I never thought I wanted to be a teacher. In 2019, after years of tests, surgeries, and hospital stays, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease. The physical toll was difficult, but the emotional weight was far heavier. I felt isolated and powerless; my world had become defined by doctor visits and an overall sense of uncertainty. During that dark season, I was approached about volunteering as a tutor at the Boys & Girls Club. At first, I hesitated. I didn’t feel strong enough to help anyone when I was still struggling myself. But after talking with my parents, I decided to give it a try, hoping it might help me step out of my comfort zone and rediscover a sense of purpose. What I didn’t expect was that those kids would end up helping me more than I could ever help them. One student in particular changed everything for me; a young girl with debilitating anxiety who refused to speak in front of others. She reminded me so much of myself. Trapped by something beyond her control, scared to take up space in the world. We started with simple reading exercises, but I quickly realized that what she needed most wasn’t academic instruction; it was reassurance. I began sharing pieces of my own story, talking openly about the fear and frustration that came with my illness and how I was learning to face it with courage rather than shame. Slowly, she began to open up. Together, we found practical ways to build her confidence. By setting small goals and celebrating little victories, we created a safe space where her voice could grow stronger. The day she volunteered to read aloud to her group for the first time, I felt something shift inside me. I realized that teaching wasn’t just about imparting knowledge; it was about building others up when they can’t see their own potential. In that moment, I knew I wanted to be a teacher. Since then, I’ve continued serving others in educational settings—as a classroom paraprofessional, a library assistant, and a volunteer mentor—but that first experience still shapes everything I do. It taught me that students learn best when they feel seen, heard, and supported. My goal as a future high school English teacher is to create a classroom where students not only understand literature, but also discover their own resilience and worth through it. Beyond academics, I want my students to leave my classroom believing that their voices matter. I hope they see that strength is not the absence of struggle, but the willingness to keep showing up in spite of it. If my journey through illness and healing can remind even one student that their story has value, then I will have done far more than teach. I will have made a lasting impact.

In 2019, I was diagnosed with hypokalemic periodic paralysis, a rare condition that causes temporary episodes of muscle weakness or paralysis due to fluctuations in potassium levels. At first, the diagnosis felt overwhelming. The uncertainty and unpredictability of my condition created a mental and physical barrier to my daily life. I faced moments when I would wake up, ready to embrace the day, only to find my muscles refusing to cooperate. It was a daunting experience, but it became a catalyst for personal growth. To cope with my condition, I quickly realized the importance of holding myself accountable for my health and well-being. I began to educate myself about hypokalemic periodic paralysis, researching triggers and lifestyle adjustments that could help me manage my symptoms. This proactive approach was crucial; I learned to monitor my diet carefully, ensuring I consumed sufficient potassium and remained hydrated. I also developed a routine that included gentle exercises and relaxation techniques to maintain my muscle strength and mental clarity. I quickly learned that accountability extended far beyond my physical health. I had to confront the emotional challenges of living with a chronic illness. I adopted a mindset of resilience, focusing on what I could control rather than what I could not. Journaling became a powerful tool for me; it allowed me to process my feelings, track my progress, and celebrate small victories. Through this reflective practice, I learned to set realistic goals for myself, both academically and personally, ensuring that I remained motivated despite my health setbacks. This journey has not only taught me the importance of accountability but has also shaped my understanding of success. I have come to define success not just as the absence of struggle but as the ability to rise despite it. In my academic life, this realization has driven me to maintain a strong GPA while managing my health. I’ve embraced my studies with a renewed passion, often drawing inspiration from my experiences to inform my writing. My condition has given me a unique lens through which to view the world, allowing me to create narratives that resonate with themes of resilience, vulnerability, and connection. Most importantly, my experiences have deepened my empathy for others facing their own struggles. I am committed to using my future role as an educator to shed light on issues of health and well-being, hoping to inspire those who feel isolated in their battles. Beyond that, I truly believe that we are placed on this earth to connect with one another, to share our stories and experiences. Because, at the end of the day, we're all just trying to find a piece of ourselves reflected back to us, reminding us that we're not alone after all. In conclusion, my journey with hypokalemic periodic paralysis has been challenging, but it has taught me invaluable lessons about accountability and the true nature of success. As I continue my education and pursue my dreams, I carry these lessons with me, striving to inspire others and contribute positively to the world around me. I am grateful for the opportunity to apply for this scholarship, which will support my journey and help me further my aspirations as a teacher and advocate. Thank you for considering my application.

How do you move forward when you're physically incapable? That's a question I often asked myself after being diagnosed with hypokalemia and periodic paralysis in 2019. I felt lost and alone. The diagnosis forced me to confront significant obstacles, halting my educational pursuits and leading to moments of uncertainty and frustration. However, as I learned to manage my condition, I discovered a resilience within myself that I had not known before. Yet this couldn't be done alone. This journey taught me the importance of perseverance and the value of support systems—lessons I carry with me as I embark on my career in education. During this time, I found an unexpected source of inspiration in my college professor, Dr. McBroom. His passion for teaching and unwavering commitment to his students ignited my desire to pursue a career in education, and more importantly, helping others. As I navigated my health struggles, Dr. McBroom’s encouragement helped me see the power of education as a means to uplift others, solidifying my resolve to make a positive impact in my community. During my recovery, I found solace in literature. Books became my escape and my inspiration, allowing me to explore different perspectives and understand the human experience on a deeper level. I realized that education is not just about imparting knowledge; it is about empowering individuals to think critically, express themselves, and engage with the world around them. I want to be a teacher who nurtures these qualities in my students, especially those who, like me, may face their own struggles. My goal as an educator is to create a safe and inclusive classroom where every student feels valued and heard. I want to foster a love of reading and writing that goes beyond the curriculum, encouraging students to use their voices to advocate for themselves and their communities. I believe that language is a powerful tool for change, and I aim to equip my students with the skills they need to effect positive change in their lives and the lives of others. In addition to my passion for teaching, I am committed to engaging in public service initiatives within my community. I plan to collaborate with local organizations focused on education equity, mentorship, and youth development. By providing tutoring programs or writing workshops, I hope to give back and support students who may not have access to the same resources I did. I want to inspire young people to pursue their dreams and show them that their voices matter. Furthermore, I am particularly interested in advocating for mental health awareness and support in schools. My personal experiences have underscored the importance of addressing mental health challenges, and I want to create an environment where students can openly discuss their struggles without fear of stigma. By incorporating discussions about mental health into my curriculum, I aim to empower my students to seek help and support one another. Ultimately, my journey has reinforced my belief that education is a pathway to empowerment and change. As I continue my studies, I am determined to use the skills I acquire to uplift others and contribute to the betterment of my community. This scholarship will not only help me financially but will also serve as a reminder of the importance of public service in shaping lives. I am grateful for the opportunity to apply and for the chance to turn my passion into action.

