Selected Paragraph: “Men are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of things. Thus death is nothing terrible, else it would have appeared so to Socrates. But the terror consists in our notion of death, that it is terrible. When, therefore, we are hindered or disturbed, or grieved, let us never impute it to others, but to ourselves—that is, to our own views. It is the action of an uninstructed person to reproach others for his own misfortunes; of one entering upon instruction, to reproach himself; and one perfectly instructed, to reproach neither others nor himself.” — Epictetus, The Enchiridion, Section V (trans. Thomas W. Higginson) The central argument Epictetus makes in Section V of The Enchiridion is not simply that attitude matters, it is that the human mind is the only true site of suffering, and that every other cause we assign to our distress is a fiction we tell ourselves to avoid that uncomfortable truth. Epictetus pushes his readers to reconsider where suffering truly originates. He argues that external events have no inherent power to harm us emotionally; it is our interpretation of those events that creates distress. To fully appreciate the force of Epictetus's argument, it is important to place Section V within the broader framework of Stoic philosophy that underlies The Enchiridion. The text begins with its most fundamental principle: some things are within our power, and some things are not. Within our power are our opinions, desires, and judgments. Outside our power are our bodies, reputations, property, and the actions of other people. This distinction is not just a philosophical starting point; it is the lens through which every subsequent claim in the manual must be read. Section V is that lens applied directly to the experience of emotional pain. To fully appreciate the force of Epictetus's argument, it is important to place Section V within the broader framework of Stoic philosophy that underlies The Enchiridion. The text begins with its most fundamental principle: some things are within our power, and some things are not. Within our power are our opinions, desires, and judgments. Outside our power are our bodies, reputations, property, and the actions of other people. This distinction is more than a philosophical premise; it serves as the foundation for everything that follows in the text. In Section V, Epictetus applies this principle directly to emotional suffering, arguing that distress arises not from external events themselves but from the judgments we make about them. When Epictetus says men are disturbed not by things but by the views they take of things, he is making a precise claim rooted in this distinction. Things such as death, loss, insult and illness belong to the category of what lies outside our power. They just happen. They cannot be controlled. But our views of those things are within our power, and they belong to us entirely. And because our views are what we actually experience rather than the raw events themselves, it follows that our suffering is always, in the end, self-generated. We suffer our interpretation of death, not death itself. We suffer our interpretation of insult, not the words spoken. The example Epictetus offers (Socrates facing death) is central to his argument, not merely an illustration. Rather than choosing a minor inconvenience, he turns to what many people consider the greatest of all human fears. According to Epictetus, death is not inherently terrible. If it possessed that quality by its very nature, then Socrates would necessarily have experienced it as terrifying. Yet Socrates, whom Epictetus regarded as the model of philosophical wisdom, met his execution with remarkable calm. He spent his final hours in conversation, comforted his grieving friends, and described death as either a dreamless sleep or a journey to better company. For Epictetus, this response was not an act of courage masking inner fear but evidence of a deeper truth. Socrates' serenity demonstrates that the fear of death does not arise from death itself but from the judgments we make about it. This interpretation matters because it rules out a softer reading of the passage. One might want to hear Epictetus saying, "Things happen, but we can choose to respond positively." That is a comfortable interpretation, one that leaves the original pain intact and simply asks us to manage it better. But that is not what he is saying. Epictetus's claim is far more radical. He argues that the disturbance itself (whether grief, fear, or emotional pain) does not originate in the external event but in the judgment we make about it. Because our judgments are within our control, our emotional responses are not inevitable consequences of what happens to us. They arise from the way we choose, consciously or not, to interpret those events. The second half of the passage draws out the moral implications of this philosophical claim, and it is here that Epictetus becomes most demanding. He argues that when we are hindered, disturbed, or grieved, we should never blame other people or external circumstances, but ourselves, that is, our own judgments. At first glance, this seems harsh, even unfair. Yet the logic follows directly from his earlier argument. If emotional suffering arises from our judgments rather than from external events, then responsibility for that suffering lies with the person making those judgments. To blame the outside world is therefore to mistake the source of the problem. It is a category error: holding external events responsible for something that, according to Epictetus, only our own judgments can produce. This is where Epictetus introduces his three-stage model of moral and philosophical development, one of the most overlooked aspects of the passage. The uninstructed person blames others. The person beginning philosophical instruction blames himself. The person who is perfectly instructed blames neither. These stages do not contradict one another; they represent successive steps toward a more accurate understanding of the source of suffering. The first person mistakenly locates the cause of distress in external events. The second has recognized that the source lies within but still believes that someone must be blamed. Yet self-reproach is itself a form of disturbance. It continues to treat emotional suffering as something for which guilt must be assigned, rather than as the result of a mistaken judgment. The person who is fully instructed abandons blame