Growing up, I was always the quiet one at gatherings, trailing behind my mother and engaging in conversations with adults who found my "old soul" endearing. My quietness, my attentiveness, and my so-called peculiarities were often brushed off as signs of being shy, reserved, or simply too mature to mix with my peers. I found myself constantly adapting to fit in, echoing the trends and interests around me, from embracing "mom jeans" because they were in vogue to watching popular shows like "Riverdale" just to have common ground with my classmates. This chameleon-like existence was my way of navigating the social landscape, driven by a deep-seated desire to belong. However, it wasn't until the verge of my seventeenth birthday that I uncovered the root of my lifelong sense of isolation—I was diagnosed with autism. This diagnosis opened a door I never knew existed, leading me out of isolation and into a realm of understanding and community. Far from viewing autism as a negative label, it became my beacon of hope, offering explanations for my experiences and connecting me with others who shared similar stories. It was a profound moment of clarity, transforming my solitude into solidarity. This newfound understanding propelled me into the world of mental health and autism advocacy, particularly highlighting the need for awareness and support for girls and women on the spectrum, who often go unnoticed and undiagnosed. My journey into understanding autism further ignited during a high school assignment where I chose to research the gender disparities in autism diagnosis. This topic was deeply personal, yet I masked my connection to it, claiming a general interest rather than admitting it was a reflection of my own quest for answers. Through this research, I found my purpose: to ensure that others, especially girls who struggled like I did, could find answers without shame and without having to conform to outdated diagnostic standards. My commitment to mental health advocacy was further fueled by witnessing the stigmatization of a classmate suffering from depression. The mockery and dismissal she faced from our peers for her struggles highlighted a broader societal issue—the pervasive stigma around mental health. Motivated by this experience, I founded "Mental Health Matters," a school initiative dedicated to eradicating mental health stigma. Through education and collaboration with school counselors, we aimed to create a more empathetic and informed community, providing support for those suffering in silence. These experiences have been transformative, shaping my beliefs, relationships, and aspirations. They underscore the significance of continuing my education in mental health and autism, not merely as an academic pursuit but as a commitment to effecting positive change. My goal is to delve deeper into research, advocacy, and support for those on the autism spectrum and those grappling with mental health issues, fostering a world where understanding, acceptance, and support are the norm. Through this journey, I aim to contribute to a society where no one feels the need to mask their true selves to fit in, and where mental health is openly discussed and prioritized.

Mental health is an area of growing concern, especially among college students who face unique pressures and challenges. As a college student deeply interested in this field, I recognize the profound impact that mental health advocacy and support can have on individuals and communities. There are several actions I can take to create a positive impact, ranging from raising awareness to providing peer support and engaging in policy advocacy. Firstly, raising awareness about mental health is crucial. Many college students suffer in silence due to the stigma associated with mental health issues. By organizing and participating in awareness campaigns, workshops, and seminars, I can help destigmatize mental health issues. This could involve collaborating with campus organizations, mental health professionals, and educators to provide accurate information and share personal stories that highlight the importance of seeking help. Educating peers about signs of mental distress, the importance of self-care, and available resources can empower individuals to take proactive steps towards their mental well-being. Secondly, peer support plays a vital role in fostering a supportive community. I can contribute by becoming a trained peer counselor or mentor, offering a listening ear, empathy, and guidance to fellow students navigating mental health challenges. Peer support groups can serve as a safe space for students to share their experiences and coping strategies, reducing feelings of isolation. By facilitating or participating in such groups, I can help create a network of support that encourages openness and mutual assistance. Additionally, advocating for better mental health services and policies on campus is another critical action. This could involve working with student government, university administration, and mental health organizations to assess the current state of mental health support on campus and identify areas for improvement. Advocacy efforts could focus on increasing funding for mental health services, ensuring that counseling services are accessible and inclusive, and implementing policies that support students' mental health, such as flexible attendance and assignment deadlines for those dealing with mental health issues. Engaging in community service and volunteering with local mental health organizations or crisis hotlines can also have a significant impact. These activities allow me to contribute directly to the well-being of others while gaining valuable experience and insights into the mental health field. Through volunteering, I can help provide essential services, support outreach programs, and participate in events that promote mental health awareness in the broader community. Furthermore, leveraging social media and digital platforms can amplify the impact of mental health advocacy. By creating content that educates, inspires, and encourages open discussions about mental health, I can reach a wider audience and foster a more inclusive and supportive online community. This could include blog posts, videos, podcasts, or social media campaigns that share resources, coping strategies, and stories of resilience. In conclusion, as a college student passionate about mental health, I have the opportunity to make a significant impact through awareness-raising, peer support, policy advocacy, community service, and digital engagement. By taking these actions, I aim to contribute to a culture that values mental well-being, encourages open dialogue, and provides support for those in need. My goal is not only to advocate for change but also to inspire others to join in these efforts, creating a ripple effect that enhances mental health support and understanding within the college community and beyond.