Growing up as the daughter of a CW4 in the Army meant a childhood filled with adventure, but also constant change. Moving around frequently was a hallmark of our family's lifestyle, with new cities, schools, and friends becoming the norm. Amidst the uncertainty of relocation, one consistent source of support emerged: my teachers. They provided stability, guidance, and encouragement, shaping my worldview and instilling in me a deep appreciation for education. As I navigated the transient nature of military life, my teachers became beacons of inspiration, offering not only academic instruction but also emotional support and a sense of belonging. They understood the unique challenges faced by military children and went above and beyond to ensure our success, fostering an environment where we could thrive despite the constant upheaval. As I grew older and contemplated my future, I knew that I wanted to pay forward the kindness and encouragement I received from my teachers. The decision to become a high school English teacher was born out of a desire to provide other military kids with the same sense of support and empowerment that had been instrumental in shaping my own journey. However, in 2019, my plans were derailed by a devastating diagnosis: hypokalemic periodic paralysis, an autoimmune disease that left me facing multiple surgeries and extended periods of paralysis-induced bed rest. The sudden onset of my illness forced me to pause my academic pursuits, putting my dreams of becoming a teacher on hold indefinitely. In the face of adversity, I found myself grappling with feelings of uncertainty and doubt. Would I ever be able to overcome my illness and pursue my passion for teaching? Would I be able to regain the strength and resilience needed to navigate the rigorous demands of academia? Yet, even in my darkest moments, the flame of determination flickered within me. The unwavering support of my family, friends, and medical professionals bolstered my spirits, reminding me that adversity is not synonymous with defeat. Now, as I emerge from the shadows of illness, I am filled with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. My experience battling hypokalemic periodic paralysis has only strengthened my resolve to pursue my dream of graduating and becoming a teacher. I am eager to channel my passion for English literature and my firsthand understanding of the unique challenges faced by military children into a career dedicated to fostering a sense of belonging, empowerment, and resilience in the next generation. Through my journey, I have come to understand the profound impact that educators can have on the lives of their students. As a future teacher, I am committed to paying forward the kindness, support, and encouragement that have shaped my own life, ensuring that every student who walks through my classroom doors feels seen, valued, and empowered to reach their full potential. Armed with a renewed sense of purpose and a steadfast determination to make a positive impact on the world, I am ready to embark on this new chapter of my journey with courage, resilience, and unwavering optimism.

As I enter my third year of college, I can’t help but reflect on the unexpected turn of events that led me to discover a passion for teaching that I never knew existed. It all started during a challenging period in my life when I began battling hypokalemic periodic paralysis, a condition that frequently confined me to my bed for extended periods. In the midst of this struggle, I found myself working at an after-school tutoring program, seeking solace and purpose in helping others. Although I had never considered teaching as a potential career path, my experience at the tutoring program opened my eyes to the profound impact educators can have on their students. Not only did I help these students academically, but I also found myself guiding them through their personal struggles and challenges by sharing my own. Despite my own battles, I poured my heart and soul into supporting these students, offering a listening ear, encouragement, and mentorship whenever they needed it. Whether it was helping them understand complex literary concepts or providing a source of comfort during difficult times, I discovered that teaching goes far beyond the confines of the classroom. The relationships I formed with these students were transformative, teaching me invaluable lessons about empathy, resilience, and the power of human connection. Through their stories and experiences, I gained a deeper understanding of the diverse struggles and triumphs that shape each student’s journey. As I continue my own academic pursuits, I am fueled by a newfound sense of purpose and passion for education. I am driven by the desire to create a supportive and inclusive learning environment where students feel valued, empowered, and understood. My goal as a future educator is to not only impart knowledge and academic skills but also to nurture the holistic development of each student. I aspire to be a source of inspiration, guidance, and encouragement, helping students discover their strengths, pursue their passions, and overcome obstacles along the way. By providing mentorship, compassion, and unwavering support, I hope to inspire my future students to believe in themselves, embrace challenges as opportunities for growth, and forge their own paths to success. As I embark on this journey, I am grateful for the lessons learned and the experiences that have shaped me into the educator I aspire to become.

Losing my father during my freshman year of college was a devastating blow that reshaped the course of my life in ways I could never have anticipated. The impact on my educational journey, being away from home for the first time, and grappling with the grieving process during such a pivotal moment was profound and overwhelming. His absence cast a heavy shadow over every aspect of my college experience. While my peers were navigating the joys and challenges of newfound independence, I found myself grappling with the profound void left by my father's passing. Concentrating on my studies became an uphill battle, and participating in campus activities felt like a chore amid the fog of grief that enveloped me. Being away from home only intensified this sense of isolation and vulnerability. Without the familiar comforts and support network of family and friends, the grieving process felt insurmountable. Each day was a struggle to reconcile the absence of my father with the new reality I found myself in. As if the emotional turmoil weren't enough, I was confronted with another unexpected challenge – the onset of hypokalemic periodic paralysis. The physical limitations imposed by my condition confined me to my bed for days or even weeks at a time, exacerbating the sense of helplessness and frustration that already consumed me. Rather than let my grief consume me, I am fueled by my passion for to cecome a high school English teacher. This not only fulfills a lifelong dream of my own, but it also serves as a profound connection to my father. Through his guidance and encouragement, I discovered the transformative power of storytelling and the profound impact of education. In pursuing this path, I honor his memory and carry forward his legacy, knowing that he continues to inspire and guide me every step of the way. As I navigate the complexities of grief, illness, and my academic pursuits, I am reminded of the inherent resilience within me. Each obstacle becomes an opportunity for growth, each setback a chance to reaffirm my commitment to my dreams. Though the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, I am fueled by the unwavering belief that my father's spirit walks alongside me, illuminating my path and infusing each moment with a greater sense of purpose and meaning. And with his love as my compass, I am confident that no challenge is insurmountable, no dream beyond my reach.

