For as long as I can remember, loving animals has been a crucial part of my identity and human experience. I remember some drawings I did in kindergarten; not a single one was ever complete without my favorite animal of the week. My teachers would ask me to draw my version of a perfect world, and I'd draw myself in the forest with rainbows and horses. They'd ask me to draw something with only one crayon, I'd draw a bright yellow giraffe. On career day, they'd ask me about my dream job, and of course, it was always a veterinarian. I remember my favorite gift I ever received: a giant children's encyclopedia filled with animal species from around the world. That book was so big I could barely hold onto it, but I brought it with me everywhere I went. I'd flip through the pages for hours at a time. While other kids my age would be running outside or playing video games, I was happiest learning about animals and anxiously waiting for our next trip to the zoo. I've always felt more comfortable with animals than with humans. I'm not sure exactly when this connection began but after a difficult childhood growing up in an abusive home, I guess I felt safer with the creatures who would never hurt me like that. In addition, I've always been a bit awkward and introverted. When I couldn't understand other kids and confusing social rules, I could understand animal body language. Animals never lie or manipulate, they don't talk behind your back or laugh when your clothes look funny. Animals have also taught me how to live in the moment when we so often get stuck feeling depressed about the past or anxious about the future. Whenever I am upset or scared, I just watch my dog to feel better. He frolics in the grass and gets zoomies in the snow. He does not get stressed over the future, so why should I? I never used to think of myself as a STEM student; I didn't believe I was smart enough. But as long as I'm passionate about what I'm learning, then I know I'll be able to put in the work. While biology still seems a bit daunting, I know I'll enjoy it. Even if I don't know exactly what my future may look like, animals will always be somewhere close. When I was maybe six years old, my grandmother and I rescued a hummingbird that got stuck in a feeder. We took care of it until it was able to fly again. This event sparked my interest in rescue and rehabilitation. My little brother has an interest in birds specifically, and we've talked about opening a bird rescue. I've thought about working at a zoo, veterinary clinic, wildlife rescue, and more. Recently I've been fascinated with biology, zoology, environmental science, and animal research. I'd love to study this further while in school, and hopefully continue research once I graduate. My college also has a study abroad program for biology students to study wildlife in Australia, and I hope to participate. From rescuing small critters to training my own service dog, and even studying wildlife on a different continent, all animals big and small are a huge part of my life. I may just be one person, but I hope I can change the world through my efforts. I am beyond excited for whatever journey may come next, and what kind of creature will be waiting for me.

For as long as I can remember, loving animals has been a crucial part of my identity and human experience. I remember some drawings I did in kindergarten; not a single one was ever complete without my favorite animal of the week. My teachers would ask me to draw my version of a perfect world, and I'd draw myself in the forest with rainbows and horses. They'd ask me to draw something with only one crayon, I'd draw a bright yellow giraffe. On career day, they'd ask me about my dream job, and of course, it was always a veterinarian. I remember my favorite gift I ever received: a giant children's encyclopedia filled with animal species from around the world. That book was so big I could barely hold onto it, but I brought it with me everywhere I went. I'd flip through the pages for hours at a time. While other kids my age would be running outside or playing video games, I was happiest learning about animals and anxiously waiting for our next trip to the zoo. I've always felt more comfortable with animals than with humans. I'm not sure exactly when this connection began but after a difficult childhood growing up in an abusive home, I guess I felt safer with the creatures who would never hurt me like that. In addition, I've always been a bit awkward and introverted. When I couldn't understand other kids and confusing social rules, I could understand animal body language. Animals never lie or manipulate, they don't talk behind your back or laugh when your clothes look funny. Animals have also taught me how to live in the moment when we so often get stuck feeling depressed about the past or anxious about the future. Whenever I am upset or scared, I just watch my dog to feel better. He frolics in the grass and gets zoomies in the snow. He does not get stressed over the future, so why should I? Even if I don't know exactly what my future may look like, I know that animals will always be somewhere close. I've always had a huge interest in animal rescue and rehabilitation. When I was maybe six years old, my grandmother and I rescued a hummingbird that got stuck in a feeder. We took care of it until it was able to fly again. This event sparked my interest in rescue and rehabilitation. My little brother has an interest in birds specifically, and we've talked about opening a bird rescue. I've thought about working at a zoo, veterinary clinic, wildlife rescue, and more. Recently I've been fascinated with biology, zoology, environmental science, and animal research. I'd love to study this further while in school, and hopefully continue research once I graduate. My college also has a study abroad program for biology students to study wildlife in Australia, and I hope to participate. There are still many things I am unsure of, but whatever happens, I know that animals will always be a part of my life. From rescuing small critters to training my own service dog, and even studying wildlife on a different continent, all animals big and small are a huge part of my life. I am beyond excited for whatever journey may come next, and what kind of creature will be waiting for me.

