It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

Since a young age, I have always had an infatuation with all which remains unknown or uncertain. I have pushed myself, through overexertion and exhaustion, to be the best person that I know I can be, to discover the answers to the questions that I have been asking myself for years. I have recognized that, throughout my schooling, there are certain subjects which I am more proficient in than others, such as mathematics, and feel as though it is in my own duties to make something of this satisfactory performance. It is with these aspects of my personality that I have chosen physics, with a concentration in astronomy, as my proposed area of interest with the hopes of inspiring both my predecessors and successors to always strive to make the most of themselves. While physics draws my attention more than most, my love for science is deeply rooted in my childhood and my personality as a whole. I have always had an appreciation for all things around me, from animals to trees to the night sky. As a child, I would often drag my mother into our yard to search for interesting, colorful leaves or rocks that were just the right shade of brown to add to my collection. When other kids my age would be fascinated with life-like dolls or princesses, I was drawn to nature, making my own toys out of the mud or snow outside. My career choice will always lie in the field of science, whether it began as a veterinarian or if it will end as an astronomer, and I will continue to pursue both the natural and the unnatural world around me. I am requesting this scholarship because I have a desire to strive for what I believe would both benefit and challenge my unique mindset. For the past five years, including my 8th grade year and all of my high school experience, I have taken the highest classes possible in all subjects. From AP to state dual-credit to community college courses, I certainly struggled to maintain my 4.0 GPA and pass each of my classes, but I am ever-proud of my achievements. In the second semester of my junior year, I took five back-to-back AP classes and passed four of them, with two being fives. It is with these statements that I am certain that, given this outstanding reward, that I would be given the opportunity to successfully achieve my goals. This scholarship will assist me in achieving my academic goals by funding the education for which I do not have the funds to allocate.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. Many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

When thinking of someone who exhibits an extreme amount of grit, one’s mind often wanders to historical figures who have undergone such hellacious acts that they are remembered for their courage and bravery. Many may even believe that it is impossible to find grit in everyday people, that grit is limited to those who have suffered the devastating consequences of war or stood on the edge of a downfalling path to suicide. However, this is not the case with my mother. It is hard to believe that after years of childhood abuse, my mother was able to survive a marriage to poverty and alcoholism. Kathy Denise Breeden’s willingness to find tenacity in her torture has been my light in the darkness and my push when I needed a shove. Upon marrying my father, my mother remained blissfully unaware that she would be trading the hell of her mother’s torment for the hell of service to her husband. In exchange for the breaking of the shackles that bound her to her childhood abuse, she would be accepting over two decades of infidelity and hypocrisy. My father was fresh out of high school and already filled with an inextinguishable hunger to have everything that was just out of reach, dragging my mother along with him on all of his adventures and journeys, never once taking a step back from the edge of the cliff to wonder what would have happened if he slipped–which he did. My mother was forced, for what she hoped to be the last time, to learn not only how to take care of herself and her children, but how to perform to my father’s utmost standards–to cook in a way that was satisfactory to him, to adapt to practically living on her own while he spent his time exhausting their savings as he wandered in and out of employment. Each of his cruel actions bore its weight upon our family, threatening to snap us in two, each act of unfaithfulness and fist-shaped hole in the plaster of our home caused the already fragile ecosystem of my parents’ marriage to crumble. Grit should not be limited to those who have undergone so many acts of hate and violence that others should seek pity upon their soul. It is often those who hide the traumatic experiences of their past who have the most grit, who have no other choice but to turn their want for spite and revenge into steadfast bravery and determination. This has always been and always will be the case with my mother, a woman who was able to overcome the torturous nature of all of those whom she thought were there to cherish and protect her. It is with these qualities that I have had the opportunity to grow into the person that I am today, to adopt the goodwill of my mother and to always be tenacious when I find myself tortured.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. Many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. Many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

