Reading Chapter Two of Real Insights by John Graff led me to ponder my own life and plans for the future. Graff pointed out that acquiring a real estate license is not the finish line, but the start of building something real and lasting. This seems self-evident, as I've been preparing to become an elementary and special education teacher myself. It is easy to think of becoming a teacher as receiving the degree and certification, a significant milestone. Authority draws me toward what comes next: growing into the role, relating to students, and learning every day. Theory is not something to just have in your head; I need to bring a healthy dose of creativity, patience, and flexibility into the classroom to have an impact. Graff also emphasizes the importance of observing patterns and shifts in larger market forces that govern the industry, such as mortgage rates or policy changes. We've also noted that education is often subject to additional and larger forces, including new pedagogies, curriculum changes, and shifting expectations for students and families. Being aware of these shifts will enable me to become a stronger teacher and advocate for my students. What resonated with me most about Graff's emphasis on lifelong learning is that very few real estate agents succeed, and they are the ones who will challenge themselves, ask questions, seek mentors, and extract what they can from every moment. I, too, want to be like that, learning from my colleagues, my students, and myself! I want to be more than just a qualified educator; I want to be great at it. Ultimately, Graff shrinks our ideas of commencement from an ending to a beginning, and I’m inspired to start building from there.

Every child deserves to be seen, celebrated, and educated with dignity, regardless of their abilities or limitations. If I had the opportunity to work with a child like Rebecca, who lives with an ultra-rare disorder, my priority would be to build a relationship rooted in trust, patience, and joy. A diagnosis should never confine a child’s potential. We must meet each child exactly where they are emotionally, physically, and cognitively, and support them as they grow at their own pace, in their way. When educating a child with a rare disorder, I would go far beyond the textbook. I’d listen to the voices that know the child best—their family, therapists, and medical professionals—because rare conditions often reveal themselves in unique and deeply personal ways—that kind of insight matters. Then, I would simply observe: What sparks their joy? What overwhelms them? How do they communicate? Is it with words? Gestures? A device? Or maybe it’s through silence that speaks volumes. From there, I’d craft learning experiences tailored to their strengths and needs. This could mean using multi-sensory methods, breaking tasks into smaller and manageable steps, or integrating movement, music, or visuals. For nonverbal children, I might use communication devices, sign language, or picture exchanges. For those with motor challenges, I would adapt activities to enable participation, foster a sense of capability, and celebrate small wins that lead to significant confidence. But above all, I want every child to feel that they belong. That they are not invisible. That they are cherished and competent. Progress may not always follow standard benchmarks, but growth in confidence, connection, and joy is just as meaningful and worth celebrating. Family plays a crucial role in this journey. Parents and caregivers are not just part of the team; they are the heartbeat of it. I believe in maintaining open, honest, and consistent communication, sharing goals, strategies, triumphs, and setbacks, so we’re always working in partnership. Together, we create a circle of support around the child: steady, strong, and full of hope. I’ve seen the beauty of this firsthand. My cousin has lissencephaly, a rare neurological condition. With the love of our family and the joy of an adaptive sports league, she plays with a buddy by her side and a smile on her face. That experience showed me something powerful: every child can experience the magic of inclusion, the thrill of progress, and the dignity of being believed in when we give them the right tools and the right people beside them.

