Being the first to attend college in my family left me with so much options and uncertainty. For the longest time in my life I had believed I'd be pursuing physical therapy. My parents had always pushed me in that direction because I loved people and sports. I had leaned into this idea because the plan of attending college itself felt like a dream. My whole viewpoint shifted following the tearing of my ACL at the end of my junior year of high school. During this time I spent seven months in physical therapy and was able to shadow my physical therapist following it. I felt distraught at this time because the path my family decided had begun to crumble. After shadowing the physical therapist I had a strong urge this wasn't the career for me. My senior year of high school begun to shed more light on my path when I decided to pursue the Biomedical Sciences course at the local technical college. This was the first time in my life that I genuinely fell in love with the medical field. Through that program I was given the opportunity to volunteer in hospitals, my community, and find a true joy in what I was learning. It was the first time in my life that I felt called to something. The passion continued to grow through my years in college. Not only did that course nurture my love, but it taught me new opportunities to further understand it. I was able to get involved in volunteer work in hospitals. With one opportunity standing out more than the others being the free clinic I volunteered in. In this clinic every medical professional in addition to those who volunteered to assist were working for free. This was time they spent outside of their jobs to help provide free healthcare to the community. In my life I have struggled quite a bit. Whether this was losses of family members, seeing family member medically struggle, or financial issues. In this clinic I witnessed people who had been enduring similar situations to my own. I watched the way the nurses took care of these people. I also still hear the statement "this is real healthcare," ringing in my head every time I sit down to think how hard my journey has been. There is a lot of power in being a nurse. There is a wide range of opportunities and they're given incredible abilities to meet a wide range of people. There is also a level of tragedy involved in being a nurse. These are all things that mean a great deal to me and drive me to be a nurse. I want to carry my own experiences and use them to foster an environment and love that I'd want from my own nurses for my patients. One goal of mine is to make my family proud and become the first nurse in our family. In doing so I hope to genuinely understand those who will be in my care. Ultimately, I want to carry out just what that nurse told me, also known as "real healthcare," which means being able to grit through the toughest moments because I'm helping that person through what may be their worse times.

Most of my life has been consumed by watching my family members indulge in destructive choices. My biological father was an addict who would succumb to his addiction and lose his mind. No longer able to even recognize his own children, and trapped his own world. He would serve as a negative example that would later hook both my brothers on the same path. Growing up it was increasingly harder to watch my older siblings continuously destroy their own lives. They followed his same destructive path and lived with similar addictions. The first time I lost my brother I was twelve years old. I received the news when I was at home that he had overdosed and was in a coma state in the hospital. The hospital had told us there was a 70% chance he may not survive. I sat up all night crying and wondering what the state of my brother's life may be like. He was able to pull through that time. While my eldest brother was eventually about to get clean, I watched my other brother still continue to spiral. Which would only lead to his prison sentence that was carried out on my 14th birthday for his continued possession charges. My brother found faith in prison and began taking college classes and was starting to earn a degree. He would write me often, and I'd write him back. He was denied release when it came to the day of my high school graduation. The next time I'd see him again would be my freshman year of college. My older brother before the time of his addiction was my best friend. We were 5 years apart, but immensely close. I often looked up to him and he was the first person in my life who I had looked up to besides my mother. When he returned from prison it had broken a part of him. I would move in with him that year as I wanted to be a stable person in his life there to support and help him. My brother had begun to slowly mend himself again. He went to therapy, began college, and even began working. He often apologized for his absence in the early years of my life, and deeply regretted the time he missed out on. We would talk for hours about our future. I truly watched him blossom. He begun to earn rewards for his GPA in colleges, won scholarships, received letters for honors, and