Trying to describe my impact upon the environment at first seemed difficult. I tried to reflect upon the projects I had done over the past two years during my involvement with Keep Sevier Beautiful–countless hours spent dedicated to helping those in need. Instead, I shifted my focus to that which I find at the heart of my soul, those aspects of my personality which have become so embedded in my everyday life that I hardly notice them–service. Service can be found not only in my dedication to supporting those around me, but in my determination to help myself; if my life were a story, it would be written in the lines of each and every page. My commitment to service began with the “Great American Cleanup” of the Sugarlands Visitor Center in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, a function sponsored by the Keep Sevier Beautiful association. The sponsor, Connor Fad took me along on a tour of the park, showing me views from old, abandoned cabins to the gorgeous Cataract Falls to the regrowth of trees since the devastating fires of 2016. It was then, looking at the endless new, bright-green trees in front of us, that I realized just how important the environment was. I never realized I should be fighting for the one thing which could not defend itself–Earth. Service is not limited to my devotion to others but can be extended to my loyalty to my own well-being. When I was twelve years old, my parents separated. I fell into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. My dedication knows no limits, no bounds to keep me from helping those who are truly in need, whether it is myself, the environment, or those around me. I will always strive to make the most of myself, to fill the purpose that I feel I was put into this world to pursue. My purpose in life is to help. My purpose in life is service.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. Many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will alwas strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. Many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. Each night, I would imagine how it could end– if, maybe, I could fall asleep and wake up as if it was just a dream. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

When thinking of someone who exhibits an extreme amount of grit, many may believe that it is impossible to find grit in everyday people, that grit is limited to those who have suffered the devastating consequences of war or stood on the edge of a down falling path to suicide. However, this is not the case. It is hard to believe that years of childhood abuse, a subconsciously predicted teen pregnancy, and a marriage to poverty and alcoholism could prosper into the gentle warmth that is Kathy Breeden’s personality, but her willingness to find tenacity in her torture has been my light in the darkness and my push when I needed a shove. Upon marrying my father, my mother remained blissfully unaware that in exchange for the breaking of the shackles that bound her to my grandmother’s abuse, she would be accepting over two decades of infidelity and alcoholism. My father was a bright young man fresh out of high school and already filled with an inextinguishable hunger to have everything that was just out of reach, dragging my mother along with him on all of his adventures and journeys, never once taking a step back from the edge of the cliff to wonder what would have happened if he slipped–which he did. He never thought ahead to the consequences of his actions, never wondered how much money would need to be stretched if he decided to buy yet another six-pack at the grocery store or indulge in his latest revolutionary idea, never considered how much his laziness would affect my mother–how it was up to her to take care of their children, to cook, to clean, to shop, to do everything. She was forced, for what she hoped to be the last time, to learn not only how to take care of herself and her children, but how to perform to my father’s utmost standards–to cook in a way that was satisfactory to him, to adapt to practically living on her own while he spent his time exhausting their savings as he wandered in and out of employment. Each of his cruel actions bore its weight upon our family, threatening to snap us in two, each act of unfaithfulness and fist-shaped hole in the plaster of our home caused the already fragile ecosystem of my parents’ marriage to crumble. Despite everything, my mother’s determination never faltered, continuing to support my brothers and myself in any way she could while also having to financially repay my father the money that he was oh-so-far from deserving of. Grit should not be limited to those who have experienced the most amount of suffering in their life, who have undergone so many acts of hate and violence that others should seek pity upon their soul. It is often those who hide the traumatic experiences of their past who have the most grit, who have no other choice but to turn their want for spite and revenge into steadfast bravery and determination. This has always been and always will be the case with my mother, a woman who was able to overcome the torturous nature of all of those whom she thought were there to cherish and protect her, who vowed to never treat her children with the same hostile loathing that her own mother showed towards her. It is with these qualities that I have had the opportunity to grow into the person that I am today, to adopt the goodwill of my mother and to learn from the mistakes of my grandmother, and to always be tenacious when I find myself tortured.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

