When I was little, I constantly asked my mom the same question, and her answer was always the same. “Where’s daddy?", I asked her. “He’s in heaven, sweetheart,” she would say gently. It took me a while to understand what that meant. All I knew was that my daddy stopped coming home, and my memories of him stopped. As I got older, it got easier for me to put the pieces together. Easier for me to understand that my daddy had died. Easier for me to know that it was intentional. Easier for me to realize my mom was only putting on a smile because I couldn't comprehend the gravity of the situation. There was never an exact moment when I suddenly realized what had happened; but, rather little pieces of the puzzle that, when put together, helped create a picture. I didn't realize the impact that his suicide had on us until I socialized with my peers. Their families weren't like mine. They had dads, and I didn't. Every daddy-daughter dance, I couldn't go. Every Father's Day, when making cards in school, I had no dad to make one for. Every milestone in my life—things like graduations, earning academic awards, my first prom, and finishing EMT school—my daddy wasn't there. A piece of my puzzle was missing since the day he was gone. Beyond my younger years, my mom and I grew closer. I began to understand the tremendous burden she faced in raising me alone. She faced extreme stress and unbearable pain. Not only did I lose my dad, but my mom lost her husband. I never understood how much she was going through until those moments when she wept in silence, only to put on a smile for me moments after. Seeing the pain behind closed doors at home made me realize just how much it can be concealed, even by those who are closest to you. More importantly, it made me realize that you never really know what other people are going through. This realization dramatically changed the way I interact with people. I wanted nothing less than to be extensively kind to others and give them the grace they may not have within themselves. For many, it is a battle just to make it to the next day. It was like that for my dad, and he lost his battle. But it doesn't have to be that way. Even with a missing piece, the whole puzzle doesn't need to be thrown away. I was born to help those who can't help themselves. There was never a doubt in my mind. As a future PA, I will always do everything I can to prevent others from feeling the same pain I did when I lost my dad. My goals include providing inclusive treatment to all of my patients, ensuring that they feel heard and understood. Even without all of my pieces, the image is clear. My loss gave me the understanding I need to care for others, especially in their darkest moments. This desire fuels everything I do. It ignites a fire inside of me that can't be put out. It pushes me past my limits daily, guiding me through difficult times and challenging situations. When I find myself overwhelmed, it is that flame that burns bright and helps me find the strength to push through. As I hold out this desire and lead with the flame, I can now see the lit picture of who I am meant to be. And for what it's worth, my picture doesn't look so bad with a missing piece.

Growing up, I was an awkward kid. It was hard for me to make friends because I struggled with self-esteem. It always felt like I didn't fit in, so I did most things alone. I worked on my own during group assignments and sat alone at lunch—no one made an effort to talk to me or invite me anywhere. For a while, I didn't have any friends. I became depressed and was eventually put on medication to cope. Because of my circumstances, I can relate to Olivia Rodrigo’s song “Pretty Isn’t Pretty,” as I have tried many different ways to transform myself to fit in with my peers. This pattern carried into high school, and I became more shy and quiet. Sophomore year, my mom encouraged me to step out of my comfort zone and join my local first aid squad. At first, I was terrified. I hated the idea of being in a new environment with people I didn't know. Nevertheless, she convinced me that it was worth a shot. Listening to my mom was the best decision I have ever made. During my first few shifts, I was reserved and found it difficult to initiate conversations. I was afraid of what they would think of me. Shortly after joining, I attended my first meeting. It was there that I noticed there was something very different about the environment I was in. These people were kind, but they were also loud and quirky—just like me. Suddenly, my walls came down. I felt like I could breathe, and I wasn’t afraid anymore. I finally felt like I belonged somewhere, and I no longer felt I needed to change myself to fit in. I started spending more time with people I met there. I was so happy to be part of a group of kids my age who finally accepted me. These people made me realize that I am worth being around and that, just because I didn’t have many acquaintances in school, it doesn’t mean I am incapable of making friends. Not having close friends for most of my life made me realize just how important friendship is when I finally had it. Friendship is something that everyone needs and deserves. It provides a sense of belonging, helping you feel comfortable and safe. The friends I met outside of school helped me understand that there is nothing wrong with being different from others. Different is beautiful. Having that shared experience with my friends at the squad made me understand that it is okay to express myself for who I am, and showed me not to shrink myself out of fear of not being liked by others. A friend of mine said something that really stuck with me. While we all laughed at the analogy at the time, I actually think it is really meaningful. He compared me to a bottle of water. A bottle of water is worth fifty cents at a supermarket, two dollars at the gym, three dollars at the beach, and eight dollars at an airport. Even though it is the same bottle of water, its perceived value changes depending on the environment it is in. I now felt valued in my new surroundings. I came to realize that there is nothing wrong with who I am. I didn’t need to change myself to feel appreciated—I just had to change my environment. Now, whenever I am in a place where I don’t feel valued, I remember that I have my people somewhere else. My new friends mean the world to me for showing me this valuable lesson.

