One cold morning, I woke up to a knock at the door. The knock at the door was quiet, but its impact was deafening. A woman from DCS stood outside, telling me I had to go with her because my mom had just been arrested for possessing multiple drugs. In some ways, I should’ve seen it coming. My mom had been a single mother, out of work, barely holding it together. That moment marked the start of a new chapter, one that was filled with instability, homelessness, and uncertainty. I bounced between friends’ couches, while my mom and sisters shared a small hotel room a few miles down the road. The stress of not knowing where I’d sleep each night wore me down. That knock flipped my world upside down. That day, I lost my mother, my only parental figure I had to look up to. My dad wasn't present growing up. My mom’s first divorce happened before I was born, from a man I never met. Her second husband, my biological father, was Martin Estrada, a Mexican immigrant and drug dealer with cartel connections. He wasn’t just absent, but was violent. He beat my mom regularly. He even tried to kill her once while she held me in the bathtub, and left scars on her that still haven’t healed. I don’t remember all of it, but I’ve lived with the aftermath. During one of his drug-fueled episodes, only months after I was born, he raped my mom. That’s how my younger sister was conceived. My mom finally found the strength to call the police. He was arrested, imprisoned, and she divorced him. But the damage had already been done. My mom’s third husband, Chino, was another drug dealer with cartel ties. But he was different, gentler. He fathered my youngest half-sister, the one I live with today. Unfortunately, he also ended up in jail because of his connections. My mom borrowed money to bail him out, and he fled back to Mexico, leaving her buried in debt. Her fourth and final husband, Billy, came with his own demons. After surviving a brutal beating as a teen, he lived with severe anxiety and mental illness. He mixed heavy drinking with prescription Xanax. When he and my mom fought, it often turned physical. I remember watching him hit her while I stood there. I was too young, too weak, and too powerless to stop it. That helplessness haunted me. One day, I looked in the mirror and made a vow: I would never let another man put his hands on my mother. That’s when I started working out. At first, it was just pushups and sit-ups. I could barely do ten, but I stayed consistent. Ten turned into fifteen, then thirty, then eighty. Eventually, I started lifting weights at the local YMCA. From the moment I walked into that gym, I was hooked. Working out became more than an outlet, it was my escape, my therapy, my form of expression. In the gym, I found something I could finally control. Each workout built not just my muscles, but my confidence, discipline, and mental toughness. It turned my anxiety into pride, and my depression into determination. Exercise gave me stability, something I wasn't used to. Over time, I developed a deep passion for fitness. I started researching workouts, nutrition, muscle science, and anything else I could get my hands on. Now, I want to study kinesiology at Indiana University Bloomington, one of the top programs in the country. My dream is to own a personal training studio and become a physical therapist, helping others find strength through movement the same way I did. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” The divorces my mom endured and the toxic men who came with them shaped my childhood in painful ways. But through all of it, I’ve learned that I am not defined by the trauma I’ve seen. I am defined by what I choose to do with it. I’ve chosen strength, purpose, and the will to protect and uplift others, starting with myself.

Jack Terry inspires me in more ways than I can count. From surviving the horrors and inhumane treatment of not just one, but three separate concentration camps, to rebuilding a life from nothing but sheer willpower, his story is a testament to resilience. I admire how, despite unimaginable loss and isolation, he pushed forward without support, fueled only by his determination to survive and thrive. I hope to one day be even half as strong as Jack Terry was. His life reminds me that even in the darkest moments, there’s always a way forward. That belief has helped carry me through my own struggles. I remember the day everything changed. I woke up to a knock at the door. A woman from DCS stood outside, telling me I had to leave with her, my mom had been arrested for possessing multiple drugs. Deep down, I guess I saw it coming. My mom, a single parent, had been out of work for a while. From that moment on, I was homeless, couch-surfing between friends’ houses while my mom and sisters stayed in a hotel a few miles away. I didn’t know where I’d sleep each night. The stress was suffocating. That one knock shattered everything I knew. Entering foster care was one of the most disorienting and emotional experiences of my life. I moved from house to house, feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere. Anxiety and depression became constant companions. My life felt completely out of control until I found working out. At first, it was just pushups and sit-ups. I could barely do 10, but I kept going. Slowly, I got stronger. 10 became 15, then 30, then 80. Eventually, I found my way to the local YMCA and discovered weightlifting. The first time I stepped into that gym, something clicked. Working out gave me structure, discipline, and a way to express myself. It wasn’t just about strength—it was about healing. Every rep helped me rebuild not just my body, but my spirit. Exercise turned my anxiety into pride and my depression into hope. That passion grew into purpose. I began researching fitness and muscle science just for fun, constantly learning. Now, I’m determined to study kinesiology at Indiana University Bloomington, one of the top programs in the country. My dream is to become a physical therapist and help others regain the sense of control that exercise gave me. I also hope to open a personal training studio to share this gift with others. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” As a foster kid, I’ll be fully responsible for all my college expenses, tuition, housing, food, everything. My family isn’t in a position to help financially, even if they wanted to. My FAFSA score was the lowest possible. But I’m not discouraged. Like Jack Terry, I’ve learned that no matter how hard life gets, you can keep moving forward. His story and my own have taught me that adversity doesn’t define you. What you do with it does.

