I’ll never forget the time this girl found out that my friend and I liked the same boy. She hinted at the idea at school the next day. She would go to him and ask, “Which girl do you like the most?” Those seven words circled my head repeatedly and that pit in my stomach felt like I had swallowed a 10-pound weight that was fighting its way out. My throat started to hurt and my armpits started to sweat at the thought of him knowing I liked him or worse, him choosing my friend over me. Many thoughts went through my mind, “she’s shorter, of course, he’d like her more,” “she’s skinnier,” and “she can have a conversation without being awkward.” So to get that question lingering in the air to disappear, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I don’t even like him that much.” This was a lie, but I had to find a way to stop my anxious feelings from skyrocketing. This small situation has been imprinted in my mind like a tattoo. Yet instead of going into that big throw-away pile of memories, I'm constantly trying to rewrite the story in a way that expresses how I truly felt at that moment. That's anxiety for me…. The constant replay of scenarios, when all I want for them to do is vanish… My anxiety started when I was 10. I was the tall, overly nice, awkward girl that everybody knew but wouldn’t call their closest friend. I was the wood pencil in a bin full of pens and mechanical pencils. Back then, I didn’t know anxiety existed, so I never really fed into the concept of having some type of problem. My anxiety used to entrap me like the parachute kids use in elementary school. Everyone would lift the parachute together, run under, and switch sides. But I was that one kid who always got stuck underneath. I’m not going to lie, I still get those times when I feel like sinking into the floor at the thought of doing overtly social things. I largely manage my anxiety by focusing on little details people display when having a conversation. Most of these things they don’t even realize they are doing. Or how their unique reactions to something as little as seeing a flower can change their whole demeanor. Realizing how alike we are even though we feel as if we can be the only person experiencing these things gives me a sense of comfort and tranquility. Fast forward to today, I am a varsity athlete, with many friends, who go to all-school gatherings. My growth has been a daily process. As I’ve grown up, I have learned to realize that anxiety isn’t something that goes away but something that I work with as it’s included in my day. I’ve used this perseverance to focus more on ways I can wholeheartedly reveal myself as I develop into a young Black woman with different outlooks, perceptions, and overall viewings on life. I believe the experience of stepping out and taking control of what I let affect my emotions and being surrounded by new people with different styles and ways of thinking will be a constant way to benefit my life as I grow up. I remind myself of that daily. Whether I’m meeting someone new or catching up with an old friend. The thought of this used to scare me but the new me has learned that the outcome of facing my anxiety will be another blossoming flower growing on my vine of life.

I’ll never forget the time this girl found out that my friend and I liked the same boy. She hinted at the idea at school the next day. She would go to him and ask, “Which girl do you like the most?” Those seven words circled my head repeatedly and that pit in my stomach felt like I had swallowed a 10-pound weight that was fighting its way out. My throat started to hurt and my armpits started to sweat at the thought of him knowing I liked him or worse, him choosing my friend over me. Many thoughts went through my mind, “she’s shorter, of course, he’d like her more,” “she’s skinnier,” and “she can have a conversation without being awkward.” So to get that question lingering in the air to disappear, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I don’t even like him that much.” This was a lie, but I had to find a way to stop my anxious feelings from skyrocketing. This small situation has been imprinted in my mind like a tattoo. Yet instead of going into that big throw-away pile of memories, I'm constantly trying to rewrite the story in a way that expresses how I truly felt at that moment. That's anxiety for me…. The constant replay of scenarios, when all I want for them to do is vanish… My anxiety started when I was 10. I was the tall, overly nice, awkward girl that everybody knew but wouldn’t call their closest friend. I was the wood pencil in a bin full of pens and mechanical pencils. Back then, I didn’t know anxiety existed, so I never really fed into the concept of having some type of problem. My anxiety used to entrap me like the parachute kids use in elementary school. Everyone would lift the parachute together, run under, and switch sides. But I was that one kid who always got stuck underneath. I’m not going to lie, I still get those times when I feel like sinking into the floor at the thought of doing overtly social things. I largely manage my anxiety by focusing on little details people display when having a conversation. Most of these things they don’t even realize they are doing. Or how their unique reactions to something as little as seeing a flower can change their whole demeanor. Realizing how alike we are even though we feel as if we can be the only person experiencing these things gives me a sense of comfort and tranquility. Fast forward to today, I am a varsity athlete, with many friends, who go to all-school gatherings. My growth has been a daily process. As I’ve grown up, I have learned to realize that anxiety isn’t something that goes away but something that I work with as it’s included in my day. I’ve used this perseverance to focus more on ways I can wholeheartedly reveal myself as I develop into a young Black woman with different outlooks, perceptions, and overall viewings on life. I believe the experience of stepping out and taking control of what I let affect my emotions and being surrounded by new people with different styles and ways of thinking will be a constant way to benefit my life as I grow up. I remind myself of that daily. Whether I’m meeting someone new or catching up with an old friend. The thought of this used to scare me but the new me has learned that the outcome of facing my anxiety will be another blossoming flower growing on my vine of life.

