On February 16th, 2017, my life forever changed. I stood anxiously in the bathroom with my fiancé, watching a pink plus sign slowly form on the little white stick. I was growing a new life. I was thrilled about this new, exciting chapter of my life, yet overwhelmed by the awakening of the deepest of fears: would my baby be born healthy? Would his father and I stay together? Would we be able to give him everything he needs and deserves? And of course, the one that nagged at me the hardest: would I be a good enough mother? That fall, after a long, painful labor ended in a complicated, surgical birth, I had my baby. I was his mother; he was my son. The weeks that followed his birth were filled with a surreal joy unlike anything I’d experienced before. However, the days quickly clouded over when I became critically ill, to the point where I struggled to even care him. Mere months into my motherhood journey, I received a diagnosis that uprooted my entire life: Multiple Sclerosis. Thousands of miles away, my fiancé, who was away on deployment, was fighting a battle of his own. The stress of military life and being separated from his family led him to a dependence on alcohol. Upon his return home, I came to learn of his severe addiction. After several difficult months of detox visits, couples therapy, sleepless nights, broken promises, and failed attempts at rehabilitation, our relationship dissolved. Not long after, his relationship with our son deteriorated as well. Things kept getting worse: we lost our apartment, and my son and I had to move in with family. We ended up in a situation that, while often loving, was extremely chaotic and conflict-ridden. With each setback, things felt eerily familiar. My own childhood had been plagued by the violence and trauma of domestic abuse, caregivers with addiction, and poverty. I was determined, no, desperate, to give my son better, no matter how hopeless my circumstances felt. Changing our life was and continues to be the hardest challenge I’ve ever faced. And there is no fairy-tale ending to this story—at least, not yet—nonetheless, my hard work is paying off. Navigating life as a disabled, poor, single mother is no small feat. Being a student on top of parenting and managing a debilitating chronic illness often feels impossible. In order to make it all happen, I’ve sacrificed. I’ve made difficult choices. I’ve made drastic changes to my day-to-day life to be in optimal physical health. I’ve asked for help anywhere I can find it and exhausted every resource I can find that offers support. I’ve addressed my trauma by participating in comprehensive mental health care, both for myself and my son. And I’ve had many, many late nights followed by early mornings. I see more and more light each day that I continue to push forward through the darkness. I am so much stronger than I had ever realized. Despite my past, despite countless obstacles, despite my illness; I know am capable of being a great mother. I couldn’t be a bit prouder of the intelligent, compassionate, hilarious, opinionated, kindhearted, little person my son is. He truly spreads joy and light everywhere he goes: his tenderness. His enthusiasm for helping others. His inadvertent humor. His uncanny brilliance. The fervor at which he does every small thing. The gentle ways in which he cares for those around him. He is my pride and he holds my entire heart. When I look at him, I know there is good in the world. Raising him is undoubtedly my greatest achievement, but my job is far from over. I know that it won’t always be rainbows and sunshine on the road ahead; nevertheless, I am committed to being a mother who will always give my absolute best for my son. For him, I will practice patience and grace each day. For him, I will choose to be courageous when I’d rather cower. For him, I will continue to work on my healing, my education, and mobilizing my own power. For him, I will be an example of empathy, integrity, and compassion. Despite intractable trauma, I still believe that a better, more equitable, and more joyful world is possible. I have every intention of raising a person who will help create the world I dream of, and I will work like hell to do it.