Growing up, I was always told I was different, whether because of the color of my skin or the medication I needed to focus. My sisters were born unusually small, and as I got older, I began to understand why. In first grade, a knock at the door changed my life forever. My mom always told me not to answer for strangers, but she wasn’t home, so I did. A kind-looking woman smiled and told me my sisters and I had to come with her. That was the day I entered the Indiana foster care system. I didn’t understand why I was suddenly living with strangers or why I couldn’t see my mom. My dad was never in the picture, and now I had lost her too. I later learned that my mother, a strong and hardworking woman, had turned to drugs to cope. After nearly a year of moving between foster homes, she proved to the courts that she could bring us back together. It was a victory for our small family, but things were never the same. In school, my mind raced a million miles per second. The medication helped, but it came with side effects if I didn’t eat with it, I would throw up. My little sister had it worse, it suppressed her appetite so much that she became dangerously thin. We later learned why she was so small as a baby, our mother had used drugs while pregnant, leaving her with severe asthma. One attack was so bad she had to be airlifted to a hospital, and a priest was called to give her last rites. I remember my mom was crying and the feeling of not having any control, I couldn't imagine living without my little sister, miraculously, she survived. Then the pandemic hit. My mom lost her job, relapsed, and at 13, I was homeless, re-entering foster care. I felt powerless until I found working out. Exercise became my outlet, my safe space, the one thing I could control. I started with just pushups and sit-ups. At first, I struggled to do even ten pushups, but I stayed consistent. I pushed through, increasing from 10 to 15, then 30, and eventually 80. As I grew stronger, my confidence grew too. Eventually, I started going to the local YMCA, where I discovered weightlifting. The first time I stepped into that gym, I fell in love. It became more than just a safe space it became my form of self-expression. Every week, I built not just muscle, but discipline and resilience. The gym transformed my emotions: anxiety turned into pride, and depression into happiness. Since then, I’ve developed an insatiable hunger for knowledge about exercise. Even for fun, I research the latest studies on muscle growth and performance. Now, I want to study at IU Bloomington, the 11th-ranked kinesiology university in the nation. My goal is to own a personal training studio and become a physical therapist, sharing the gift of exercise and the sense of control it brings. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” I want to live up to this no matter how different my body is from others. As a foster kid, I have to fully support myself when I go to college, paying for all of my tuition, dorms, food, and everything. Nobody in my family can give me any financial support even if they wanted to. My FASFA score was the lowest possible on the scale.

