"What will you do in college to raise awareness for mental health?" In my sophomore year of high school, I signed up to take AP Psychology under the impression that it would be an easy AP class with a small student attendance. Little did I know I would fall in love with the class and soon find myself majoring in the same subject in college. However, one of the most important things that came from my AP Psychology class was not the test scores or the new friends–though I did enjoy the new connections I made. Closely behind the newly-formed passion for psychology was the connection I had with my AP Psychology teacher, who–years later, when I was in a National Security class begrudgingly taught by the same teacher–wrote my recommendation letter for the Valdosta State University Honors College, which I was later accepted into and am now participating in. My name is Lacey Edwards–though most people know me as Lane–and I went to Winder-Barrow High School in Winder, Georgia, for four years of unforgettable learning that have inspired me to be the person that I am today. I am now attending Valdosta State University as a proud undergraduate student, and I am pursuing a Bachelor of Arts degree in Psychology with a minor in Women's and Gender Studies. I intend to graduate early and return to Valdosta to pursue a master's degree in Social Work. Most importantly, though, I am a member of the VSU Honors College, which is dedicated to giving students a more in-depth learning experience outside of the classroom through service work, leadership opportunities, experiential learning, and global experience. I plan to raise awareness for mental health through the Honors College. This fall, I plan to open a service contract, which will require me to do 45 hours of community service through or outside of the Honors College or VSU. Some of the opportunities available are to host events for the Honors College or all students. It is my goal to plan, prep, and host one or multiple "Campus Mental Health Days". In these events, students will have the opportunity to de-stress, talk to available counselors, and relax in the positive energy of a supportive environment. College is often stressful, even for upperclassmen, and I want to provide a space and a time where those negative emotions are set aside and students can learn healthy coping skills and management strategies to support their mental health. In the spring, I plan to open a leadership contract and to begin training to be an academic advisor for next year's freshman honors students. Through this academic advising, I will help freshmen students focus on their classwork and their mental health as they journey through college. Assisting younger students to be the best that they can be directly reflects how I want to operate when I begin a career in social work, giving me a direct opportunity to learn new strategies to help these individuals. Promoting positive mental health has always been a passion of mine, and I plan to build on that passion during my undergraduate degree through the many opportunities I now have access to. Through community events, underclassmen advising, and even internships through my Women's and Gender Studies minor, I plan to ensure that every community I frequent has a firm foundation in mental health awareness. One day, I will use my passion to change people's lives for the better, but as for my next few years in college, I will use them to better my campus and the students within it.

When I began showing signs of anxiety and depression in middle school, my parents assumed I was lying for attention. They believed a child my age couldn’t possibly struggle with such issues and that modern media had convinced me to see normal emotions as problems. Growing up in a conservative household taught me to hide my symptoms to avoid seeming “weird.” By freshman year, I had clawed my way out of depression by pushing myself with challenging classes to keep my mind engaged—but my anxiety persisted. Sleepless nights, constant worry, and overthinking became a part of daily life. By the end of sophomore year, I attended my high school equestrian team’s banquet. When my parents urged me to take a photo with my coach, I refused. The idea of standing near the crowd I’d been avoiding was unbearable. Overwhelmed, I resorted to nervous habits to keep calm. My parents pushed multiple times, but each time I refused. On the way home, an argument erupted about whether my behavior was “anxiety” or, in their words, “just being a brat.” For the first time, I refused to bend nor break beneath their expectations of me, and—through loud voices and determination—I explained exactly what was going on in my head. To my surprise, they listened. Though they still don’t accept therapy or medication, my parents began making changes to respect my boundaries. They no longer force me into large crowds at family gatherings, are more understanding when I’m overwhelmed, and even explain my boundaries to others when I can’t. They aren’t perfect, but their recognition of my struggles is more than I ever expected. Before experiencing my own mental health challenges, I couldn’t understand why people didn’t just ask for help. Now I know. Family influence, financial restraints, or other barriers can make help inaccessible—or even make someone unaware they need it. This understanding is the foundation for my career goal: becoming a mental health counselor. To truly help someone, you must know what they had to overcome just to walk through the door—and you must be able to recognize when someone can’t ask for help at all. If given the chance, I wouldn’t trade my mental health journey for anything, even though it wasn’t easy. It shaped my understanding of how external factors affect someone’s ability to seek help. As a counselor, I will work to make resources more accessible and help clients navigate the obstacles in their way. No one should be denied the care they need. I plan to earn my Bachelor of Arts in psychology at Valdosta State University, followed by a master’s degree in social work. My goal is to work within the justice system, providing mental health services and support to teenagers and young adults who need it most.

Starting high school was perhaps one of the most difficult experiences I have ever had because, for me, there was a significant lack of the social connection that I thrived on in middle school. Many of my friends were swept into different classes at different times, and the faces around me became those of strangers, making it hard for me to feel comfortable even in classes that I enjoyed. I felt isolated for most of my freshman and sophomore years, but in the fall semester of my junior year, I joined my school's chapter of Science National Honors Society (SNHS) in order to spend more time with my friends. I had always had a passion for science, and the opportunities for community service and volunteer work sweetened the deal even more. My first year in SNHS was incredible. I met several new people and made a handful of new friends, I learned so much about science through our monthly student-led science-based presentations, and we were able to do demonstration experiments with elementary schoolers and with special education students in our own school. These experiences were wonderful for me, and they helped spur my love for volunteering into action. In fact, I joined my school's student-led Junkyard Doggs club, which focused on campus cleanups and volunteer efforts around the school, and Mu Alpha Theta, which opened the door for even more volunteer opportunities. With so many fond memories from both my first and second year in SNHS, it has always been hard to pick my favorite. Our Six Flags trips have always been far up on the list, but if I am honest, the memories of the Goliath roller coaster were beaten by a student-led experiment that we did for elementary students in my senior year. Our yearly tradition is a strawberry DNA experiment where we separate the younger students into groups and guide them through the extraction of DNA from strawberries. I participated in this experiment in my junior year, but in my senior year, I was more confident in myself, and my group of high school helpers were a lot more comfortable. The group of kids that I was helping was a little hard to handle at first. Two students would not stop arguing, one student did not speak English very well, and the third was a sweet autistic boy who was determined to tell me facts about DNA instead of participating in the experiment. With time, I got them all collected into one efficient group, and by the time they were examining the DNA, they were all intrigued and they were working together as a team. I thought little of it until their teacher pulled me aside and told me she had never seen the students so comfortable together and kind to one another. I learned a lot through my experiences in SNHS, but that day taught me something other than science facts and how fast a roller coaster can go. That day taught me that patience and understanding can mean the world to someone. Two students learned how to work as a team, one overcame a language barrier to participate, and a third got to see something he had never seen before. Being a part of SNHS's attempt to encourage younger students to be passionate about science is and will always be one of my favorite moments from my volunteer work. Inspiring and comforting a new generation was an incredible experience, and I cannot wait to pursue similar opportunities while in college.