“There’s a huge difference between ‘all are welcome’ and ‘this was created with you in mind.’” -Dr. Crystal Jones, via Twitter I was 13 years old when I fell in love with choir. I have sung in groups at the high school and college level, in my community, and semi-professionally. Each experience has served as an outlet for my creativity, challenged me intellectually, and given me a stronger connection to my own emotions. The opportunities I’ve had have all been exceptionally gratifying, but each group I’ve sung with has had one piece notably absent: inclusion. In my home state of Minnesota, there is a ubiquitous choral community. The environment is dominated by choirs that are predominantly white and sing music written by primarily white composers, particularly white men. The classic choral structure consists of women as Sopranos and Altos, and men as Tenors and Basses, but this often places unnecessary emphasis on the gender binary and leaves little space for those with voices that may not fit their gender identity. There are significant issues with ableism and classism that present through subtle, yet nefarious ways. Most choirs place high emphasis on prestige and perfection. While it can be a great thing to hold a choir to a high standard of musicality and performance, this also creates room for toxic elitism and exclusionary mindsets. Through my frustrations with the persistent issues, an idea was borne. Teaming up with a longtime friend and choir-mate, we developed a blueprint for our ideal choir. One that centers BIPOC, Trans, Queer, and Femme Voices. One that strives to be inclusive and accessible to all humans. One that unwaveringly stands against injustice. Our mission is not to simply be welcoming, but to design a space specifically catered to marginalized singers who haven’t felt included in mainstream choirs. Where are we in our plan today? Well, Covid-19 has served as an enormous barrier, among several smaller ones. Thus, I made the decision to complete my degree. Studying social justice will improve my lens to maintain focus on the values I envision. I dream of a space where people can feel the joy of singing with a choir without being bound by the problematic norms of patriarchy and white supremacy. Once I have graduated, I hope to share the remarkable gift of choral music with those for whom it has been inaccessible.

Attending college as a single parent was never part of my plan. Piece by piece, the plans I had for my life disassembled. I found myself at thirty, battling severe chronic illness while trying to raise a toddler by myself. I had no degree, no career, no place of my own to live, and no sustainable plans for our future. One year ago, I had an opportunity to re-enroll in college. Choosing to begin school as a disabled single mother was, frankly, terrifying. Would I be a good enough student? Would I be the dedicated and involved parent my child deserves AND stay on top of my studies? I managed to set my fears aside and committed to doing my best. I employed painstaking time management and organizational skills. I multitasked, taking exams from hospital beds, and writing papers while feeding dinners and giving baths. I reached out for support from anywhere I could find it. I worked, diligently and tirelessly. Keeping up with coursework while single parenting, with debilitating chronic illness no less, has been no small feat. Yet, I am proud to say that I have excelled. I have earned a 4.0 each term and am now only a few semesters away from completing my Bachelor’s degree. As a parent, the choices I make are not just for myself, but also for my son. That is why earning a degree is imperative. A college education will help me achieve a career that is both meaningful and advantageous for my family. It will help us to secure a safe, accessible place of our own to live and to reach financial independence. It is also of great significance that my son sees me thriving and fulfilling my goals. I do not want his childhood to be only of watching his mother struggle and sacrifice; I want to model happiness in a career that is purposeful and rewarding. I am capable of great success in academia. When I earn my degree in Individualized Studies with an emphasis in Social Justice, it will grant me the knowledge, skills, and access to make impactful change in my community. My determination and resilience in completing my education will begin a new chapter for my little family and I look, with optimism and eagerness, towards the brighter days ahead.

The smell of coffee filling my kitchen as the pot just begins to brew in the morning. A brand new crossword puzzle, its pristine little boxes sitting neatly on crisp pages, waiting to be solved. A long walk on the first nice day in Springtime, when the sun's rays melt on my face and the smell of the changing season is in the air. The birds seem to be singing their cheeriest song, and everywhere I look are smiling faces, filled with hope of brighter days after another long, dark winter. Playing an album I've loved for years and years, each song visiting me like an old friend I hadn't realized how much I'd missed. Getting lost in a new book, one where I read a passage and go back to read it again because the words reverberate within me like an earthquake, or awaken a part of me I never knew existed. Loving my sweet, precious child. Feeling the warm rush of oxytocin when he reaches to hold my hand. Being so silly and ridiculous together that my laughter knocks me off my feet. Bursting with uncontainable pride when I see he has learned from something new. Staring at his peaceful, angelic face as he sleeps, humbled by the awe and wonder that I created such a divinely beautiful little person. There is happiness to be found all around me. When encountering challenges and dark times, I recall the simple things that bring me joy and remember to count my blessings. I am truly fortunate for all the goodness in my life.