English literature has always been my beacon, guiding me through the darkest of times and illuminating the path to my true passion: becoming an educator. Despite the challenges posed by my battle with hypokalemic periodic paralysis, a condition that often confined me to bed for weeks or even months at a time, my love for literature has remained unwavering, fueling my determination to pursue my dreams against all odds. From the moment I first cracked open the pages of classic novels such as ‘White Nights’ and ‘Anna Karenina’, I was enraptured by the transformative power of language to evoke emotion, provoke thought, and transport readers to distant realms of imagination. In the verses of Shakespeare and the prose of Austen, I found solace, inspiration, and a profound appreciation for the intricacies of the human experience. As I navigated the turbulent waters of my condition, grappling with the physical and emotional toll it exacted, literature emerged as my lifeline, offering refuge in its pages when the world outside seemed unbearable. During the long, solitary hours spent in my bed, I delved deeper into the realms of fiction and poetry, forging a connection to characters and narratives that transcended the boundaries of my own reality. Despite the setbacks and obstacles I encountered along the way, including the necessity of taking a year off school to focus on my health, my passion for the written word remained undiminished. If anything, the challenges I faced only served to strengthen my resolve, fueling my determination to overcome adversity and pursue my dreams with unwavering dedication. Returning to school after my hiatus has not been merely a matter of academic pursuit; it is a testament to the indomitable spirit that resides within each of us, a testament to the belief that no obstacle is insurmountable in the pursuit of one's passion. With each turn of the page, each discussion of literary themes and motifs, I am drawn ever closer to my calling: to inspire, to educate, and to empower the next generation of young minds through the transformative power of literature. As I look toward the future, I am acutely aware of the sacrifices I have made along the way. There have been moments of doubt, moments when the weight of my condition threatened to overwhelm me, but through it all, my love for literature has remained a constant source of strength and inspiration. In my pursuit of becoming a high school English teacher, I am driven by a profound sense of purpose, a deep-seated belief in the power of education to transform lives and empower individuals to reach their full potential. Armed with a passion for literature and a commitment to my students, I am eager to embark on this noble endeavor, to inspire, to educate, and to instill in the next generation a love of learning that will endure long after they leave my classroom. As I navigate the final chapters of my college journey, I do so with a sense of optimism and excitement for the possibilities that lie ahead. With each passing day, I am reminded of the profound impact literature can have on our lives, and I am grateful for the opportunity to share that passion with others, to ignite the flame of curiosity and creativity that resides within each and every one of us.

As I reflect on the tumultuous journey of this year, one song from 1989 (Taylor’s Version) resonates with me like no other: "You Are in Love". This track has become the soundtrack of my life, encapsulating the highs and lows of my struggle with hypokalemic periodic paralysis, and the unwavering support of my extraordinary boyfriend who has been my rock through it all. The lyrics of "You Are in Love" seem to have been penned with the intricacies of my relationship in mind, each verse weaving into the fabric of my experiences. As I lay immobilized for weeks, even months at a time, battling the debilitating effects of my condition, my boyfriend's unwavering presence became the guiding light piercing through the darkness. Swift's words, "One night, he wakes, strange look on his face. Pauses, then says, 'You're my best friend'..." echoed through my mind during the countless nights when he sat by my side, holding my hand, offering me comfort and camraderie. In the depths of despair, the refrain "You can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out, you are in love, true love" became my anthem, a testament to the profound connection that sustained us through the darkest of times. Taylor Swift's ability to capture the essence of love in its purest form provided me with a beacon of hope, a reminder that even amidst the most trying circumstances, love prevails. Beyond the solace I found in her music, Taylor Swift herself emerged as a source of inspiration, igniting within me the courage to pursue my dreams of becoming a high school English teacher. Through her storytelling prowess, she transported me to worlds both familiar and fantastical, instilling in me a deep appreciation for the power of words to heal, to inspire, and to transform lives. Her journey from aspiring musician to global icon served as a testament to the transformative power of perseverance and resilience, qualities that I strive to embody in my own pursuit of purpose. With each chord and every lyric, Taylor Swift emboldened me to embrace my passion for literature, to channel my experiences into a force for good, and to empower the next generation of young minds through the gift of education. As I look back on the trials and triumphs of the past year, "You Are in Love" stands as a poignant reminder of the indomitable spirit of love, the unwavering support of a devoted partner, and the transformative power of music to illuminate even the darkest of nights. Through Taylor Swift's music, I found solace, inspiration, and the unwavering belief that no matter how arduous the journey, love will always light the way.

Entering my sophomore year of college, I am an English major at Grand Canyon University with a focus on secondary education. As the primary caregiver of a parent with a disability, I have many responsibilities outside of school so this scholarship would help greatly to ease some of the financial burden facing me and my family right now and allow me to spend more time focused on my studies. I have endured many obstacles throughout my life: my mother lost her sight when I was seven years old and most recently, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease. This has led me to find new ways to manage my workload at school, work, and home. While this can sometimes be overwhelming, I take hope in the fact that my faithfulness will not be in vain. As it says in Philippians 3:13-14 "I Forget the past and look forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. ” And that is exactly what I plan to do. Upon completing my degree, I hope to model that same faith and perseverance as a middle school English teacher. When applying for college, I never intended to pursue a career in teaching. With a natural affinity for storytelling, I hoped to be a great novelist or a groundbreaking journalist akin to the likes of Emily Brontë or Joan Didion. However, during my junior year of high school, I was asked to be an English tutor at a local after-school program where I worked with kids in grades 6-8. This experience led me to discover my passion not only for teaching but my calling for helping others as well. Studying at a Baptist college, I feel very privileged to align my educational goals with my spiritual beliefs, a luxury that many students are not afforded today. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue in my pursuit of goals not single-minded but rather, kingdom-focused. Thank you for your time and consideration.

