future client, I will not just bring my degree.
I will bring understanding.
I will bring lived experience.
I will bring a presence that says, "You are safe here. You are seen."
My journey with mental health did not just influence me. It made me who I am.
It taught me that our wounds do not have to be the end of our story. Sometimes, they are the beginning.
And as I keep walking this path toward becoming a counselor, I carry those early moments with me.
The too-big chair, the ticking clock, and the voice that told me, "You are not alone."
Those memories are not my baggage. They are my blueprint.
They are why I believe in healing.
They are why I believe in hope.
And they are why I believe that one conversation, rooted in compassion and understanding, can change a life.
Including mine.