Some of the most powerful changes in life happen without noise. A glance of understanding, a hand on the shoulder, a moment of being seen. That’s the kind of quiet transformation I want to create as a teacher. A child is more than test scores, behavior charts, or diagnoses. I’ve seen how love and attention can change a life and how encouragement can become a ladder out of silence or shame. I want to be that person in a child’s story, the one who sees them when others overlook them, who believes in them when they’re still learning to believe in themselves. This dream has shaped every step of my journey so far. I’m currently pursuing a double major in Elementary and Special Education with a minor in Music at Benedictine College. During the school year, I work in the financial aid office and tutor in an after-school program, helping young students with everything from reading assignments to confidence struggles. I also volunteer my time each summer as a leader for various Vacation Bible Schools. My jobs are rarely easy, but they are always worth it—because every tired moment is an investment in the future I hope to build. I’ve also seen leadership from the inside out. In high school, I served as president of both the National Honor Society and the Associated Student Body—the first student in school history to hold both positions simultaneously. I took that responsibility seriously, knowing that authentic leadership means listening, showing up, and doing the unseen work. I led school events and served my classmates while growing in courage and compassion. These experiences taught me how to advocate, speak up, and, most importantly, lift others. But my work doesn’t end there. I’ve worked with Susan B. Anthony Pro-Life America, traveling to Wisconsin and Pennsylvania to go door-to-door, sharing the value of life with strangers who often met me with disagreement, if not outright hostility. But I kept going, not because it was easy, but because I believe every life matters: born and unborn, seen and unseen, understood or misunderstood. That belief is the foundation of everything I do. It’s why I marched at the March for Life in Washington, D.C. It’s why I study long hours and work part-time jobs to afford school. And it’s why I will pour my whole heart into the classroom one day, not just to teach facts but to show students they are loved. My future doesn’t end at the classroom door, either. My family owns and operates a small beekeeping business. I’ve grown up working the hives, harvesting honey, labeling jars, and learning what it means to care for something with patience and purpose. Someday, I hope to take over the business and transform it into a community space where children and families can come to learn about nature, the value of hard work, and the importance of stewarding creation. I dream of adventurous field trips, workshops, and hands-on lessons that bring education outside of the four walls of a school building and into the rhythms of real life. Because for me, education is never just about academics. It’s about building lives. I want to build classrooms that are safe, joyful, and inclusive. I want to help children with disabilities realize they are strong, capable, and important. I want to mentor young students the way I needed mentors when I was unsure of myself. I want to keep showing up, even when it’s hard—because I know the power of one person who chooses to believe in someone else. So, I will teach. I will love fiercely, lead humbly, and serve tirelessly. I will honor every child’s story, especially the ones the world overlooks. And one day, when a student walks across my classroom floor for the first time, whether with braces, crutches, or confidence, I will remember that finish line years ago and cheer with my whole heart. That is the teacher I will be. That is the life I’m building. And that is why I’m asking for your help — to keep going, to keep growing, and to keep giving every child the kind of love that changes everything.

I want to build a future where every child, regardless of ability, background, or circumstance, feels seen, heard, and valued. As an aspiring elementary and special education teacher, my mission is to teach curriculum and build safe, joyful spaces where children thrive emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. I want to be the kind of teacher who shows up every day to instruct and inspire. I want to build confidence and dreams in the hearts of my students. This dream is incredibly personal. My cousin Kimber was born with lissencephaly, a rare brain disorder that significantly limits mobility and communication. Seeing her experience the many joys and exciting moments in sports through the help of a volunteer "buddy" was truly inspiring. Through powerful displays of love and compassion, I came to understand that true inclusion isn't about extending kindness out of pity; it's about recognizing the inherent worth of every person. People like my cousin Kimber don’t belong on the sidelines — they deserve to stand at the center, seen, supported, and celebrated with the dignity they deserve. I want to be someone who helps build that bridge between students with special needs and a world that too often isn’t ready to meet them with the empathy they deserve. My journey has already begun. I tutor at an after-school program, work in my college’s financial aid office, and spend my summers nannying and volunteering at Vacation Bible Schools. I’ve canvassed in Wisconsin and Pennsylvania to advocate for life, and I’ve stood in Washington, D.C, at the March for Life, heart burning with purpose. I have held leadership roles that stretched me, including being the first in my high school’s history to serve as president of both the National Honor Society and the Associated Student Body. Through these experiences, I’ve learned how to work hard, stay grounded, and lead with integrity. In the future, I also hope to take over my family’s small beekeeping business, Fachin Bees Honey. It’s more than a business—it’s a legacy of stewardship and sustainability rooted in family and hard work. I want to grow it into a community effort that teaches kids about nature, responsibility, and the quiet miracle of creation. I want to build more than a classroom; I want to build a career. I want to make a life that multiplies love. Because the most important thing we can ever build isn’t just a program, a business, or a lesson plan—it’s people. And when we build up people, we change everything.