When I began showing signs of anxiety and depression in middle school, the first thing my parents did was assume I had to be lying for attention. Their beliefs were based on the idea that a child my age couldn’t possibly be struggling with such serious mental health issues, and that I had been influenced by modern media to believe that normal negative emotions were truly significant problems. Being raised in a conservative household taught me to hide the symptoms of my conditions for the sake of not appearing "weird", which, as my parents put it, would have been a huge embarrassment to both me and the family. While I managed to claw my way out of depression using the resources available to me during my freshman year of high school, mostly by challenging myself with harder classes meant to keep my brain occupied and active, I wasn’t so lucky with my anxiety. Constant worry about situations that now mean nothing, nights spent awake overthinking simple concepts—it all accumulated into something I wasn’t quite ready for, but something I needed to face, nonetheless. Sophomore year was almost over, and I was attending the end-of-year banquet for my high school equestrian team. At the end of the celebration, my parents wanted me to go up to the front and take a picture with my coach, but I refused. The prospect of being any closer to the crowd I had already worked to avoid was out of the question. I was overwhelmed by the environment and had resorted to indulging in nervous habits to keep myself calm. My parents tried to push me multiple times, but after each attempt, I refused. After leaving the venue, an argument broke out in the car about what qualified as “anxiety” and what was, in their words, “just being a brat.” It all boiled over into a screaming match in a nearby parking lot, and for the first time, I got to speak my mind about what was happening in my head. And even more unexpectedly, they actually listened. Though my parents still haven’t accepted the idea of therapy or the prospect of helpful medication, they have made changes in their lives to accommodate the boundaries in mine. They no longer force me to sit in large crowds at family gatherings. They are more lenient when I get overwhelmed, rather than telling me to stop overreacting. They even take the initiative to explain my boundaries to others when I can’t quite find the words. My parents have been putting in their best efforts for over two years, and I could not be more grateful. They aren’t perfect, and they likely never will be—but just recognizing my situation as something real is more than I could have ever asked for. Before I struggled with my own mental health, my biggest question was always, “Why don’t people who need help just ask for it?” Teachers and counselors tried to explain it, but their words never quite clicked. Now, I understand. My experiences taught me how a person’s circumstances can directly influence their ability to seek help. Whether it’s family influence, financial restraints, or something else, not everyone is able to access the care they need when they need it. This is the foundation on which my career as a mental health counselor will be built. Understanding someone’s background—and what they had to overcome just to speak to someone—is essential. Equally important is the ability to recognize when someone needs help but can’t ask for it. I wouldn’t trade my mental health journey for anything, even though it wasn’t exactly a positive path. The experiences I had with my family transformed the way I view mental health. I now understand that external factors can directly impact someone's ability to ask for help—and even their awareness of how much they need it. As a counselor, I will be mindful of those external factors, and I will work to help clients overcome those obstacles. No one should be unable to access the resources they need, and it has become a key goal of mine to make help more accessible. I plan to pursue a Bachelor of Arts degree in psychology with a minor in sociology at Valdosta State University in order to create a firm foundation for my career within the world of psychology, but I also plan to spend time within the world of criminal justice as I proceed into master's and doctorate degree programs. The addition of criminal justice is crucial to my career path because, while I plan to work in therapy and to provide mental health services to those in need, I also plan to work towards a career both forensic psychology and crisis counseling. I want to work with teenagers and young adults who find themselves entangled with the law because of their past with child neglect and abuse, and I want to be able to provide them with the help that they need in order to get their lives back on track. These individuals, often suffering from other mental health issues, are some of society's most vulnerable members because they lack the support and guidance needed in their formative years. I plan to reach out to them to give them the support that they need to lead successful lives. My experiences with my mental health have not always been positive, but they have given me a platform to stand on when I speak to others who find themselves where I was. It is and will always be my goal to help as many people as I can to make sure no one ever feels like they are fighting a battle alone. From children, teenagers, and young adults who just need someone to talk with to young adults finding themselves in trouble because they suffered from early childhood developmental trauma, I plan to be a rock in which many others can begin building the rest of their lives. So many people have helped me throughout my life, and I believe it is time for me to start helping people myself.