would even receive a reward to be in the top 1% of his job's customer feedback ratings. He would often apply for scholarships on sites like these and write about his story. The first one he ever won was from this site. It was entitled "Veterans Next Generation Scholarship," one where he would talk about our father. The person who initially put him on his negative path. In this scholarship he mentions how he'd be the first in his family to receive a degree if I didn't beat him to it. He was truly proud of the things that he did, and so was I. I felt like I had the brother back in my life who I had missed deeply for so many years. My brother had been sober for several years, however, he struggled with his mental health and the pain that came with his past choices. My brother suffered many mental disorders due to his horrific past. Things that would scar him and often haunt him. I started to notice his depression creeping up more and more on him. My brother ultimately made a choice to relapse. This time would be the time I truly lost him. I would be the one to find him in his home, and to call 911. A pain that I'd wish on no human being. One of the biggest things I always discussed with my brother was my dreams. I wanted to rise above the past of our family and get my degree, but I didn't wanna stop at one. This was a conversation we often had. He himself was only a few months from graduation. We wanted to foster a new generation and pathway in our family. I spoke to him about my ambitions on being a nurse. The countless hours it would take, and the many failures I experienced trying to get there. He would listen to me rant and consolidate me for however much time it took. There has always been a burning drive to achieve my dreams. I always felt like the tragedies I witnessed would make me a better nurse. Somethings cannot be taught, and the ability to relate to someone is one of them. I will always fight to achieve my dreams knowing that its not just for myself anymore.

In life there are so many moments where we are able to express emotion. In the darkest corner of our reality is the earth-shattering ones that make us question ourselves. Mental health has always been a topic that was a whisper amongst my family. It was something that if we left it unnoticed maybe it would go away. The truth of the matter was that plan didn't succeed. As the crippling abilities of mental health crept into our lives often. I grew up with a mother who loved me and my siblings more then the world itself. One who truly embodied the statement that she was willing to sacrifice everything for her children. My biological father however was someone who did love us, but didn't know selflessness. He was consumed by the horrific thoughts that circulated in his mind. These thoughts would turn him towards drugs to try to ease the pain of his feelings. This placed a strain on his relationship with our entire family. As despite the fact he loved us he could never choose us. His mental health would ultimately turn him away from wanting help or even choosing his family. He struggled with depression, anxiety, and schizophrenia. All disorders that would consume his thoughts and would tarnish his actions. This mindset would spread to me and my brothers. We grew up to struggle with our own mental health battles. Children are impressionable and watching a parent suffer so harshly can place a strain on our own minds. Some stemming from the way we felt betrayed by our father, but in other ways the battled we endured ourselves because of it. The seed that mental health planted in our family would be the destruction of a lot of great moments. It would also be something that shaped us all as individuals. A pain in particular that would always stick with me. It also taught me a deeper level of empathy. Mental health would be the reason I'd lose my older brother. A combination of the strain our father's mental health placed on us, and the harsh realities that followed with that. Something that I fight and struggle with everyday. He was someone who I lived with when I first started college, and the first person I ever looked up to besides my mother. I shared my aspirations with him about the medical field often. Particularly my dream about being a nurse. I wanted someday to be the healing factor in someone's' life. This was something that he would encourage in me and commend my passion. My relationship with my brother and witnessing just how cruel his mind was to him made me realize the power that our own thoughts have. The idea of mental health is a sore one for me. I have experienced first hand the battles that our mind can wager and how these wars take a toll on individuals. On another hand, I am admittedly thankful, because through my own struggles and what I've witnessed it will make me a stronger nurse. In my future career I hope to be the bridge to a better life that someone may need. I always wanna be a resource. It has taught me to appreciate individuals more, love harder, and to always look out for others. These are all key things that will not only make me a better person, but a much better nurse.