In 2012, I became a caregiver overnight. My mother suffered from bilateral retinal detachments, resulting in a severe loss of vision. During that time, my stepdad was deployed in Afghanistan, leaving me as the primary caregiver for my mom. We couldn't afford to hire professional help and my grandparents lived over 600 miles away, so all of the responsibility became mine and mine alone. There were many things she could no longer do on her own and many skills that she had to relearn. Those first few months we spent together were physically and emotionally taxing for us both, but I will never forget the strength and determination that she displayed despite the insurmountable difficulties that she was facing. It is that same courage that has continued to propel me to pursue my own educational goals. During my senior year of high school, I began to exhibit symptoms of fatigue, numbness and paralysis. At the time, the doctors attributed these symptoms to 'irregular stressors' such as preparing for the SATs, submitting college applications and taking final exams, all while caring for my mother. However, when my symptoms did not subside with the removal of these stressors, it was clear that something else was going on. After two years of extensive testing and hospital visits, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease known as hypokalemic periodic paralysis. There is still much to be learned about this chronic illness; this makes the treatments expensive with results that vary from patient to patient. Up until this point, I was able to stay in college and maintain a 3.96 GPA. But, due to the rising cost of healthcare and the physical toll that the disease was taking on my body, I decided to temporarily withdraw from school to prioritize my health and continue taking care of my mother. I've been asked if I regret taking this time away from school to care for my mother and myself. People want to know if I feel any bitterness or resentment for putting my life on hold. And yet, when I look back at the choices I've made, I can honestly say that I have no regrets. Love is patient and kind. It is gentle, caring, and slow to anger. My life with my mother has been neither perfect nor easy. But, when faced with inevitable hardships, there is one thing we've always been able to count on: each other. That is why I can say that caring for my mother has been a great joy and a privilege. At this point in time, I am healthier than I have been in years. My medical team has found a treatment that while not a cure, does help manage the symptoms significantly. Sadly, my mother's vision continues to decline and the doctors fear that she will eventually lose her sight altogether. This knowledge has led me to return to school in hopes that she can see me walk across that stage and earn my degree, while she is still able to do so. Studying English for Secondary Education, I aspire to use my experiences as a caregiver to encourage students to pursue their dreams - even in the face of hardship - with the same courage and resolve that I learned from my mother. Throughout my journey as a caregiver, I have learned to approach myself and others with empathy and grace, qualities I hope to carry with me throughout my career and my life. And no matter where my path leads, my identity rests firmly and happily in one simple fact: I am my mother's daughter.

Because I was homeschooled from the 4th grade through my senior year of high school, I had never seriously considered becoming an English teacher. From a very young age, my interests have been numerous and varied. I was trained in classical ballet for 8 years before sustaining a serious knee injury. During that period of recovery, I began to teach myself how to play guitar while penning the lyrics to my own songs. At that point in my life, I felt like I had lost an integral part of myself - one that I wasn't sure I could ever get back. However, music gave me an outlet to express those feeelings, something for which I am truly grateful. And while I have been blessed with many different talents, it is exercising them for the benefit of others that makes me feel truly fulfilled. During my junior year of high school, my family and I relocated to a very remote area due to the nature of my dad's job. All of my friends lived in another state; I felt completely isolated from everyone I cared about and wondered how I would cope with being in such a foreign environment. A few days before the start of the school year, the pastor's wife from the local church brought me a cake for my sixteenth birthday. She knew that I hadn't made any friends yet and didn't want me to be alone. After we ate some of the cake, she asked if I would be interested in volunteering as a teacher's aide at an after-school program that she was organizing. At the time, I didn't have any interest in teaching and I didn't feel particularly inclined to spend my afternoons with a bunch of rowdy children. However, after talking about it with my parents, I decided to give the kids a chance. One week later, I arrived to get my classroom assignment for the year. On the sign-up slip, they asked which grade levels you would prefer to work with - I checked all of the boxes except for 6th, 7th, and 8th grade. Middle schoolers are notoriously unruly and at the time, I felt that I didn't possess the temperament or the patience to deal with them. Anyone who's heard that God dosen't have a sense of humor has clearly been misinformed. When I looked down at the little sheet of paper, it was nothing other than the 6th grade. Initially, the students viewed me as a peer rather than an authority figure. They would often question my instructions or dismiss me altogether. However, as time went on, I did everything I could to earn their trust and gain their respect. One day, a young girl that struggled with severe anxiety came to me with tears streaming down her face. She was asked to give an oral presentation at her school the next day and was so nervous about it that she began to have a panic attack. As someone who also struggles with anxiety, I walked her through some breathing exercises to help her feel less overwhelmed. I then went on to explain my own struggles and the consistent effort it took to overcome them, all the while assuring her that she could do the same. The next day, she came into class wearing a toothy grin; she had gotten an A on her assignment! Working with these kids completely changed my perspective - not only in regards to my career goals, but my entire life as well. Because as much as I helped them, I now they helped me even more. While I have always felt grateful for the many talents and interests I possess, I never fully understood how to utilize them in a way that didn't seem fruitless or vain. But now, more than ever, I can say I know exactly where I am supposed to be: shaping the gifted young minds of the forthcoming generation. I will seek to provide students who are hurting with a listening ear. I will help them develop healthy coping skills so they don't have to live in fear. I will foster an environment that supports and uplifts those with unique abilities. My classroom will be a safe space for all students, regardless of status. And above all, I hope to use my English degree to instill in my students the power that their words hold. The power to encourage. To enlighten. To advocate for justice. To inspire. At the end of that day, that simple thing is all I aim to do.