Having a constructive childhood experience is critical to one's success later in life, and in the absence of guidance and support from parents, guardians, or figures with such power over the life of a child, many children often develop bad habits, mental illnesses, and even addictions that can take years or decades to rectify, directly impacting their lives as teenagers and adults. Children need to grow and learn in positive environments that encourage curiosity, confidence, and critical thinking, and when that basic human right is taken away from them, they lose the chance to squire necessary skills, and attempting to learn them later in life can lead to difficulty mastering them. The consequences of early childhood development trauma can be detrimental, stealing valuable life lessons and crucial support away from society's most vulnerable members, creating an echo chamber of anti-progress for these individuals as they grow. It is important that individuals moving into psychology and social work are aware that these children are in need, but also to understand that they cannot seek out help by themselves. Being able to identify the signs of early childhood development trauma in children is important, however, it is equally as important to identify the symptoms of childhood neglect and abuse in individuals who are no longer children, and that is the route I plan to take with my education and my career. I plan to pursue a Bachelor of Arts degree in psychology with a minor in sociology in order to create a firm foundation for my career within the world of psychology, but I also plan to spend time within the world of criminal justice as I proceed into master's and doctorate degree programs. While I plan to work in therapy, providing mental health services to those in need, I would like to work towards a career both forensic psychology and crisis counseling. I want to work with teenagers and young adults who find themselves entangled with the law because of their past with child neglect and abuse, and I want to be able to provide them with the help that they need in order to get their lives back on track. I firmly believe that teenagers and young adults impacted by early childhood development trauma are just as worthy of help as the children currently suffering. Of course, it is always beneficial to stop a sickness at its root instead of treating the symptoms, but I know that these lives can be saved. Giving up on individuals because they've passed the edge of childhood is not going to save society from the horrors of child neglect and abuse, it is just going to push another issue under the rug and lead to vulnerable members of society being perceived as monsters, and I refuse to let that happen. My work will be directly positioned to giving these individuals a new chance at life by providing them with the support and guidance they needed as a child and teaching them those valuable life skills that they were not able to learn in their formative years. I will not abandon them because they are "old enough to know better", because many of them do not know better, and it will soon become my job to teach them that.

When I began showing signs of anxiety and depression in middle school, the first thing my parents did was assume I had to be lying for attention. Their beliefs were based on the idea that a child my age couldn’t possibly be struggling with such serious issues, and that I had been influenced by modern media to believe that “bad times” were actually mental health problems. Being raised in a conservative household taught me to hide the symptoms of my conditions for the sake of not appearing "weird", which, as my parents put it, would have been a huge embarrassment to both me and the family. While I managed to claw my way out of depression using the resources available to me during my freshman year of high school, mostly by challenging myself with harder classes meant to keep my brain occupied and active, I wasn’t so lucky with my anxiety. Constant worry about situations that now mean nothing, nights spent awake overthinking simple concepts—it all accumulated into something I wasn’t quite ready for, but something I needed to face, nonetheless. Sophomore year was almost over, and I was attending the end-of-year banquet for my high school equestrian team. At the end of the celebration, my parents wanted me to go up to the front and take a picture with my coach, but I refused. The prospect of being any closer to the crowd I had already worked to avoid was out of the question. I was overwhelmed by the environment and had resorted to indulging in nervous habits to keep myself calm. My parents tried to push me multiple times, but after each attempt, I refused. After leaving the venue, an argument broke out in the car about what qualified as “anxiety” and what was, in their words, “just being a brat.” It all boiled over into a screaming match in a nearby parking lot, and for the first time, I got to speak my mind about what was happening in my head. And even more unexpectedly, they actually listened. Though my parents still haven’t accepted the idea of therapy or the prospect of helpful medication, they have made changes in their lives to accommodate the boundaries in mine. They no longer force me to sit in large crowds at family gatherings. They are more lenient when I get overwhelmed, rather than telling me to stop overreacting. They even take the initiative to explain my boundaries to others when I can’t quite find the words. My parents have been putting in their best efforts for over two years, and I could not be more grateful. They aren’t perfect, and they likely never will be—but just recognizing my situation as something real is more than I could have ever asked for. Before I struggled with my own mental health, my biggest question was always, “Why don’t people who need help just ask for it?” Teachers and counselors tried to explain it, but their words never quite clicked. Now, I understand. My experiences taught me how a person’s circumstances can directly influence their ability to seek help. Whether it’s family influence, financial restraints, or something else, not everyone is able to access the care they need when they need it. This is the foundation on which my career as a mental health counselor will be built. Understanding someone’s background—and what they had to overcome just to speak to someone—is essential. Equally important is the ability to recognize when someone needs help but can’t ask for it. I wouldn’t trade my mental health journey for anything, even though it wasn’t exactly a positive path. The experiences I had with my family transformed the way I view mental health. I now understand that external factors can directly impact someone's ability to ask for help—and even their awareness of how much they need it. As a counselor, I will be mindful of those external factors, and I will work to help clients overcome those obstacles. No one should be unable to access the resources they need, and it has become a key goal of mine to make help more accessible. I don’t know what specific job I’ll end up having in the field I’ve dedicated myself to, but wherever I go after my education is complete, accessibility will always be a central part of my practice. Being readily available to those who need me will define who I am as a counselor, and I hope my services will be well-received by all who are able to take advantage of them.

When I was a kid, choosing my dream career seemed like a big deal for another day. It was always a problem for when I got older. The question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" was so nonchalant, almost like I could have given any response and whoever had asked me the question would be satisfied. In fact, I started making a game out of it, just to see what kind of reactions I would get. Doctor, astronaut, veterinarian—even the oddball choice of Olympic equestrian showjumper. Back then, it didn't really matter what I chose because a career was the last thing on my mind when Fridays were still considered pizza days in the cafeteria. I'd gotten into the habit of choosing whichever option got the best reactions. I'd say doctor if I wanted people to tell me I was smart, and I'd pick author if I wanted people to compliment my writing skills. There was no weight to the jobs I was throwing around because—in my mind—there was just no way I'd ever be old enough to actually start a career. But, as luck would have it, I did grow older. And eventually, that question about my future gradually got more serious. I stopped throwing around random answers and finally took some time to think about it, but like all kids my age (sixth grade, I believe), I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to be. I was stuck in a twilight zone between dreaming of being an astronaut and facing the reality that I might sit in a cubicle for the rest of my life. Neither option seemed within reach. I remember being in eighth grade when my answer to the future career question finally made itself known to me. I watched a YouTube video about the benefits of good study habits, and how those habits lead to a more positive mental state. That video single-handedly sparked a passion that has burned bright ever since, and it is part of the reason that I am going to college to study psychology this fall. "There can never be too many psychologists," my mother told me when I finally made my aspirations known to her. And wouldn't you know it? She was right. Becoming a mental health counselor is a relatively new goal for me. From middle school, I knew I wanted to be in the field of psychology, but I didn't have a concrete idea of where I belonged within that wide array of options. However, after a hectic start to my senior year (look up "Apalachee High School" to get an idea of what my community was going through at the time) ended with crisis counselors being posted at every corner of my high school in the event that they were needed, everything started to fall into place. I knew what I wanted to be. And for the first time since I was a kid pretending to want to be an astronaut, I had a concrete answer to the age-old question. Working as a mental health counselor is the perfect job for me, and I know that when my education is complete and I begin working, I'll have an amazing time helping children, teenagers, and young adults through whatever issues or hardships they're facing. Even if it's something as simple as stressing about the future or which career they'll have, I want to be the person that they can talk to. And, with goals to eliminate the stigma of receiving therapy, I plan to make the process of attaining counseling that much easier.