I’ll never forget the time this girl found out that my friend and I liked the same boy. She hinted at the idea at school the next day. She would go to him and ask, “Which girl do you like the most?” Those seven words circled my head repeatedly and that pit in my stomach felt like I had swallowed a 10-pound weight that was fighting its way out. My throat started to hurt and my armpits started to sweat at the thought of him knowing I liked him or worse, him choosing my friend over me. Many thoughts went through my mind, “she’s shorter, of course, he’d like her more,” “she’s skinnier,” and “she can have a conversation without being awkward.” So to get that question lingering in the air to disappear, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I don’t even like him that much.” This was a lie, but I had to find a way to stop my anxious feelings from skyrocketing. This small situation has been imprinted in my mind like a tattoo. Yet instead of going into that big throw-away pile of memories, I'm constantly trying to rewrite the story in a way that expresses how I truly felt at that moment. That's anxiety for me…. The constant replay of scenarios, when all I want for them to do is vanish… My anxiety started when I was 10. I was the tall, overly nice, awkward girl that everybody knew but wouldn’t call their closest friend. I was the wood pencil in a bin full of pens and mechanical pencils. Back then, I didn’t know anxiety existed, so I never really fed into the concept of having some type of problem. My anxiety used to entrap me like the parachute kids use in elementary school. Everyone would lift the parachute together, run under, and switch sides. But I was that one kid who always got stuck underneath. I’m not going to lie, I still get those times when I feel like sinking into the floor at the thought of doing overtly social things. I largely manage my anxiety by focusing on little details people display when having a conversation. Most of these things they don’t even realize they are doing. Or how their unique reactions to something as little as seeing a flower can change their whole demeanor. Realizing how alike we are even though we feel as if we can be the only person experiencing these things gives me a sense of comfort and tranquility. Fast forward to today, I am a varsity athlete, with many friends, who go to all-school gatherings. My growth has been a daily process. As I’ve grown up, I have learned to realize that anxiety isn’t something that goes away but something that I work with as it’s included in my day. I’ve used this perseverance to focus more on ways I can wholeheartedly reveal myself as I develop into a young Black woman with different outlooks, perceptions, and overall viewings on life. I believe the experience of stepping out and taking control of what I let affect my emotions and being surrounded by new people with different styles and ways of thinking will be a constant way to benefit my life as I grow up. I remind myself of that daily. Whether I’m meeting someone new or catching up with an old friend. The thought of this used to scare me but the new me has learned that the outcome of facing my anxiety will be another blossoming flower growing on my vine of life.