From the time I was young, I felt drawn to children with special needs—not out of sympathy, but out of a deep, instinctive sense of connection. Where others may have seen differences or difficulties, I saw potential. I saw people. That quiet pull became a calling, and today, I’m pursuing a career in special education—not because it’s something I want to do, but because it reflects who I am at my core. My cousin was born with lissencephaly, a rare brain disorder that severely affects development. I watched as her parents navigated endless challenges, but in the midst of those, I also witnessed something extraordinary: joy. Those moments taught me that ability is not always measured in milestones—and that every child, regardless of diagnosis, deserves a champion. I want to be that champion. In high school, I began tutoring students with learning differences through service projects and peer programs. It quickly became clear: this wasn’t just something I was good at—it was something I felt. I loved the challenge of meeting a student where they were and adapting the way I taught to make something click. More than that, I loved watching confidence grow where frustration once lived. Those experiences didn’t just shape my interests—they revealed my purpose. Now, as I pursue a degree in Elementary and Special Education, I am more committed than ever. I don’t just want to teach. I want to empower. I want to be the teacher who celebrates every small step forward and who fights for the resources her students need, and who refuses to give up on any child, ever. Special education isn’t about limitations. It’s about breaking barriers. It’s about believing that every child can learn, grow, and thrive when someone believes in them—and when someone shows up, day after day, to help them do it. That’s who I want to be. And that’s why I’m not just pursuing this path—I’m pouring my heart into it.

One of the most critical social issues is the growing disregard for the sanctity of human life, especially for the unborn and those with disabilities or special needs. These two avenues—both deeply rooted in truth, compassion, and action—are how I strive to defend the dignity of every human person and build a culture that values life at all stages. My commitment to the pro-life cause has shaped many of the decisions I’ve made as a young adult. Over the past year, I have had the privilege of working with Susan B. Anthony Pro-Life America, a national organization that works to advocate for the voice of the unborn. I have participated in multiple canvassing trips, knocking on doors in swing states such as Wisconsin and Pennsylvania to engage in conversations with voters about the pro-life policies and candidates. These trips are incredibly challenging, but they are also rewarding. I’ve learned to speak respectfully and boldly about the issues surrounding abortion, even when faced with opposition. Most importantly, I’ve witnessed how hearts and minds can change when truth is shared with love. In January, I also attended the March for Life in Washington, D.C. Standing shoulder to shoulder with tens of thousands of others—young and old, religious and secular, hopeful and grieving—was a powerful reminder that I am part of a greater movement. This march, like my canvassing experiences, affirmed my belief that while laws are important, it is culture that ultimately drives change. And I believe that culture is most powerfully influenced through education. I have always known that I wanted to be a teacher. Working with children has been a constant and life-giving presence in my life, from volunteering at Vacation Bible Schools to nannying full-time in the summers to tutoring at St. Benedict’s Catholic School, where I now help students from various backgrounds in the after-school program. My involvement in the pro-life movement hasn’t changed my path; it has strengthened it. It’s deepened my conviction that every child deserves to be seen, supported, and celebrated regardless of background or ability. I’m currently pursuing a double major in Elementary Education and Special Education at Benedictine College, with a minor in Music. My goal is to equip students with academic knowledge while also fostering a classroom culture that respects the dignity of every human being. I’ve seen how powerful it is when a child is met with consistency, patience, and someone who genuinely believes in their potential. I hope to be that person for many students.

