I was in a dark place, convinced that my worth was measured by the size of my waist, how little I needed to thrive, and how much I could endure. Anorexia had sunk itself into my identity, convincing me that discipline equaled strength and hunger was an accomplishment, each pound lost feeling like progress. As my dance season grew in intensity, my body grew weaker, a warning sign that I chose to ignore. Growing up in Holland Township NJ, a small rural community stretching along the Delaware River, I learned that silence often fills the space where support should exist. Collapsing onto the my dance studio's floor, I discovered how dangerous that silence could be. Mental health struggles aren't typically discussed, and resources are far away and limited, leaving many adolescents to navigate their challenges alone. My battle with anorexia showed me the impact of isolation as well as the power of support. What followed was a journey I couldn’t take alone. It was the mental health professionals, and the strangers that became friends who shared their own stories that helped me find my way forward. They guided me toward recovery, they gave me something I had been missing: community. In that community, I found connection in places I never expected, conversations that demonstrated I wasn’t alone, and unwavering support. In many rural areas, young people like me don’t have nearby specialists or school-based support to diagnose and treat the challenges they are facing. The process it takes to find resources is often overwhelming and often leaves students and families options that are too far away, too expensive or no option at all. This lack of resources can be the difference between recovery or suffering in silence. That’s why I plan to major in psychology at Boston University. My goal is to become a resource for adolescents within rural communities, someone who understands both the struggle and the avenues to recovery. I envision myself working directly with young people, providing the support that I once needed. Whether through school counseling, community programs, or a mental health practice of my own, I want to make sure no student feels alone in their fight.

Collapsing onto the studio floor, I discovered how dangerous silence could be. Growing up in Holland Township NJ, a small rural community stretching along the Delaware River, I learned that silence often fills the space where support should exist. Mental health struggles aren't typically discussed, and resources are far away and limited, leaving many adolescents to navigate their challenges alone. I know this reality all too well. My own battle with anorexia showed me the impact of isolation as well as the power of support. I was in a dark place, convinced that my worth was measured by the size of my waist, how little I needed to thrive, and how much I could endure. Anorexia had sunk itself into my identity, convincing me that discipline equaled strength and hunger was an accomplishment, each pound lost feeling like progress. As my dance season grew in intensity, my body grew weaker, a warning sign that I chose to ignore. January 25th, 2021 was my turning point. I was at my dance studio, practicing our routines, as we had so many times before. But today was different. My skin started to feel clammy and my heart started to race. I started to feel dizzy and I couldn’t steady myself. The music stopped. I collapsed to the floor. My body failed. Lying there, I remember being scared. Not just for what was happening in the moment, but for how long I had ignored the signs. Had I waited too long? Was it too late? What followed was a journey I couldn’t take alone. It was the mental health professionals, and the strangers that became friends who shared their own stories that helped me find my way forward. They guided me toward recovery, they gave me something I had been missing: community. In that community, I found connection in places I never expected, conversations that demonstrated I wasn’t alone, and unwavering support. Their presence and support helped me recognize what I could not see on my own. The anorexia gave my struggles a name, the community gave me the strength to recover. In many rural areas, young people like me don’t have nearby specialists or school-based support to diagnose and treat the challenges they are facing. The process it takes to find resources is often overwhelming and often leaves students and families options that are too far away, too expensive or no option at all. This lack of resources can be the difference between recovery or suffering in silence. That’s why I plan to major in psychology at Boston University. My goal is to become a resource for adolescents within rural communities, someone who understands both the struggle and the avenues to recovery. I envision myself working directly with young people, providing the support that I once needed. Whether through school counseling, community programs, or a mental health practice of my own, I want to make sure no student feels alone in their fight. My experience with anorexia has indeed defined me. It has defined me as my source of motivation. I know what it feels like to struggle, but I also know the power of a single conversation, a single moment of clarity, that can begin to change everything. I want to be that moment for others.