The loss of my father to suicide in 2011 was the pivotal experience that shaped who I am today and what I work hard to achieve. It showed me that mental health advocacy isn't just about treating symptoms. It's about helping others through their darkest moments, and understanding that those around you can be struggling even if they appear okay on the outside. Throughout my personal and professional experiences, I have found my purpose in helping others, which has fueled my desire to become a PA specializing in Psychiatry. I am committed to patient-centered care, and I have already begun preparing to achieve this goal. Although my passion for mental health and community service has stemmed from grief, I have learned how to shape my hardships into action in the form of advocacy and suicide prevention initiatives. One way I do this is by serving as a volunteer community advocate for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. As the AFSP captain for Team Resilient Spirits, I work hard not only to raise awareness for mental health in my community but also to raise funds that go towards suicide prevention research, education, support, and advocacy. By doing this, I strive to make an impact outside of my professional life that reaches beyond just the patients I will treat as a future PA. As an EMT, I have already begun exposure to various aspects of healthcare that will help prepare me to become an impactful Physician Assistant. Not only have I begun learning how to perform thorough patient assessments and other practical skills, but I have also learned how to do so with compassion and empathy. I joined my local first aid squad during my sophomore year. Ever since then, I have been dedicated to serving my community with this squad. I am currently the Cadet Captain there, and I am responsible for fostering the next generation of EMTs. I achieve this by organizing monthly meetings and skill drills to ensure that the Cadets are proficient in their duties and well-prepared to transition out of the Cadet program and become adult members of our squad. Background knowledge and leadership experience in healthcare will allow me to transition smoothly into a more advanced clinical setting in the future. My current training will be invaluable in attaining my future goals to serve my community. Becoming a Physician Assistant is not easy, especially because of the rigorous coursework involved in getting there. However, I am confident in my abilities to take on that challenge. I have been prepared through a heavy courseload of honors, AP, and dual enrollment classes throughout my high school career. Taking difficult courses while also being involved in other activities has taught me important time management skills and studying strategies that will be beneficial throughout the rest of my college journey. With these skills, I am confident in my ability to not just manage the rigorous coursework of PA school but to excel in it. Recently, I have been accepted into and submitted my enrollment deposit for Monmouth University’s BS in Biology/MS in Physician Assistant 3+3 year program. With this program, I am on track to graduate from PA school in just six years, setting a clear path ahead for me to obtain my goals. My future goal is to give back to my community by providing a safe and accessible environment where my patients can get the care that they need. I am prepared, motivated, and ready to make an impact in my community in the future.

When I was little, I constantly asked my mom the same question, and her answer was always the same. “Where’s daddy?” I would question. “He’s in heaven, sweetheart,” she would say gently. It took me a while to understand what that meant. All I knew was that my daddy stopped coming home, and my memories of him stopped. As I got older, it got easier for me to put the pieces together. Easier for me to understand that my daddy had died and that it was intentional. Easier for me to realize my mom was only putting on a smile for me because I couldn't comprehend the gravity of the situation. There was never an exact moment when I suddenly realized what had happened, but ratger little pieces of the puzzle that, when put together, helped me create a picture. I didn't realize the impact that his suicide had on my mother and me until I socialized with my peers. Their families weren't like mine. They had dads. I didn't. Every daddy-daughter dance, I couldn't go. Every Father's Day, when making cards in school, I had no dad to make one for. Every milestone in my life—things like graduations, earning academic awards, my first prom, and finishing EMT school—my daddy wasn't there. A piece of my puzzle was missing since the day he was gone. Beyond my younger years, my mom and I grew much closer. I began to understand the tremendous burden she faced in raising me alone. She faced extreme stress and unbearable pain. Not only did I lose my dad, but my mom lost her husband. I never truly understood how much she was going through until those moments when she wept in silence, only to put on a smile for me moments after. Seeing the pain behind closed doors at home made me realize just how much it can be concealed, even by those who are closest to you. More importantly, it made me realize that you never really know what other people are going through. This realization dramatically changed the way I interact with people. I became extremely kind to others, wanting to give them the grace they may not have within themselves. For many, it is a battle to make it to the next day. It was like that for my dad, and he lost his battle. But it doesn't have to be that way. Even with a missing piece, the whole puzzle doesn't need to be thrown away. I was born to help those who can't help themselves. There was never a doubt in my mind. As a future PA, I will always do everything I can to prevent others from feeling the same pain I did when I lost my dad. I aim to provide inclusive treatment to all of my patients, ensuring that they feel heard and understood. Even without all of my pieces, the image is clear. My loss gave me the understanding I need to care for others, especially in their darkest moments. This desire fuels everything I do. It ignites a fire inside of me that can't be put out. It pushes me past my limits daily, guiding me through difficult times and challenging situations. When I find myself stuck or overwhelmed, it is that flame that burns bright and helps me find the strength to push through. As I hold out this desire and lead with the flame, I can now see the illuminated picture of who I am meant to be. And for what it's worth, my picture doesn't look so bad with a missing piece.