I am called to serve others and my experiences in doing so have been fulfilling and meaningful. I am getting an education so that I can care for my community. I seek to work with other people whose shoes I’ve walked–or wheeled–and use the skills, knowledge, and access I’ve acquired, along with my empathy and kindness, to make their lives not only more equitable, but enjoyable. One way I give to my community is by organizing mutual aid and wealth redistribution efforts. The impact I have made includes helping a new mother and her infant safely escape domestic violence; assisting a person suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder to access comprehensive mental health care; aiding a family impacted by Covid-19 pandemic layoffs in keeping their home; and allowing parents experiencing abject poverty and homelessness to celebrate holidays and their children’s birthdays. I was that child, living out of duffel bags in the back of a van, who relied on the goodwill of strangers to survive. I have been unable to afford therapy while suffering from mental health conditions. I have lived through domestic abuse and critical poverty. It is profoundly important to me to be involved in mutual aid efforts for people in need because I am those people. I am a person of integrity, and my compassion is my greatest power. I do not aspire to fame, success, or wealth. My role models are not powerful and wealthy; they are those who seek to radically disinvest from oppressive power structures. Despite intractable trauma, I still believe we can create a better, more just, joyful world. I have no doubt that with a bachelor’s degree, I can make purposeful change in my community.

In 2020, I was in a difficult place: A single parent with no job, no home of my own, and no degree. This life was never the plan, and as someone raised in poverty by a lone mother myself, was what I had actively tried to avoid. Sometimes, life has other plans. After my baby was born, I became critically ill and was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Amid my medical challenges, thousands of miles away, my partner was going through his own struggle while on army deployment. He was battling severe substance abuse. Sadly, he was unable to control this addiction and his relationship with me and our child dissolved. We lost our apartment and had to move in with family. Every time it seemed we came closer to stability, we’d face another setback. And then I had an opportunity to start school again. It was a terrifying move. I doubted if I would be able to manage it all: parenting, tending to my medical needs, and keeping up in classes. I set my fears aside and committed to doing my best. I employed painstaking time management and organization skills. I reached out for all the support I could find. I worked, diligently and tirelessly. I am proud to say that I excelled. With a 4.0 and several commendatory recommendations, I was accepted to a Bachelor’s program that I start in two weeks. With the help of an organization that helps single mothers return to college, we just moved into our own safe, accessible apartment. I have a care team which helps tend to my day-to-day medical needs so I can save my scant energy for schoolwork and being an awesome mom. My resilience paid off, and my little family’s future is so much brighter because I made a turnaround.

C’mon, don’t make me try out all alone!” my best friend incessantly plead. She had dragged me along with her to audition for the eighth-grade choir. At her insistence, I reluctantly decided to give it a shot. The following week when the results of the auditions were announced, she was as delighted to see her name under “Sopranos” as I was shocked to see mine just beneath hers. I had no idea how my life would be affected by that audition. Singing in choir is where I met the purest and most authentic version of myself that I’ve known. The feeling of my voice, traveling out of my mouth and into the air where it blends among and vibrates against other voices, gives an indescribable rush. The flow of melodies, richness of harmonies, and the dynamic extravagance of chords have brought me to tears, given me chills, rendered me speechless. The power of an incredible performance has filled me with elation, omnipotence, and absolute bliss. The art of creating music with others forges a bond that I have not found from any other group involvement. Knowing what we made and did together, all our individual vocal forces harnessed together to make one magical sound, gives me profound gratitude and empathy towards everyone I have every sung beside. Some of the most momentous times in my life have been in choir. Singing in choir reminds me of the good in the world when things appear dismal. It is where I experience the kind of joy that I can feel, physically throbbing through my body. I called up my dear old friend the other day and thanked her. If not for her pushing me that day, I wouldn’t have found the place that feels like home for my heart.