With the New Year recently passed, I'm sure all of us have spent some time reflecting on the events of the past year and making goals for the year ahead. I decided to open up my dusty unfinished journal I started around this time last year. Although I did not commit to journaling during the year, I realized that I have put a lot of work into my personal growth that didn't get documented. I've made realizations about myself and my situations, my goals and what is most important to me. The biggest event in my personal growth that happened over the past year would be admitting that I needed help and starting therapy. This was one of the best decisions I've ever made for myself. Was it an easy decision? Of course not; I'd be lying if I said there weren't some weeks that I dread my appointment. Consciously choosing to be the best version of yourself is a choice we have to make every single day, and it can get overwhelming at times. There are days when I find myself reverting to old behaviors and longing for the strange comfort of my illnesses. There are days when I feel like I've made negative progress and days when I don't think I can make it to the next. Although nothing about this journey has been easy, I've learned and grown so much that I almost don't recognize my past self. I can interrupt old patterns of thinking, and choose thoughts that are better for me. I see situations more objectively without getting overly involved and disturbing my own emotions. I am learning how to find my own identity and protect it. So many events throughout my life have led to this point. My life began with neglect and abuse, which seemed to follow me wherever I went. Abusive parents, chronic health issues, enmeshed caregivers, caregiver burnout. I could go on for ages about the situations that landed me in therapy, but I do not let them define my journey and who I am. While I can't forget my struggles when I tell the story of my life, I'd rather focus on how I've grown and changed. Another component of my healing journey has been allowing myself the luxury of higher education. After years of telling myself I wasn't worth the effort or financial commitment, this decision took a lot of work. When the thought of college first flickered in my mind, I was scared. I knew what it would take to get me there, and how difficult it would be to follow my dreams. Despite everything, here I am. Filling out every scholarship application I can find, making supply lists, browsing catalogs of course offerings. Despite everything, the light at the end of the tunnel grows ever closer. When I look back at that unfinished journal, I feel several emotions rush over me. Sadness for the girl who went through so much to get us here. Hard-earned anger towards the people who have wronged me. Grief over lost family and missed opportunities. But most of all, I feel pride. I made that choice and walked the path less traveled. I put in the work to get better and to discover who I really am. And now, I no longer fear the unknown or dread the future. I am hopeful for what lies ahead, and I trust myself to get there.

From the day I could hold a crayon, art has been a crucial component of my human experience. I have always preferred coloring books to playgrounds and watercolors to playdates. Whether it be an escape from a chaotic and dangerous childhood or a way to express myself in a way only I could see, art is a part of who I am. It gifted me an outlet of expression that otherwise would be impossible; helping me understand pieces of myself I never could explain. It showed me a way to cry safely, a way to scream in silence, and a way to see life from a beautifully unique perspective. I've cycled through so many different mediums and styles over the years, each bringing growth in both my skill set and my identity. It felt as if each work I created unlocked a new, undiscovered area of my brain. To this day, I refuse to throw out or delete any piece I've created, because it would be throwing out a visual representation of how far I've come. I can look at each work and vividly remember what I was feeling at the time, and what I was going through. Even when I first started to question my identity, the only way I could safely explore that confusion was through hidden sketchbooks and art apps locked away on my phone. I could finally experiment without punishment, and experience without fear. Growing up homeschooled in a terrifyingly bigoted family, I didn't have anyone I could talk to about these feelings. The tear stains in my sketchbook hold more feelings than I could explain, and the sketchbooks hidden under my dresser know more about me than anyone else. When I began to heal enough to allow myself the luxury of thinking about the future, there was no question about my next steps. I knew I had to listen to that little girl inside me - what would she want me to do? No matter what change or challenge I came across in life, I knew what makes me the happiest. Although I still struggle with a sense of identity most days, there are a few things I know for certain. My favorite season is fall, I prefer the company of animals, and art will always be an extension of myself. The only way I could ever be happy in my studies would be to follow that passion. My first classes start in just a few short months, and that excitement has kept me going. On my worst days, I look at the names of some of the classes I'll be taking. Digital art, painting, sculpting, screenprinting, music theory, voice and piano. Those little words have fueled the fire inside me, and it burns brighter than ever. I'm still not quite sure where I'll be going after college; it took a lot of work to allow myself to even think as far as that. However, I know I can figure that out, as long as I continue on the difficult path of following my dreams. Even if I don't know what the future will look like, I know that art will be a part of it. For the first time in my life, I do not dread what comes next; I welcome it with open arms.