It took me a while as a small child to understand what it meant when my mom said that "Daddy is in heaven now". All I knew was that he stopped coming home, and my memories of him stopped. As I got older, it got easier for me to put the pieces together. Easier for me to understand that my daddy had died, and he did it on purpose. Easier for me to realize my mom was only putting on a smile for me because I couldn't comprehend the gravity of the situation. There was never an exact moment in time when I suddenly realized what had happened, but rather little pieces of the puzzle that, when put together, helped me create a picture. I didn't realize the impact that his suicide had on me until I began to socialize with my peers. Their families weren't like mine. They had dads, and I didn't. Every daddy-daughter dance, I couldn't go. Every Father's Day, when we made cards in school, I had no dad to make one for. Every milestone in my life—things like earning high honor roll, attending my first prom, and finishing EMT school—my daddy wasn't there. A piece of my puzzle had always been missing since the day he was gone. Beyond my younger years, my mom and I grew much closer, and I began to truly understand the tremendous burden she faced with raising me alone. She faced extreme stress and unbearable pain. Not only did I lose my dad, but my mom lost her husband. I never truly understood how much she was going through until those moments when she wept in silence, only to put on a smile for me moments after. Seeing the pain behind closed doors at home made me realize just how much it can be concealed, even by those who are closest to you. More importantly, it made me realize that you never really know what other people are going through. This realization dramatically changed the way I interact with people. I wanted to go above and beyond to make people feel valued. For many, it is a battle just to make it to the next day. It was like that for my dad, and he lost his battle. But it doesn't have to be that way. Even with a missing piece, the whole puzzle doesn't need to be thrown away. I want more than anything to help more people realize that. I was born to help those who can't help themselves. There was never a doubt in my mind. I will always do everything I can to prevent others from feeling the same pain I did when I lost my dad. Even without all of my pieces, the image is clear. My loss gave me the understanding I need to care for others, especially in their darkest moments. This desire fuels everything I do. It ignites a fire inside of me that can't be put out. It pushes me past my limits daily, guiding me through difficult times and challenging situations. When I find myself stuck or overwhelmed, it is that flame that burns bright and helps me find the strength to push through. My background will always be enough to motivate me through anything. I can’t be certain enough of that. I know my purpose is to help people. As I hold out this desire and lead with the flame, I can see now the lightened picture of who I am meant to be. And for what it's worth, my picture doesn't look so bad with a missing piece.

My name is Mia, and I am a 17-year-old senior at Lacey Township High School. I suffer from diagnosed severe anxiety, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, recurrent depression, and obsessive compulsive disorder. As a result of these mental disorders combined, school can get really challenging for me. Nevertheless, I have persevered through these challenges and achieved many impressive things. I learned to navigate through a demanding academic course load in a way that works best for me. I have worked extremely hard, even if it takes me longer than everyone else. School consumes a majority of my time because of how hard it is for me to concentrate. I often find myself staring at blank pages for hours before I can organize a flow of thoughts in my head. Taking tests is also extremely difficult when a time limit is introduced, because not only am I trying to gather my thoughts together for answers to the questions, but I am also trying to do so with extreme anxiety about running out of time and failing. I have never finished a test within the allotted time before I got accommodations. To learn and study while also performing well is something that has taken me a tremendous amount of effort to do, and yet I continue to do so every day. Before I received a 504, I was terrified to submit an application for one. I was afraid that all of my hard work would be invalidated. There is a lot of stigma surrounding 504s and IEPs in that they are a form of “cheating the system” or that they are an “unfair advantage”. Although I always advocated for others, I just never dared to follow through myself because I didn’t think that I was deserving of that extra help. It took years of therapy for me to understand that I fit into the group of individuals that 504s were made for. After it was set into place, I find myself performing a lot better on timed assessments because the stressor of time was no longer a huge issue. After I was able to recognize my own struggles with school, it became easier for me to identify them in others. I often talked to many people who struggled with timed tests, and they all told me that they are afraid of getting a 504 or IEP because they are afraid of being judged or criticized for “cheating”. When I realised that people feared getting help in school for the same reasons I did, it became my mission to spread awareness of accommodations and the stigma surrounding them. Mental health is important, especially in an academic setting. School often takes a huge toll on those who already struggle with mental illness because of the constant pressure to perform well. When given the support they need, those individuals will be helped tremendously. Recently, I have been accepted into and submitted my enrollment deposit for Monmouth University’s BS in Biology/MS in Physician Assistant 3+3 year program. I am excited to enter a field where I can continue advocating for others. I plan to specialize in psychiatry, in which I will help treat those with mental illness. As a part of this profession, I will also be diagnosing students of various ages, which helps them qualify for the accommodations they need. Any scholarship that could help me reach this point would be tremendously helpful. If the financial burden of college could be alleviated, I would be able to direct my full attention to my academics and patient care.