“Be the person you needed when you were younger.” These words by Ayesha Siddiqi capture the essence of what I strive to do with my life: create a world where girls like me, especially in STEM, feel seen, supported, and inspired to lead innovation. The winter of 2015 was especially cold, but the girl at the dinner table didn’t need blankets. Her eyes burned with salty tears, and her head throbbed like an overfilled balloon. With sweaty palms and shaking hands, she wiped her eyes and tried to focus on long division. Convinced she wasn’t good at math and never would be, she saw no point in trying. At seven, she didn’t understand that mastery is earned, not inherited. That girl was me. For years, I saw my struggles as a personal failing—a problem with my brain that left me behind. I hid my shame by claiming I just wasn’t a “math person.” But in 2020, COVID-19 shut down schools, and I was left with only textbooks and time. Learning at my own pace, I discovered a passion for math I hadn’t known existed. I studied relentlessly and, when classes resumed virtually, I matched pace with my classmates. My final that year came back with an ‘A’—my first. That moment shifted everything. I stayed on the math track and never looked back. Now, five months from high school graduation, I look back at that journey with pride. I’ve chosen to major in data science, to use my math and problem-solving skills in a meaningful way. With only 15-20% of data scientists being women, my presence alone helps break barriers and invite others in. I want to exist as a lighthouse for other girls in STEM, guiding them through the choppy waters and dark nights that can overturn unsteady ships. I hope to leave behind a legacy of success; one that mirrors the work of Katherine Johnson and Marie Curie, two women whose dedication to their fields inspired me. I want my name to be spoken in classrooms, remembered for the changes I helped spark. By being visible in a historically exclusive field, I want to shift how young girls view their potential. That legacy has already begun. I tutor students in math and, more than anything, I focus on dismantling the myth of the “math person.” I tell my students what I wish someone had told me: their potential isn’t fixed, and every failure is a step toward growth. When they begin to believe in themselves and put in more effort, I see the seeds of my legacy taking root. The winter of 2024 was relatively warm in Michigan, but inside, at the dinner table, the warmth came from something else. Two girls sat side by side. One, young and frustrated, learning long division for the first time. She groaned at wrong answers and cheered at right ones. The other girl was me. I guided her through her struggle, reminding her she was capable—just as I once needed someone to remind me. This is the legacy I will leave: a world where more girls like her—and like me—believe in themselves and in their power to create change.