Growing up, I was always the quiet one at gatherings, trailing behind my mother and engaging in conversations with adults who found my "old soul" endearing. My quietness, my attentiveness, and my so-called peculiarities were often brushed off as signs of being shy, reserved, or simply too mature to mix with my peers. I found myself constantly adapting to fit in, echoing the trends and interests around me, from embracing "mom jeans" because they were in vogue to watching popular shows like "Riverdale" just to have common ground with my classmates. This chameleon-like existence was my way of navigating the social landscape, driven by a deep-seated desire to belong. However, it wasn't until the verge of my seventeenth birthday that I uncovered the root of my lifelong sense of isolation—I was diagnosed with autism. This diagnosis opened a door I never knew existed, leading me out of isolation and into a realm of understanding and community. Far from viewing autism as a negative label, it became my beacon of hope, offering explanations for my experiences and connecting me with others who shared similar stories. It was a profound moment of clarity, transforming my solitude into solidarity. This newfound understanding propelled me into the world of mental health and autism advocacy, particularly highlighting the need for awareness and support for girls and women on the spectrum, who often go unnoticed and undiagnosed. My journey into understanding autism further ignited during a high school assignment where I chose to research the gender disparities in autism diagnosis. This topic was deeply personal, yet I masked my connection to it, claiming a general interest rather than admitting it was a reflection of my own quest for answers. Through this research, I found my purpose: to ensure that others, especially girls who struggled like I did, could find answers without shame and without having to conform to outdated diagnostic standards. My commitment to mental health advocacy was further fueled by witnessing the stigmatization of a classmate suffering from depression. The mockery and dismissal she faced from our peers for her struggles highlighted a broader societal issue—the pervasive stigma around mental health. Motivated by this experience, I founded "Mental Health Matters," a school initiative dedicated to eradicating mental health stigma. Through education and collaboration with school counselors, we aimed to create a more empathetic and informed community, providing support for those suffering in silence. These experiences have been transformative, shaping my beliefs, relationships, and aspirations. They underscore the significance of continuing my education in mental health and autism, not merely as an academic pursuit but as a commitment to effecting positive change. My goal is to delve deeper into research, advocacy, and support for those on the autism spectrum and those grappling with mental health issues, fostering a world where understanding, acceptance, and support are the norm. Through this journey, I aim to contribute to a society where no one feels the need to mask their true selves to fit in, and where mental health is openly discussed and prioritized.

Growing up, I was always the quiet one at gatherings, trailing behind my mother and engaging in conversations with adults who found my "old soul" endearing. My quietness, my attentiveness, and my so-called peculiarities were often brushed off as signs of being shy, reserved, or simply too mature to mix with my peers. I found myself constantly adapting to fit in, echoing the trends and interests around me, from embracing "mom jeans" because they were in vogue to watching popular shows like "Riverdale" just to have common ground with my classmates. This chameleon-like existence was my way of navigating the social landscape, driven by a deep-seated desire to belong. However, it wasn't until the verge of my seventeenth birthday that I uncovered the root of my lifelong sense of isolation—I was diagnosed with autism. This diagnosis opened a door I never knew existed, leading me out of isolation and into a realm of understanding and community. Far from viewing autism as a negative label, it became my beacon of hope, offering explanations for my experiences and connecting me with others who shared similar stories. It was a profound moment of clarity, transforming my solitude into solidarity. This newfound understanding propelled me into the world of mental health and autism advocacy, particularly highlighting the need for awareness and support for girls and women on the spectrum, who often go unnoticed and undiagnosed. My journey into understanding autism further ignited during a high school assignment where I chose to research the gender disparities in autism diagnosis. This topic was deeply personal, yet I masked my connection to it, claiming a general interest rather than admitting it was a reflection of my own quest for answers. Through this research, I found my purpose: to ensure that others, especially girls who struggled like I did, could find answers without shame and without having to conform to outdated diagnostic standards. My commitment to mental health advocacy was further fueled by witnessing the stigmatization of a classmate suffering from depression. The mockery and dismissal she faced from our peers for her struggles highlighted a broader societal issue—the pervasive stigma around mental health. Motivated by this experience, I founded "Mental Health Matters," a school initiative dedicated to eradicating mental health stigma. Through education and collaboration with school counselors, we aimed to create a more empathetic and informed community, providing support for those suffering in silence. These experiences have been transformative, shaping my beliefs, relationships, and aspirations. They underscore the significance of continuing my education in mental health and autism, not merely as an academic pursuit but as a commitment to effecting positive change. My goal is to delve deeper into research, advocacy, and support for those on the autism spectrum and those grappling with mental health issues, fostering a world where understanding, acceptance, and support are the norm. Through this journey, I aim to contribute to a society where no one feels the need to mask their true selves to fit in, and where mental health is openly discussed and prioritized.