Driving down the road with my grandparents, looking out on the town that used to be mine when something familiar catches my eye. I see my parents in the parking lot of an abandoned Captain D's, with all my belongings strewn across a few blankets and pop-up tables. Nearly every toy or piece of clothing I own being sold for drug money. Stopping by my classroom one last time to gather my things, and hearing my grandmother explain to my teacher what had happened. I can't count the number of times I had to hear that speech, leaving behind everything I've ever known because it was no longer safe. My grandparents' old home, holding the only good memories of my childhood. Old classrooms, old friends, old playgrounds I could never see again. At that point, my entire life was split in two: the time before and the time after my family found out that my parents were abusive addicts. We had one quick night to move our entire lives. We didn't even have a new house to move into. We all had to stay with my aunt for a few nights during the house hunt, but after kidnapping and death threats it was our only option. I remember safe words and never being able to focus in school from the fear. When would they show up and try to take me again? The other kids couldn't understand why I broke down in tears or why my clothes were raggy and my hair was dirty. Before we had time to settle into a new home, we got the call from the police. I will never forget my little brother's shaking voice when he overheard: "My mommy and daddy will be in jail for my 6th birthday?" The next few months, or years, are more or less a blur to me. Adapting to a wildly different life, pretending it didn't bother me. Acting like I was glad all this happened because I never liked my parents anyway, ignoring the fact I needed to be grieving the people they should have been. Grades dropping, anxiety skyrocketing. During this huge adjustment, I was also trying to catch up from years of medical neglect. In and out of hospitals, learning that these problems were chronic and my parents' mistakes had left me permanently disabled. I was forced to continue my education online, and never went back to public school. Part of me was glad; I'd never have to sit through a class in terror again. But I'll never get those experiences back. My grades improved greatly after the change, but I was still struggling and afraid to talk about it. After years of suffering alone, this pain pushed me into therapy. Although I've only been in therapy for a few months now, the amount of healing and growth has been exponential. When the thought of college entered my mind, I felt selfish. My grandparents had gone bankrupt from taking me in, how could I ever ask for anything more? My therapist helped me realize that following my dreams and continuing my education is vital for my personal growth and mental health. I am still hesitant about asking for help, and learning how to do that has been challenging, to say the least. Some days I am still very nervous about this massive change that lies ahead; attending school with people my age for the first time in nearly a decade. However, everything I've gone through has made me a much stronger person, and just like the others, I know I can overcome this challenge too.

Throughout my years in therapy, it stood out to me that therapists usually have something in common: they all have a ridiculous amount of books behind their big, cushion-y smart people chairs. They are also good at giving homework in the form of book recommendations. But like any other edgy adolescent, I disregarded most of them as boring, cliché, or just plain stupid. How could one book possibly know how I feel? Despite my resistance, I found that I felt lighter after reading them. Many years later, one book in particular has stuck with me. After a while of struggling with a new therapist, I finally felt comfortable to share my pain. She responds with a book recommendation and I begrudgingly agreed. I look at the crumpled post-it that was given to me. In that signature therapist chicken scratch, it read "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho. A book that wasn't sitting in the self-help section, or even non-fiction. A fictional novel, originally written in Portuguese over 30 years ago. I couldn't understand why my therapist recommended this, but it was a short read so I thought I'd give it a try. It wasn't until the ending neared that I began to understand the message I needed to hear. The book told me of Personal Legends, how living out your own is the only way to live a satisfying life. The only thing keeping us from this is our own fear. We mustn't fear failure, but embrace it: fall ten times and get up eleven. The book told me to listen to that little voice inside me begging to be heard. The voice that was my own as a child before the world tried to push it down. "The Alchemist" taught me that the universe will always conspire with us, bestowing favors upon those who follow their Personal Legends. Something larger than us - the universe, fate, destiny, God. Call it whatever you want, it all lives inside us. It IS us. It has a strange way of playing out, but things always seem to work in the end. So if I could have everyone in the world read just one book, it would be "The Alchemist". Imagine what kind of world we could live in, if we all listened to the universe inside us. “There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”