Since a young age, I have always had an infatuation with all which remains unknown or uncertain. I have pushed myself, through overexertion and exhaustion, to be the best person that I know I can be, to discover the answers to the questions that I have been asking myself for years. I have recognized that, throughout my schooling, there are certain subjects which I am more proficient in than others, such as mathematics, and feel as though it is in my own duties to make something of this satisfactory performance. It is with these aspects of my personality that I have chosen physics, with a concentration in astronomy, as my proposed area of interest with the hopes of inspiring both my predecessors and successors to always strive to make the most of themselves. My commitment to service began with the “Great American Cleanup” of the Sugarlands Visitor Center in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, a function sponsored by the Keep Sevier Beautiful association. The sponsor, Connor Fad took me along on a tour of the park, showing me views from old, abandoned cabins to the gorgeous Cataract Falls to the regrowth of trees since the devastating fires of 2016. It was then, looking at the endless new, bright-green trees in front of us, that I realized just how important the environment was. I never realized I should be fighting for the one thing which could not defend itself–Earth. Service is not limited to my devotion to others, but can be extended to my loyalty to my own well-being. Throughout my life, I have faced many challenges, the likes of which I would never wish upon another human being–things one would only ever hear of in the form of hushed rumors. From a nasty divorce between my parents at the age of twelve to being sexually abused by my boyfriend just two months later, I fell into a pit of depression during what should have been the peak of my childhood. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I had nobody to seek help from; my relationship with my father was similar to that between a parasite and its host, and my mother had once again adopted her nervous, frantic nature. It wasn’t until years later when my mental health was at an all time low, reaching a point to where I had isolated myself from my friends and family, that I finally decided enough was enough. Half a decade later, I still stand on the precipice of recovery, the thought of setback ever-lingering in my mind, the hands of my assailants still gripping at my flesh. Nevertheless, I never allowed myself to falter, never gave my abusers the satisfaction of seeing me crumble in the face of danger. I have changed from viewing my life as worthless and unimportant to seeing the endless opportunities that await in the world around me. It is with this that I will forever continue to push myself to take on that extra challenge, to be better than those who have wronged me. My dedication knows no limits, no bounds to keep me from helping those who are truly in need, whether it is myself, the environment, or those around me. I will always strive to make the most of myself, to fill the purpose that I feel I was put into this world to pursue. My purpose in life is to help. My purpose in life is service. While physics draws my attention more than most, my love for science is deeply rooted in my childhood and my personality as a whole. I have always had an appreciation for all things around me, from animals to trees to the night sky. As a child, I would often drag my mother into our yard to search for interesting, colorful leaves or rocks that were just the right shade of brown to add to my collection. When other kids my age would be fascinated with life-like dolls or princesses, I was drawn to nature, making my own toys out of the mud or snow outside. My career choice will always lie in the field of science, whether it began as a veterinarian or if it will end as an astronomer, and I will continue to pursue both the natural and the unnatural world around me.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

Trying to describe my impact upon the environment at first seemed difficult. I tried to reflect upon the projects I had done over the past two years during my involvement with Keep Sevier Beautiful–countless hours spent dedicated to helping those in need. Instead, I shifted my focus to that which I find at the heart of my soul, those aspects of my personality which have become so embedded in my everyday life that I hardly notice them–service. Service can be found not only in my dedication to supporting those around me, but in my determination to help myself; if my life were a story, it would be written in the lines of each and every page. My commitment to service began with the “Great American Cleanup” of the Sugarlands Visitor Center in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, a function sponsored by the Keep Sevier Beautiful association. The sponsor, Connor Fad took me along on a tour of the park, showing me views from old, abandoned cabins to the gorgeous Cataract Falls to the regrowth of trees since the devastating fires of 2016. It was then, looking at the endless new, bright-green trees in front of us, that I realized just how important the environment was. I never realized I should be fighting for the one thing which could not defend itself–Earth. Service is not limited to my devotion to others, but can be extended to my loyalty to my own well-being. When I was twelve-years-old, my parents separated. I fell into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. My dedication knows no limits, no bounds to keep me from helping those who are truly in need, whether it is myself, the environment, or those around me. I will always strive to make the most of myself, to fill the purpose that I feel I was put into this world to pursue. My purpose in life is to help. My purpose in life is service.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home. I am requesting this scholarship because I have a desire to strive for what I believe would both benefit and challenge my unique mindset. For the past five years, including my 8th grade year and all of my high school experience, I have taken the highest classes possible in all subjects. From AP to state dual-credit to community college courses, I certainly struggled to maintain my 4.0 GPA and pass each of my classes, but I am ever-proud of my achievements. In the second semester of my junior year, I took five back-to-back AP classes and passed four of them, with two being fives. This scholarship will assist me in achieving my academic goals by funding the education for which I do not have the funds to allocate.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

