My big sister used to make me laugh. She would teach me math while cracking jokes. She made division fun. Even though I only had a few years with her, I still miss her. In my eyes, she was good at everything, especially school. She would always help me with my homework in a way that made sense to me. After my sister passed, my life changed drastically. Out of fear of losing me and my siblings, my mother immigrated to America. Suddenly, I became the oldest sibling. Unlike my big sister, I was messy, unsure, and overwhelmed. I did not wear my new role gracefully. It was a responsibility that no ten-year-old should have to carry. There wasn’t room for school when I was suddenly expected to become a parent.   If I could start a business with her, it would be a creative learning sanctuary. We would call it “Big Sisters Table”. She had a way of teaching that left you feeling empowered, not lost or behind. This wouldn’t be a typical tutoring business. It would be playful and center around wellness and creativity. Filled with art supplies, games, music, and couches you can sink into. A space where kids could learn and ask questions without fear or pressure. Because every kid deserves to feel safe, seen, and smart, all at the same time. I remember feeling like my questions and confusion were an inconvenience to the adults around me, so I shrank and silenced myself. My teachers were overworked and didn’t have the patience to teach in a way that felt safe and pressure-free. That's why Big Sisters Table matters. Too many kids in my community go unheard and misunderstood. I like to think if she were still here we would build “Big Sisters Table” together. It would require her patience and my vision. It would be our way of ensuring no kid feels as invisible as I once did.

I never realized how much I was struggling with depression until I left home. I always thought I wasn’t depressed, just kind of sad, but that sadness never left. It’s interesting because my mom always said I was the light of the house. I think I learned to be the joy in the chaos. I am the oldest of 3, and when I was ten, my mom brought me and my two siblings to America. If you know anything about immigrant households you know the oldest daughter becomes an honorary mother. You are pushed into adulthood before you even know how to be a teenager. You learn to put everyone else first because that is what you have been told is right. My whole life I’ve dealt with this weight, with this fatigue, with this kind of sadness eating at me. I thought I could laugh it away. I thought being strong for everyone else would keep me from falling apart. However, it still showed up. In friendships, I chose people who needed me to care for them. In relationships, I overfunctioned, thinking love was only earned if I had to bleed for it. It was the only way I knew how to exist. I had to move out and find a life outside of duty to my family. However, being alone was hard, because I was forced to listen to my pain. I had never been a drinker, but I started going out more and using alcohol to cope. At first, it felt normal; everyone was doing it. Eventually drinking became something else. It was too easy and too accessible, and for me, it became less about fun and more about numbing the pain. I realized I had a problem. I had too many weekends of crying into my pillow or even days I needed to cry so badly but couldn’t. I was so deeply unhappy, and I didn’t know why. I first started my healing journey by reading The Body Keeps The Score. It helped me understand that all those years in my youth of feeling unsafe stayed in my body. Those years when immigration could show up and did show up affected me. During those years I would help my mum look for new apartments because we could no longer afford our current one. The instability stayed with me. I eventually sought out therapy. I went through about 6 different therapists before finding the right one. In my culture, therapy has a lot of stigma so at first therapy almost felt ridiculous. It felt like I knew what was wrong and just couldn’t fix it. I spent a lot of time being avoidant. I blamed everyone else; I felt like if everyone else would change then I would be better. I just recently started bringing up the real pain I was carrying. I had the grief of losing my older sister as a kid, and watching my parents carry that grief was challenging. In all honesty, I am still dealing with a lot of grief, but now I am okay with it. Now I can come to terms with it. For a long time, I believed I wasn’t smart enough for school. I labeled my fatigue as laziness and my inability to focus as a failure. But depression isn’t laziness; depression is carrying an invisible weight. My therapist and community have helped me change my perspective and that is where I’ve found my confidence. It permitted me to start learning again without shame. I am pursuing Speech-Language Pathology because finding my voice was so monumental for me. It took me years to find it and to sit with it. My journey with mental health taught me just how easy it is to hide pain and suppress one’s voice. I want to help others, specifically children, find the words that feel hard to say. My story isn’t just about pain; it's about reclaiming the language around my pain, truth, and self-worth.