I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and panic attack disorder at 19 years old. I spent years staying awake until 4 or 5 in the morning with my heart racing, my head a tornado of thoughts, and the intense fear of doom destroying my ability to sleep. My anxiety is a shapeshifter, mutating into many different forms throughout the years, but it is always a thief. It steals happiness, success, and dreams of the future. One of the forms my anxiety has chosen is health anxiety, so wonderfully known colloquially as hypochondria. What people don't realize, however, is that I don't fear something is wrong with me everyday. I do not frequent the doctor, hospital, or call out of work sick. This type of anxiety manifests for me in the deep fear I am going to drop dead. Unfortunately, it usually takes the form of food aversions as I am terrified I am going to have an anaphylactic reaction to a food, medicine, or insect sting. This fear morphs into a social anxiety as I become terrified to eat with others. I avoid many restaurants, shellfish, seafood, nuts, etc. Friends going out to eat stabs fear into my heart. Another form of anxiety I have is conflict anxiety. This makes it very difficult or me socially at work as I have to communicate with parents and have uncomfortable conversations. While no one enjoys this, my anxiety increases the normal reaction. My watch will alert me that my heart rate is too high and continually buzz as I have conversations with the parents of my students, colleagues, and my administration. Although it can feel debilitating, learning to lean in, power through, and not allow the anxiety to outwardly upend my life has been a major accomplishment 2 decades in the making. With all of this being said, reader you may be wondering why in the world I would be pursuing a graduate degree in Educational Administration? This future career path would obviously put me in situations that trigger my anxiety. The reason is that my anxiety disorder does not define me. I am more than my diagnosis. I am more than social anxiety, generalized anxiety, and panic attack disorder. This college degree will pave the way for me to show success despite the challenges I have faced. I will be defined by my success and challenges of my career, not my mental health.

I was diagnosed with panic attack disorder and generalized anxiety disorder when I was 19 years old. At the time, I didn’t even have the language to explain what was happening to me. I only knew that my body would go into full-on panic for what felt like no reason. My heart would race, my chest would tighten, my hands would shake, and I’d feel like I was dying. I would stay awake until 4 or 5 in the morning, waiting for the night to end and the panic to subside. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t out of nowhere. It was the years of unspoken trauma catching up to me—years of domestic violence, abuse, an alcoholic parent, and the instability that came with all of it. Getting that diagnosis was both scary and relieving. It gave a name to something I had been battling alone for so long. But it also made me feel “different.” I didn’t know anyone else who talked about anxiety or panic attacks. I felt isolated, even broken at times. It affected my relationships—friends didn’t always understand why I couldn’t go certain places or why I would cancel plans last minute. I’ve had to explain to partners that sometimes, my fear has nothing to do with logic, especially when I am experiencing health anxiety. It’s been a complicated journey learning how to be honest about my mental health while also not letting it define me. But here's what I’ve learned: my anxiety has given me a gift I never expected—empathy. Deep, unshakable empathy. As a teacher, it has completely shaped how I show up in the classroom. I can spot a student having a quiet meltdown a mile away because I know what it feels like to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. I know how it feels to be overwhelmed by something small, and I know how powerful it is when someone notices and offers you compassion instead of judgment. Because of my own struggles, I create a classroom that feels safe and predictable. I give students space to breathe, to be human, to make mistakes without shame. I make sure they know that what they feel is real—and that their mental health matters. I mentor new teachers and talk openly about these things, not to overshare, but because I think the more we normalize mental health conversations in schools, the better we serve our students. Living with anxiety hasn’t been easy, especially as a mother, teacher, and now a graduate student working toward becoming a school administrator. The pressure can feel enormous. There are days I feel stretched thin, moments when the fear creeps in. But I’ve learned how to manage it—with therapy, with tools, with grace. And I’ve stopped being ashamed of it. My anxiety is not a weakness; it’s a part of me that has made me more sensitive, more aware, more human. My goal now is to lead schools that prioritize not just academic success, but emotional well-being. I want to advocate for trauma-informed practices, for mental health resources in rural communities, and for students who, like me, feel like no one understands what’s going on inside their head. I want to be a principal and eventually superintendent who makes sure no child feels invisible the way I did for so long. My experience with mental health has shaped every part of who I am—from how I love, to how I lead, to how I show up in the world. And while I didn’t choose this path, I’ve learned to walk it with purpose. I’ve found strength in the struggle, and now I’m using that strength to make a difference.