Character, leadership, scholarship, and service–these are the four pillars which define the students of National Honor Society. It is essential that all members must embody each of these pillars, wholly and thoroughly. However, there is one such pillar which I feel defines my life far more than the others: service. Service can be found not only in my dedication to supporting those around me, but in my determination to help myself; if my life were a story, it would be embedded in the lines of each and every page. My commitment to service began with the “Great American Cleanup”, a function sponsored by the Keep America Beautiful association. I volunteer at the Sugarlands Visitor Center in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park with my brother’s girlfriend Kathryn. The sponsor, Connor Fad took her and I along a tour of the park, showing us views from old, abandoned cabins to the gorgeous Cataract Falls to the regrowth of trees since the devastating fires of 2016. It was then, looking at the endless bright, green trees in front of us, that I realized just how important the environment was. I had been somewhat of an advocate before, but I often supported people more than the world around me. I never realized I should be fighting for the one thing which could not defend itself–Earth. Service is not limited to my devotion to others, but can be extended to my loyalty to my own well being. When I was twelve years old, my parents separated. I fell into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. My dedication knows no limits, no bounds to keep me from helping those who are truly in need, whether it is myself, the environment, or those around me. I will always strive to make the most of myself, to fill the purpose that I feel I was put into this world to pursue. My purpose in life is to help–help anyone and anybody who is in need of helping. My purpose in life is service.

Character, leadership, scholarship, and service–these are the four pillars which define the students of National Honor Society. It is essential that all members must embody each of these pillars, wholly and thoroughly. However, there is one such pillar which I feel defines my life far more than the others: service. Service can be found not only in my dedication to supporting those around me, but in my determination to help myself; if my life were a story, it would be embedded in the lines of each and every page. My commitment to service began with the “Great American Cleanup”, a function sponsored by the Keep America Beautiful association. I volunteer at the Sugarlands Visitor Center in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park with my brother’s girlfriend Kathryn. The sponsor, Connor Fad took her and I along a tour of the park, showing us views from old, abandoned cabins to the gorgeous Cataract Falls to the regrowth of trees since the devastating fires of 2016. It was then, looking at the endless bright, green trees in front of us, that I realized just how important the environment was. I had been somewhat of an advocate before, but I often supported people more than the world around me. I never realized I should be fighting for the one thing which could not defend itself–Earth. Service is not limited to my devotion to others, but can be extended to my loyalty to my own well being. When I was twelve years old, my parents separated. I fell into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. I began regular therapy sessions, learning that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. My dedication knows no limits, no bounds to keep me from helping those who are truly in need, whether it is myself, the environment, or those around me. I will always strive to make the most of myself, to fill the purpose that I feel I was put into this world to pursue. My purpose in life is to help--help anyone and anybody who is in need of helping. My purpose in life is service.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