I wanted my father to just be my father first and foremost before anything. This felt like such a simple thing to ask and surely nothing any child should ever have to beg or strive for. My father served several years in the military. He was already a broken man before he ever stepped foot into the military. In fact he was still picking up the pieces of his childhood and gluing those pieces back together. The army was a new hope for him, and it was something that would make him a better man or so he believed. There's a lot of honor and nobility associated with the military. The sacrifices can never be replicated, and the experiences those people endure can never be taken away. Some come into the army whole, and some are like my father who come already broken. The ripples it can create on these people's lives can go unnoticed. The military gave my already struggling father an even worse fate and that was PTSD. PTSD seemed to take those broken pieces and crumble them until nothing was left. This was the father that I endured and grew up with. He would turn to drugs to help ease the pain. My life would be watching my father enter rehab after rehab. The words would falter and jumble up and down in my mind. He would come to me sober sometimes and it was like the joy was there again. Then the moment he felt PTSD creep back up on his already broken mind it would crumble him again. It was a childhood that I would wish on no child. Before the onset of his diagnosis it was like a creeping shadow that crept onto my father. His demanor would slowly change and the way he would lash out when experiencing episodes would spark fear into the hearts of me and my siblings. This led to the eventual separation of my parents when I was only three years old. My father experienced many of his friends pass away, and those who were close to him falter mentally. There was times I would see the bond he shared with those who shared his feelings. The military worked to help him by placing him in homes with other soldiers battling similar issues. To help hold accountability, and sometimes I even stayed there. It never lasted long before it consumed him again. My father today is considered 100% disabled by the military partially due to injuries sustained during his service, and partially due to his mental illness. PTSD took away my father from me. A part of him will never be the same and this is something I will always have to carry with me. Moments like those I shared with my father shaped me truly as a human being. The empathy I have for people who have felt me and my family's pain, and for human beings in general are rooted in the suffering of watching my father's mental illness. One day when I become a nurse I only hope that I can shed light on families experiencing the same thing and extend a helping hand, one that is full of understanding like no other.

The medical field in itself has always been a bumpy road for me. With any passion it felt so surreal entering college and being able to pursue something that felt so real for me. This path was never mean't to be easy, but this was something I for sure hadn't known yet. I bobbled quite a bit and found myself being thrown between career choice to career choice. There was even moments where it felt like I never was gonna reach my destination. Despite it all, passion shines and provides a guiding light. It shone me to many opportunities. I've always been a person who loves being apart of something and actively sought places to be where I could surround myself with others. This is where I found my passion for trying new clubs and interacting with different people. These invaluble moments would teach me so many things and develop my journey further than I would ever know. Through these I would find some of my most important experiences with the medical field. Growing up as a child I was always an athlete and I had the thought in my head that I was gonna be a physical therapy and that was it. Coming from a family where almost nobody attended college, it was a wide path. All I knew was my mother had told me that was right for me, and I definitely always listen to my mother. My senior year of high school I found myself in a Bio-med course that was taught at the local technical college. I flourished in this class. I felt genuinely excited to come to the class so much so that I would show up 15 minutes early to this class every morning. I fell in love with every second of it. I would go on to become president of my HOSA chapter, and even earn the accolodate of Bio-med student of the year. This would be the first moment in my life that I would find my own true answer to what I wanted to be and start me on the path to being a nurse. I would go onto to continue my experience in college by then volunteering in free clinics, hospitals, and eventually being where I am now as a scribe. There was always a spark I saw in myself and others could pinpoint when talking to me about these things. The giddiness it felt when I was able to learn something new, or extend a helping hand to someone in need. I never claimed to be the smartest person in the room, and there was definitely was many, many, many moments of failure. I've fallen, and even reached to low points of feeling hopeless. Just as I mentioned above the idea of being a nurse has still continued to guide me. Even when I failed my first class in my entire life I knew that I had to dust myself off because there's a bright future ahead of me. I know i'll never be truly happy unless I pursue this passion to the fullest. It's simply hard to put into words how much success would mean to me in this field, and how dire it feels to me everyday. I will continue to chase this feeling, because I know being able to suceed in this field would bring me a joy like no other.

