Writing has always been my preferred method of communication. Speaking is difficult; it’s hard to think of the words as I speak. And matching my mouth to my thoughts is a task that sometimes feels impossible, as someone with ADHD and a habit of going off on tangents. But when given a pencil and a pen, a laptop and a blank document —even a napkin and a crayon when out to eat —everything I need to say becomes clear as day. I have spent almost my entire life simply writing stories and feelings. I was given my first journal at 11, by my mom who told me I had too much to say and to just write it down. That journal, which sits on my bookshelf still today, is full of nonsense. Observations on the things around me, how I feel in the moment, how I want to feel in the future. While the spoken word is hard to convey, the written word is the key. Writing means so much to me that I even went on to teach it as an English teacher. I adore watching kids learn how easy it is to write their feelings down or express themselves with written word. I host a writing club within the school, open to all grades. The kids within the club feel comfortable seeing how their work can be improved, and actively seek help in doing so. If you totaled up the amount of words I have written since 2008 (not including homework assignments and essays…), the number adds up to a whopping 3.5 million. Which certainly sounds exaggerated, but I type everything and I save everything and I keep it all in one place (besides my heart, of course). But that number will continue to grow. I will write 10 million words; 20, 30, 40 million words before I die one day. I have no doubt about that. I have already written three novels —several novellas, short stories, books of poetry. And I don’t do it to be published or recognized or rewarded. I write because it is who I am. It runs through my veins and keeps me alive. If I do not have a pen on me, I feel weak. Just as Mr. Keating says in Dead Poets Society, “Words and ideas can change the world.” And I wholly intend to change the world with my writing. And if not with my writing, then with my desire to teach the kids of tomorrow how to write.

It is difficult to determine when things in my life became hard. I remember being a happy child; I remember having a good childhood. But somewhere after sixth grade, things took a turn for the worst. It took years before I even realized how bad things were --that is the sad truth of trusting a teacher who decided to groom you, though. From ages twelve to sixteen, I spent much of my time with a teacher that I trusted with my life. I often thought of him as a father figure. But some of the things he did...well, that couldn't happen to me, right? It couldn't happen to me. It wouldn't. I knew I could stop him. I didn't, though. I didn't know how to. I didn't know I was supposed to. I was too young, too trusting. I loved him, because he took care of me when I needed it most. But then...someone came forward; someone went to the police. And then every domino began to fall. More and more girls came forward; police showed up at my school and interviewed us. Grief counselors, psychologists, mental health and sexual abuse counselors began to pull students from classes. I spent much of my time during my junior year in an office, talking to anyone but a teacher. I realized, very soon after he was arrested, how much he really did to hurt me. I was a child when it started; I was barely twelve years old. How could he have done something so bad? What made it worse was that I did not do anything about it. My parents did not send me to counseling; they did not believe that it even happened. But there were photos --so many photos. So I internalized much of my trauma, ignoring it until I broke down. Until a bottle of pills was more appealing than a meal. Until the bright light at the end of a tunnel made more sense than going forward. But I survived. It became difficult for me to trust people, however. I couldn't be in the same room as a male teacher for years; even the ones I trusted. I didn't commit to relationships, and the ones I did --they were unhealthy. But time heals many wounds --or, at the very least, stitches them together so they don't bleed. And over time, with therapy and counseling, I have began to move forward. And because I survived, and moved on and got the help that I desperately needed --I went into public service. I teach kids who are the age I was when I was ruined. And I protect these children as much as I can; I listen to them. I make sure they know how to handle the bad things that happen every day. They come to me when they need someone to hear them out. They come to me when they are worried, or they are scared. They come to me when they see issues within their classroom that they have been warned about. They know I am a safe person because I love them, and they love me.

I follow the belief that if you're not learning every day, you're not growing as a person. Over the last few years, I have become an entirely different person. I am not the same person who started teaching in 2019; I am not the same person I was when I moved schools in August of 2022. I grow and change and flourish every year, every month, every week and every day. In the last year, I have learned who I am as an educator. I have learned to say "No," even if it upsets people. I have grown into someone who wants to be better always. Since January of 2022, I have been in different classes to become endorsed to teach different subjects. I am Gifted endorsed, ESOL endorsed, ELA endorsed and Social Studies endorsed. I can teach each of these subjects, and I did this because I wanted to be more. On top of this, I started my Masters of Educational Leadership this year. My goal in life is to become an administrator; I want to lead. I want to help others grow the way I have grown throughout my life. Every single day, I am learning something new. Whether it is learning and growing as an educator, as a friend, as a significant other --I am growing. There is no reason why anyone should stay stagnant in one place. Life is going to throw us curve balls and change things around us constantly. If we are not willing to grow and adapt to those changes, we cannot be successful in life.

