There is a specific kind of pain that comes from being talked about by people you cannot see. My experience with cyberbullying began on an anonymous app where boys could upload photos of girls and vote them as a “green flag” or a “red flag,” followed by a stream of comments that no name would ever be attached to. The day my photo appeared, everything in my world shifted. Each cruel comment chipped away at a part of me I was still learning to love. What hurt most wasn’t just the words, it was the not knowing. Not knowing who said them. Not knowing who around me smiled to my face and tore me apart online. Not knowing why, or how long it would last. I would come to school every day trying to be the same cheerful version of myself, but inside I felt hollowed out. I learned how hard it is to pretend you are okay when strangers, or worse, people you know, hide behind screens and try to define your worth. No teenager should ever have to experience that kind of fear or humiliation. Yet it is the reality of my generation, and it is why I became determined to be part of the solution. I went directly to my school administrators and our SRO officer, advocating for myself and for the other girls who were being targeted. The posts about me never came down, but the app was eventually banned from the Apple Store because girls around the world were reporting similar harm. Even though I couldn’t erase what had been said, I refused to stay silent. I used my social media to call out the cruelty, to say publicly that this was not normal, not acceptable, and not something any girl should ever just “deal with.” Speaking out didn’t undo the damage, but it gave me back a sense of agency. It helped me realize that protecting others, even when I felt broken, is the kind of leader I want to be. That is why I am involved in Brave Mentoring at my high school. As an executive mentor, I help guide incoming freshmen through some of the most vulnerable moments of their transition into high school. I design lessons that our mentors teach, lessons about digital safety, mental health, kindness, and building supportive communities. One of my favorite projects was our “kindness clips.” I created the idea of writing uplifting messages on clothespins and having students secretly clip them onto backpacks around school. Watching students discover those notes, seeing their faces soften, brighten, and sometimes even tear up, reminded me why small acts of kindness matter. It was a ripple effect of hope that transformed our hallways for a week, and I’m proud to have sparked that movement. Outside the classroom, I help keep younger students emotionally and physically safe through Highlander Track, where I coach third graders. I teach them not just how to run or jump, but how to love a sport, support teammates, and treat others with respect. I want them to grow up understanding that kindness is strength, teamwork is a responsibility, and words, spoken or typed can carry power. My experience with cyberbullying once made me feel powerless. Now, it fuels my purpose. I want to be the reason another child feels seen, safe, and supported, both in person and online.

Throughout my four years of high school, I’ve learned that leadership, creativity, and service are the pieces that shape who I am. I’ve been actively involved in Student Council and DECA every year, experiencing first-hand how collaboration and responsibility can impact a school community. From planning events to representing my chapter at competitions, these organizations have taught me how to communicate confidently, manage time, and show up for others. I am also part of the Kalispell Education Foundation, where I help honor Teacher of the Year recipients, and I regularly speak at school assemblies, something that has helped me develop a strong and steady voice in front of my peers. Performing arts has been another constant thread in my life. I am enrolled in two choir classes and have performed in over 35 plays. Whether I’m singing onstage or building a character backstage, the arts have given me confidence and a sense of belonging. My creativity extends beyond the stage as well. I love to sew, thrift, and upcycle clothing into something new, and I often crochet tops or paint simply for the joy of creating. These forms of self-expression help me understand how art can empower people and make them feel seen. Athletics has also shaped my identity. I am a varsity soccer player and a varsity track athlete, specializing as my school’s top long jumper. I’ve qualified for divisionals all four years of high school, learning discipline, resilience, and grit through every practice and meet. This persistence helped me become the first runner-up for Distinguished Young Women of Montana, an experience that taught me poise, leadership, and the importance of community representation. Service is something I try to make a priority. I’ve volunteered with Helena Food Share packaging lentils for families who need accessible meal options. I’ve also worked with third graders during Arbor Day events, helping them plant trees at local parks and teaching them about the importance of environmental care. These experiences have shown me that small actions, whether planting a single tree or packing a bag of food, can ripple outward and make someone’s day a little easier. If I were to start my own charity, it would bring together the two things that have shaped me most: creativity and service. My nonprofit would teach kids how to sew, upcycle, and create clothing that could be donated to people experiencing homelessness or financial hardship. I know firsthand how empowering it feels to make something with your own hands, and I want young people to experience that same pride, especially while using their skills to help others. The charity would serve children and teens who may not otherwise have access to creative outlets or mentorship programs. Volunteers would help run sewing workshops, assist with teaching basic stitching and design skills, and work alongside students as they turn fabric scraps or thrifted materials into warm, functional clothing. Additional volunteers could organize donation drives, host community repair events, and help distribute handmade items to shelters and resource centers. The mission would be simple: give young people a space to create, build confidence, and make a tangible difference in someone else’s life.

Athletics have shaped my character, my work ethic, and the way I pursue my goals more than anything else in my life. From a young age, sports became both a passion and a foundation for my identity. When I first joined the Highlander track club as a kid, I thought I was just running laps. I didn’t understand yet that I was learning discipline, confidence, and resilience. After every meet, my dad and I would celebrate with ice cream and I chose rocky road every time. Those simple traditions taught me the joy in working hard and the importance of celebrating effort, not just outcomes. Even now, those memories remind me that the heart behind what we do matters just as much as the results. As I grew older, I expanded into soccer and more competitive track programs. Soccer taught me teamwork, communication, and what it means to show up for others even on days when you feel like you have nothing left. Track, on the other hand, taught me how to show up for myself. The sport demands a level of mental toughness and grit that not many people see from the outside. Some of my closest friendships were formed during practices that pushed us to our limits and meets that bonded us through shared disappointment and shared triumph. Through every season, sports shaped me into someone who doesn’t give up easily but into someone who believes that hard work can close the gap between where you are and where you dream of being. This past year tested that belief more than any other. I had dedicated my entire off season to improving, joining the Snow Ghosts indoor track program to train harder and smarter. I wanted this season to be my best. But when I got mono, everything changed. Suddenly, running, the thing that had always given me joy, became something my body couldn’t handle. Practices felt impossible. Meets felt discouraging. It was heartbreaking to pour so much passion into something I physically couldn’t perform the way I wanted to. Still, I refused to let the setback define me. Instead of quitting, I adapted. I shifted from running events into long jump, a transition that required relearning, patience, and trust in myself. Even with the obstacles, I became the top long jumper at my school. That accomplishment means more to me than any perfect season could have, because it represents resilience. It showed me that goals don’t always happen the way you plan them, but commitment means staying in the fight anyway. Beyond shaping my character, athletics connect me deeply to my culture of community and giving back. Sports have always been the place where I’ve felt the most supported, by teammates, coaches, and family. Now I try to give that same support to younger athletes. I coach third graders in the Highlanders program I once competed in, teaching them how track meets work and helping them discover their own love for the sport. Watching their excitement reminds me of why athletics matter: they build confidence, connection, and a sense of belonging. Sports have given me my closest friends, my strongest values, and some of my best memories. They taught me grit, perseverance, and the courage to keep going even when circumstances get tough. Most importantly, they connected me to a community that shaped me, and continue to motivate me to give back with the same passion that athletics have given me.