When thinking of someone who exhibits an extreme amount of grit, one’s mind often wanders to historical figures who have undergone such hellacious acts that they are remembered for their courage and bravery. Many may even believe that it is impossible to find grit in everyday people, that grit is limited to those who have suffered the devastating consequences of war or stood on the edge of a downfalling path to suicide. However, this is not the case with my mother. It is hard to believe that after years of childhood abuse, my mother was able to survive a marriage to poverty and alcoholism. Kathy Denise Breeden’s willingness to find tenacity in her torture has been my light in the darkness and my push when I needed a shove. Upon marrying my father, my mother remained blissfully unaware that she would be trading the hell of her mother’s torment for the hell of service to her husband. In exchange for the breaking of the shackles that bound her to her childhood abuse, she would be accepting over two decades of infidelity and hypocrisy. My father was fresh out of high school and already filled with an inextinguishable hunger to have everything that was just out of reach, dragging my mother along with him on all of his adventures and journeys, never once taking a step back from the edge of the cliff to wonder what would have happened if he slipped–which he did. My mother was forced, for what she hoped to be the last time, to learn not only how to take care of herself and her children, but how to perform to my father’s utmost standards–to cook in a way that was satisfactory to him, to adapt to practically living on her own while he spent his time exhausting their savings as he wandered in and out of employment. Each of his cruel actions bore its weight upon our family, threatening to snap us in two, each act of unfaithfulness and fist-shaped hole in the plaster of our home caused the already fragile ecosystem of my parents’ marriage to crumble. Grit should not be limited to those who have undergone so many acts of hate and violence that others should seek pity upon their soul. It is often those who hide the traumatic experiences of their past who have the most grit, who have no other choice but to turn their want for spite and revenge into steadfast bravery and determination. This has always been and always will be the case with my mother, a woman who was able to overcome the torturous nature of all of those whom she thought were there to cherish and protect her. It is with these qualities that I have had the opportunity to grow into the person that I am today, to adopt the goodwill of my mother and to always be tenacious when I find myself tortured.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. It was evident enough; he no longer lived with us, having moved in with his new girlfriend already, and many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. Eventually, the thoughts became too much to handle, the emotions ever-so-consuming. I knew that I would need to seek help before things were worse– before things were too much for my adult-like child’s mind. With the help of my father, I began regular therapy sessions. I began to learn that while I thought the effects of my own mind were nothing short of a curse or a genetic failure, they were nothing shameful or extraordinary. I was different, sure, but not worthy of ostracization. I was merely a child who had become lost along the way. With my newfound discovery of a path to recovery, my relationship with my father deteriorated into almost nothing. It was heart-wrenching and oftentimes pushed me into regression, but with time came the ability to heal. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.

It was summer, not long before I was to start the seventh grade. I had sat on my couch, playing childish games on my laptop– I was barely even twelve at the time– and breathing in the smell of pine cleaner as I watched my mother mop the hardwood floors, trying her best to keep her composure as tears fell down her reddened face. She and my father were separating. I had known for days, though I had yet to be told. Many days were spent watching his belongings be packed away. I felt as though my entire world was collapsing before it even had a chance to truly begin. The following year was painful. Day by day, I had fallen deeper into a pit of depression, full of emotions which I thought only belonged to the hearts of those grieving. I felt as though I was cursed by my predecessors, not only for the choices they made that had led my life to this point but also for the genetics which I had inherited. I felt as though my mind was forced to follow in their footsteps, to adopt the nervous and frantic nature of my mother and the depressed and angry feelings of my father. I was still a child, surrounded by moral ambiguity and a developing individuality, yet it felt as though adulthood had already been thrust upon me. This was over five years ago. I have since entered high school and relished in the opportunity of self-discovery and expression. I have found that my own downfall at such a young age was the underlying motivation for why I have accomplished so much. I will always strive to make something of the little girl who was forced to make a choice between her love for her poisonous father and her ability to love herself. I will always strive to be what kept her going– to become what her motivation was. My moral compass has since had the time to develop and flourish, bringing me to the realization that I should always do what I believe is right, rather than succumb to peer pressures or anxiety. I aim to push past the boundaries that the world has developed for those who are like me, and inspire not only my own generation, but both my predecessors and successors, to grasp the opportunities that lie before them and prosper in their own curiosity. As a result, I have chosen to pursue a career in physics and astronomy in hopes of welcoming a love for the unknown into the world– in hopes of making other twelve-year-old girls, who are terrified of change, feel at home.