I’ll never forget the time this girl found out that my friend and I liked the same boy. She hinted at the idea at school the next day. She would go to him and ask, “Which girl do you like the most?” Those seven words circled my head repeatedly and that pit in my stomach felt like I had swallowed a 10-pound weight that was fighting its way out. My throat started to hurt and my armpits started to sweat at the thought of him knowing I liked him or worse, him choosing my friend over me. Many thoughts went through my mind, “she’s shorter, of course, he’d like her more,” “she’s skinnier,” and “she can have a conversation without being awkward.” So to get that question lingering in the air to disappear, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I don’t even like him that much.” This was a lie, but I had to find a way to stop my anxious feelings from skyrocketing. This small situation has been imprinted in my mind like a tattoo. Yet instead of going into that big throw-away pile of memories, I'm constantly trying to rewrite the story in a way that expresses how I truly felt at that moment. That's anxiety for me…. The constant replay of scenarios, when all I want for them to do is vanish… My anxiety started when I was 10. I was the tall, overly nice, awkward girl that everybody knew but wouldn’t call their closest friend. I was the wood pencil in a bin full of pens and mechanical pencils. Back then, I didn’t know anxiety existed, so I never really fed into the concept of having some type of problem. My anxiety used to entrap me like the parachute kids use in elementary school. Everyone would lift the parachute together, run under, and switch sides. But I was that one kid who always got stuck underneath. I’m not going to lie, I still get those times when I feel like sinking into the floor at the thought of doing overtly social things. I largely manage my anxiety by focusing on little details people display when having a conversation. Most of these things they don’t even realize they are doing. Or how their unique reactions to something as little as seeing a flower can change their whole demeanor. Realizing how alike we are even though we feel as if we can be the only person experiencing these things gives me a sense of comfort and tranquility. Fast forward to today, I am a varsity athlete, with many friends, who go to all-school gatherings. My growth has been a daily process. As I’ve grown up, I have learned to realize that anxiety isn’t something that goes away but something that I work with as it’s included in my day. I’ve used this perseverance to focus more on ways I can wholeheartedly reveal myself as I develop into a young Black woman with different outlooks, perceptions, and overall viewings on life. I believe the experience of stepping out and taking control of what I let affect my emotions and being surrounded by new people with different styles and ways of thinking will be a constant way to benefit my life as I grow up. I remind myself of that daily. Whether I’m meeting someone new or catching up with an old friend. The thought of this used to scare me but the new me has learned that the outcome of facing my anxiety will be another blossoming flower growing on my vine of life.

Today I will be talking about the lack of attention given to the racial disparities towards maternal mortality. For years women of color have died from preventable pregnancy complications from issues rooted in systematic and structural racism in the healthcare industry. People of color have been living behind the false claim implemented in physicians’ minds on the biological differences of two races that they experience less physical pain than the average person causing families to feel the everlasting emotional pain of losing a family member. It is important that we bring up this topic because there are so many stories of women of color losing their lives during childbirth that are being intentionally hidden behind the harsh barrier of society. This relates to so many young women of color as they enter the stages of life in wanting to become mothers and have to face the fears of pregnancy. That thought that they might not make it through childbirth long enough to see their newborn is something that will stick with them through their whole pregnancy. That’s something that no mother deserves. That is why we need to talk about the obvious disparities hitting the community of pregnant women of color. I plan on achieving this goal by focusing on how to better the communication between the medical field and the black community. I plan on studying in the medical field with the impact on teaching my fellow community the harsh realities women of color have to face due to years of stigmatized oppression put into non people of color's head that they might not even know they have carried with them throughout the medical experience.