There's a lot knocking at your door when you attempt to step out of the limitations life has put you in. The truth is life, and my mind can work hand in hand in many egregious crimes. One step forward, and i'm wacked with the hammer and back down again. One door opened and my mind is waiting waving its fingers. How dare I threaten the natural balance that the world and my mind has placed for me. Don't dare cross the red line, or "you will be punished!" My mind particularly does this quite a bit to me. In the mental health stance of things. If I dare to succeed my anxiety works its darnest to shut me down or put me in my place. "Someone like you isn't worthy of this success," or "You're never gonna make it." Those are my mind's favorite sentences to say to me in my worse hours. My mind actually has a cute nickname from me, I call her Anxiety! Anxiety is an influential factor in all things Meagan (thats me of course). She dabbles in my relationships, beliefs, and career aspirations. In fact, sometimes I think she is a expert in what she does. Her undeniable talent with words is outstanding. She articulates and knows how to find the just right things to say when she wants to tear you down. In relationships she's quite jealous and reminds me that I'm not good enough for anyone else. That i'm not worthy of love and there's no point to try. She tries really hard to separate me from the people who loves me, sometimes she is successful, but I try often to not let her win. In my beliefs she makes me anxious constantly. Reminding me that i'm not doing the right things, that I need to do better. She makes me believe things about myself that others would say isn't quite the truth. She's just so persistent sometimes its so easy to give into it. Don't get me started on my career aspirations, anxiety is all over that! Over my shoulder reminding me that i'm gonna fail, and should probably just stop it now. When she finally realizes that i'm not gonna stop or give up she'll resort to, "oh no! you're right! you're in too deep to stop now, guess you really can't fail now." It can be destructive and discouraging, but at least I haven't let it consume me. Despite all the work that anxiety puts into destroying things I will continue to go on with my life. Always picking up the pieces every time and gluing them back together.

I find it funny that something I can't even see has found its way into the core of my being. The truth is that anxiety follows me everywhere, much like a best friend. In fact, I think anxiety would even stake claim to that. It does everything that any ordinary best friend would do. It goes everywhere with me, participates in every activity I do, goes to all the same places, shares all the same interests, and even has mutual friend groups. The only exclusion is that I would have to say our relationship has grown more and more toxic over the years. Anxiety used to be a small voice in my ear that would gossip to me about how this individual didn't like me, or if I did this activity "its true!" "everyone will hate you!" She however grew louder as we both developed and grew. Anxiety is a really good friend though, I swear it! she was there in my childhood years when I watched my father leave and come back repeatedly. She reminded me, "it's okay. he probably doesn't even love you so it doesn't matter." She was also there when he eventually left for good. She kindly reminded me it was probably my fault, but "don't worry he's gone now!" She was there on the bus with me when I would ride it to high school. She'd watch me awkwardly fumble with my phone, sink into a seat, and read to ignore my surroundings. She coddled me with sweet words reminding me that it's okay if everyone thought I was weird, or that nobody actually liked me. I appreciate her for being realistic with me, and always sticking with me until the end. This is only something a real friend would do. It's hard to be in public with anxiety sometimes. She gets her loudest when i'm around others, or especially when i'm alone! She sometimes makes trips to the grocery stores harder than they should be, and she can even makes those nights alone extra hard. She tells me she is comforting me with the truth, and I don't know whether to believe her or not. It's strange though, although she's pretty great I see her with other people quite a lot. The truth of the matter is anxiety is quite popular. She's everywhere in fact! I don't particularly like when she decides to hang out with my siblings. In fact, I find her words to them very unkind, and they never seem to respond very well. The weirdest part of it all is I first met anxiety when I saw my father. I used to watch the ways in which she spoke to him. I never used to like it back in the day, but she always reassured me she meant the best. I used to watch the way she'd whisper in his ears, he always made the worse decisions when she came back. I never knew what she said, only what she told me. Anxiety is a friend to many people in fact. Some she isn't as close with, some she is extremely close, but to me Anxiety is my best friend. Now that i'm saying this, I really need to get a new friend.....