"You told me you hated me, and everyone around said I shouldn't accept that. In my eyes, I've tried my hardest to protect and understand you." It was the first time I heard my mom’s perspective. It's rare to grow from hate to admiration for a parent. I've learned to appreciate and applaud my mom's strength and resilience. Spending your childhood with a narcissist under your roof wasn't easy, yet I never considered how it was for her; protecting us while trying to provide stability, terrified to escape. I focused so much on my hardships that my mom's life never entered the spotlight until much later. My resentment grew stronger over my teenage years; what felt like her favoritism toward my brother, long stretches away working, and a deep critique of my struggles. She never acknowledged the causes, yet always had something to say about the consequences. I felt isolated in a house full of people. With her first step towards independence—sending me away to a high school in a big city and moving away herself—our relationship began to grow again. We spent more time together: we had weekly dinners, trying a different cultural cuisine each time. I was old enough to hear her reality: the pressure she was under, balancing work, fear for her children, and her own trauma from her previous marriage with my father, limiting her courage to stand up for herself. She sacrificed her well-being for a fragile belief in her children's prosperous childhood. It made her blind to our pleading; the hope that everything would suddenly improve, the alcoholism would disappear, replaced by the affection she hoped for. This moment served as a humbling realization; it helped me realize that the world, in fact, does not revolve around me. I began focusing on both my own improvement and those around me, tutoring my newly made friends in math, helping 4 of them transition from failing to above-average grades, and volunteering, including representing my school at open day, aiding in preparations and talking to future students. I've come to believe that our actions reveal far more about who we are than anything we could say. Despite everything she endured—the emotional abuse from her previous marriage, the weight of single parenthood, and constant challenges from my stepfather—my mom emerged as a role model for both my sister and me. The realization wasn't instant; it took years of reflection. She built a life on her own terms, prioritizing her children as she forged her own path. Watching her navigate these challenges taught me that strength isn't the absence of struggle; it's the ability to persist, to make deliberate choices, and to protect your values even under pressure. Her example shaped the way I approach adversity, relationships, and my own ambitions. My mom worked tirelessly to send me to a different country for an exchange year, a dream of mine that I'm grateful for. As I complete my goals and apply to American universities, she continues to go above and beyond to help me afford higher education and pursue the future I'm building. Her resilience inspired me to forge my own path—transforming my hardships into empathy and committing myself to making a positive impact. Whether through leadership, mentorship, or my future career, I aim to carry forward the same courage and dedication my mom has shown, helping others navigate challenges and realize their potential. Through my observation, involvement, and discipline, I aspire to improve lives, contribute to every community I join, and ensure everyone feels genuinely heard and appreciated.

Leadership doesn’t always announce itself as grand acts of command. I’ve learned that it can show up as quiet support, offering guidance when someone feels lost. The biggest impact can come from the smallest gestures, because changing one life for the better is something you never forget. One evening, I received a call from my mom, asking me to help her friend, whose niece was slipping into depression—a place I knew all too well. As I called the woman in need, the desperation in her voice said more than words could—”I don’t know how to help her, but you do”. I never expected to guide an adult through a teenager's emotions, but I understood her niece more than she did; I had once stood in her place. When life pulls you off track, even simple routines can anchor you, as nothing else can. I wanted to provide her niece with a sense of stability depression often steals away. I suggested she take her niece to the gym, a place that often brings comfort to people burdened by their thoughts. We started small: two visits a week, increasing gradually. A few weeks later, my mom shared her friend’s updates—the niece was more social, more open, and speaking with her again. She had gone from isolating herself to engaging in conversation. Moments like this, when leadership transforms an individual’s life rather than simply guiding a team, are worth more than any formal role. Science, especially neuroscience, shapes how I understand people. The human brain is not unpredictable: it functions through patterns, chemistry, biology, and electricity. I've learned how habits can influence your brain through my own experiences, but I've lately learned the science behind it. Habits increase endorphins, positively impacting the brain through neurochemical changes. Recent studies from the National Library of Medicine prove that regular exercise can reduce levels of pro-inflammatory cytokines, alleviating depressive symptoms associated with inflammation. It can also regulate circadian rhythms, thus regulating mood and energy levels. Science offers the tools required to successfully lead others through hardships and help them improve their lives. I aim to study neuroscience to enhance the quiet leadership I currently practice, solidifying it with scientific insight. I want to assist others not just by instinct, but through knowledge.

At its core, my story mirrors Malgorzata Kwiecien's: independence, ambition, and the courage to start over abroad. Reading about her, I saw parts of myself—a Polish woman, driven by stubborn ambition and a refusal to settle. We share a homeland, but more importantly we were both made to overcome obstacles. Resilience has defined my journey throughout my life, yet it's the most prominent since I left Poland to pursue my education in the United States, arriving just four months ago. Though my mom supports me from home, the day I stepped onto the plane, I understood what 'alone' actually felt like. Every decision—from paperwork to speaking English publicly—became mine. My first day at school, I pretended not to be nervous, but my voice shook every time I spoke English. Independence was not an option, but a necessity. Through obstacles, I didn't quit—I became sharper, transforming solitude into self-reliance. My academic record wasn't perfect—for years, it was painfully average. Not because I lacked ability, but because I lacked direction, and because I moved schools twice while navigating a difficult family situation. Mediocrity wasn't comfortable; it was just unchallenging. The moment I found purpose, it became fuel. I began studying harder and more efficiently. I learned to discipline my mind—I can study for hours, absorb a unit in one night, and walk out of a test with a high score because I decided to. Not many people understand how powerful self-discipline is until they build it themselves. Neuroscience became my purpose—the human brain, the most complicated machine that existence has produced. It holds identity, memory, emotion, and consciousness. It adapts, rewires, and can reshape a life. I always desired expertise built slowly, through discipline. Neurosurgery is brutally demanding, years long, unforgiving, and elite. That's exactly why I am drawn to it. I want the path that requires sharpness, endurance, precision, and ambition. In my eyes, a profession that consumes your life is a gift if you love it enough. Maggie wasn't only defined by intellect. She moved her body the same way she used her mind—precise, fast, fearless. I snowboard. On a slope, the world vanishes, and hesitation becomes the only danger. You commit, or you fall—you embrace speed, or you never improve. The moment risk and control cooperate feels like the true me. I think she understood that and lived her life through the same lens. Like Maggie, I gravitate towards challenges that demand precision—she found it in engineering; I find it in the discipline of studying the brain. We both know what it means to stand at the beginning of a path no one has walked for us. Excellence is not inherited—it's earned through discipline, effort, and refusing to choose the easier road. I relate to Maggie because she chose the mountain over flat ground. Because she refused to settle and lived deliberately. I'm still at the beginning, but I'm not interested in comfort. I want the kind of future people notice. The kind that demands discipline, grit, and heart. The kind Maggie built. This scholarship wouldn't erase the difficulty—it would make continuing this path possible. My aspirations exceed what my family can realistically support. As an international student, I am ineligible for federal aid, making scholarships essential for me to continue my education in the U.S. Support would empower me to prove, as Maggie did, that a young woman crossing borders alone can shape something remarkable. I will honor her legacy by forging my own demanding path—one marked by daring and discipline. This opportunity will leverage, not define, my ambition.