“I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” —Harold Bloom, Possessed by Memory Watching a child exist in a world that does not see them is a quiet kind of heartbreak. It’s in the eyes that look away in crowded hallways. It’s in the assumptions, underestimations, and “let’s just get through the day” mentality. It’s in the way the curriculum is designed for a mold most children were never meant to fit. But most of all, it’s in the child who starts to believe they are invisible, less-than, or broken when they are fighting battles many will never understand. Harold Bloom’s words echo in my mind: to bring the student to their presence. What does this mean? It means guiding a child toward the sacred realization that they matter—not because they meet some arbitrary standard, but because they are uniquely, irreversibly valuable. It means helping them discover their voice, even if it doesn’t sound like everyone else’s. It means walking beside them until they no longer need to apologize for who they are. It means lightening the heavy labels and making room for possibility. It means letting them own their story instead of being a character in someone else’s version To come into one’s presence is to stand in the truth of your existence—and know that it is good. That is my mission. That is why I will become a special education teacher. Presence is not just physical. It is emotional, spiritual, and relational. It is how a child lights up when they realize they’ve accomplished something hard. It’s the moment they stop hiding behind silence or compliance. It’s when they ask a question out loud for the first time. They write their name and smile because they see themselves on the page. For some students, these victories go unnoticed in a typical classroom. But in the world of special education, these moments are miracles. They are not just academic achievements—they are awakenings. To foster this kind of growth, my classroom will be more than a place of instruction. It will be a sanctuary of presence—a place where a child does not have to earn belonging, where behaviors are not punished but understood, where a meltdown is not seen as defiance but communication, and where every student, regardless of ability, learns what it means to take up space without apology. My role is not to make them “normal.” It is to make them known. So how will I do it? First, I will listen. I will learn each student’s language—words, gestures, technology, or quiet looks. I will learn what makes them anxious, what brings them joy, what helps them regulate, and what helps them grow. I will never assume that I know them better than they know themselves. Then, I will create structure—not rigidity—but rhythms, safety, and predictability. Many students with special needs experience the world as a chaotic and overwhelming place. My classroom will be their anchor. They will know what to expect, they will know they are safe, and they will know I am on their team every single day, no matter how hard the day is. Next, I will advocate. I will stand in rooms full of professionals and fight for services, support, and adaptations to help my students survive— and thrive. I will refuse to allow a diagnosis to become a destiny. I will champion each child’s potential as loudly as I can because I know that one voice speaking belief can change a child’s future. Finally, I will celebrate—not just the “big” wins but the daily graces: the first word, the eye contact, the minute of calm, the social breakthrough, and the courage it takes to try again after failing. I will make my classroom a place where success is not measured by comparison but by courage. This calling is not for the faint of heart. It demands patience, empathy, resilience, and an unshakable belief in human dignity. It will ask everything of me—and I will give it gladly. Because I believe that no child is too difficult, no student is too far behind, and no diagnosis is too overwhelming. Every single child can grow, to learn, to connect, and to experience joy. And if I can be the teacher who helps them discover that within themselves, then I will have done something that matters far beyond the classroom. This is more than a profession. It is a sacred responsibility. I am not pursuing this path because it is easy. I am pursuing it because it is right. Every child deserves a teacher who sees them not for what they struggle with but for who they are becoming. Because presence is not about performing for others; it is about owning your worth, knowing your name, and trusting your voice. Because I believe that when we help children with special needs come into their own presence, we are not just changing their lives—we are changing the world—a more inclusive, compassionate, and human world, a world where no one has to hide who they are to be loved. And because I want to spend my life building that world, one student at a time. In the end, Harold Bloom said it best: the purpose of teaching is not to fill minds with facts. It is not to control behavior. It is not even to reach test scores. The purpose of education is to bring the student to their presence. To awaken them to the beauty of their mind. The strength of their story. The sacredness of their being. That is what I will do. That is who I will be. And there is no higher calling.

The moment I entered Mrs. Summers' kindergarten class, I knew that I wanted to be a teacher. I didn't realize it at the time, but I felt it with all my heart. Her classroom was vibrant—warm, colorful, and a safe space. She greeted each of us with enthusiasm, made each of us feel seen, and was so kind that even the shyest student felt at ease. Mrs. Summers taught us not just how to read or how to do mathematics—she turned it into a quest and led each of us to believe we could be a star. It was in the little room, with glue sticks, picture books, and circle time, that the seed of my vocation was planted. Years later, I find myself on a path that I took because it will allow me to be the kind of teacher Mrs. Summers was for me—one who inspires, supports, and believes in each child. I am double majoring in Elementary Education and Special Education, with a minor in Music, at Benedictine College —a decision rooted in my belief in the transformative power of education. I have witnessed firsthand the impact that education can have on a child's life, and I am driven by the desire to be someone who makes a difference every day. I now teach in the school's after-school program at St. Benedict's Catholic School, where I teach students with different learning styles and abilities. I also work part-time in the financial aid office and nanny part-time during the summers while also volunteering at Vacation Bible Schools. Through these experiences, I have rediscovered what I've known since kindergarten—teaching is my home. Whether I'm helping a child sound out a word or noticing the sparkle in their eyes after they figure out a math problem on their own, I'm reminded that this is what I was made to do. Teaching isn't simply a vocation to me, however—it's a calling founded upon my religion and on the values inculcated into me by my family. I was raised working in our own small business, Fachin Bees Honey, where I learned the importance of hard work, consistency, and service. Those same values now guide me as I will soon step into the classroom. My wish is not only to teach but to lead with compassion, joy, and purpose—just like Mrs. Summers did for me many years ago. I understand that the road I've chosen will not yield wealth in a material sense. Still, I'm convinced that assisting children in discovering their value and potential is the most important investment an individual can make. With the aid of this scholarship, I'll be that much closer to opening my own classroom and making the same kind of magic that first captivated me. I aspire to dedicate ​​my lifetime to repaying the gift given me: that of a love for learning and the know-how to follow.