Collapsing onto the studio floor, I discovered how dangerous silence could be. Growing up in Holland Township NJ, a small rural community stretching along the Delaware River, I learned that silence often fills the space where support should exist. Mental health struggles aren't typically discussed, and resources are far away and limited, leaving many adolescents to navigate their challenges alone. I know this reality all too well. My own battle with anorexia showed me the impact of isolation as well as the power of support. I was in a dark place, convinced that my worth was measured by the size of my waist, how little I needed to thrive, and how much I could endure. Anorexia had sunk itself into my identity, convincing me that discipline equaled strength and hunger was an accomplishment, each pound lost feeling like progress. As my dance season grew in intensity, my body grew weaker, a warning sign that I chose to ignore. January 25th, 2021 was my turning point. I was at my dance studio, practicing our routines, as we had so many times before. But today was different. My skin started to feel clammy and my heart started to race. I started to feel dizzy and I couldn’t steady myself. The music stopped. I collapsed to the floor. My body failed. Lying there, I remember being scared. Not just for what was happening in the moment, but for how long I had ignored the signs. Had I waited too long? Was it too late? What followed was a journey I couldn’t take alone. It was the mental health professionals, and the strangers that became friends who shared their own stories that helped me find my way forward. They guided me toward recovery, they gave me something I had been missing: community. In that community, I found connection in places I never expected, conversations that demonstrated I wasn’t alone, and unwavering support. Their presence and support helped me recognize what I could not see on my own. The anorexia gave my struggles a name, the community gave me the strength to recover. In many rural areas, young people like me don’t have nearby specialists or school-based support to diagnose and treat the challenges they are facing. The process it takes to find resources is often overwhelming and often leaves students and families options that are too far away, too expensive or no option at all. This lack of resources can be the difference between recovery or suffering in silence. That’s why I plan to major in psychology at Boston University. My goal is to become a resource for adolescents within rural communities, someone who understands both the struggle and the avenues to recovery. I envision myself working directly with young people, providing the support that I once needed. Whether through school counseling, community programs, or a mental health practice of my own, I want to make sure no student feels alone in their fight. My experience with anorexia has indeed defined me. It has defined me as my source of motivation. I know what it feels like to struggle, but I also know the power of a single conversation, a single moment of clarity, that can begin to change everything. I want to be that moment for others.

When the Music Stopped Collapsing onto the studio floor, I discovered how dangerous silence could be. Growing up in Holland Township NJ, a small rural community stretching along the Delaware River, I learned that silence often fills the space where support should exist. Mental health struggles aren't typically discussed, and resources are far away and limited, leaving many adolescents to navigate their challenges alone. I know this reality all too well. My own battle with anorexia showed me the impact of isolation as well as the power of support. I was in a dark place, convinced that my worth was measured by the size of my waist, how little I needed to thrive, and how much I could endure. Anorexia had sunk itself into my identity, convincing me that discipline equaled strength and hunger was an accomplishment, each pound lost feeling like progress. As my dance season grew in intensity, my body grew weaker, a warning sign that I chose to ignore. January 25th, 2021 was my turning point. I was at my dance studio, practicing our routines, as we had so many times before. But today was different. My skin started to feel clammy and my heart started to race. I started to feel dizzy and I couldn’t steady myself. The music stopped. I collapsed to the floor. My body failed. Lying there, I remember being scared. Not just for what was happening in the moment, but for how long I had ignored the signs. Had I waited too long? Was it too late? What followed was a journey I couldn’t take alone. It was the mental health professionals, and the strangers that became friends who shared their own stories that helped me find my way forward. They guided me toward recovery, they gave me something I had been missing: community. In that community, I found connection in places I never expected, conversations that demonstrated I wasn’t alone, and unwavering support. Their presence and support helped me recognize what I could not see on my own. The anorexia gave my struggles a name, the community gave me the strength to recover. In many rural areas, young people like me don’t have nearby specialists or school-based support to diagnose and treat the challenges they are facing. The process it takes to find resources is often overwhelming and often leaves students and families options that are too far away, too expensive or no option at all. This lack of resources can be the difference between recovery or suffering in silence. That’s why I plan to major in psychology at Boston University. My goal is to become a resource for adolescents within rural communities, someone who understands both the struggle and the avenues to recovery. I envision myself working directly with young people, providing the support that I once needed. Whether through school counseling, community programs, or a mental health practice of my own, I want to make sure no student feels alone in their fight. Beyond the face to face support, I see myself working to improve accessibility in underserved communities. Whether that means pushing for more school resources, organizing outreach programs, or using technology to connect rural students with professionals. No one should have to wait until their breaking point, or until it’s too late. My experience with anorexia has indeed defined me. It has defined me as my source of motivation. I know what it feels like to struggle, but I also know the power of a single conversation, a single moment of clarity, that can begin to change everything. I want to be that moment for others.