When I began showing signs of anxiety and depression in middle school, the first thing my parents did was assume I had to be lying for attention. Their beliefs were based on the idea that a child my age couldn’t possibly be struggling with such serious issues, and that I had been influenced by modern media to believe that “bad times” were actually mental health problems. Being raised in a conservative household taught me to hide the symptoms of my conditions for the sake of not appearing "weird", which, as my parents put it, would have been a huge embarrassment to both me and the family. While I managed to claw my way out of depression using the resources available to me during my freshman year of high school, mostly by challenging myself with harder classes meant to keep my brain occupied and active, I wasn’t so lucky with my anxiety. Constant worry about situations that now mean nothing, nights spent awake overthinking simple concepts—it all accumulated into something I wasn’t quite ready for, but something I needed to face, nonetheless. Sophomore year was almost over, and I was attending the end-of-year banquet for my high school equestrian team. At the end of the celebration, my parents wanted me to go up to the front and take a picture with my coach, but I refused. The prospect of being any closer to the crowd I had already worked to avoid was out of the question. I was overwhelmed by the environment and had resorted to indulging in nervous habits to keep myself calm. My parents tried to push me multiple times, but after each attempt, I refused. After leaving the venue, an argument broke out in the car about what qualified as “anxiety” and what was, in their words, “just being a brat.” It all boiled over into a screaming match in a nearby parking lot, and for the first time, I got to speak my mind about what was happening in my head. And even more unexpectedly, they actually listened. Though my parents still haven’t accepted the idea of therapy or the prospect of helpful medication, they have made changes in their lives to accommodate the boundaries in mine. They no longer force me to sit in large crowds at family gatherings. They are more lenient when I get overwhelmed, rather than telling me to stop overreacting. They even take the initiative to explain my boundaries to others when I can’t quite find the words. My parents have been putting in their best efforts for over two years, and I could not be more grateful. They aren’t perfect, and they likely never will be—but just recognizing my situation as something real is more than I could have ever asked for. Before I struggled with my own mental health, my biggest question was always, “Why don’t people who need help just ask for it?” Teachers and counselors tried to explain it, but their words never quite clicked. Now, I understand. My experiences taught me how a person’s circumstances can directly influence their ability to seek help. Whether it’s family influence, financial restraints, or something else, not everyone is able to access the care they need when they need it. This is the foundation on which my career as a mental health counselor will be built. Understanding someone’s background—and what they had to overcome just to speak to someone—is essential. Equally important is the ability to recognize when someone needs help but can’t ask for it. I wouldn’t trade my mental health journey for anything, even though it wasn’t exactly a positive path. The experiences I had with my family transformed the way I view mental health. I now understand that external factors can directly impact someone's ability to ask for help—and even their awareness of how much they need it. As a counselor, I will be mindful of those external factors, and I will work to help clients overcome those obstacles. No one should be unable to access the resources they need, and it has become a key goal of mine to make help more accessible. I don’t know what specific job I’ll end up having in the field I’ve dedicated myself to, but wherever I go after my education is complete, accessibility will always be a central part of my practice. Being readily available to those who need me will define who I am as a counselor, and I hope my services will be well-received by all who are able to take advantage of them.

When I began showing signs of anxiety and depression in middle school, the first thing my parents did was assume I had to be lying for attention. Their beliefs were based on the idea that a child my age couldn’t possibly be struggling with such serious issues, and that I had been influenced by modern media to believe that “bad times” were actually mental health problems. Being raised in a conservative household taught me to hide the symptoms of my conditions for the sake of not appearing "weird", which, as my parents put it, would have been a huge embarrassment. While I managed to claw my way out of depression using the resources I had during freshman year of high school, it wasn’t the same with my anxiety. Constant worrying, nights spent awake overthinking—it all accumulated into something I wasn’t ready for, but something I needed to face, nonetheless. Sophomore year was almost over, and I was attending the end-of-year banquet for my equestrian team. At the end of the celebration, my parents wanted me to go and take a picture with my coach, but I refused. The prospect of being any closer to the crowd was out of the question. My parents tried to push me, but repeatedly, I refused. After leaving, an argument broke out about what qualified as “anxiety” and what was, in their words, “just being a brat.” It all boiled over into a screaming match, and for the first time, I got to speak my mind about what was happening in my head. And even more unexpectedly, they actually listened. Though my parents still haven’t accepted the idea of therapy, they have made changes in their lives to accommodate the boundaries in mine. They no longer force me to sit in large crowds at family gatherings. They are more lenient when I get overwhelmed. They even take the initiative to explain my boundaries to others when I can’t quite find the words. My parents have been putting in their best efforts for over two years, and I am thankful. They aren’t perfect, and they likely never will be—but just recognizing my situation as something real is more than I could have ever asked for. Before I struggled with my own mental health, my biggest question was always, “Why don’t people who need help just ask for it?” Teachers and counselors tried to explain it, but their words never quite clicked. Now, I understand. My experiences taught me how a person’s circumstances can directly influence their ability to seek help. Whether it’s family influence, financial restraints, or something else, not everyone is able to access the care they need when they need it. This is the foundation on which my career as a mental health counselor will be built. Understanding someone’s background—and what they had to overcome just to speak to someone—is essential. Equally important is the ability to recognize when someone needs help but can’t ask for it. I wouldn’t trade my mental health journey for anything. The experiences I had with my family transformed the way I view mental health. I now understand that external factors can directly impact someone's ability to ask for help—and even their awareness of how much they need it. As a counselor, I will be mindful this, and I will work to help clients overcome those obstacles. Everyone should have access to resources they need, and it has become a key goal of mine to make help more accessible.

