On January 30, 2020, an 11-year-old girl tried to take her own life. In the weeks leading up to that day, she felt overwhelmed, confused, and completely disconnected from herself, her family, and her peers. She didn’t have the language to explain what she was feeling, and because of that, she felt alone. She had already been in therapy for three years, yet the experience had left her still unable to express her emotions.
On that day, her dad came to pick her up from her mother’s house, and she told him she didn’t want to go and wanted to stay with her mom, his response was, “If you don’t go with me now, I won’t take you to school tomorrow.” In that moment, she felt powerless. She felt lost. She felt like she wanted to die.
On January 30, 2020, I tried to take my own life.
For a long time before that day, I struggled to understand why I felt different. I wasn’t making friends at school. My teachers didn’t seem to like me. My parents were getting divorced. I was the tallest girl in my class, taller than even the teachers. I cried every day. My mom had put my brother and me in therapy, hoping we would have someone to talk to about our feelings. But I didn’t have the words to express how I was feeling, not even to a therapist. I didn’t talk much anyway. I remember rehearsing what I wanted to say in my head but never being able to get the words out. I felt alone and broken.
So, on January 30, 2020, I did what I thought I needed to do to feel better. I opened a bottle of Tylenol, poured out what felt like hundreds of pills, and took them. Then I walked out of my mom’s house and got into the car with my dad like nothing had happened. I almost died. I spent days in the hospital as doctors worked to keep my body from shutting down. After that, I spent weeks in a mental health facility trying to learn how to find my voice and share my feelings. The road was hard. The journey is still hard.
The 11-year-old girl I described is not who I am today. I did not become who I am overnight. I have battled anxiety and depression for years. Even with medication and therapy, I didn't always feel better. I was blessed to survive, but surviving did not mean the pain was gone. I still felt lost and different. My parents, despite their differences, came together to support me. My mom, especially, listened in a deeper way than before. When I told her that something still didn’t feel right, she believed me and kept searching for answers.
Things began to change during my sophomore year of high school, when I was diagnosed with bilateral hearing loss and autism. For the first time, my experiences made sense. The “brokenness” I had felt for so long finally had an explanation. I wasn’t broken, I just experienced the world differently. Because of my hearing loss, a condition that had gone undiagnosed since childhood, and autism, the world I lived in was different than everyone else's. Understanding my challenges, didn't erase them, but it did give me clarity. It gave me language. It gave me a path forward.
Everything I have experienced has shaped my goals and given me a strong sense of purpose. I want to pursue a career in healthcare, not just to help people physically, but to be part of a system that recognizes the importance of mental and emotional well-being. I know how easy it is to feel overlooked or misunderstood, and I want to help change that. I want to also work behind the scenes at the diagnostic stage. So much of my ordeal was because, early, I was not diagnosed properly.
My journey has also shaped how I build relationships and how I see the world. I have learned the importance of listening, being patient, and creating space for others to be themselves. Because I know what it feels like to struggle silently, I try to be someone who notices when others may need support. I value genuine connections, and I work to make sure the people around me feel seen and heard. It is still hard for me sometimes, and I often have to take breaks for my own mental health, but I won't give up. I know firsthand that people are often carrying more than others can see. Because of that, I choose to lead with kindness and understanding. I have also learned that strength does not mean never struggling. It means continuing to move forward, even when things feel heavy, confusing, or uncertain.
My story is not defined by my lowest moment, but by my decision to keep going. It takes courage to face yourself, to grow, and to choose hope, even when it feels so far away. Because of what I have been through, I am more resilient, more compassionate, and more determined to create a future where others feel supported, understood, and never alone.