I still remember the first day of kindergarten: my black Mary Janes on my feet, frilly socks, and my favorite green dress. I remember the shapes and colors on the carpet during story time. Most of all, I remember Mrs. Summers. I was five years old—quiet, unsure, and shy. And somehow, Mrs. Summers saw me. She didn’t just teach us the alphabet or how to hold a pencil. She taught us how to be brave in small ways, raise our hands even when we weren’t sure, and keep trying even when our letters came out backwards. She knelt to look us in the eyes. She called me “sweet girl” and made me feel seen in the classroom. Mrs. Summers taught me how to read a book all by myself, sounding out the words as I ​​read along the page. I held the book in my hands like it was a precious treasure. Those moments sparked something in me—a love for learning, but more than that, I felt seen. Since then, I’ve carried this calling in my chest like a heartbeat: I want to be that teacher for someone else. Not just the one who teaches how to solve for x or grammar rules in an essay, but the one who notices the child sitting alone at recess, the teacher who sees past the noise and chaos to find the student who’s barely holding it together. The one who writes encouragement in the margins of their tests and tells them, “You can do this! I believe in you!” I’m studying Elementary and Special Education with a minor in Music because every child learns differently and deserves to be understood. My cousin has lissencephaly, and I’ve seen how much love and patience it takes to reach a child whose world doesn’t look like everyone else’s. But I’ve also seen the joy, the connection, the radiant light that shines through when you meet them where they are. I want to do that for every student, of every ability. I’ve led student councils and honor societies. I’ve marched for life, tutored struggling learners, and sung silly songs with the children I work with. But through it all, my most profound joy is still this: helping a child believe that they are capable, worthy, and loved. I don’t want to change the whole world. I just want to change someone’s world; the way Mrs. Summers changed mine. And maybe, years from now, a child will write an essay like this and say, “There was a teacher once. Her name was Miss Lacey. And she saw me.” That would be enough.

My name is Lacey Fachin; future teacher, a sister, a daughter, and a believer in the sacred dignity of every life. I come from a family that taught me the value of hard work—not with words, but with early mornings in the bee yard and long days pouring honey, labeling jars, and loading up for farmer’s markets. Fachin Bees Honey is not just a family business, but a legacy of stewardship and sweetness, one that reminds me that even the smallest of creatures can have the highest of callings. One day, I hope to inherit it; not just to sell honey, but to use it as a vehicle to educate children and families on creation, sustainability, and the marvelous order of the world around us. Since kindergarten, I have dreamed of being a teacher. Not any teacher, but the teacher that picks students up when they feel invisible, who notices when a child is sitting quietly in the back, silently struggling, and needing someone to believe in them. I desire to be a teacher who makes a difference and reminds students that they are capable, deserving, and loved. I'm studying Elementary and Special Education with a minor in Music, because I understand that every child, regardless of ability, needs to be loved, heard, and seen. I have a cousin who has lissencephaly, and I've witnessed her light up when someone stoops to look her in the eye, when someone chooses to see her for all that she can do. That moment, that connection, is what I want to bring to every student I teach. I’ve been blessed with opportunities to lead as president of both NHS and ASB in high school, school ambassador, and house leader, but I’ve learned the most through quiet service. Through tutoring at St. Benedict’s Catholic School, volunteering at Vacation Bible Schools, and working alongside kids who just need someone to believe in them, I’ve seen how even small acts can change lives. I’ve learned to listen, kneel, and advocate. I've marched as well. I've door-knocked in Pennsylvania and Wisconsin with Susan B. Anthony Pro-Life America. I've stood in the bitter cold in Washington, D.C., with thousands of others at the March for Life because I believe in a world where every life has value, born and unborn, seen and unseen. My future profession is not glamorous. I will not be in the headlines. But I will make lunches for kids who forgot theirs. I'll sing silly songs to my students to help them remember math facts. I'll help a child with special needs tie their shoes for the first time ever. And I'll look every student in the eye and say, you matter. One day, years from now, a student will remember that amidst their chaos, somebody saw them, somebody believed in them, and somebody never gave up. And that, more than anything else, is the legacy I want to leave.

