I started battling with social anxiety right around the time I entered puberty and moved to the US. Considering the culture I came from, I thought something was genuinely wrong with me because I had always been “okay”. Suddenly, I found myself in a new country, living with my father for the first time, and struggling to understand why everything felt so overwhelming. I was lost. As a teen, all I wanted was to feel okay and fit in. so I clung to the one thing I had always been good at and felt familiar: school. I’m grateful my mother gave me a positive outlook on education because that’s what kept me grounded when everything felt uncertain. Knowing that I had the chance to learn something new even when everything was falling apart, was a blessing. That love for learning stuck with me, and that’s why I knew I wanted to pursue higher education. Still, the language barrier and my anxiety made communication difficult. I overcompensated by pushing myself academically, hoping that if I excelled, no one would notice how anxious and quiet I was. Everything slowly started shifting in my first year of high school, for the first time, a school counselor suggested I try therapy. I was hesitant. But then I finally went, I cried through the first few sessions. Until then, I had been in denial about how deeply my experiences affected me. Just having someone acknowledge my pain changed everything. It allowed me to have a new perspective on life. I began learning how to be kinder to myself. I permitted myself to rest. I stopped burning myself out to prove I was okay. Therapy, though not always consistent, taught me balance. I learned to connect with people, even in small ways, and I’m grateful for how far I’ve come. Today, I can speak publicly and advocate for myself. Things my younger self only dreamed of. I’m forever grateful to the teachers who were patient with me when all I could do was quietly turn in assignments and to those who encouraged me to push myself because they saw my potential. Over time, I’ve learned that compassion matters more than anything because we're all adjusting to life and the challenges it throws at us. For a long time, I thought being quiet made me invisible. But it turns out, I wasn't. I built real friendships by showing up, even when I was scared. I now know that my differences; my softness, patience, and presence are all strengths. I've had people tell me I made them feel calmer or safer by being there. That’s something I carry with pride. At the end of the semester, a friend gave me a thank you card. She said it meant everything to have someone simply show up when she was overwhelmed. That moment reminded me that quiet support can be life-changing. My mother's love for education planted the seed, but I had to keep it growing on my own. Now that I’m close to flourishing, I want to help build a world where students like me; quiet, uncertain, and full of potential can find support and direction. Whether through education and peer mentoring or by advocating for them. I’m committed to being that steady presence I once needed. My uniqueness does not come from being the loudest. It comes from surviving the silence, choosing kindness, and growing anyway. I know now that someone is always watching, not to judge but to find hope. That’s why I want to be that quiet light for others.

On Wednesday, May 29, 2024, I graduated high school with only my sister in the crowd cheering for me. I should have felt proud at that moment. I had applied to every college myself, filled out the FAFSA, and navigated every confusing step of the process with my school’s career office as my only support. But all I could think about was what came next; the pressure to survive college financially and emotionally, without a safety net. Starting college meant I had to figure out an entirely new system all while trying to keep myself afloat. My sister and I are first-generation immigrants from Haiti. We came to the U.S. with big hopes of attending college and little support. I pushed through senior year determined to make my mother proud, even if she was cheering from miles away. I sent her a picture of me in my cap and gown. She said, “I’m glad you kept going” Getting accepted to all my colleges and committing to my first choice felt like a dream come true. But no one tells you what happens after the acceptance letters. Those first few weeks in college were brutal. I went to office hours, kept a planner, and met with professors. I did everything "right", but I still found myself crying on my dorm floor more nights than I wanted to admit. While many of my peers could focus solely on classes, I was managing financial stress and housing insecurity while trying to be emotionally present for my family. So why did I keep going? Continuing my education is a quiet act of resilience; I show up each day despite the fear of failure. It's radical because, as a first-generation immigrant and student, I'm stepping into institutions that weren't designed with people like me in mind. My presence challenges expectations of where I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to accept, and who I'm allowed to be. Higher education for me isn’t just about a degree. It’s learning how to lead with compassion, whether that means helping a classmate struggling like I was or using my knowledge to help family friends translate documents or even schedule their appointments when needed. It's about learning to ask difficult questions, like why some of us carry so much more than others into the classroom, and how we can build spaces where all voices, including mine, belong. It's learning to understand others and myself beyond the boxes we've been placed in. And when my future children or my younger brother ask why I kept going, I want to say, " Because I had to – for us” That’s why I do it. That’s how I’ve prepared: by refusing to give up on my right to feel human, to dream, to rest, and to grow. Even when those things were never guaranteed to me.

