I was around fourteen years old when my mother passed. We did not have the kind of relationship that movies portray between mothers and daughters. There was distance between us, more silence than warmth, more absence than presence. So when she was gone, the grief I carried was complicated in ways that are difficult to put into words. It was not just the loss of her. It was the loss of the possibility of her. The loss of a relationship I had always quietly hoped might one day find its way to us. For a long time after, I felt lost. I carried a question inside me that I did not always know how to voice: why didn’t she want me? That question has a weight to it that is hard to describe. It has a way of settling into the corners of who you are and making you doubt your own worth, your own lovability, your own place in the world. I was young, I was grieving, and I was searching for something solid to hold onto. What I found was my teachers. In the years that followed, it was the educators in my life who showed me what it felt like to be seen and loved. Not in spite of my pain, but right in the middle of it. They did not replace my mother. Nothing could. But they filled a space that I desperately needed filled. They showed up with consistency when I was not sure anyone would. They poured encouragement into me when I had very little of my own. They looked at a lost and hurting teenager and reflected back someone worthy of investment, worthy of care, worthy of a future worth fighting for. Losing my mother, and growing up in the complicated space that surrounded that loss, cracked me open in ways I did not ask for. But what grew in those cracks was something I would not trade. It grew empathy. It grew resilience. It grew a deep and unshakeable understanding of what it means to feel unseen, and an equally deep desire to make sure no child in my care ever feels that way. She was not present in the ways I needed her to be. But her absence, as painful as it was, led me to the people and the purpose that shaped who I am today. In that way, she is woven into everything I am becoming. My journey toward teaching is in part a response to my own experience of needing someone to show up for me. And every day I commit to this path, I am honoring that younger version of myself who just needed to know that she mattered. She did. And so do my future students.

Some people can point to a single defining moment that set the course of their life. For me, it was not one moment. It was a slow and beautiful unfolding, a growing sense of wonder that began when I was just a child sitting in an elementary school classroom, watching my teachers and thinking, almost without realizing it, that what they were doing was the most remarkable thing in the world. I was astonished by them. The way they commanded a room not with authority alone, but with warmth. The way they could take something complex and make it feel accessible, even exciting. The way they seemed to genuinely care about the small humans in front of them, remembering birthdays, noticing when someone was having a hard day, celebrating effort just as much as achievement. I did not have the words for it then, but I was watching people who had dedicated their lives to lifting others up. And something in me recognized that as sacred. That sense of wonder followed me into middle school, deepening with every teacher who invested in me. Each one added something to the picture I was quietly building in my mind of who I wanted to become. Some taught me that learning could be joyful. Others taught me that a classroom could be a safe place, a refuge, a community. And some, without ever knowing it, taught me simply by showing up with consistency and care during years of my life when consistency and care were not always guaranteed elsewhere. My drive to become a teacher also grew from something more personal. Having faced financial instability, mental health challenges, and the weight of caring for my family, I know what it means to be a student who is carrying far more than a backpack into the classroom every day. I know what it feels like to need an educator who sees beyond your grades and into your humanity. Those experiences did not discourage me from education. They drew me closer to it, and they drew me closer to the idea of being the kind of teacher who understands that every student has a life outside those four walls that shapes everything happening inside them. It is about community. It is about family. It is about representation and belonging and the profound impact of seeing someone who believes in you when you are still learning to believe in yourself. It is about all of it, woven together into a calling that has only grown stronger with every passing year. Teaching chose me as much as I chose it. It grew in me quietly, nurtured by every educator who poured into me, every challenge that built my empathy, and every moment I witnessed the transformative power of a teacher who truly cares. I do not want to just work in education. I want to be a living example of what education can produce when it is done with love, with intention, and with an unwavering belief that every single student deserves to be seen, celebrated, and challenged to become the fullest version of themselves. That is where my drive comes from. And it is the reason I will never stop.