It is difficult to determine when things in my life became hard. I remember being a happy child; I remember having a good childhood. But somewhere after sixth grade, things took a turn for the worst. It took years before I even realized how bad things were --that is the sad truth of trusting a teacher who decided to groom you, though. From ages twelve to sixteen, I spent much of my time with a teacher that I trusted with my life. I often thought of him as a father figure. But some of the things he did...well, that couldn't happen to me, right? It couldn't happen to me. It wouldn't. I knew I could stop him. I didn't, though. I didn't know how to. I didn't know I was supposed to. I was too young, too trusting. I loved him, because he took care of me when I needed it most. But then...someone came forward; someone went to the police. And then every domino began to fall. More and more girls came forward; police showed up at my school and interviewed us. Grief counselors, psychologists, mental health and sexual abuse counselors began to pull students from classes. I spent much of my time during my junior year in an office, talking to anyone but a teacher. I realized, very soon after he was arrested, how much he really did to hurt me. I was a child when it started; I was barely twelve years old. How could he have done something so bad? What made it worse was that I did not do anything about it. My parents did not send me to counseling; they did not believe that it even happened. But there were photos --so many photos. So I internalized much of my trauma, ignoring it until I broke down. Until a bottle of pills was more appealing than a meal. Until the bright light at the end of a tunnel made more sense than going forward. But I survived. It became difficult for me to trust people, however. I couldn't be in the same room as a male teacher for years; even the ones I trusted. I didn't commit to relationships, and the ones I did --they were unhealthy. But time heals many wounds --or, at the very least, stitches them together so they don't bleed. And over time, with therapy and counseling, I have began to move forward. And because I survived, and moved on and got the help that I desperately needed --I went into public service. I teach kids who are the age I was when I was ruined. And I protect these children as much as I can; I listen to them. I make sure they know how to handle the bad things that happen every day. They come to me when they need someone to hear them out. They come to me when they are worried, or they are scared. They come to me when they see issues within their classroom that they have been warned about. They know I am a safe person because I love them, and they love me.

I have spent my entire life as a volunteer in public schools --specifically, Title I schools. That's not an exaggeration either! My mother was a PTO volunteer at my elementary school and my summers were always spent there, helping teachers and preparing for the new school year. As I got older, I continued volunteering in classrooms for my former teachers until it became clear that I wanted to teach. Teaching has always been my goal, I think. I spent so much of my time at schools; whether it was my former elementary school or my middle school and high school, I was always there. Volunteering has always been part of my life as well, and I decided to use what I had learned as a volunteer to be the first person in my family to go to college so I could teach. My parents were surprised when I told them I wanted to go into education. I couldn't believe they didn't see it coming, honestly. They spent my entire childhood reinforcing the idea that teachers were the most important part of our community. How could I not want to teach? I spent much of my time at the University of Central Florida volunteering at my former schools. I worked with teachers who needed that assistance in the classroom, while also using this as an opportunity to better understand what students need as a teacher. I was given so many chances to have an inside look at how classrooms operate, and I used that to better my ability as a future educator. I started teaching in 2019-2020 --the year COVID struck. I worked at a low-income magnet school, and many of our students struggled with adapting to online learning. I did several things for my students --between buying them the supplies they needed and ensuring they were fed. There's not just one thing I did. However, there is one thing I was really excited to do. To ensure the online students still felt loved and involved in the classroom was giving them books. Now, I didn't just give them books online. I spent an entire day, driving around the county, dropping off books to the homes of my e-learners. This was how I met many of them in person! I fully intend to keep teaching. I am actively seeking my Master's in Educational Leadership so that I can become an administrator and make a bigger impact on schools. I was born to be a teacher, I think. I can't imagine myself doing anything else.

I find myself wondering, Pondering, Thinking, Dreaming: What color am I? It’s not a question I can answer with ease. Nor is it an answer That is a solution. My colors vary, Day by day, Person to person, Mood to mood. My colors are wild, And uncontrolled, Unkempt, And messy. My colors vary Every morning, Afternoon, And night. Some mornings, I wake up yellow. Bright and cheery. Full of smiles and laughter, Of sunflowers and bees. By the afternoon, I’m a bit more orange. Almost red. Tinted in frustrations and stress, Dripping in anxiety and fear. Throughout the day, I shift from red to yellow, Back into orange, then more into green Envying those who are thanked more than I am. Wondering what I’m trying to do with myself. At the end of the day, I end up fading into blue When the sadness sinks in, and the stress is self induced. Where the depression claws its way up, And I drown in a sea of myself. The morning returns, and those golden hues return And the colors repeating, Yellow, orange, red, green, blue. Varying in order, changing throughout. A cycle of rainbows constantly revolving, Mixing into each other Like paint on a pan Until the color is Unrecognizable.