Growing up, I was always told I was different, whether because of the color of my skin or the medication I needed to focus. My sisters were born unusually small, and as I got older, I began to understand why. In first grade, a knock at the door changed my life forever. My mom always told me not to answer for strangers, but she wasn’t home, so I did. A kind-looking woman smiled and told me my sisters and I had to come with her. That was the day I entered the Indiana foster care system. I didn’t understand why I was suddenly living with strangers or why I couldn’t see my mom. My dad was never in the picture, and now I had lost her too. I later learned that my mother, a strong and hardworking woman, had turned to drugs to cope. After nearly a year of moving between foster homes, she proved to the courts that she could bring us back together. It was a victory for our small family, but things were never the same. In school, my mind raced a million miles per second. The medication helped, but it came with side effects if I didn’t eat with it, I would throw up. My little sister had it worse, it suppressed her appetite so much that she became dangerously thin. We later learned why she was so small as a baby, our mother had used drugs while pregnant, leaving her with severe asthma. One attack was so bad she had to be airlifted to a hospital, and a priest was called to give her last rites. I remember my mom was crying and the feeling of not having any control, I couldn't imagine living without my little sister, miraculously, she survived. Then the pandemic hit. My mom lost her job, relapsed, and at 13, I was homeless, re-entering foster care. I felt powerless until I found working out. Exercise became my outlet, my safe space, the one thing I could control. I started with just pushups and sit-ups. At first, I struggled to do even ten pushups, but I stayed consistent. I pushed through, increasing from 10 to 15, then 30, and eventually 80. As I grew stronger, my confidence grew too. Eventually, I started going to the local YMCA, where I discovered weightlifting. The first time I stepped into that gym, I fell in love. It became more than just a safe space it became my form of self-expression. Every week, I built not just muscle, but discipline and resilience. The gym transformed my emotions: anxiety turned into pride, and depression into happiness. Since then, I’ve developed an insatiable hunger for knowledge about exercise. Even for fun, I research the latest studies on muscle growth and performance. Now, I want to study at IU Bloomington, the 11th-ranked kinesiology university in the nation. My goal is to own a personal training studio and become a physical therapist, sharing the gift of exercise and the sense of control it brings. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” I want to live up to this no matter how different my body is from others. As a foster kid, I have to fully support myself when I go to college, paying for all of my tuition, dorms, food, and everything. Nobody in my family can give me any financial support even if they wanted to. My FASFA score was the lowest possible on the scale.

Most little boys see their dads as their superheroes—strong, invincible, and larger than life. I never had that. My dad was never a part of my life, so my superhero was my grandpa. He was a tall, thin man, honest and strong, a DNR officer for 40 years with an unmatched love for nature. He shaped me into the person I am today. My grandpa was the reason I joined Boy Scouts. My mom worked long hours, so every Tuesday, he picked me up. We would talk about animals and fish, sharing our love for nature. He introduced me to fishing, and I fell in love with it immediately. Every time we went, he reminded me to wear sunscreen. I protested, insisting that my Mexican heritage meant I wouldn’t burn. But still, I listened. He wore it too, but the sun had already left its mark on him. During quarantine, my mom lost her job, and we became homeless. Eventually, I was placed in foster care, moving from house to house, each one feeling emptier than the last. My life spiraled out of control, filled with emotions I had never experienced before. But then, my grandparents took us in, and I got to live with my superhero once again. By then, I started to notice something: my superhero was losing his powers. He wasn’t as strong as before. He stayed up all night, drifting in and out of sleep. His once-lean frame became frail. His face, covered in burn-like marks, had a leathery texture—scars from years of skin cancer treatment. Now, I understood why he had always been so insistent about sunscreen. He wasn’t just protecting me from sunburn; he was protecting me from a battle he could never win. As he grew weaker, I grew stronger. Yet, I still felt powerless, watching someone I loved fight an invisible enemy. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how—until I found working out. It started with simple push-ups, then trips to the YMCA. Strength training became my escape, the one thing I could control. What began as an outlet soon became an obsession. I started researching exercise science for fun, absorbing the latest studies on muscle growth and strength training. Now, I want to study kinesiology at Indiana University Bloomington, home to one of the top programs in the country. My goal is to become a physical therapist and eventually open my own personal training studio. I want to share the gift of exercise and the sense of control it brings—especially with those who feel powerless in their own battles. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” My grandpa taught me strength, not just in muscle but in resilience. His fight with cancer has shaped me more than I ever realized, pushing me toward a path where I can help others build their own strength—physically and mentally. He may be losing his battle, but because of him, I am prepared to fight for others.