There have been moments in my life where simply getting through the day felt like an achievement. As an independent student navigating financial instability, managing my own mental health, and carrying the responsibility of caring for my family, all while trying to pursue an education, the weight of it all sometimes felt impossible to bear. There were days I questioned whether I belonged in a classroom at all. Whether someone like me, dealing with so much, could really build something meaningful out of this life. Then there was Ms. Garrison. She was the kind of teacher who saw past the exhaustion in your eyes and looked directly at the person underneath. One day, in a moment I will never forget, she told me that what I was going through did not define me. That I was so much more than the circumstances I was confined to. That my struggles were not the ceiling of my life, they were just the room I happened to be standing in right now. Those words did not just encourage me. They redirected me. They gave me permission to believe that my future was still mine to shape, no matter how difficult the present felt. Education, for me, has never been a simple or straightforward journey. As an independent student, I have had to fight for every opportunity in ways that many of my peers have not. There was no financial safety net to catch me when things got hard. There was no one to handle the bills, the responsibilities, the logistics of daily survival while I focused on my studies. I had to do all of it simultaneously, show up for my family, show up for myself, and show up for my education, even on the days when I had almost nothing left to give. Financial instability has a way of making you feel like your dreams are a luxury you cannot afford. There were semesters where I was not sure how I would make it to the next one. Mental health added another layer to an already heavy load. Learning to navigate my own emotional and psychological wellbeing while managing the external pressures of life and school required a kind of strength I did not know I had. There is a stigma around mental health that can make you feel isolated, like you are the only one struggling, like admitting difficulty is the same as admitting defeat. But I learned, slowly and sometimes painfully, that asking for help is not weakness. That taking care of your mind is just as important as any exam or assignment. That you cannot pour from an empty cup, and that filling your cup is not selfish, it is necessary. Through all of it, education remained my constant. It was the one space where, despite everything happening around me, I could grow. I could think. I could imagine a version of my life that looked different from my current circumstances. Every class I completed, every obstacle I pushed through to stay enrolled, every moment I chose my future over my fear, it all built something in me that cannot be taken away. It built the understanding that I am capable. That I am resilient. That my story, as hard as it has been, is also a testimony to what is possible when you refuse to give up. Ms. Garrison showed me what the right educator can do for a student who is carrying the world on their shoulders. She did not just teach me her subject, she taught me about myself. She showed me that a teacher who genuinely sees their students, who speaks life into them when life feels heavy, can alter the entire course of a young person’s future. That is not a small thing. That is everything. And it is exactly what I intend to do with my career. The better future I am working toward is one where people, especially young people, are free to be fully themselves. Where they can flourish without the weight of shame, limitation, or the belief that their circumstances have already decided their fate. I want to build classrooms and communities where students feel safe enough to be vulnerable, strong enough to be ambitious, and loved enough to keep going even when things get hard. I want to be the Ms. Garrison for someone else, the voice that cuts through the noise of struggle and says: you are more than this moment. You are bigger than what is confining you right now. My education has not just given me knowledge. It has given me direction, resilience, and an unshakeable sense of purpose. Every challenge I have overcome has deepened my empathy and sharpened my commitment to the students I will one day serve. I know what it feels like to sit in a classroom wondering if you truly belong there. I know what it feels like to choose education when everything around you is pulling you away from it. That lived experience is not a liability, it is my greatest qualification. I am not just pursuing a degree. I am pursuing the ability to change lives the way mine was changed. To stand in front of a room full of students who are fighting their own invisible battles and show them, without hesitation, that their light is real, their potential is boundless, and their future is absolutely, undeniably worth fighting for.

Tell us a bit about yourself and how you plan to make a positive impact on the world through your career. Education saved me. Or perhaps more accurately, the right educator; one who looked at me and saw potential worth nurturing, changed the entire trajectory of my life. That experience planted a seed in me that has grown into an unshakeable calling: I want to be that person for others. I want to be an educator who transforms lives, one student at a time. My path toward teaching is driven by a deeply personal belief: that every single student who walks through a classroom door carries within them an inherent brilliance. Not the kind measured by standardized tests or letter grades, but the kind that lives in curiosity, in resilience, in the quiet courage it takes to show up and try. Far too many students move through their academic years never hearing that they are smart, that they belong, that the world of knowledge is just as much theirs as anyone else’s. I intend to change that. As an educator, my mission will extend far beyond lesson plans and curriculum standards. I want my classroom to be a place where students feel seen, truly seen. Where a struggling student doesn’t feel like a burden, but like a priority. Where a child who has been told, directly or indirectly, that academic success is not meant for them, discovers that it absolutely is. I believe that confidence is not a prerequisite for learning, it is a product of it. When students experience even small academic victories in an environment that celebrates them, something shifts. They begin to believe in themselves. And once a student believes in themselves, there is no limit to what they can achieve. I also plan to make an impact beyond the four walls of my classroom. Education does not happen in isolation. It happens at kitchen tables, on school buses, in conversations between teachers and parents. I want to be an educator who builds bridges between school and home, between students and their futures, between the communities I serve and the broader world of opportunity that awaits them. Learning is not a privilege reserved for the fortunate few. It is a gift that belongs to everyone, and I intend to spend my career making sure every student I encounter knows that. The world needs educators who lead with both knowledge and love. Who understand that teaching a child mathematics or literature is also teaching them that they are worth investing in. That someone believes in their potential. That their dreams are not too big and their starting point does not determine their destination. I want to be that kind of teacher, one who lights a fire of curiosity and courage in students that burns long after they leave my classroom. I will not save every student. But I will fight for every one of them. I will show up, every single day, with the conviction that education is one of the most powerful forces for change that exists in this world and that every child deserves access to it fully, wholeheartedly, and without condition. That is the educator I am becoming. And that is the impact I intend to leave on this world.