The first time that I volunteered at a crisis shelter, I was 8 years old. My church announced that they were looking for a group of people to prepare and distribute food at one of the local organizations that they sponsored. Knowing that my grandparents were among the most dedicated supporters of this cause, I knew they would be in attendance and I asked if I could join them. It didn't seem as though there was a minimum age requirement for volunteers so my grandparents said that if I really wanted to help, they would be more than happy to bring me along. When we arrived, the first thing that struck me was the length of the line; it wrapped half way around the building. As a child, the concept of people in need was abstract. It was an idea that lived on the periphery of my understanding; something that was talked about but never witnessed. I saw mothers who were going hungry in order to feed their children. I saw elderly men whose skin had been abused by the relentless Texas sun, no place to find reprieve. And while I couldn't wrap my developing mind around the how or the why, I knew that I wanted to do whatever I could to help. From that point on, I volunteered at the shelter at least once a month. At first, I spent most of my time in the back of the food bank organizing and preparing the bags of food that would be distributed to each family. As I got older, I began to transition to more front-of-house duties such as checking people in and passing out food and other supplies that the shelter provided. This gave me the opportunity to truly interact with people; I got to hear their stories and learn about their lives. While they all experienced different hardships that led them to where they were, they all had one thing in common: they just wanted to someone to listen. To see them as something more than the sum of their struggles. During my sophomore year of high school, I was asked to volunteer at the women's shelter that the food bank was in partnership with. They were short on staff members and felt like I would be a good fit. I knew that many of these women were victims of domestic violence and that transitioning within that environment would take patience and an open heart. After praying about it, I felt called to serve. On my first day there, I was assigned with putting together care packages for the women who had just arrived. This included items such as toothbrushes deodorant, shampoo and conditioner etc. As I was sorting through the inventory, I noticed that the feminine care products were in short supply. I asked the manager of the facility when we would be receiving more and she grew silent. Apparently, feminine hygiene products were the least donated items at this oragnization despite the fact that all of the recipients were female. This unaddressed stigma greatly unsettled me. All women - no matter their background or financial situation, should have access to feminine care products. Propelled by my passion, I organized a women's hygiene drive at my church to collect these items and donate them to the women's shelter. In total, we collected nearly 200 boxes to provide to women in the community! This has become an annual event at my church, which I entitled 'Free Flow'. It is my hope that this small act will begin to shift the narrative of this important social issue.

Since the day my mother lost her sight, such was her need to protect me that she would not let me see her cry. The trick was to get over it as quickly and privately as possible. Such was my need to protect her that I never let on that I could hear her. Sensing that our whole lives were about to change, my mother knew that she was going to need extra support if we were going to survive. As we packed our bags and headed for my grandparent's house, my mother said I was allowed a single tear, so I had better make it a good one. For the next seven years, my mother and I never ventured far from the security of the new life that we had created. As long as we felt safe and in control, any risk of calamity could be mitigated. We were happy this way, for a while. My mother, my grandparents and me. And yet, my mother began to find herself becoming restless. She wanted more for her life. She wanted to experience the world for herself rather than trying to understand it through second-hand narration. In the fall of 2007, my mother announced that she wanted to go back to school and get her degree. She had always wanted to be a nurse; visions of rubber gloves and sterilized instruments danced before her like the sugar plum fairy. And while she knew that she could never be a practicing nurse due to the nature of her vision, the medical field was beckoning and she couldn’t ignore the call. While the obstacles she endured seemed insurmountable, she faced them with a courage that could rival even that of the most formidable military leaders. In 2012, my mother earned a Bachelor of Science in Health Sciences from the University of Texas Arlington. She graduated Magna Cum Laude. And so, as I set out on my educational journey, I find solace in the fact that while the shape of my dreams may shift, the determination with which I pursue them does not have to. Just like my mother, I plan to live my life with a fearlessness that comes from faith, drawing strength from the example she has always set for me. It is my belief that our purpose is derived not from what we do, but who are and the lives that we touch. Ultimately, this is what propelled me to pursue a career in education; the idea that I might use the gifts I've been given not to my own benefit or glory, but rather to the dedication and service of others. At the end of the day, my identity rests firmly and happily in one simple fact: I am my mother’s daughter.

Elliott Smith - known more widely for his tragic death - was perhaps one of the most prolific songwriters of the late 20th century. Nicknamed Mr. Misery, Elliott had a propensity for all things melancholy; his music often discussed topics such as addiction and depression. While his songs were sparsely produced, it was not the production or even his thready voice that drew listeners in. Instead, it was his brutally honest lyrics that provided people a glimpse of Smith's humanity, a trait not often exhibited by someone of his caliber. "Stay up all night with the things you could do, you won't but you might" Elliott sings on 'Between the Bars', a song that comes from his 1997 album entitled Either/Or (cleverly named after Kirkegaard's philosophical work regarding despair). Simply put, 'Between the Bars' outlines the stages of grief, denial, and acceptance that come along with the death of your dreams. Smith eloquently describes the pain that emanates from such a loss: "The potential you'll be that you'll never see; promises you'll only make". At 22 years old, I am nowhere close to where I thought I would be at this point in my life. In 2019, I was diagnosed with an extremely rare autoimmune disease, one that exponentially reduced the momentum with which I could pursue my goals. When I listen to 'Between the Bars', I find solace in the knowledge that my grief is validated. While the shape of my dreams has been altered, they still exist and they are still my own. This song embodies the hope that someone will come along and drive out the fear inside of me, accepting all of my flaws and my failures. Until then, I'll have to learn to do that on my own.