Most little boys see their dads as their superheroes—strong, invincible, and larger than life. I never had that. My dad was never a part of my life, so my superhero was my grandpa. He was a tall, thin man, honest and strong, a DNR officer for 40 years with an unmatched love for nature. He shaped me into the person I am today. My grandpa was the reason I joined Boy Scouts. My mom worked long hours, so every Tuesday, he picked me up. We would talk about animals and fish, sharing our love for nature. He introduced me to fishing, and I fell in love with it immediately. Every time we went, he reminded me to wear sunscreen. I protested, insisting that my Mexican heritage meant I wouldn’t burn. But still, I listened. He wore it too, but the sun had already left its mark on him. During quarantine, my mom lost her job, and we became homeless. Eventually, I was placed in foster care, moving from house to house, each one feeling emptier than the last. My life spiraled out of control, filled with emotions I had never experienced before. But then, my grandparents took us in, and I got to live with my superhero once again. By then, I started to notice something: my superhero was losing his powers. He wasn’t as strong as before. He stayed up all night, drifting in and out of sleep. His once-lean frame became frail. His face, covered in burn-like marks, had a leathery texture—scars from years of skin cancer treatment. Now, I understood why he had always been so insistent about sunscreen. He wasn’t just protecting me from sunburn; he was protecting me from a battle he could never win. As he grew weaker, I grew stronger. Yet, I still felt powerless, watching someone I loved fight an invisible enemy. I wanted to help, but I didn't know how—until I found working out. It started with simple push-ups, then trips to the YMCA. Strength training became my escape, the one thing I could control. What began as an outlet soon became an obsession. I started researching exercise science for fun, absorbing the latest studies on muscle growth and strength training. Now, I want to study kinesiology at Indiana University Bloomington, home to one of the top programs in the country. My goal is to become a physical therapist and eventually open my own personal training studio. I want to share the gift of exercise and the sense of control it brings—especially with those who feel powerless in their own battles. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” My grandpa taught me strength, not just in muscle but in resilience. His fight with cancer has shaped me more than I ever realized, pushing me toward a path where I can help others build their own strength—physically and mentally. He may be losing his battle, but because of him, I am prepared to fight for others.

The Knock I woke up to a knock at the door. Standing there was a woman from DCS, telling me I had to go with her since my mom had been arrested for possessing multiple drugs. In some ways, I should have seen this coming, my mom was a single mother who had been out of work for some time, I knew she had issues with drugs but I never knew it would come to this. This left me homeless and couch-surfing between friend's houses, while my mom shared a hotel room with my sisters a few miles down the road. The stress of wondering if I’d have a roof over my head every night was taking its toll. That knock flipped my life upside down. That day, I entered the foster care system, constantly moving from house to house. I was overwhelmed by emotions I couldn’t process, anxiety and depression weighed on me, and my life felt completely out of my control. That changed when I started working out. Exercise became an outlet, a safe space, the one thing I could control. I started with just pushups and sit-ups. I remember the humbling struggle of barely managing 10 pushups. Despite discouragement, I stayed consistent. Over time, I saw progress. I went from 10 to 15 pushups, and then to 30, and eventually to 80. Soon, I started going to the local YMCA, where I learned to lift weights. The first day I stepped into the YMCA, I fell in love with working out. It became more than just a safe space, but a way to express myself, my own form of art. Every week, I was building not just muscle, but also confidence and discipline. The more I worked out physically, the more I grew mentally. The feelings working out gave me were unlike any other; the positive change it brought to my emotions was undeniable. It turned my anxiety into pride, and my depression into happiness. Since then, I’ve developed a deep hunger for knowledge about exercise. Even just for fun, I research the latest studies on muscle building. Now, I want to study at IU Bloomington, the 11th-ranked kinesiology university in the nation. My goal is to own a personal training studio to share the gift of exercise and the sense of control it brings. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.”