When I began showing signs of anxiety and depression in middle school, the first thing my parents did was assume I had to be lying for attention. Their beliefs were based on the idea that a child my age couldn’t possibly be struggling with such serious issues, and that I had been influenced by modern media to believe that “bad times” were actually mental health problems. Being raised in a conservative household taught me to hide the symptoms of my conditions for the sake of not appearing "weird", which, as my parents put it, would have been a huge embarrassment to both me and the family. While I managed to claw my way out of depression using the resources available to me during my freshman year of high school, mostly by challenging myself with harder classes meant to keep my brain occupied and active, I wasn’t so lucky with my anxiety. Constant worry about situations that now mean nothing, nights spent awake overthinking simple concepts—it all accumulated into something I wasn’t quite ready for, but something I needed to face, nonetheless. Sophomore year was almost over, and I was attending the end-of-year banquet for my high school equestrian team. At the end of the celebration, my parents wanted me to go up to the front and take a picture with my coach, but I refused. The prospect of being any closer to the crowd I had already worked to avoid was out of the question. I was overwhelmed by the environment and had resorted to indulging in nervous habits to keep myself calm. My parents tried to push me multiple times, but after each attempt, I refused. After leaving the venue, an argument broke out in the car about what qualified as “anxiety” and what was, in their words, “just being a brat.” It all boiled over into a screaming match in a nearby parking lot, and for the first time, I got to speak my mind about what was happening in my head. And even more unexpectedly, they actually listened. Though my parents still haven’t accepted the idea of therapy or the prospect of helpful medication, they have made changes in their lives to accommodate the boundaries in mine. They no longer force me to sit in large crowds at family gatherings. They are more lenient when I get overwhelmed, rather than telling me to stop overreacting. They even take the initiative to explain my boundaries to others when I can’t quite find the words. My parents have been putting in their best efforts for over two years, and I could not be more grateful. They aren’t perfect, and they likely never will be—but just recognizing my situation as something real is more than I could have ever asked for. Before I struggled with my own mental health, my biggest question was always, “Why don’t people who need help just ask for it?” Teachers and counselors tried to explain it, but their words never quite clicked. Now, I understand. My experiences taught me how a person’s circumstances can directly influence their ability to seek help. Whether it’s family influence, financial restraints, or something else, not everyone is able to access the care they need when they need it. This is the foundation on which my career as a mental health counselor will be built. Understanding someone’s background—and what they had to overcome just to speak to someone—is essential. Equally important is the ability to recognize when someone needs help but can’t ask for it. I wouldn’t trade my mental health journey for anything, even though it wasn’t exactly a positive path. The experiences I had with my family transformed the way I view mental health. I now understand that external factors can directly impact someone's ability to ask for help—and even their awareness of how much they need it. As a counselor, I will be mindful of those external factors, and I will work to help clients overcome those obstacles. No one should be unable to access the resources they need, and it has become a key goal of mine to make help more accessible. I don’t know what specific job I’ll end up having in the field I’ve dedicated myself to, but wherever I go after my education is complete, accessibility will always be a central part of my practice. Being readily available to those who need me will define who I am as a counselor, and I hope my services will be well-received by all who are able to take advantage of them.

When I was a kid, choosing my dream career seemed like a big deal for another day. It was always a problem for when I got older. The question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" was so nonchalant, almost like I could have given any response and whoever had asked me the question would be satisfied. In fact, I started making a game out of it, just to see what kind of reactions I would get. Doctor, astronaut, veterinarian—even the oddball choice of Olympic equestrian showjumper. Back then, it didn't really matter what I chose because a career was the last thing on my mind when Fridays were still considered pizza days in the cafeteria. I'd gotten into the habit of choosing whichever option got the best reactions. I'd say doctor if I wanted people to tell me I was smart, and I'd pick author if I wanted people to compliment my writing skills. There was no weight to the jobs I was throwing around because—in my mind—there was just no way I'd ever be old enough to actually start a career. But, as luck would have it, I did grow older. And eventually, that question about my future gradually got more serious. I stopped throwing around random answers and finally took some time to think about it, but like all kids my age (sixth grade, I believe), I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to be. I was stuck in a twilight zone between dreaming of being an astronaut and facing the reality that I might sit in a cubicle for the rest of my life. Neither option seemed within reach. I remember being in eighth grade when my answer to the future career question finally made itself known to me. I watched a YouTube video about the benefits of good study habits, and how those habits lead to a more positive mental state. That video single-handedly sparked a passion that has burned bright ever since, and it is part of the reason that I am going to college to study psychology this fall. "There can never be too many psychologists," my mother told me when I finally made my aspirations known to her. And wouldn't you know it? She was right. Becoming a mental health counselor is a relatively new goal for me. From middle school, I knew I wanted to be in the field of psychology, but I didn't have a concrete idea of where I belonged within that wide array of options. However, after a hectic start to my senior year (look up "Apalachee High School" to get an idea of what my community was going through at the time) ended with crisis counselors being posted at every corner of my high school in the event that they were needed, everything started to fall into place. I knew what I wanted to be. And for the first time since I was a kid pretending to want to be an astronaut, I had a concrete answer to the age-old question. Working as a mental health counselor is the perfect job for me, and I know that when my education is complete and I begin working, I'll have an amazing time helping children, teenagers, and young adults through whatever issues or hardships they're facing. Even if it's something as simple as stressing about the future or which career they'll have, I want to be the person that they can talk to. And, with goals to eliminate the stigma of receiving therapy, I plan to make the process of attaining counseling that much easier.

