The clearest moment I realized I could help others with mental health was when I shared my story in front of four hundred people at camp. With so many eyes on me, I spoke about the grief I’ve endured and my own mental health struggles. I was nervous, but I spoke anyway. What stayed with me afterward was that people came up to me and shared their own stories. I learned that people don’t always need answers, they need someone to stay. I wasn’t trying to fix anyone—I wanted them to feel less alone. Since then, supporting others’ mental health has become something I do intentionally, in both big moments and everyday ones. I sit with people in their own grief and listen to them without judgment. Each week, I lead a mentorship group for younger high school girls and create a comfortable space where everyone feels safe enough to talk. For the people struggling around me, presence matters more than perfect advice. So I show up, even when it’s uncomfortable. The impact I’m proudest of is creating a space for honesty—because honesty is where healing begins. After my speech at camp, people came up to me and told me, “I thought I was the only one,” or “I was too scared to talk about this.” That moment showed me how stigma drops when someone goes first, and I try to continue to be the first and become the person who others trust. I’ve learned that silence can be dangerous, but being heard can change everything. I plan to turn what I’ve learned through real life into a career that provides structured, lasting support for teenagers. I’m studying psychology in college with the goal of becoming a clinical psychologist. After that, I plan to open my own teen-focused mental health center that offers both inpatient and outpatient treatment. It’s going to include therapy and mentorship, peer support groups, strong follow-up care, and be focused on listening-based care where everyone feels dignified and respected. I won’t wait until I get my degree, so I plan to keep volunteering while I’m studying. I want mental health care to feel safe, human, and real. I can’t take away someone’s pain, but I can make sure they don’t carry it alone. In my future career, I want to be the person who stays and helps people feel seen before they reach a breaking point.

People assume that mental health care is always healing. I learned early that it isn’t. At twelve years old, I entered an inpatient mental health program, expecting it to be the place that finally made things feel safe again. Instead, it showed me how quickly young people can be overlooked, misunderstood, or silenced inside systems meant to protect them. That experience didn’t just shape how I see mental health—it shaped the kind of person I want to become. Even now, as I work through my own mental health challenges, I carry the belief that no teenager should ever have to question whether they’re truly being cared for when they’re at their most vulnerable. At my lowest point, I wasn’t just struggling emotionally—I was trying to survive my own mind. I was struggling with depression, suicidal ideation, and self-harm. It felt impossible to get out of bed every day to take care of myself, and I felt trapped in my own mind. Healing wasn’t a switch—it was a practice. I finally started to heal through therapy, faith, journaling, and leaving everything out on the volleyball court. My progress hasn’t been linear, but I can proudly say that this January, I’m four years free of anorexia and three years free of self-harm. Even after I started healing, grief tested everything I’d learned about staying afloat. My dad passed away at the end of my freshman year, and once again, it felt impossible to get out of bed. When life finally started to feel as normal as it could four months later, my best friend passed away, too. I was so angry at the world and lived in constant anxiety about who would be next, but then I realized I couldn’t control the losses I experienced—I could only control what I did with the love I still had. I still feel my grief daily, but I’ve learned how to carry it and use it for good. Healing became even more meaningful when I stopped hiding and began helping others feel less alone. This past summer, I spoke about my grief publicly to four hundred people at camp and shared my story. It was fulfilling to see how many people it touched and to be able to speak to them about their struggles afterwards. After my dad passed away, I met so many people who were starting their own grief journeys, and in the midst of all of my pain, I’ve been able to help them through theirs. I’ve learned that honesty reduces the stigma surrounding mental health. Sharing my story became a way of giving other people permission to talk about theirs. Moving forward, I aspire to become a clinical psychologist and establish the kind of teen mental health center I needed. My future center will be teen-focused, with inpatient and outpatient treatment. It will focus on therapy and mentorship for people struggling, providing a place of accountability and safety that is not corrupt or harmful, where residents are actually listened to. I hope to improve the standard of care through my own close management and fix the stigma surrounding mental health. I refuse to wait until I get my degree, so throughout college, I hope to volunteer in homeless shelters and rehab centers. I want to focus on outreach to the people who are often overlooked and dedicate my time to research and community partnerships. I want to turn what nearly broke me into something that heals others. I know my dream is big, but I never thought I’d make it past thirteen—so why not reach for the stars?