Shortly after I was born my mother attempted suicide. It was the beginning of a life that was heavily influenced by the mental health of those around me. I grew up quickly, learning to interpret actions based on context, and seek patterns in the behavior of my peers. I didn’t fully comprehend what I was doing at the time, but I had learned and implemented an empathetic understanding at a very young age. Growing up, I heard stories of my grandfather who killed two people, attributed largely to his untreated paranoid schizophrenia. Once old enough to understand what that meant, I strove to understand the why behind his actions, as well as my mother’s. I dove into learning about the psychology behind schizophrenia, depression, and other disorders. I became obsessed with the function of the human brain and how it affects crime as well as daily life. I hoarded information surrounding psychology and crime through books, documentaries and podcasts. Initially, this fascination prompted my interest in being a detective, to be present in the most visible, and applauded, aspect of the criminal justice system. I realized, however, that I never wanted to be in a position where I may need to hurt someone. I looked into forensic science, but found that my severe germaphobic tendencies were triggered at the idea of an autopsy. I finally realized I could combine psychology and criminal justice into one interest. I decided to pursue criminology with the intention of working with the court systems in witnessing, but shifted to the rehabilitation process. I want to work with mentally ill inmates, and develop projects that will promote more self-sufficiency and growth after release from prison. My grandfather was caught after the first murder, but due to his schizophrenia he was sentenced to only a short stint in a mental hospital. This did nothing to dissuade his belief that he was above the law, that his illness was justification for his actions. He killed again, and was sentenced to the very same lacking consequences. Then, there are offenders whose illness is not taken into account at all and their punishment exacerbates the previous symptoms, ensuring that upon release they would be unable to participate properly in society. Current procedure creates a pattern of reoffense that not only hurts individuals, but strains the resources and money of the community. I have witnessed what untreated mental illness can do to a person, to a family, to a community, and I want to work in the forefront of the solution. I want to pursue a college education as far as possible, and use what I learn to help people have access to the resources that my family needed. I know that there are severe consequences to a lack of balance between punishment and treatment for mentally ill offenders. I want to find a way to provide that balance, helping families like mine whilst building a safer community.

I have written poetry and short stories since I was small. I started playing saxophone when I was in elementary school. I joined the choir in middle school, and have since explored many mediums of traditional art, from calligraphy and embroidery to watercolor and pencil sketching. I have always been considered quiet, a reserved person. I find it difficult to express myself so I constantly explore different ways to do so. I write to communicate feeling and thought, nearly all of my stories and poetry are first-person and introspective. I like to write about thought processes through crisis and strong emotions. I use strong imagery to show how panic attacks change the senses with things like tunnel vision and sensory overload. I have struggled to explain what these things mean to those who don't experience them, but when I sit down and write it out, it becomes clear and descriptive. I started drawing on a whim in class, bored from a calculus lecture I drew a skeleton that, while not very anatomically correct, was surprisingly good. I continued doodling in class and then started researching specific techniques. I like drawing with a gel pen and pencil and painting in watercolor. I've become obsessed with facial expressions in particular. I love that the slightest alteration in the eyebrows or the eyes can change the entire feeling. I love working with different hair textures, bone structures and eye shapes, the complexity of human expressions is fascinating when looking at it through the eyes of an artist. My music was my first passion, at least as much passion as I could have in fourth grade. I began on the flute but moved as quickly as possible to the alto saxophone. I have now played the saxophone for around eight years, and it has been unrivaled in how much it has positively changed my life. The most evident is the skill that I've developed. I am the first chair in the concert band and lead saxophone in the Jazz band. I am also the section leader for all upper woodwinds in the marching band. I struggled after reaching High School as I got Covid-19 and the symptoms persisted so much that my chest pains and shortness of breath required medication and inhalers. So, in addition to band events shutting down during the pandemic, my health was making playing my instrument very difficult. I had to limit my activities and work on breathing exercises to attempt to get my breath support and immune system back to how it was. This being my senior year I chose to participate in the District 9 OMEA Solo and ensemble contest for the first time since the pandemic began, but more importantly, I was playing a solo for the first time since I began having lung problems. I played Aria by Eugene Bozza, a well-known, and very beautiful piece for the sax. I've never practiced as hard as I did to learn that music. I managed to play regardless of the pressure I was putting on myself and the fear I had of it proving to me that all my efforts had been for nothing. I struggled at the time of the performance to remain calm and control my breathing, but I managed to get a rating of one, the highest possible. I was immediately reassured that while Covid paused my musical career it didn't end it. Aria by Eugene Bozza has become something of a war anthem for me because while it may seem slow and rather sad to some, it's the song that renewed my determination.