Drawing the Map: A Legacy of Service and Policy Most people walk on sidewalks and never wonder who decided where they lead. I've always wanted to be the one who draws the map. The field of political science and public policy has long been my calling. I am pursuing a degree in political science with a focus on public policy, aiming to shape policies that create meaningful change in society. Public service is more than a career path to me; it is a mission to advocate for equitable governance, impactful legislation, and the pursuit of the American Dream. This passion is rooted in the legacy of my grandfather, Joseph Kramer. His service in World War II shaped the values that ground my entire family: integrity and service. From him, I learned that meaningful change begins with the courage to act on behalf of others. My grandfather, Joseph Kramer, served honorably in the United States Army Air Forces during World War II. He was a gunner aboard a B-24 Liberator assigned to the 466th Bomb Group, 784th Bomb Squadron. During his service, he participated in campaigns across the European-African-Middle Eastern Theater, including the Rhineland and Central European battles. For his bravery and dedication, he was awarded several medals. However, beyond these honors, what endures most deeply in our family is his sense of duty and unwavering commitment to acting on behalf of others. Though his role was military and mine will be civic, the connection is clear: we both strive to contribute to something greater than ourselves. My grandfather’s experience taught me that service takes many forms: on the battlefield, in the halls of government, and in communities where policy has the power to uplift lives. His bravery reminds me that the impact of one person can ripple far beyond their own lifetime. For me, public service and policy are deeply connected to the values my grandfather passed down. Just as he played a crucial role in advancing democracy during World War II, I aim to play a vital role in paving the legislative sidewalks that create a more just and efficient society, empowering others to pursue their dreams. His service instilled in me a profound respect for those who dedicate their lives to a greater purpose, and I strive to embody that same level of commitment in my own journey. This scholarship would honor his legacy while enabling me to carry forward the values of integrity and service through public policy.

Breaking the Silence Growing up in Holland Township, NJ, a small rural community stretching along the Delaware River, I learned that silence often fills the space where support should exist. Mental health struggles aren't typically discussed, and resources are far away and limited, leaving many adolescents to navigate their challenges alone. I know this reality all too well. My own battle with anorexia showed me the impact of isolation as well as the power of support. I was in a dark place, convinced that my worth was measured by the size of my waist, how little I needed to thrive, and how much I could endure. Anorexia had sunk itself into my identity, convincing me that discipline equaled strength and hunger was an accomplishment, each pound lost feeling like progress. As my dance season grew in intensity, my body grew weaker—a warning sign that I chose to ignore. January 25th, 2021, was my turning point. I was at my dance studio, practicing our routines, as we had so many times before. But today was different. My skin started to feel clammy, and my heart started to race. I started to feel dizzy, and I couldn’t steady myself. I collapsed to the floor. My body failed. Lying there, I remember being scared. Not just for what was happening in the moment, but for how long I had ignored the signs. Had I waited too long? Was it too late? What followed was a journey I couldn’t take alone. It was the mental health professionals, and the strangers that became friends who shared their own stories that helped me find my way forward. They guided me toward recovery; they gave me something I had been missing: community. In that community, I found connection in places I never expected, conversations that demonstrated I wasn’t alone, and unwavering support. Their presence and support helped me recognize what I could not see on my own. The anorexia diagnosis gave my struggles a name; the community gave me the strength to recover. In many rural areas, young people like me don’t have nearby specialists or in school support to diagnose and treat the challenges they are facing. This lack of resources can be the difference between recovery and suffering in silence. That’s why I want to major in psychology at either the University of Virginia, the University of Michigan, Boston College, or Rutgers. My goal is to become a resource for adolescents within rural communities, someone who understands both the struggle and the avenues to recovery. I envision myself working directly with young people, providing the support that I once needed. Whether through school counseling, community programs, or a mental health practice of my own, I want to make sure no student feels alone in their fight. Beyond the face-to-face support, I see myself working to improve accessibility in underserved communities. Whether that means pushing for more school resources, organizing outreach programs, or using technology to connect rural students with professionals, no one should have to wait until their breaking point or until it’s too late. My experience with anorexia has indeed defined me. It has defined what I intend to contribute to our society. I know what it feels like to struggle, but I also know the power of a single conversation, a single moment of clarity, that can begin to change everything. I want to be that moment for others.