During my childhood, I often followed my mother around at neighborhood parties, labeled as quiet, reserved, and well-mannered, with my "old soul." These behaviors were attributed to shyness and being "too smart to make friends with other girls." Years of observing and conforming to fit in led to a longing for acceptance. At almost seventeen, I discovered the reason behind my difficulties: I had autism. This diagnosis wasn't negative; it was an answer, connecting me to a community where I was not alone. I found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism. Hearing their stories provided insights that helped me navigate challenges better. My diagnosis was essential, a word to describe my struggles, a privilege considering many girls like me remain without answers. My junior year research paper on autism, focusing on gender disparities in research and outdated male-centric diagnostics, was rooted in my journey. I aim to ensure girls like me don't have to hide their true selves and to provide them with answers. My aspiration to advance research and create a more inclusive and supportive environment stems from understanding the challenges autistic individuals face, particularly during the transition to college life. Armed with a psychology degree from Vanderbilt, I plan to further my knowledge and impact through a Ph.D. Beyond personal success, I seek to contribute to a broader comprehension of autism's multifaceted aspects. While intellectual capabilities aren't the primary obstacle for autistic individuals in college, it's the lack of social support and infrastructure that hinders them. I aim to expand autism research, encompassing diverse populations and addressing gender disparities. My ultimate goal is to contribute to a more comprehensive understanding of autism, leading to better support for individuals affected by it. My journey with autism has shaped my desire to make a difference. I've taken proactive steps, founding Mental Health Matters to combat marginalization and change perceptions about mental health in my school community. My dedication to organizations like the Best Friends Club reflects my commitment to supporting those who are neurologically or physically different. Receiving this scholarship would amplify my efforts. It would provide the resources necessary for impactful contributions at Vanderbilt, engaging in extracurricular activities, and fostering significant change in psychology. I'm driven by a desire to make a positive difference in the lives of autistic individuals and society, and this scholarship will empower me to achieve these goals. In conclusion, my journey, passion for helping others, and commitment to advancing autism research and mental health advocacy make me a deserving candidate for this scholarship. I'm determined to create a meaningful impact and thankful for the opportunity to further my education and contribute to improving the lives of individuals with autism. Expanding my knowledge through higher education is a crucial step in my journey. I'm exploring fields like psychology, sociology, and neurology, seeking to gain insights into the complexities of autism. With a psychology degree from Vanderbilt, I'll be equipped to delve deeper into understanding autism's various facets. My long-term goal is to drive significant change, erasing stigma and fostering inclusivity for autistic individuals. I want to contribute to a more understanding and supportive society. Through research, advocacy, and community involvement, I aim to ensure that individuals on the autism spectrum receive the timely support they need. By pursuing a Ph.D., I'll have the expertise to contribute to meaningful research and policy changes that can positively impact the lives of many. I hope to make a lasting impact on the lives of autistic individuals and drive positive change in our society.

In English, I sat across the table from a girl, and I had never really paid her any mind. However, I noticed that she started being less outspoken, she had become more subdued, and she stopped handing in her weekly analytical paragraphs. I had heard from someone at lunch that she was experiencing a depressive episode—I would later find out that she lost a close family friend. After some time, a group of boys at the table next to us started to make a fuss. They complained that it wasn’t fair that she was able to get away with not turning in her assignment the same as everyone else, and so they would mock her. “It’s not even fair,” they said, “bruh, she’s faking it,” they blurted. These views aren’t isolated to just these three boys— I’ve heard opinions like these all my life, and it's appalling that neurological disorders like depression and anxiety are perceived as made up or are conflated with weakness. This instance of bullying inspired me to change my school’s perception of mental health, and it's because of the loudest jeering and the foulest mockery that I founded Mental Health Matters. Our mission is to “erase the stigma surrounding mental health on campus by collaborating on education initiatives with [our school news] and the Mental Health Fairs… [we] plan to work closely with [the Social Emotional Learning counselor] who will provide us resources… [to] share with our members.” Because she shouldn’t be alone. No one should. At the age of 17, I was diagnosed with autism. The difficulties I faced in life as a result of not being diagnosed until recently inspire me to help others, especially autistic girls, get the diagnoses they need. I want to help girls discover and learn about their autism at a younger age so they can receive the treatment and early intervention I did not—so they may have the tools to succeed in such a fast-paced and overstimulating world. Only around a third of people with autism attempt college, and less than half graduate. I believe these numbers have little to do with the intellectual capabilities of autistic people; rather, the low graduation rates have more to do with the difficult transition of living away from home and forming relationships with others in a vastly new environment. It is essential for me to do all I can to alleviate this utter lack of social support and social infrastructure by advancing research on the topic of autism: making it more inclusive by expanding the depth and breadth of studies on those of different sexes, races, and ages. Autism does not discriminate against those whom it affects, so neither should the research on people who have autism. by understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it. Studying psychology would help me do just that.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style. Maybe I should get some,” “Everyone is watching Riverdale. Maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all my struggles. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades; for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically, the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found rather interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected.