The summer of my junior year of high school, I attended a workshop that catered towards identity and building skills for students. I remember clearly one of the activities we had to do for this was to build a bear, then to write a letter and place it inside. The prompt for this letter was to write a message to your future self that you would open after your first year of college. At that point, the idea of going to college terrified me. I was struggling mentally and had just taken my first step towards finding a therapist. As I looked around that room and saw others writing, I realized that I never had a set dream. At least not like those people who knew they would become doctors when they were five. I was just surviving, so I wrote myself a few short lines and scribbled down a checklist of things to do when I opened the letter. Fast-forward, here we are now in 2025, and I'm a few weeks shy of finishing my freshman year of college. I kept the plushie but out of sheer curiosity and impatience, I opened the letter back in February. The moment I read those words; I found relief in knowing that I could change my mind. The words that struck me were: “It’s okay if BioChem doesn’t work out. Dreams change.”, Those words brought me to tears because for the last two semesters, I was battling not just academic stress but the weight of anxiety, doubt and fear that came with letting go of a path I thought would define me. Those words reminded me that I'm allowed to be human and that changing direction is okay no matter what. Anxiety has reshaped both how I see the world and myself, in ways that words can only begin to describe. I've learned to be patient, gentle and truly to be more intentional because everyone is carrying their own weight. It is not necessarily a job title, but I hope to carry a future where I help create spaces for others to feel understood, seen, and heard. Whether that is through advocating for women's health, government work, or volunteering to help high school students who are in the space I was just a few years ago. I want to show up with empathy– and be part of the change that shifts around the system that hurts the most vulnerable. To turn this into reality, I've been challenging myself to stretch beyond my own comfort zone. I believe that supporting others requires knowledge that I do not already have, but it also requires listening. Reading this letter made me realize that the only dream I had set for myself from the start was to be compassionate to myself and to others because it really is needed in this life. I’ve been persistent through hard times and that has shown me how patience and softness are needed to heal. Every paper I write, every conversation I have, and every shift I work brings me closer to the kind of work I want to do. What really matters is learning to enjoy the process, because even if the destination changes, you'll be where you want to be. Healing and growth aren't linear. I've experienced it, and that's why I want to show up with compassion every day.

When I moved to the US at 12, it was a real shift. I was suddenly stripped of a big part of all that I was used to, whether it was language, people, or systems, and that took a huge toll on me. My family and members of my community that I knew growing up were now all hundreds of miles away with only a phone to connect us, and at times, that phone call was not enough. It was a big change, and for a long time, I could not process it. Like many young people, I was in search of connection; but I had to start from scratch since I was in a completely new environment. Amongst all these struggles, I was grateful to experience some good moments, and this included getting my first phone. I remember being so happy. I loved the phone case with green polka dots I had brought for it. It was with that phone that I started using Webtoons. Webtoons is a webcomic app I found, and it offers a variety of stories that are either self-published or originals. Not even one week into using it I had already fallen in love with a story there. I think it was still ongoing since the translations to French were slow, so I decided to switch my whole app to English to read it. This was a leap of courage since the language barrier was still very present. My choice at that moment was deeply grounded in my determination to know what was next for the plot. It lit up once again the passion I had for reading. Although I needed more support in these moments to enjoy a lifelong hobby, I nevertheless enjoyed it. Google Translate and these drawings became my best help for a good while. I used to hear people say that learning things required motivation and patience but, this experience put it into perspective for me. I always felt the need to rush to understand it all but sitting down and taking it slow made me value the patience and consistency it takes to achieve more. By the end of my first year in the US, Webtoons had become an integral part of my routine. I had made friends and acquaintances through the app. It significantly helped me improve my vocabulary too. It was my support through all the changes and now I see it as a facet of my identity. I still use Webtoons to this date and it holds value to me. I’ve grown to love and learn something new with every single story I’ve read. There is this comfort it brings me that I can't find anywhere else. All these experiences combined gave me a new look into who I am as an individual and how I work best to achieve my goals. I now see change as an opportunity to learn more about myself and to open doors to new communities. Chaos will always be present, so I will try my best to face it using all the things I already love and cherish while accepting the new. In conclusion, overcoming adversity requires finding sources of comfort and motivation amidst the chaos. For me, Webtoons became that source, providing not just entertainment, but also a means to improve my language skills, make new friends, and rediscover my passion for reading. Through this journey, I learned the importance of patience, consistency, and embracing change. These lessons have become integral to my identity, equipping me to face future challenges with resilience and optimism.