altogether. Instead of searching for someone to hold responsible, he examines and corrects the judgment that gave rise to the distress in the first place. This three-stage model reveals what Epictetus is truly teaching. He is not asking us to be "stoic" in the popular sense of the word (emotionally detached, suppressive, or indifferent to suffering). Instead, he is asking us to develop such a clear understanding of reality that external events no longer give rise to false judgments in the first place. The goal is not to endure suffering in silence or to conceal it behind self-control, the goal is to genuinely not suffer, because you no longer misidentify neutral events as threats to your wellbeing. It is worth pausing to consider just how radical this claim is. In ordinary thinking, emotional pain is often treated as evidence that something wrong has occurred. If we grieve, we have suffered a genuine loss. If we feel anger, we have been wronged. Our emotions are taken to reflect reality itself. Epictetus reverses this assumption entirely. For him, emotions do not reveal the nature of external events; they reveal the judgments we have formed about those events, and those judgments can be mistaken. Grief, in his view, is not proof that something terrible has happened. Rather, it reflects our decision to regard an event as terrible when, from the Stoic perspective, it is not. The hardest objection to this view is the one involving genuine tragedy (the death of a child, severe illness, crushing injustice). Is Epictetus really saying that a parent who mourns a dead child is simply making a philosophical error? In a strict sense, yes. But it is important to understand what he is and is not claiming. He is not denying that loss is real, that children matter, or that love has value. He is saying that the thing we call grief is constituted by the judgment that something irreplaceable has been taken from us, and that this judgment, while deeply human and almost universal, is still a judgment, still something the mind is doing, and therefore something the mind can, with enough practice, learn to do differently. He acknowledges this is extremely hard. The entire Enchiridion is a manual for how to get there. But hard is not the same as impossible, and the existence of figures like Socrates who faced death and loss with apparent equanimity, suggests it can be done. Ultimately, Epictetus argues that true human freedom is found in an unexpected place. Most people think freedom consists in the ability to control their circumstances. However, Epictetus locates freedom within the mind itself. To be free is to become independent of external circumstances, not by escaping them, but by recognizing that they never possessed the power over us that we imagined. The world presents us with events; we supply the meaning. Because the meaning belong to us, they can also be revised. Our disturbances, then, are not evidence of what the world has done to us. They are evidence of how we have interpreted the world, and our interpretations, unlike external events, are always open to correction. That is the central claim of Section V, stated without qualification: suffering is a cognitive act, not something passively received from the world. Epictetus was not advancing this argument from a position of comfort. Writing in the first century as a former slave who had endured circumstances most people can scarcely imagine, he grounded his philosophy in the conviction that the one thing no master could ultimately control was the human capacity for judgment. External conditions could constrain his body, but they could not determine what those conditions meant. That, for Epictetus, is where genuine freedom begins.

When I think about what I want to build, I do not think of a product or business; I think of a future. A future where my family feels secure, supported, and loved, and where I can make a meaningful difference in the lives of others as a psychologist. One year ago, I began building my own family, and since then, my motivation to succeed has grown stronger than ever. The future I am working toward is rooted in two important goals: being the best mother for my son and becoming a therapist who helps others heal, grow, and overcome life's challenges. My desire to become a therapist began long before I became a mother. Throughout my childhood, there were moments when I struggled with emotions and challenges that I did not fully understand. I often wished I had someone who could truly listen and guide me. But growing up in Venezuela, seeking therapy was often viewed as taboo, and conversations about mental health were not socially accepted. As a result, the support I needed was often unavailable. Those experiences shaped me, and I realized I wanted to become the person I once needed. My goal is specifically to work with children because I know how much support during childhood can influence a person's future. Every child deserves someone who listens without judgment and helps them recognize their strengths. I hope to build a career that allows me to make that difference in the lives of young people and their families. Becoming a mother has strengthened this dream even more. My son has become my greatest motivation. He inspires me to work harder, dream bigger, and continue my education despite the challenges that come with balancing school, family responsibilities, and motherhood. Just three months after giving birth, I returned to my studies and have continued pursuing my degree ever since. Every class I complete brings me closer to the future I want to create. The knowledge I gain through psychology is not only helping me prepare for my future profession but also helping me become the best mother I can be. Understanding child development, emotions, behavior, and mental health will allow me to support my son with empathy, patience, and understanding as he grows. The future I am building is one where my family is supported, my son has opportunities to succeed, and I am able to give back to my community through meaningful work. As a psychologist, I hope to help children navigate challenges and develop confidence to build a healthy live. As a mother, I hope to raise a child who sees the value of perseverance and education. This scholarship would help me continue building that future. It would bring me one step closer to completing my degree, serving my community, supporting my family, and becoming the therapist I have dreamed of being for many years.