Throughout my years in therapy, it stood out to me that therapists usually have something in common: they all have a ridiculous amount of books behind their big, cushion-y smart people chairs. They are also good at giving homework in the form of book recommendations. This left me with quite the arsenal of stereotypical therapy knowledge, like an extensive library in the far reaches of my brain, dedicated to self-help work books and meditation CDs. But like any other edgy adolescent, I disregarded most of these books as boring, cliché, or just plain stupid. How could one random book possibly know how I feel? Despite my resistance, I found that I somehow felt lighter after reading them. Although it has been many years since I began therapy, one book in particular has stuck with me. I was probably 13 years old, and had gone through three or four therapists by that time. I was desperate for somebody to see me - really me. After a few months of struggles with this new therapist, I finally began to feel comfortable opening up. She was stubborn enough to stick with me, and it was the first time I felt like someone wanted to. The first day I ever spoke what I was suffering with, she gave me another book recommendation. Of course I was hesitant, but I begrudgingly agreed. On the way home, I made a stop at the library. Making my way through the aisles, I look at the crumpled post-it that was given to me. In that signature therapist chicken scratch, it read "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho. Confusion flooded my mind as I searched the catalog, having no idea how much this book would change everything. The first difference I remember noticing about the book was that it wasn't sitting in the self-help section, not even in non-fiction. "The Alchemist" was a fictional novel, originally written in Portuguese over 30 years ago. I couldn't understand why my therapist recommended this book, but it was a short read so I thought I'd give it a try. The first few pages didn't clear any confusion; telling a story of Santiago the shepherd. It wasn't until the ending neared that I began to understand the message I needed to hear. The book told me of Personal Legends, and how living out your own is the only way to live a satisfying life. The book told me to listen to that little voice inside me, begging to be heard. The voice that wants the best for me; the voice that was my own as a child before the world tried to push it down. My therapist and I talked about another theme in the book: the universe will always conspire with us. The universe bestows favors upon those who follow their Personal Legends. Something larger than us - the universe, fate, destiny, God. Call it whatever you want, it all lives inside us. It IS us. It has a strange way of playing out, but things always seem to work in the end. So now, when someone asks me what I -really- want to do, I tell them what I told everyone when I was a little girl. I try my best to listen to the dreams she had for me. I talk with her every day, and try to apologize for living in fear for so long. For living in confusion for so long. Turns out, she had it all figured out a long time ago. “There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”

Driving down the road with my grandparents, looking out on the town that used to be mine. Something familiar catches my eye. I see my parents in the parking lot of an abandoned Captain D's, with all of my belongings strewn across a few blankets and pop-up tables. Nearly every toy or piece of clothing I own being sold for drug money. Stopping by my classroom one last time to gather my things, and hearing my grandmother explain to my teacher what had happened. I can't count the number of times I had to hear that speech, leaving behind everything I've ever known because it was no longer safe. My grandparents' old home, holding the only good memories of my childhood. Old classrooms, old friends, old playgrounds I could never see again. At that point, my entire life was split in two: the time before and the time after my family found out that my parents were abusive addicts. Rushing to grab a few last things from my grandparents' home; we had one quick night to move our entire lives. We didn't even have a new house to move into. We all had to stay with my aunt for a few nights during the house hunt, but after kidnapping and death threats it was our only option. Before we had time to settle into a new home, we got the call from the police. My parents had broken a window in our old home to steal more things. They were caught with drugs on them and thus began the jail trips. I'll never forget my little brother's shaking voice when he overheard the call: "My mommy and daddy will be in jail for my 6th birthday?" After that first trip, my father took the blame for everything and started the process of going through different rehabs. My mother left and we've never heard from her again. The next few months, or years, are more or less a blur to me. Adapting to a wildly different life, pretending it didn't bother me. Acting like I was glad all this happened because I never liked my parents anyway, ignoring the fact I needed to be grieving the people they should have been. During this huge adjustment, I was also trying to catch up from years of medical neglect. In and out of hospitals, learning that these problems were chronic and my parents' mistakes had left me permanently disabled. I was forced to continue my education online, and never went back to public school. When the thought of college entered my mind, I felt selfish. My grandparents had gone bankrupt from taking me in, how could I ever ask for anything more? However, I've realized that continuing my education is vital for my personal growth and mental health. I am still hesitant about asking for help, and learning how to do that has been challenging, to say the least. What my parents did left me angry not only at them but everyone with an addiction. Addiction breaks apart families, leaves children neglected, and changes lives for the worst. How could anyone do that? It wasn't until I grew up that I learned addiction frequently comes as a side effect of trauma and mental health issues. It took a lot of growth for this realization to occur, and while I haven't quite forgiven my own parents, everything I have gone through has made me a much more compassionate person and I wouldn't trade my life for anything. I have become passionate about mental health and helping others to take it more seriously as well.