Since I was a child, I've aspired to become a teacher and have seen firsthand the educational power of learning to transform lives. I have been fortunate in my learning that teachers have built up my self-esteem and prepared me to become a teacher so that I, too, could bring long-lasting impressions to generations that are yet to be born. My love for children, leadership at Legacy Christian Academy, and passion for learning drew me to Benedictine College, a faith-based education aligned with my belief that education should shape my mind and character. The university's combination of faith and reason affirmed that I made the right decision because I want to impart good values to my future students. The opportunity to study abroad next spring excites me because it will introduce me to other countries' educational systems and enable me to interact with children from various backgrounds. Education is the most potent force for transformation in society. My Elementary and Special Education degree will allow me to educate learners at all levels and backgrounds. Special education is an area in which there is an urgent need for skilled and compassionate educators. Most students are not provided with tailored instruction. I wish to be their voice so that every child can learn in a healthy environment, regardless of learning differences. Beyond the classroom, I want to work with families, administrators, and policymakers so that learning environments prioritize student health. As a tutor and working within school environments, I have seen the worth of being a teacher who is invested in students beyond academics. I work to promote a love of learning, a positive self-concept, and the skills necessary to achieve their potential. An educated society thrives, and I am committed to doing my part to help prepare the next generations of leaders and innovators. Balancing school and a full-time job has not been easy, but it has been worthwhile. Being a St. Benedict's Catholic School tutor and a financial aid staff member has prepared me with practical skills like time management, flexibility, and determination. Both studying and working have honed my ability to do several things concurrently, meet deadlines, and maintain high academic and professional standards. Tutoring has provided me with hands-on training directly applicable to my studies. One-on-one interaction with students has taught me about differing learning styles, good teaching practices, and the importance of patience and support. Seeing a student finally grasp a challenging idea or gain confidence in themselves is one of the best perks, and it encourages me to do my best as a teacher. Working in college has taught me discipline and sacrifice, but it has also taught me precious things. My experiences have taught me how to balance various responsibilities where time and flexibility are major considerations. They have helped me value the role of a teacher in a student's life more. Deciding to major in elementary and special education was not a decision I made, and I unquestioningly adhered to it, but it is my vocation. Benedictine College has afforded me the education, proficiency, and practice to make me a competent and compassionate educator. Teaching goes beyond helping children learn, grading assignments, and fun activities in class; it is about teachers' connections with their students and the impact they leave in their lives that will last for years.

Adversity comes in many forms, and for me, it began with loneliness. In August 2020, I started high school. But that year it was different. With COVID at its peak, my learning occurred alone in my bedroom, staring at a screen. Day after day I felt myself slipping into isolation. I longed for a connection with my teachers and peers and the small moments that made learning feel alive. I wasn’t just struggling academically; I was losing the spark that made me love learning in the first place. My parents and I knew we had to make a change. The following semester, I enrolled at Legacy Christian Academy. Legacy was the only high school who fought to find a way for students to remain on campus to continue in-person education. There, I realized something that I hadn’t considered: Learning isn’t just about books and grades. It’s about students and their relationships with peers and teachers. That realization wasn’t just a turning point for me—it became my purpose and my mission. Since kindergarten, I have dreamed of being a teacher—not just any teacher, but the kind who lifts students when they feel invisible. The kind who notices when a child sits quietly in the back, who is silently struggling and needing someone to believe in them. I want to be a teacher who makes a difference and reminds students they are capable, worthy, and loved. But my journey to becoming that teacher has not been easy. As a freshman, I promised my parents if they were willing to send my three siblings and me to a private Christian school, I would pay my way through college. I watched them sacrifice, putting our education above their own comfort. I saw the silent struggles, the long hours, the selflessness. Since then, I have spent countless nights filling out scholarship applications, chasing every opportunity, and babysitting for families to earn a small income. Every hour I spend working, every essay I submit, and every sacrifice I make is to honor the gift my parents have given me and to shape my future. I am not afraid of hard work, I welcome it. I know that every challenge I overcome now will one day help me guide a child through their struggles. I am attending Benedictine College, pursuing a double major in Elementary Education and Special Education with a minor in music. I want to create a classroom where every student feels seen, no child is left behind, and learning is not just an obligation but a joy. My journey to this point in my life has been filled with challenges, but every obstacle has helped me grow and learn. Bravery isn't about not being afraid. Instead, it is about standing in the face of fear and pushing forward anyway. It is about choosing to rise, even when the path is steep. I will continue to rise, fight for my education, and one day stand before a classroom full of young minds and show them that they, too, can overcome anything. In the end, my dream is not just to teach; it is to change lives.