On September 4th, 2024, my hometown of Winder, Georgia went from a town in the middle of nowhere to one of the hundreds of towns in the United States that had endured the severe tragedy of a school shooting. In the wake of what had happened at our sister high school, our community came together to mourn those that we had lost and find ways to move on. For the next week, schools were shut down and students stayed home, but instead of shutting us out and forcing us to deal with the mental recoil on our own, the schools extended their hands out to us in the form of professional crisis counseling. Though I never personally interacted with these crisis counselors, I did have the pleasure of meeting an emotional support dog and talking to his owner about the situation and her job. Hearing first-hand the kinds of experiences she has had and the places she has been was inspiring, and though I never planned on becoming a handler for an emotional support dog, my interest in crisis counseling did begin to spark. I have been interested in psychology and mental health counseling since middle school, so I always knew what my career would be and what education I needed to get there. However, as my path continued to cross with crisis counseling throughout my senior year, I became more and more interested with the prospect of becoming a crisis counselor myself. Helping people through hard times in their lives had always been my main goal, so being accessible in the wake of tragedies to provide support for those who need it was not too far off. And though I plan to continue on with my original plan to be a mental health counselor, I hope to do both types of counseling throughout my time in the career field of psychology. Helping people to achieve a better state of mental health has been and always will be my main goal. Even if I am only able to help a few people-- even if I am only able to save one person--, I plan to put everything I have into being a mental health counselor and providing those services for children, teenagers, and young adults who need my help the most. Being the support that they need is a goal I will never let go of. The tragedy at Apalachee was a turning point in the lives of hundreds of people, myself included. The ordeal itself and the chaos that followed inspired me to not only solidify my aspirations of being a mental health counselor, but also to work in crisis counseling to help those vulnerable individuals who need support the most. While I work in this field, I plan to give aid to as many people as I can, and even after I retire, I plan to teach psychology to the next generation to preserve the integrity of the mental health system. My path with this field has crossed, and I know I will follow it as far as it will let me.

As someone who dislikes change, my experience with my sexuality and gender identity has always been uncomfortable for me. From beginning seventh grade confident in my bisexuality to ending high school as a lesbian, I’ve struggled just to figure out who I’m attracted to—let alone settle on a gender identity that feels right. There’s also the ongoing struggle of finding a label that truly fits how I feel. And throughout it all, I’ve dealt not only with my own doubts and self-conscious thoughts but also with the disapproval of people who are supposed to support me. Between the constant change and the backlash I’ve faced just for being myself, I’ve had a hard time being understanding and appreciative of my identity. However, thanks to the support of friends, teachers, and other outside influences, I’ve found ways to cope with the ever-shifting, often frustrating journey of discovering who I am. By the time Christmas break rolled around in seventh grade, I knew I wasn’t straight. I never questioned my attraction to girls and women after sixth grade, but the transition from identifying as straight to identifying as bisexual was hard—especially in a conservative area where queer identities are often misunderstood or rejected, particularly by middle schoolers repeating what they hear at home. By the time I reached high school, I began to realize that my attraction to men was much less frequent than I thought. Over the next four years, I gradually came to terms with the fact that I’m a lesbian. My sexuality is now the part of my identity I feel most confident in. More specifically, I identify as a panromantic lesbian—a label that feels more right than any I’ve used before. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for my gender identity. I vividly remember sitting in a Dairy Queen when I was eight or nine years old, hearing my mom say there were only two genders. She followed it up with, “Saying you’re ‘x’ is wrong,” and those words stuck with me more than I expected. So, when I started experiencing gender dysphoria in eighth grade, I did everything I could to ignore it. But I couldn’t run from it forever. I began high school identifying as gender-fluid, and over the years, my label changed many times—non-binary, demigirl, demiboy, agender, genderflux. One after another, I tried on these identities, searching for one that felt right. In sophomore year, I decided to settle on non-binary after learning it was an umbrella term. Since then, I’ve continued searching for a label that better fits me, but I haven’t found one yet. And while my gender identity remains unclear, the attention I receive because of it is undeniable. Being raised in Georgia has its perks, but one major downside is the homophobia that still exists among older generations. While students and teachers are often accepting, parents and school administrators tend not to be—and it’s exhausting to deal with. Still, I stand my ground alongside the other queer kids in my community. We support and uplift each other in ways we all wish the world would. The broader community around us may feel toxic at times, but the one we’ve created is warm, uplifting, and full of love. And if I had to choose again, I would choose to be part of the LGBTQIA+ community every single time.