In 2019, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease known as hypokalemic periodic paralysis. Put more simply, I suffer from a chronic potassium deficiency that renders me temporarily incapacitated. The first time this happened, I was driving home from work on a foggy winter evening. I began to feel a tingling sensation in my hands that quickly spread throughout the rest of my limbs. At that point, I couldn’t feel anything; my hands and legs were completely numb and I was unable to speak. Thankfully, someone pulled over on the side of the road to call for help and waited with me until the paramedics arrived. At the hospital, I found out that my potassium levels had dropped to 2.5 - a level that is nearly fatal. While the solution to this was relatively simple, the doctors could not figure out the cause of these paralytic episodes for nearly two years. After visiting multiple specialists, it was determined that my symptoms were worsened by excessive carbohydrate intake as well as stress. At the time, I had also started visiting a licensed therapist in order to deal with the frequent panic attacks that began to take place after my initial incident in 2019. My therapist suggested that I consider adopting an emotional support animal in an effort to manage my anxiety. In March of 2020, I met my best friend in the world. Tabitha is a short-hair chihuahua, with a sweet little heart between her eyes. She is quite talkative; she’s not afraid to let you know what’s on her mind! But, behind that sassy exterior is the gentlest and kindest spirit that you could ever wish to encounter. During the pandemic, she became my closest ally and confidant. When I couldn’t sleep due to the crippling uncertainty of it all, she was right beside me, letting me know that I wasn’t alone. Every time I went to the hospital, Tabitha was waiting for me when I came home. She was there to comfort me, to play with me, to make me smile. To remind me that things are never as bad as they seem. That even when your world is shrouded in fog, there is always a light to be found. We just have to be brave enough to see it. People say that dogs are our best friends. While I do think that, I feel like Tabitha is so much more than that to me. Tabby is my family. She is a part of me. She is a physical expression of unconditional love; a love that is loyal and unwavering. She is the one who taught me to find the light. To some, that might sound like the dramatic musings of a girl who’s seen Old Yeller a few too many times. But, if you’ve ever had your own Tabitha, you’ll know exactly what I mean. “It’s not a thing you ought to forget”.

As flippant as this may sound, I never paid much attention to my physical or nutritional health while I was in high school. I was a competitive ballet dancer, spending 10-15 hours a week at practices and rehearsals. Due to the regularity of the high-intensity movement, diet and exercise were never things I had to think about. Although I would never have cared to admit it, I felt a secret pleasure knowing that I never weighed more than 100 pounds. When I went shopping for clothes with my friends, I always knew I would be the one to select the smallest size, making me feel superior in some way. And while I don’t believe that I ever developed disordered eating habits, I do recognize that I became overly attached to a version of myself that was not sustainable. In 2019, I was rushed to the hospital by an ambulance. My potassium levels had crashed to 2.5 - a level that is nearly fatal. My entire body became paralyzed, rendering me unable to move for 48 hours. While this was remedied quite easily in the short-term with a potassium transfusion, the long-term treatment was unclear. After visiting numerous specialists over the course of two years and being hospitalized many times in between, I was finally diagnosed with hypokalemic periodic paralysis in 2021. A nephrologist was able to help me determine that excess carbohydrates and caffeine were the main inhibiting factors causing my symptoms. Since then, I’ve had to enact a radical shift in my lifestyle and my eating habits. My diet changed completely; I now eat things that are primarily low-carb and high protein in an effort to balance my potassium levels. I also take a hospital-grade potassium supplement while monitoring my blood levels once a month, which has helped significantly. I was also forced to quit dancing due to the unpredictable nature of my paralysis. I had never imagined my life without ballet. It’s who I was. It was the one dream I had. When I lost that, I spiraled into a very dark place. I had no idea how to move forward. I had no idea who I was or who I wanted to be. My mental health being at an all-time low, I decided to seek help by reaching out to a licensed therapist. After several months of talk-therapy, I was able to make peace with my feelings and acknowledge that my life had not ended when I quit dancing. My therapist helped me grieve the parts of myself that I had lost while encouraging me to actively work towards the person that I wanted to become. And while I may not be that person yet, I know that I am on the right path. I am more aware and more in control of my thoughts, my emotions and my overall wellbeing than I have ever been before. I finally feel ready to go back to school, not only to pursue my education, but to use my experiences to help others who have struggled with similar issues. Maybe this isn’t the life that I imagined for myself when I was younger, but I think that’s okay. I now have space to become whoever I want. Someone healthy. Someone vibrant. Someone strong.

Sylvia Plath once said that it was impossible to become all of the people she wanted and to live all of the lives that she could imagine. And why did this cause her so much grief? Well, in her own words, Sylvia said “I want to live and feel all of the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience as possible in my life”. How I wish she could have seen that as a writer, she possessed that very ability; it was through her own words that she could give life to a world that only she could imagine. Writing allowed her to become any person that she desired, to live numerous lives without ever leaving her desk. That is the beauty of the written word. That is what made me fall in love with English composition. Growing up in a low-income household, there was one place in the community where I truly felt at home: the public library. At the library, all of my inhibitions disappeared. I could do and be whoever I wanted without the input of others. It didn’t matter how much money I had (or didn’t have, in my case). The books were free and the only limitation that existed were the ones I put in place by myself. Every day after school, my grandmother would drive me directly to the library so I could peruse the shelves and sit in the worn leather chairs. And for a few hours, I became whoever I wanted to be. I lived a life beyond my own comprehension; I was a young wizarding student at the world’s finest magical institution. I helped Mr. Toad with his spring cleaning. I ate Christmas dinner with Laurie and the March sisters. For a short while, I became every person that I ever wanted to be. As I’ve grown up, that passion for literature has not dulled, but rather, intensified. I read as many things as I can, as often as I can. Everywhere I look, I see the distinct mark left behind by an author. The script that was written for my favorite show. The dialogue that was researched and reported on the nightly news. The heartbreaking lyrics that were penned by a lovelorn songwriter doing their best to make peace with their pain. Because of this, I would wager that there is no aspect of life that has not been touched by those who wish to document it. It is the simplest form of human expréussi on. We are so moved by joy or fear or love that we can’t help but talk about it. And that’s exactly what I intend to spend the rest of my life doing: talking. Writing. Sharing. Singing. Maybe Sylvia just needed someone to remind her that life is not linear. You don’t have to do and be one thing for the rest of your life. Life is beautiful and long and whatever you want it to be. You just have to open your eyes and see it.