I've packed my car with everything I own, On the road leaving everything I've ever known, Hoping everything won't get strown along the highway. Back where I left my sanity - Passing down memory lane, Without ever giving it a second glance, Praying I won't lose my second chance. I didn't prep for my ACT, And I never took the SATs Because I didn't plan to see eighteen And now I'm lost. I'm trying to play catch up, But I was never good at sports. And all the pain, it stays pent-up, I've always been a bit out of sorts. Got a letter from a school I never wanted to attend, But I'm in a rush, the future's just around the bend, and I am running, running, running out of time. The fear, maybe it's unreasonable, But this ending never did seem feasible Because of the depression, more than just seasonal. Praying for something to finally be treatable, Other than the secret unspeakable. Honestly anything that could come next - Can't be much worse compared to the present. When am I coming back? Let's change the subject, I don't think this is how things are meant to go.

From flapping along to tunes in a tutu as a toddler, to writing my own painfully emotional songs to cheery ukulele music as an edgy adolescent, and crying along to my grandmother's favorite sad 70's anthems, music is something that's always been a part of who I am. My own music taste has gone through as much growth as I over the years, but there are a handful of songs that never fail to make my heart ache in the best way possible. One of these songs with the message I hold close and tight would have to be Vienna by Billy Joel. The first time those piano chords struck my eardrums, I knew this would be special. Call it cliché, but I felt every note in my soul. I reached for the replay button, and again, and again, and again. Each time hearing something new, every note and lyric etching its way into my brain. This song is much more than the beautiful piano notes and Joel's haunting vocals. The lyrics in this piece hold a message that I needed to hear now more than ever. Every chorus clearing the fog of confusion in my head, lessons starting to click. The overall theme of Joel's song is to slow down, enjoy life before it passes you by. As a person who has suffered with a painful past, the future is something I typically correlate with fear and dread. Anxiety and PTSD have tried to drag me down and make me scared of what's next. I believe hearing Vienna wasn't a coincidence, and it's become very special to me. It's not just the peaceful melody that helps me down from a panic, but the lyrics that remind me of a bigger picture. When will we realize, Vienna waits for you?

My entire life, I have always stuck up my nose at any conversations about college or the future. Any thought of the future paralyzed me with fear, and any mentions of growing up were quickly fought back. Perhaps it was my meager attempt to grasp for that last bit of innocence left behind after a difficult childhood. The first time the thought of college flickered in my head, I was more confused than anything. Why would I be selfish enough to waste that kind of money and effort on myself? I truly believed I was not good enough to deserve it. And for many years, I was convinced I wouldn't be alive long enough to give a second thought about higher education. Nevertheless, that flicker would turn into a spark, sparks bursting into flames. A brand new question never before considered rattled in my head: was it possible for me to do something for myself? After a lifetime of being told I was nothing more than what I can give, there wasn't any possibility of convincing myself I was worthy of a higher education. But that little girl still inside me did. The girl who went through and survived so much pain, whom I neglected and threw to the side. She didn't deserve to die before given the chance to live. I found a way to listen to her, and give her a voice for the first time in her life. And she had a lot to say. So I do this for the little girl whose dolls and innocence were ripped away from her small hands in a Captain D’s parking lot, watching everything she ever owned be sold for drug money. The little girl whose escape was crayons and printer paper, creating worlds where she was given a chance. And I can’t forget the not so little girl in her pre-teens who never saw a way out alive. She found a way to stay alive long enough for me to realize I deserved to live. Now that I've made the difficult choice to recover, allowing myself the luxury of college is a part of that recovery. To declare that I will allow myself to live out loud, making a massive commitment for no one but myself. So for me, higher education is important because it means choosing life. To make an effort to think about the future, and begin a rebellion against the pain of the past.