I decided to transfer schools during my junior year of high school to explore more academic opportunities. I had always been considered reserved by my peers, but with the title of the new kid, I became very solitary. It took a while to make a place for myself in my new environment. This year I have taken the initiative to seek out opportunities to build on my previous involvement. I had volunteered in the community for years but it was primarily behind-the-scenes work, away from other people. I volunteered at the animal shelter, where my interactions were limited to dogs, cats, and at times rabbits. I made a float for the community Christmas parade, made toys and sewed doll clothes for a toy drive by Colgate Palmolive, and got the Colgate plant to set up hygiene donations for my old high school's sports teams. These were good experiences, but I hadn't pushed myself, and I knew I could do more. I challenged myself to volunteer through my NHS chapter and my art programs and ended up running the help desk at the OMEA District 9 solo and ensemble contest as well as sewing costumes and working backstage in community theater productions. Through my more interactive volunteer efforts, I have developed a lot of relationships around my community. I have grown comfortable interacting with some theater, band and choir directors, members of local churches I worked with, and many of my peers. Despite my initial anxieties, I have worked hard to develop a reputation of interest and initiative. My peers have come to frequently ask me for help with fixing or crafting things, as well as aid with essays and homework, as I have come to rely on them for aid in my music and science. I have never been comfortable asking for help before yet with my current friends we have made study groups and help is offered before I need it. I excelled in skills I hadn't expounded upon before. I joined the marching and the jazz band, as well as the audition choir, even playing a solo for contest and receiving the highest possible score. I play my saxophone and sing for community events, nursing homes and music clubs. After experience on stage I decided, while I loved theater, I was much more suited to backstage work. I sewed costumes for weeks, handled miscellaneous tasks and worked on set changes and prop-making. I hand-hemmed dozens of yards of fabric and learned to embroider and work with grommets, velcro, and zippers. I am still reserved, and my alone time is important to me, but I have learned that my mental boundaries are easily crossed when I have support. Forcing myself to put in more effort has affected every aspect of my life positively. I have more experiences, a larger support group and far more skills than I did before this year. This is an attitude that I hope to use to push myself well through college and the future because being introverted doesn't mean I have to be excluded.

Shortly after I was born my mother attempted suicide. It was the beginning of a life that was heavily influenced by the mental health of those around me. I grew up quickly, learning to interpret actions based on context, and seek patterns in the behavior of my peers. I didn’t fully comprehend what I was doing at the time, but I had learned and implemented an empathetic understanding at a very young age. Growing up, I heard stories of my grandfather who killed two people, attributed largely to his untreated paranoid schizophrenia. Once old enough to understand what that meant, I strove to understand the why behind his actions, as well as my mother’s. I dove into learning about the psychology behind schizophrenia, depression, and other disorders. I became obsessed with the function of the human brain and how it affects crime as well as daily life. I hoarded information surrounding psychology and crime through books, documentaries and podcasts. Initially, this fascination prompted my interest in being a detective, to be present in the most visible, and applauded, aspect of the criminal justice system. I realized, however, that I never wanted to be in a position where I may need to hurt someone. I looked into forensic science but found that my severe germaphobic tendencies were triggered by the idea of an autopsy. I finally realized I could combine psychology and criminal justice into one interest. I decided to pursue criminology to work with the court systems in witnessing, but shifted to the rehabilitation process. I want to work with mentally ill inmates and develop projects that will promote more self-sufficiency and growth after release from prison. My grandfather was caught after the first murder, but due to his schizophrenia, he was sentenced to only a short stint in a mental hospital. This did nothing to dissuade his belief that he was above the law, that his illness was justification for his actions. He killed again and was sentenced to the very same lacking consequences. Then, there are offenders whose illness is not taken into account at all and their punishment exacerbates the previous symptoms, ensuring that upon release they would be unable to participate properly in society. Current procedures creates a pattern of reoffense that not only hurts individuals but strains the resources and money of the community. I have witnessed what untreated mental illness can do to a person, to a family, to a community, and I want to work at the forefront of the solution. I want to pursue a college education as far as possible, and use what I learn to help people have access to the resources that my family needed. I know that there are severe consequences to a lack of balance between punishment and treatment for mentally ill offenders. I want to find a way to provide that balance, helping families like mine whilst building a safer community.