There are two things dancers are taught from a very young age: 1) point your toes and 2) suck on a lemon drop when you’re hungry. This low-caloric lifestyle is one that is not only encouraged but enforced once you begin training seriously; at least that is what I experienced when dancing competitively for a ballet company in high school. Our value rested just as much upon our weight as it did on our abilities. As time went on, I began to find my identity in my thinness. I viewed it as one of my defining qualities. I began to covet a warped reflection of myself. One that was only worthy when shaped a certain way. In 2018, this all began to change. At the time, I was working as a barista in a coffee shop while finishing up my senior year of high school. The coffee was free and the food was 50% off. So, like any normal 18 year old would do, I exercised my right to the oh-so-generous employee discount. Every day when I came into work, I would make myself an iced coffee and half a bagel with cream cheese. This is pretty much all I would eat within a 6-8 hour period. This felt totally normal to me at the time… until it didn’t anymore. On my way home from work one evening, I began to feel a tingling sensation in my hands which led to a numbness that quickly spread throughout my whole body. My hands began to claw up and I couldn’t speak. Thankfully, I was able to pull over on the side of the road while another car stopped to help me dial 911. When the paramedics arrived, I was completely paralyzed. At the hospital, my lab work determined that my potassium levels had dropped to 2.5 - a level that is nearly fatal. The initial treatment was fairly straightforward: all I needed was a boost to my potassium levels. This was solved by an intravenous potassium transfusion. When I left the hospital, I thought that I’d been cured, that this was a one time occurrence. Sadly, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Over the course of the next two years, I visited hospitals and emergency rooms over 50 times. My potassium levels kept dropping with what seemed like no discernible reason. After visiting numerous specialty doctors, I met with a nephrologist who explained that my condition might be linked to my eating habits. He asked me if I began to notice any of my symptoms when eating a specific food group. After thinking about it for a few minutes, I realized that when I ate an excess of carbohydrates, the tingling would begin in my limbs thus causing a paralytic episode. This realization changed my life. My disease - which was later identified as hypokalemic periodic paralysis - may not be curable, but is in fact manageable with proper diet and medication. I now eat a low-carb, high protein diet which has immensely improved my quality of life. As a dancer, I never realized the implications of my relationship with food. I felt that the less that I ate and the thinner that I looked, the happier that I would be. But standing on the other side of this insurmountable struggle, I realize now that I was wrong. And through those same struggles, I have not only mended but strengthened my relationship with food. So, if you are what you eat, I guess you could say I am healthier than I have ever been.

I am 22 years old and I have never met my biological father. The singular photograph that I possess of him is from my parents wedding day; an event he showed up to an hour late, inebriated and disheveled. When I look at that picture, I see nothing but the blank and empty gaze of a man trying desperately to outrun himself. From what I’ve seen - or rather, haven’t seen - over the last 22 years, he’s done a pretty good job so far. Up until the winter of last year, I had made no attempt to contact my father. When I was in high school, I had this fleeting fantasy: after graduation, I would drive my beat-up little Volkswagen out to his auto shop in New Mexico. I’d be on my way to college, approaching the precipice of my future. But before I could move forward, I had to let something else go. The doubt that surrounded my identity and my self-worth. The question that constantly lingered in the back of my mind, despite all of my achievements: “Why wasn’t I good enough?”. Thankfully, a very good friend of mine told me that I had not and would never require my father’s approval or acknowledgment to be fulfilled. Instead, my pride would be derived from the choices that I made moving forward. Through the life that I built for myself and by myself. From that day forward, I resolved to become a person not that he could be proud of, but that I would be happy with. In January of 2021, I decided to reach out to my dad. I no longer had the desire to share my talent or my accomplishments with him. I simply wanted to know who he was. We video chatted for about two hours; a conversation that consisted mostly of him showing me his vintage pinball collection. As I watched him polish off a second can of Pabst Blue Ribbon at the crisp hour of 10:30 A.M. I realized that while some people can change, he simply hadn’t. I haven’t talked to my father at all since that day. I didn’t feel like there was much to say and he didn’t seem very interested. But this isn’t the end of my story. In fact, I feel like this is just the beginning. The challenges that I’ve faced while living with my father’s absence have been numerous and varied in degrees of severity both circumstantially and emotionally. And yet, I know that without these experiences, I would not be where I am today. I might not even be who I am today. His lack of support and encouragement pushed me to work twice as hard, to believe in myself twice as much. While it saddens me to see that my own father has chosen not to acknowledge his problem yet alone seek help, I do know that there are countless others that do. People who have taken responsibility for their actions and choose every single day to do better. To try. And at the end of the day, that’s all any of us can do, right? Get up and try to be a little better than we were the day before.

There is no greater global unifier than music. Music has the capability to reach beyond social and cultural barriers and unite those who would otherwise have nothing in common. Music is the universal language, one that every person on earth can either hear, speak, or feel. When our hearts are broken, music offers us comfort and recognition. When the time has come to celebrate, we dance, moving our bodies to the expression of someone else’s soul. The beauty that lies within that versatility is what initially drew me towards the music industry. The opportunity to connect with people on the most basic human level - in a way that makes you feel seen - is what drives me in my pursuits (both musically and academically). As a student, I am studying Communications in the hopes of starting my own non-profit radio station that plays alternative music geared towards Gen Z. As a musician, I want to make music that resonates with people. I want to make music that matters. And while the chances of my becoming the next Taylor Swift are quite slim, I am in no way deterred from pursuing my dreams. As an artist, fame is not the goal (it isn’t the *main* goal at least…) The goal is to create something authentic. To express myself honestly and without fear. If I can accomplish that while providing people a soundtrack for their lives, that’s about all the success I could ask for.