Growing up, I was always told I was different whether because of the color of my skin or the medication I needed to focus. My sisters were born unusually small, and as I got older, I began to understand why. In first grade, a knock at the door changed my life forever. My mom always told me not to answer for strangers, but she wasn’t home, so I did. A kind-looking woman smiled and told me my sisters and I had to come with her. That was the day I entered the Indiana foster care system. I didn’t understand why I was suddenly living with strangers or why I couldn’t see my mom. My dad was never in the picture, and now I had lost her too. I later learned that my mother, a strong and hardworking woman, had turned to drugs to cope. After nearly a year of moving between foster homes, she proved to the courts that she could bring us back together. It was a victory for our small family, but things were never the same. In school, my mind raced a million miles per second. The medication helped, but it came with side effects if I didn’t eat with it, I would throw up. My little sister had it worse, it suppressed her appetite so much that she became dangerously thin. We later learned why she was so small as a baby, our mother had used drugs while pregnant, leaving her with severe asthma. One attack was so bad she had to be airlifted to a hospital, and a priest was called to give her last rites. I remember my mom was crying and the feeling of not having any control, I couldn't imagine living without my little sister, miraculously, she survived. Then the pandemic hit. My mom lost her job, relapsed, and at 13, I was homeless, re-entering foster care. I felt powerless until I found working out. Exercise became my outlet, my safe space, the one thing I could control. I started with just pushups and sit-ups. At first, I struggled to do even ten pushups, but I stayed consistent. I pushed through, increasing from 10 to 15, then 30, and eventually 80. As I grew stronger, my confidence grew too. Eventually, I started going to the local YMCA, where I discovered weightlifting. The first time I stepped into that gym, I fell in love. It became more than just a safe space it became my form of self-expression. Every week, I built not just muscle, but discipline and resilience. The gym transformed my emotions: anxiety turned into pride, and depression into happiness. Since then, I’ve developed an insatiable hunger for knowledge about exercise. Even for fun, I research the latest studies on muscle growth and performance. Now, I want to study at IU Bloomington, the 11th-ranked kinesiology university in the nation. My goal is to own a personal training studio and become a physical therapist, sharing the gift of exercise and the sense of control it brings. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” I want to live up to this no matter how different my body is from others. As a foster kid, I have to fully support myself when I go to college, paying for all of my tuition, dorms, food, and everything. Nobody in my family can give me any financial support even if they wanted to. My FASFA score was the lowest possible on the scale

Growing up, I was always told I was different whether because of the color of my skin or the medication I needed to focus. My sisters were born unusually small, and as I got older, I began to understand why. In first grade, a knock at the door changed my life forever. My mom always told me not to answer for strangers, but she wasn’t home, so I did. A kind-looking woman smiled and told me my sisters and I had to come with her. That was the day I entered the Indiana foster care system. I didn’t understand why I was suddenly living with strangers or why I couldn’t see my mom. My dad was never in the picture, and now I had lost her too. I later learned that my mother, a strong and hardworking woman, had turned to drugs to cope. After nearly a year of moving between foster homes, she proved to the courts that she could bring us back together. It was a victory for our small family, but things were never the same. In school, my mind raced a million miles per second. The medication helped, but it came with side effects if I didn’t eat with it, I would throw up. My little sister had it worse, it suppressed her appetite so much that she became dangerously thin. We later learned why she was so small as a baby, our mother had used drugs while pregnant, leaving her with severe asthma. One attack was so bad she had to be airlifted to a hospital, and a priest was called to give her last rites. I remember my mom was crying and the feeling of not having any control, I couldn't imagine living without my little sister, miraculously, she survived. Then the pandemic hit. My mom lost her job, relapsed, and at 13, I was homeless, re-entering foster care. I felt powerless until I found working out. Exercise became my outlet, my safe space, the one thing I could control. I started with just pushups and sit-ups. At first, I struggled to do even ten pushups, but I stayed consistent. I pushed through, increasing from 10 to 15, then 30, and eventually 80. As I grew stronger, my confidence grew too. Eventually, I started going to the local YMCA, where I discovered weightlifting. The first time I stepped into that gym, I fell in love. It became more than just a safe space it became my form of self-expression. Every week, I built not just muscle, but discipline and resilience. The gym transformed my emotions: anxiety turned into pride, and depression into happiness. Since then, I’ve developed an insatiable hunger for knowledge about exercise. Even for fun, I research the latest studies on muscle growth and performance. Now, I want to study at IU Bloomington, the 11th-ranked kinesiology university in the nation. My goal is to own a personal training studio and become a physical therapist, sharing the gift of exercise and the sense of control it brings. As Socrates once said, “It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” I want to live up to this no matter how different my body is from others. As a foster kid, I have to fully support myself when I go to college, paying for all of my tuition, dorms, food, and everything. Nobody in my family can give me any financial support even if they wanted to. My FASFA score was the lowest possible on the scale