In English, I sat across the table from a girl, and I had never really paid her any mind. However, I noticed that she started being less outspoken, she had become more subdued, and she stopped handing in her weekly analytical paragraphs. I had heard from someone at lunch that she was experiencing a depressive episode—I would later find out that she lost a close family friend. After some time, a group of boys at the table next to us started to make a fuss. They complained that it wasn’t fair that she was able to get away with not turning in her assignment the same as everyone else, and so they would mock her. “It’s not even fair,” they said, “bruh, she’s faking it,” they blurted. These views aren’t isolated to just these three boys— I’ve heard opinions like these all my life, and it's appalling that neurological disorders like depression and anxiety are perceived as made up or are conflated with weakness. This instance of bullying inspired me to change my school’s perception of mental health, and it's because of the loudest jeering and the foulest mockery that I founded Mental Health Matters. Our mission is to “erase the stigma surrounding mental health on campus by collaborating on education initiatives with [our school news] and the Mental Health Fairs… [we] plan to work closely with [the Social Emotional Learning counselor] who will provide us resources… [to] share with our members.” Because she shouldn’t be alone. No one should.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it. This scholarship will help fund my education at Vanderbilt University and I will be able to participate in their ongoing autism research.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it. It is important for someone to use their knowledge and resources to help others who they know are struggling. I want to help girls with autism by making the diagnostic processes more inclusive so that they won’t have to struggle the way I did.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it. I would use the money to help fund my education so I can follow my dreams of advancing autism research.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it.

In English, I sat across the table from a girl, and I had never really paid her any mind. However, I noticed that she started being less outspoken, she had become more subdued, and she stopped handing in her weekly analytical paragraphs. I had heard from someone at lunch that she was experiencing a depressive episode—I would later find out that she lost a close family friend. After some time, a group of boys at the table next to us started to make a fuss. They complained that it wasn’t fair that she was able to get away with not turning in her assignment the same as everyone else, and so they would mock her. “It’s not even fair,” they said, “bruh, she’s faking it,” they exclaimed. These views aren’t isolated to just these three boys— I’ve heard opinions like these all my life, and it's appalling that neurological disorders like depression and anxiety are perceived as made up or conflated with weakness. This instance of bullying inspired me to change my school’s perception of mental health, and it's because of the loudest jeering and the foulest mockery that I founded Mental Health Matters. Our mission is to “erase the stigma surrounding mental health on campus by collaborating on education initiatives with [our school news] and the Mental Health Fairs… [we] plan to work closely with [the Social Emotional Learning counselor] who will provide us resources… [to] share with our members.” Because she shouldn’t be alone. No one should. At the age of 17, I was diagnosed with autism. The difficulties I faced in life as a result of not being diagnosed until recently inspire me to help others, especially autistic girls, get the diagnoses they need. I want to help girls discover and learn about their autism at a younger age so they can receive the treatment and early intervention I did not—so they may have the tools to succeed in such a fast-paced and overstimulating world. Only around a third of people with autism attempt college, and less than half graduate. I believe these numbers have little to do with the intellectual capabilities of autistic people; rather, the low graduation rates have more to do with the difficult transition of living away from home and forming relationships with others in a vastly new environment. I need to do all I can to alleviate this utter lack of social support and social infrastructure by advancing research on autism: making it more inclusive by expanding the depth and breadth of studies on those of different sexes, races, and ages. Autism does not discriminate against those whom it affects, so neither should the research on people who have autism.