In 2022, I made what felt like the hardest decision of my life. I walked away from a relationship that I believed would last forever. He was the person I imagined building a future with, the person I thought I would marry, and the person around whom I had built much of my life. We talked about moving in together, building a future, and growing alongside one another. I had become deeply attached to him and, without realizing it, had woven my identity into the life we shared. Unfortunately, he did not share the same commitment to our future. After months of uncertainty, I came to the painful realization that he had chosen someone else. The trust I had placed in someone I loved had been broken. Ending the relationship was an act of self-respect, but it came at a tremendous emotional cost. I was left questioning my worth, comparing myself to another woman, and wondering why I had not been enough. At first, I thought I was simply heartbroken. I replayed conversations in my mind, searched for answers that never came, and became consumed by feelings of rejection, anger, and resentment. Those thoughts followed me everywhere. I could be sitting with my family at dinner, laughing one moment, and suddenly feel overwhelmed by the belief that I did not deserve to be happy. The pain became so constant that it started to feel normal. As the months passed, my goals began to disappear. I was studying psychology and working full-time, but neither felt important anymore. There was a semester when I could not bring myself to focus on school because I no longer cared about the future I had once worked so hard to build. It was not that I had lost interest in my education. I had lost interest in myself. I stopped believing that my future mattered. My relationships changed as well. I withdrew from friends, distanced myself from family, and spent more and more time alone. Even when people told me they loved me or cared about me, I struggled to believe them. I convinced myself that I was undeserving of the support that was right in front of me. The betrayal I experienced also changed how I viewed men. I developed a deep resentment that extended far beyond the person who had hurt me. I began assuming the worst about others and carried anger that affected many of my relationships. My understanding of the world changed too. The world felt darker and less hopeful than it once had. At the time, I believed I was simply reacting to what had happened to me. In reality, I was slowly sinking into a depression that affected every aspect of my life. After more than a year of struggling, I sought professional help. I attended therapy, met regularly with a psychiatrist, and was diagnosed with chronic depression. My symptoms became severe enough that I was prescribed medication for both depression and anxiety. Beginning treatment was difficult, but it also gave me something I desperately needed: an explanation. For the first time, I understood that what I was experiencing was not a personal failure or a lack of strength. It was a mental health condition that required support and treatment. Not long afterward, I entered a new chapter of my life when I became pregnant with my son. For so long, depression had convinced me that there was nothing ahead worth looking forward to. Becoming a mother changed that. I had always dreamed of becoming a mom. During the darkest period of my life, I had lost interest in my goals, my education, and even my future. When I learned I was pregnant, I felt genuinely excited for the first time in over a year. Slowly, the light began to return. I found myself wanting to graduate, continue my education, and build the stable and loving life I wanted for my son. The woman who had spent more than a year questioning her worth started to recognize her value again. I reconnected with the people I loved, found joy in everyday moments, and began believing that happiness was something I deserved. Recovery was not immediate, but motherhood gave me a reason to keep moving forward when I could not do it for myself. Today, my goals are shaped by the lessons I learned during that period of my life. My experience with depression sparked a deeper interest in psychology and mental health. Experiencing it firsthand showed me how easily someone can slip into depression without fully recognizing it. Because of that experience, I hope to pursue graduate studies in psychology and dedicate my career to supporting individuals who may be struggling in silence. My relationships have changed as well. Recovery taught me that accepting support is not a weakness and that self-worth should never depend on another person's validation. I no longer view myself through the lens of rejection. I am fortunate to have a loving partner, the father of my son, whose support has helped me rebuild trust and recognize what a healthy relationship can look like. The resentment I once carried toward men has been replaced by an understanding that one person's actions do not define an entire group of people. Most importantly, my experience transformed my understanding of the world. Growing up, mental health was rarely discussed openly. Like many people, I was taught that difficult emotions should simply be endured. Living through depression showed me that mental health challenges are real, complex, and deserving of compassion rather than judgment. It opened my eyes to how many people suffer silently because of stigma and misunderstanding. Although depression changed my life in painful ways, it also gave me a deeper sense of empathy and purpose. It strengthened my commitment to psychology, mental health advocacy, and helping others understand that seeking help is not a sign of weakness. It is often the first step toward healing.