Flour Forest Hope Honey Rose Sugar Male Cabin Knight Baby October Faith April Sell Cupcake Candle *** YELLOW: Sugar, Honey, Cupcake, Baby (Endearing Names) Each of these words can be used as endearing pet names for a girlfriend. They are all common enough to be recognized, but not obvious enough to pick out at first glance. GREEN: October, Forest, Candle, Cabin (Gives Off Eerie Vibes) Each of these words represent a noun or a time that can be considered eerie or creepy. It is less noticeable than the pet names, but more noticeable than the others. BLUE: Flour, Male, Knight, Sell (Homophones) Each of these words are homophones. Flour vs flower, male vs mail, knight vs night, and sell vs cell. PURPLE: April, Hope, Rose, Faith (Female Names/Also Nouns) Each of these words represent common female names, but also a noun. It is the hardest group to find. *** Connections Meant to Confuse: 1. Flour, Sugar, Honey. All baking ingredients, no obvious fourth pick. 2. April and October. Both months, no other obvious picks. 3. Candle and Cupcake. Both relating to birthdays, could be connected with (1). 4. Knight, Male, Baby. All pertaining to humans, no obvious fourth pick. 5. Forest, Rose, Cabin. All pertaining to outdoors, no obvious fourth pick. 6. Faith and Hope. Reasoning could be wrong (feelings/emotions vs names)

Growing up with strict parents meant that the array of movies I was allowed to watch without direct supervision was quite limited. Most of the films I consumed had their origins in the ever-expanding world of Disney, but as a kid, I did not mind watching Cinderella try to outrun midnight or laughing at a well-timed joke in Hercules. Those movies were my childhood, and though some were better than others, they will all forever hold a place in my heart. Above all others, for me, is The Princess and the Frog. I found some of my greatest inspiration nestled in the colorful depictions of the bayou and amidst the catchy lyrics of each and every song. Though I once related more to Lottie and her obsession with the fairytale at face value, I have recently realized that it is the story itself that I connect with more deeply. The Princess and the Frog taught me lessons that I still honor and apply to this day. Most importantly, it taught me that the things I want are worth working hard for. As someone who thrives on the short-lived sense of completion rather than the more rewarding satisfaction that comes after finishing a task, I find it incredibly difficult to begin something I know will take time. Because I focus more on finishing tasks for the sake of being done, rather than appreciating the value of the outcome—even if the reward is something I truly want—procrastination becomes my biggest enemy. If the work required outweighs the brief sense of satisfaction I expect to get, I simply will not start it. Even as a child, The Princess and the Frog taught me that the effort is worthwhile, even if the outcome is not my sole motivation. Tiana worked hard to achieve her dream of opening a restaurant in her father's memory, and she poured herself into that goal because she knew it would be worth it. Watching her on my family’s TV, putting in long hours of work and traveling across New Orleans to buy an old building and turn it into something great, was incredibly encouraging for me both as a child and now as a young adult. Of course, I am not planning to open a restaurant anytime soon, but I can replace that building with my college education, and suddenly, I have something worth working toward. The weight of my tasks builds on my shoulders like bricks, no matter how big or small they are. Over my eighteen years, I have found it difficult to tackle these tasks because of how little satisfaction I feel after completing them. But seeing Tiana work so hard, for so long, for what started as an empty, abandoned building gave me a glimmer of light in the dark. She took something that seemed insignificant and turned it into something special. Like her, I plan to focus on earning my college degree—not because it gives me a fleeting sense of accomplishment, but because it opens the door for me to pursue my dreams. The Princess and the Frog taught me how to motivate myself, and that is a lesson that will stick with me for the rest of my life. Perhaps it is not the most impactful lesson that I will ever learn, but it has undeniably changed the way I approach and complete daunting tasks.

Throughout my years of high school, luck has been on my side with the supportive selection of teachers who have spent their time to mold me into the person that I am today. Above all others, however, is my AP Literature teacher. Through weekly timed essays, student-led Socratic seminars, and too many presentation projects to count, my AP Lit teacher, Mr. Perry, taught me that confidence in myself is the quickest way to academic success. Even more powerful than that, alongside his steady encouragement and the high standards he set for all of his students, he found ways to engage with students on an individual level that allowed for personalized aid, and it is through this individuality that I found myself healing from an emotional wound I had not even known about. One of the most influential lessons we had was centered around Barbara Kingsolver's "Poisonwood Bible", which was taught to us through individual reading, chapter-by-chapter class discussions, and essays devoted forcing us to flesh out the real meaning of the passages instead of taking them at face value. As someone whose relationship with religion is less than comforting, I found the book hard to stomach and would often put off reading until the day before it was due, trying to save myself from the aching discomfort of reading about someone else's religious trauma. Inevitably, this half-attempted way of reading led to the steady decline in my scores on my seminars and essays, and I found myself slipping away from the salutatorian spot that I had been holding so firmly since freshman year. AP Lit was dragging me down, and though I tried my hardest, fighting back against the weight on my shoulders was futile. I had no solution, and thus, I continued to let the problem fester. By the second seminar that I sat silently through-- something I had never done before--, and after turning in a blank timed essay, Mr. Perry called me in after class to discuss the sudden decline in my performance. After trying to save myself from the embarrassment of admitting I was struggling because of a book's effect on me, I eventually caved and explained my situation. The only word that can describe how I felt in that moment is 'small'. Throughout his class, I had consistently spoken out in seminars and scored higher than my classmates on the essays, and there I was admitting that I was crumbling because I could not face the book head-on. I expected him to laugh, not that he had given me any reason to expect such a reaction. But he did not laugh. In fact, the reaction he had given me was quite the opposite. After a fairly vulnerable conversation about our shared religious trauma, I managed to find comfort in knowing he had healed from his. We discussed the parts of the book that affected me the most, and we tackled them bit by bit. Within twenty minutes, I understood more of the book than I had in multiple weeks; and with it, I gained a new outlook on how my experience with religion was affecting my interactions with the world. By the end of our discussion, I was able to read the book without feeling like bricks were resting on my chest. And now, even though I hold no faith in any particular religion, I can discuss them and stomach literature about them. Mr. Perry may have improved my writing to a degree that I will always be thankful for, but it was his willingness to support me that truly led to my academic success.