Among the choices I have made to live a more eco friendly life, I have made efforts to be aware of where I buy and get rid of my clothing. It is believed that over 80% of clothing ends up in landfills, and the average US citizen throws away 70 lbs of clothing annually. After researching the issue years ago I resolved to change the way I go about buying and getting rid of clothes. To begin, I rarely buy clothing unless necessary. The items I do buy are thrifted or secondhand, for cost and waste reduction and easy to alter. I learned to see when I was little and have evolved to altering or up cycling clothes that are too small or damaged. When they surpass wearability, I use their fabric to make other clothing, stuffed animals, or quilts. When I get rid of clothing I donate it. My cousin organizes the clothing donations at a church in my town, and I usually give it to them to distribute to those who need it. At times I skip the middleman and distribute them myself. I do, however, limit donation clothing to what will be wearable for a good period of time and isn’t damaged or unreliable. Donating clothes people can’t wear would be pointless and end in trash anyway. I include those fabrics in my sewing. My intention is to limit my clothing and fabric waste, hopefully offering help to others in the process. I also try spreading awareness on the matter. My sisters, friends and family often give me their old clothings to up cycle, reuse, or fix. My efforts have been hailed as unimportant and useless, but they’ve saved bag after bag of clothing from landfills and it’s a process I hope to expand in the future.

When I was between the ages of six and nine, my family lived in the second floor of my grandma’s house. My parents were working through school, and due to her health, my grandma never went upstairs anyway. During that time, my parent’s relationship crumbled and after significant money stress, they divorced. My grandma would invite my sisters and I downstairs to paint, sew, write, or make fudge to distract us. We didn’t have much money, so we would spend hours making our own emtertainment out of fabric, glue, old clothes and random items. She taught me how to use a sewing machine and she brought us to the library almost twice a week for years. As her part in our lives increased she encouraged me to set goals that others considered outlandish for a quiet kid in my situation. She said I could graduate valedictorian, go to a big college, publish my writing, perform music, or reach my dream job of working in law enforcement. She heavily influenced who I am today and she co-wrote my future plans. It was painful when it became apparent she would not be able to see me reach any of those goals. She was sick for as long as I could remember, but it didn't stop her from living life as she wanted and setting an example for us. Her ideals revolved around standing firm in your beliefs, but being forgiving. She gave everyone second, third, fourth, ninth chances, and she did her best at anything she committed to. When her health started failing, it was in the midst of COVID. We could rarely visit her in the hospital, and she was unlikely to respond much even when we could visit. I knew she was fighting, she was always a fighter, but in the end she died among family, holding my grandpa’s hand. Her last response was a smile. It was then that I resolved to hold onto her memory by living closely to her example. I knew what she expected of me, what she believed I could achieve, and that helped me believe it myself. I have worked hard to maintain a 4.0 GPA, keep in the top of my grade, and take advantage of every opportunity I am given. Recently a poem I wrote was chosen in a national competition to be published. My immediate excitement was overshadowed quickly when I realized that the person I most wanted to tell, the person who used to read and critique my writing for me, was now out of reach. Those moments, when you should be elated and yet can barely hold a smile, are the moments you realize grief doesn’t really fade. It may become subdued for a time, or you may become distracted, but it’s still present. The hole that person once filled wouldn’t magically disappear. I hoped that by reaching these goals I would feel closer to my grandmother, but it was more painful to have checked off a box without her. I would be lying if I said it doesn’t still hurt, and even though we just passed the year anniversary of her death, I still imagine that I will see her when I go to her house. I still open our texts on my phone that I haven’t deleted. I still want her to see the milestones in my life. I haven’t accepted that she won’t be there, but I can’t let that stop me from reaching the potential she knew I had. Today, I sewed a stuffed monkey. He’s wearing a blue floral suit and has green ears because I ran out of fabric. My grandma would’ve loved him. She would have loved that I sewed him from scratch, using the sewing machine she used to teach me back when we all lived under one roof. Most of all, I think she would have loved to see that I am sewing again, even if it reminds me of her and hurts. I read a Stephen king book yesterday. He was her favorite author. She would have loved that I tried out the genre even though I didn’t like it. She would have loved that I finally finished it after leaving it sit for months because it smelled like her house. She would have loved to see me remembering her and not allowing it to stop me. She believed in my potential and I want to live up to it. I have just realized that I can be proud of the small steps I take in the direction of healing in addition to the big goals. I want to grow from her memory, not let it hold me back. My future will always carry a melancholy because she won’t be there, but I will have a future nonetheless.