To give -and to do so freely, without cause for concern or reservation of what’s left - is perhaps the most selfless thing a person can do. This is because to give in any capacity requires the ability to denounce parts of yourself in one way or another. This could include your time, your money, or even your pride. This is not something that comes naturally to humanity: the concept of sacrifice. We are hard wired wired for survival. We belive that we must do whatever it takes to protect ourselves. To do anything else is almost against our nature. Perhaps that is why giving is an action verb; we’ve always been aware of the effort it takes. And yet, what if this were not the case? What if instead our first instinct was to give recklessly and with our whole hearts? Would the world be a gentler and more kind place to exist? Would the troubles that plague our society be diminished or even eradicated? That is the hope of the generous few (myself included). While I have spent my fair share of time volunteering for organizations such as Meals on Wheels and The Boys and Girls Club, perhaps there are other forms of generosity to consider. When we lend a listening ear to a stranger or share that last slice of chocolate cake with our sibling, maybe there is something to admire there as well. The silent kindness that lies witihin us all.

How many times have you been asked : “What do you want to be when you grow up”? This question never seemed to bother me as a child; I always had an answer. When I was five, I wanted to be a prima ballerina. When I was ten, I wanted to be an international pop star. But now that I’m all grown up, people want a serious answer. But, as someone who struggles with an anxiety disorder, a question that used to fill my mind with daydreams, now leaves me with a deep sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. For as long as I can remember, making choices has not been something that has come easily for me. From what I should eat for dinner to how many smiley-face emojis I should attach to the end of a message so as not to appear too serious or hostile. I am constantly questioning every choice I make. When I was younger, I thought this was something everybody experienced. But as I look back, I realize that none of my other my friends would call their parents at 3 am, hours after their other friends had fallen asleep at the slumber party, begging them to drive across town and pick them up. Back then, I thought this was because I missed home; my parents, my bedroom. But the bigger picture revealed that I feared what I could not control. Unfortunately, this anxiety followed me into my high school years as well. Multiple family members had passed away due to motor vehicle accidents, so when it came time to get my driver’s license, I was terrified. I told myself that even if I was good driver, that didn’t mean that everybody else would be. When my friends offered to give me a ride somewhere, I usually declined and opted to walk instead. If it was really late, I would submit to letting my friends drive me home, but not without that prickling sense of fear in the back of my mind. I knew that all of this was irrational, but there was still some small part of me that convinced myself that this anxiety was normal, if not necessary in order to keep me safe. In the summer of 2019, I was diagnosed with hypokalemia; a potassium deficiency so severe it often leaves my body paralyzed. Over the course of 9 months, I was hospitalized 18 times in order to receive treatment. The problem with this disease is that there is no way to know if your levels are low without first doing bloodwork. These numerous hospital visits, along with the severity of my symptoms, sent my anxiety into over-drive. Every time I felt the fast-approaching tingling and numbness that is indicative of an episode, my heart would race and I would have trouble breathing. And while this is normal in situations of distress, my body became accustomed to this heightened state of panic, something I knew I couldn’t handle much longer. After talking to my parents and my doctors, I decided that it was time I spoke with a therapist about these anxious inclinations. Though I was hesitant at first, I realize now that there is nothing wrong with asking for help. There is nothing wrong with acknowledging your trauma; doing so allows you to identify healthy coping strategies for these issues rather than letting them take over your life. But that process isn’t always easy. It takes a willingness to explore the parts of yourself that you’d rather not accept. But I’ve learned that those things don’t define you but intead, they allow you to grow into the best version of yourself. So, now that I am in a space to confidently and comfortably make choices, I am still searching for the answer to everyone’s favorite question: what do you want to be when you grow up? And while I may not have a concrete answer to that right now, I do know that I have been able to take the the time to truly get to know myself and what I’m passionate about: learning about the past in an effort to shape the future. And yet, while I may have a better sense of what it is that sets my soul on fire, I find peace in knowing that nothing - even my conscious perception of reality - is fixed. What is true for me today may not be true tomorrow, and that is totally fine. I do not have to be in constant control. And it’s because of this intentional growth that I can confidently say that I am finally okay with making mistakes. Taking the wrong train and getting stuck somewhere. Falling in love - with people, with life, and with myself. Changing my mind and changing it again because nothing is permanent. I will allow myself to make mistakes, that way, when someone asks me what I want to be, I won’t have to guess - I’ll know.

In a society that boasts a sense of connectivity that is unique to this generation, why is it that now more than ever, we feel an almost irrevocable sense of isolation and suppression? Is it the constant barrage of imagery, subliminally pushing us to have more, do more, and be more? All of this is said under the pretense of happiness and success. We are told that if we look a certain way, then we will finally be able to accept ourselves. If we buy the newest car, cellphone and fashions, only then will we find happiness and acceptance. Throughout high school, I struggled with finding my place, my identity. To what group of people did I belong? What image did I want to portray, how did I want people to see me? I poured so much time and energy into becoming the person that everyone wanted me to be, pushing myself to be the best at whatever I was trying to do, all in the name of perfection. I thought that I could curate my life and my emotions, becoming a reflection of whatever it is people wanted to see. But as we all know, there is only so much that a filter can cover up. I slowly learned that no amount of editing, dieting, exercising, productivity or consumerism would make me feel accepted or complete. Until I could learn to love and accept myself wholly and completely, I would never be able to do the same for others. That’s when I took the time to really get to know myself without the input of others. For over seven months, I logged off of all my social media accounts, deciding to use the energy I used to pour into people’s perception of me to instead become the person that I wanted to be. During that time, I learned how to be a better daughter, friend, and citizen. I learned to listen with compassion rather than judgment. I learned to see with empathy rather than ridicule. I learned that silence only benefits the oppressor in situations of injustice, no matter how small. And it is through those experiences that I learned what was most important to me: helping amplify the voices of those who have been silenced, myself included. It is my personal experience that although the opinions of society may shift, if the government does not shift with it, no real change will ever come about. That is why I want earn my bachelors degree in history, so that I can apply to law school and become a litigator for the federal court of appeals, in hopes of shaping an American society that is beneficial for all of citizens. And all it took to realize this was patience, understanding, and a strong sense of self-worth.