In English, I sat across the table from a girl, and I had never really paid her any mind. However, I noticed that she started being less outspoken, she had become more subdued, and she stopped handing in her weekly analytical paragraphs. I had heard from someone at lunch that she was experiencing a depressive episode—I would later find out that she lost a close family friend. After some time, a group of boys at the table next to us started to make a fuss. They complained that it wasn’t fair that she was able to get away with not turning in her assignment the same as everyone else, and so they would mock her. “It’s not even fair,” they said, “bruh, she’s faking it,” they blurted. These views aren’t isolated to just these three boys— I’ve heard opinions like these all my life, and it's appalling that neurological disorders like depression and anxiety are perceived as made up or are conflated with weakness. This instance of bullying inspired me to change my school’s perception of mental health, and it's because of the loudest jeering and the foulest mockery that I founded Mental Health Matters. Our mission is to “erase the stigma surrounding mental health on campus by collaborating on education initiatives with [our school news] and the Mental Health Fairs… [we] plan to work closely with [the Social Emotional Learning counselor] who will provide us resources… [to] share with our members.” Because she shouldn’t be alone. No one should. For most of my life, I have struggled to understand why I did not fit in. I knew something was different, but my concerns were dismissed because I made good grades and managed to get by. At seventeen, I finally received the missing puzzle piece that helped everything make sense, my autism diagnosis. Later that year, I wrote a research paper on gender disparity in autism research. I wanted to understand why autism is overlooked in so many girls like me and why we are failed by the current, antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. My yearning for answers led to discovering my purpose—changing the future of autism diagnostic tools for other young girls, so they won’t be told by doctors that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s. To help girls finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. Helping people who are perceived as different is something that I am passionate about. This desire to bring people together is why I’m part of the Best Friends Club, which helps disabled students socially integrate, and why I founded Mental Health Matters. The difficulties I faced due to my late diagnosis have inspired me to help autistic girls get the diagnoses they need so they won’t feel as lost and alone as I did. My college plan is to major in psychology, attend graduate school to earn a Ph.D. and have a career researching the female autistic experience that will ultimately help girls discover and learn about their autism earlier so they can receive treatment and early intervention. I want to find answers and provide the tools to help autistic girls and women succeed in such a fast-paced and overstimulating world.

At neighborhood parties, I was my mother’s shadow, following her around everywhere, spending my time conversing with the adults who liked my “old soul.” A soul that was quiet, calm, and attentive. Many of my unusual behaviors were chalked up to my being shy, reserved, and well-mannered. I was “too smart to make friends with other girls.” Over the years, I learned to blend in—I’d observe those around me and conform. “Mom jeans are in style, maybe I should get some,” “everyone is watching Riverdale, maybe I should watch it.” After being in my own world for so long, I wanted nothing more than to fit in. It wouldn’t be until I was almost seventeen that I would find out why my attributes weren’t conducive to making friends. I had autism. A door opened—a door I didn’t even know was there. It was a door out of my feelings of isolation. I felt very alone in my struggles. Despite the negative connotation of the word “autistic,” it wasn’t a bad thing to me. To me, it was an answer. To me, it was a “finally, it all makes so much more sense now.” To me, I was now a part of a community—I was not... alone. There are so many people like me—people with autism. Since then, I have found online groups where others shared their experiences with autism, and hearing their stories helped me understand more about myself than I ever could have previously imagined. I learned how to better navigate the world, and overcome the things that were challenging for me. My diagnosis was important because it put a word to all the struggles I dealt with. And, I’m lucky to have gotten a diagnosis because I know that there are so many people—so many more girls like me, who mask and try so hard to fit in—who have yet to find the answers they’re looking for. For some, it’ll take decades, for others, their entire lives. And, I find that notion shattering. In my junior year, we had to write a research paper, and the topic I chose was autism—specifically the gender disparities in autism research and the antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. When classmates asked why I chose this topic, I lied. I told them autism was just something I found kinda interesting. I never told anyone the reason I chose the topic was that I was that ten-year-old girl who could never figure out why she didn’t fit in. It was in that yearning for answers that I found my purpose—for girls not to be told that they don’t exactly fit the DSM-3 criteria from the 80s... for girls to, like me, to finally find answers and not be ashamed, for girls not to fear being open about who they are. I want to understand and study autism, its symptoms, its effects, and how to help those affected by it.

For most of my life, I have struggled to understand why I did not fit in. At seventeen, I finally found out why. I had autism. I wrote a research paper on gender disparity in autism research to understand why autism is overlooked in so many girls like me and why we are failed by the current, antiquated male-centric diagnostic practices. My future self will earn a PH.D. In psychology and have a career researching the female autistic experience. I want to help girls learn about their autism earlier so they can receive early intervention.