I’ll never forget the time this girl found out that my friend and I liked the same boy. She hinted at the idea at school the next day. She would go to him and ask, “Which girl do you like the most?” Those seven words circled my head repeatedly and that pit in my stomach felt like I had swallowed a 10-pound weight that was fighting its way out. My throat started to hurt and my armpits started to sweat at the thought of him knowing I liked him or worse, him choosing my friend over me. Many thoughts went through my mind, “she’s shorter, of course, he’d like her more,” “she’s skinnier,” “she can have a conversation without being awkward.” So to get that question lingering in the air to disappear, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I don’t even like him that much.” This was a lie, but I had to find a way to stop my anxious feelings from skyrocketing. This small situation has been imprinted in my mind like a tattoo. Yet instead of going into that big throw-away pile of memories, I'm constantly trying to rewrite the story in a way that expresses how I truly felt at that moment. That's anxiety for me…. The constant replay of scenarios, when all I want for them to do is vanish… My anxiety started when I was 10. I was the tall, overly nice, awkward girl that everybody knew but wouldn’t call their closest friend. I was the wood pencil in a bin full of pens and mechanical pencils. Back then, I didn’t know anxiety existed, so I never really fed into the concept of having some type of problem. My anxiety used to entrap me like the parachute kids use in elementary school. Everyone would lift the parachute together, run under, and switch sides. But I was that one kid who always got stuck underneath. I’m not going to lie, I still get those times where I feel like sinking into the floor at the thought of doing overtly social things. I largely manage my anxiety by focusing on little details people display when having a conversation. Most of these things they don’t even realize they are doing. Or how their unique reactions to something as little as seeing a flower can change their whole demeanor. Realizing how alike we are even though we feel as if we can be the only person experiencing these things gives me a sense of comfort and tranquility. Fast forward to today, I am a varsity athlete, with many friends, who go to all-school gatherings. My growth has been a daily process. As I’ve grown up, I have learned to realize that anxiety isn’t something that goes away but something that I work with as it’s included in my day. I’ve used this perseverance to focus more on ways I can wholeheartedly reveal myself as I develop into a young Black woman with different outlooks, perceptions, and overall viewings on life. I believe the experience of stepping out and taking control of what I let affect my emotions and being surrounded by new people with different styles and ways of thinking will be a constant way to benefit my life as I grow up. I remind myself of that daily. Whether I’m meeting someone new or catching up with an old friend. The thought of this used to scare me but the new me has learned that the outcome of facing my anxiety will be another blossoming flower growing on my vine of life.

I’ll never forget the time this girl found out that my friend and I liked the same boy. She hinted at the idea at school the next day. She would go to him and ask, “Which girl do you like the most?” Those seven words circled my head repeatedly and that pit in my stomach felt like I had swallowed a 10-pound weight that was fighting its way out. My throat started to hurt and my armpits started to sweat at the thought of him knowing I liked him or worse, him choosing my friend over me. Many thoughts went through my mind, “she’s shorter, of course, he’d like her more,” “she’s skinnier,” “she can have a conversation without being awkward.” So to get that question lingering in the air to disappear, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “I don’t even like him that much.” This was a lie, but I had to find a way to stop my anxious feelings from skyrocketing. This small situation has been imprinted in my mind like a tattoo. Yet instead of going into that big throw-away pile of memories, I'm constantly trying to rewrite the story in a way that expresses how I truly felt at that moment. That's anxiety for me…. The constant replay of scenarios, when all I want for them to do is vanish… My anxiety started when I was 10. I was the tall, overly nice, awkward girl that everybody knew but wouldn’t call their closest friend. I was the wood pencil in a bin full of pens and mechanical pencils. Back then, I didn’t know anxiety existed, so I never really fed into the concept of having some type of problem. My anxiety used to entrap me like the parachute kids use in elementary school. Everyone would lift the parachute together, run under, and switch sides. But I was that one kid who always got stuck underneath. I’m not going to lie, I still get those times where I feel like sinking into the floor at the thought of doing overtly social things. I largely manage my anxiety by focusing on little details people display when having a conversation. Most of these things they don’t even realize they are doing. Or how their unique reactions to something as little as seeing a flower can change their whole demeanor. Realizing how alike we are even though we feel as if we can be the only person experiencing these things gives me a sense of comfort and tranquility. Fast forward to today, I am a varsity athlete, with many friends, who go to all-school gatherings. My growth has been a daily process. As I’ve grown up, I have learned to realize that anxiety isn’t something that goes away but something that I work with as it’s included in my day. I’ve used this perseverance to focus more on ways I can wholeheartedly reveal myself as I develop into a young Black woman with different outlooks, perceptions, and overall viewings on life. I believe the experience of stepping out and taking control of what I let affect my emotions and being surrounded by new people with different styles and ways of thinking will be a constant way to benefit my life as I grow up. I remind myself of that daily. Whether I’m meeting someone new or catching up with an old friend. The thought of this used to scare me but the new me has learned that the outcome of facing my anxiety will be another blossoming flower growing on my vine of life.