Though I have passed through many phases of my mental health journey that have been less than desirable, most recently I suffered from intense anxiety spurred on by the stresses of working through the gifted/AP path in high school. Whether or not I wished to pursue this pathway as an incoming freshman, I was challenged by my parents and my school counselor to hold onto my place as the salutatorian of my graduating class (a rank that has now been solidified), leading me to take on harder classes with higher impacts on my GPA. Between the expectations, the coursework, and the intensity of these more difficult classes, the stress built into a full four-year stretch of anxiety that oftentimes left me reaching out to find help wherever I could get it. Coming from a family who has faith in a religion that does not support mental health services, I had to pave my own path to the help that I so desperately needed. Throughout freshman year, I watched myself spiral from a distance whilst engaging in nervous habits like picking at my eyelashes or biting my lip until it bled, both becoming so common that I couldn't go a day without one or the other. My anxiety peaked in sophomore year, where the stress of three AP classes at once all settled in on my shoulders, and after too long suffering under stress that my parents had convinced me was necessary, I finally sought out help in the form of my AP Psychology teacher. Her expectations of me were not nearly as high as the rest of the people in my environment at the time, and at the beginning of the year, she took one look at the courses I was taking and promised she would find a way to help me. And, now as a senior who is graduating as salutatorian without those same stressors on my shoulders, I can say that she was successful. We began by changing my study habits and working on time management, both being skills I lacked or had been using ineffectively. Within months, I had a system in place, and where I once was drowning, I found myself flourishing in my classes. Keeping track of deadlines in a planner, setting aside time for homework, asking for help when I need it; all of these being things I learned from my AP Psychology teacher. These new habits of mine helped me manage the stress of the class schedule I had, and throughout junior and senior year, they have kept me afloat during times I once would have drowned. And, with these stresses being lifted off of my shoulders, I was able to manage the anxiety that came with them. The biggest lesson I have learned throughout my time in high school, both from the experience with my anxiety and just as a student in general, I have learned that it is important to have a foundation of supportive people who want to see you succeed. It is because of my AP Psychology teacher that I will be giving the welcoming speech at graduation. And as someone who has reached out for help and has seen the difference that support can make in a life, I have dedicated myself to being that support for other people. By pursuing a degree in psychology, I will set myself up to one day become a mental health counselor, and I will help children, teenagers, and young adults manage the stresses of life, just as my AP Psychology teacher did for me.

I have had a genuine passion for the field of psychology since I was in middle school, but I truly solidified my aspirations to obtain a degree in the field when I pleaded my case to my school counselor so I could be in AP Psychology as a sophomore, even when our school usually offers the AP Psychology class exclusively to seniors. Fighting for a spot against seniors looking for an extra AP class was not easy, but by the time the next January rolled around, I was seated in the AP Psychology class. One sophomore in a sea of seniors, but I held my own and ended the class with a 100 and with a 4 on the AP exam. Since taking part in that AP Psychology class, I have been on a one-way track to getting my bachelor’s degree in psychology, and I know that I will not stop working towards that degree until I have it in my hands. And even after graduating with my undergraduate degree, I intend to immediately enroll in a master’s degree program, and then a PhD to further my understanding of psychology. The allure of a quality higher education is far too strong for me to ignore, and so I have dedicated my high school years and will dedicate my undergraduate years to obtaining the education I need so that I can continue onto the next step when the opportunity arises. All of this, all my education, will eventually culminate in my career as a counselor for children and teenagers. This is my dream, and the money I receive from the scholarships I have the honor of winning will ensure that I am capable of making this dream my reality. Post-secondary education is extremely important to me, and it is vital to my ability to become a counselor later in life. But in order to become a counselor, I have to start with my bachelor’s degree. And in order to begin my bachelor’s degree, I have to start with figuring out how to financially handle the cost of education at Valdosta State University. Obtaining my bachelor’s degree with a minimal amount of student debt will allow me to smoothly transition from my undergraduate degree to my graduate degree, and the financial support I will receive from this scholarship will become the foundation of my first year in college. Receiving this scholarship would be a great honor, and it would help me achieve my goals of obtaining my bachelor’s degree, which will serve as the first step in a long line of steps necessary before I can call myself a true counselor. Thank you for this opportunity and thank you for considering me for such a generous donation.

I have been writing fictional stories since I was seven or eight years old, scribbling down paragraphs upon paragraphs in my messy handwriting in old pink notebooks I could not find today if I tried. Writing was a part of who I was, and it consumed almost every free moment I had. Watching my brother's baseball or basketball games, going on long car rides, even sitting at home. Wherever I was, everyone always knew I was writing something. And, even as my goal for college shifts away from the Creative Writing major I had always wanted, writing will continue to be an important part of my life. It will continue to be something that defines who I am. As I grow older and my writing style changes, I find myself even more infatuated with the idea of creating an entire universe on a piece of paper or a blank document online. All my stories, which remain works in progress, have expanded rapidly as my vocabulary and writing style have become more sophisticated. Writing can be incredibly dynamic, and mine is a clear indicator that writing grows with the author. That is one of the things I love most about writing-- that it is always changing. No matter what I go through or how long I spend away from my stories, I always grow from time that has passed and the experiences I have had. One such experience is a year spent in my AP Language class with the nicest and most influential English teacher I have ever had. My writing, though it was just writing for essays, improved incredibly, and this bled into how I write my personal stories. Even though I continue to add to my works in progress almost every day, my college plans have changed since I was eight years old. I used to believe wholeheartedly that I would attend a liberal arts college and take as many writing classes as possible to attain a Creative Writing degree. But as I grew older, my goals changed. Now, I'm applying to colleges to earn a Psychology degree. However, regardless of what major I obtain while in college, I will never forget my writing roots. Creative writing classes, playwriting classes, and any other class that can help improve my writing will be the first electives on my list when I go to choose my classes at orientation. I cannot think of a better way to spend my time in college than to spend it doing what I love. Writing has taught me so much in life, so why not take some classes specifically designed to let it teach me more? As I change and as my writing changes with me, I realize more and more how much of myself is based around the stories I have created. From my characters' personalities matching mine to the evil villains vaguely resembling my academic rivals, so much of my life has been built on my writing and what I have learned to improve it. And even though my goal in college has changed, my love for writing and my willingness to never stop learning how to do it better never will.