As a child, I was convinced that there was nothing my mother couldn’t do. After all, she raised five children on her own, amid poverty, violence, and other adverse events. Mama, as we called her, made it happen, no matter what she was up against. I always dreamed that if I became a mother, I would be just like her: my entire life would revolve around my children. I came to learn that to be a good mother, I’d rarely sleep. I wouldn’t get breaks. I wouldn’t need to ask for help. I would work long, exhausting hours, doing backbreaking labor if I had to, to pay the bills. I’d figure out a way, no matter the toll it took on me. I knew that my future kids would see how I sacrificed everything for them and appreciate me for it, just like we did our Mama. And indeed, she had sacrificed. Her time, her body, her relationships and friendships, her hobbies—did she even have hobbies? None that we saw, save for falling asleep on the couch during the late news hour—her entire sense of self was all traded for packing lunches, giving rides, and endless loads of laundry. When I had my own child, I tried to be as much like her as I could. I wanted to do everything perfectly. Even during pregnancy, I would send myself on a guilt trip if I gave in to a craving for a cheeseburger or skipped my daily “Mommy-to-Be” yoga to take a nap. During my son’s first months, I showed myself no grace and no compassion. I had decided to be a mother and my life should ONLY consist of caring for my son. And then, I got diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Doing it all myself, to be blunt, was killing me. Accepting that I could not raise my child without a lot of help was the hardest pill I have ever had to swallow. I’ve come a long way since the day I learned that I have an incurable disease. Now, as a proudly disabled mother and student, I know more than ever the power of a supportive team, and I am so grateful for mine. My support system consists of my siblings, who will happily take their nephew for a sleepover when I need to study for an exam. It is my personal care team, who helps me with day-to-day things so that I can reserve my sparse energy for what is most important. It is the Center for Accessibility, who ensures that I have appropriate accommodations on campus. It is my therapist, who helps me to manage the stress of school, parenting, and chronic illness and maintain mental wellness. It is my dear friends who are there when I need to decompress. It is my Mama, who never stopped giving her all for her children, and now grandchildren, and remains my biggest inspiration. I would not be a dedicated and engaged parent nor would I be a straight-A student without being uplifted by a robust and wonderful village. The strength and willpower of my mother is practically unfathomable. However, I know now that she was a victim of circumstances. She made the best choices she could with what she knew at the time, but it was never fair to her. Community is vital to us all. I believe that we are meant to care for one another because everyone is deserving of a life that is both equitable and enjoyable. We are all better when we support one another.

I was never supposed to earn a degree. I was raised in poverty by a single mother of five, who did her best despite enduring recurrent domestic violence and trauma. I sadly found myself trapped in a similar cycle, being a victim of abuse and sexual assault. I am now myself a single mother, still in poverty, with multiple disabilities; the odds have worked against me more often than not. Yet here I am, a 4.0 student with an Associate of Arts, preparing to complete my bachelor's degree. My resilience, grit, and determination are proven. The adverse life experiences I have endured have made me wiser. They have also taught me the violence and inhumanity of poverty, the horror and helplessness of being a victim of abuse, and the shame and despair of living with incurable illness. My lived experience has given me profound empathy for the most marginalized among us. My purpose is to help prevent and alleviate the burdens of violence, poverty, and the ramifications of unjust institutions and to care for and support those who have survived. I am getting an education so that I can serve my community. I hope to work with other people whose shoes I’ve walked–or wheeled–and use the compassion, kindness, and knowledge I’ve learned to make their lives not only more equitable, but enjoyable. An individualized degree, with an emphasis in Social Justice, will enable me access and grant me the knowledge and skills to meet the needs of my community and make the greatest impact in my work. One of the best the ways I can give to my community is to raise a person who will be a positive force in this world. I am proud to say that I am raising a little human who will share many of my values. My four-year-old is empathetic, loving, unique, beyond brilliant, and overall, a joy to be around. I see his deep compassion and care for others, even at such a young age, and know that my dedication and effort in parenting him is paying off. I want for him to live in a world where humanity is valued over greed and all people can access the quality of life that they deserve. My hope is that he will be someone who practices community care and shows respect and kindness to others. I am a person of integrity and my compassion is my greatest power. I don’t aspire to fame, success, or wealth. My role models are not powerful and wealthy; they are those who seek to radically disinvest from oppressive power structures. Despite intractable trauma, I still believe we can create a better, more just, joyful world; and I intend to bring my son up in this belief, as well. I have no doubt that with a bachelor’s degree, I can make meaningful change in my community.