If I had 1000 dollars right now I would buy a nice computer. In efforts to take advantage of all resources I have, I have been taking many CCP and AP classes, as well as online courses. The sudden increase in online work has highlighted the fact that I do not have a working computer. I have been using one that was loaned to me by my mom's workplace, and when that is not available I borrow my sister's. It would benefit me immensely if I had consistent and reliable access to a nice computer. In addition to my schoolwork, a computer would help with my other goals. I want to publish a book before I am finised with school. Unfortunately I have lost quite a bit of my writing due to technical issues with switching computers or computers crashing. My determination has been wearing thin with all the rewriting and lost work. Having a secure place where I can write and upload my work would likely contribute greatly to me achieving my wanted timeline. I won't have to worry so much about other's accessing it and deleting or messing it up, or losing it in a faulty computer. Looking at my plans for more college classes in the fall, graduation, and then moving out to actually attend a university, I am unsure of how to do it all with the limited access I have to a reliable and private computer. So, with 1000 dollars, I would buy one.

When you say bravery it conjures images of adventurers doing death defying stunts or divers fighting deep sea monsters the size of apartment complexes. My bravery, however, is much smaller and to many, the scenarios that inspire it's need, are commonplace. I have generalized anxiety disorder and many experiences that have built a considerably terrifying hurdle between me and other people. I have to put in constant effort to keep from isolating myself out of fear of rejection or humiliation. Whenever I make plans, they grow to be imposing and my mind threatens me with horrible possibilities. I can't keep from believing that history will inevitably repeat itself and I will be left behind, ignored, forgotten, or on the other end of the spectrum, ridiculed, and taunted. No matter how often interactions go well, the notion of attempting again is enough to insight a panic attack. My own brain has developed defense mechanisms that work against me and send me into a fight or flight at the slightest acknowledgement or invitation. This is my bravery. I stand up to myself on a daily basis. I organize revolutions in my thought process and I fight front line to an endless barrage of negative self talk. When you don't have full control of your thougths and you struggle to keep your mental health positive, it is near impossible to see past it to other aspects of the world. I know there is much to change and fight for, and I know that to many this is insignificant, but my anxiety is a ruling factor in my life. It's my forty foot kraken, and my chasm of doom, and it's the daunting first thought when I go anywhere around others. So yes, I may not seem it, but I am brave.

The concept of speaking your mind has become amazingly political in recent years. Everyone must have an opinion on everything and that opinion had better be the right one. I think a large part of speaking your mind is that it must actually be from your mind. It isn't simply restating the majority opinion with feigned passion. If your ideals align with the majority that is fine, but before you stand on a soapbox, be sure that you are meant to be there. I refuse to jump on the bandwagon simply for the sake of applause and I won't alter my beliefs to keep the approval of my peers. Of course, my intention is not to offend, and I remain respectful of those who disagree, but I know that if I agreed I would be compromising my ability to speak my mind and remain faithful to the issues I care about. Another aspect of staying firm in my beliefs is that I keep an open mind. If something I stand by is proven wrong I am willing to acknowledge that and grow. My beliefs are fluid, as my understanding evolves they will change. This is not the same as ditching them for the sake of the majority, changing them due to new logic or perspective does not alter the autonomy I have over my presentation of myself. I speak my mind by being sure that it is my mind that I am speaking. I stand behind what I believe but I can acknowledge and grow from when I back the wrong horse. My passions will not change to suit trends and my presentation will not falter in the face of adversity.

Teenagers have a lot of stress. They are being suddenly shoved through the process of adulthood and given major responsibilities with little warning, they are told they need to have the perfect GPA, high income, passion, college or formal education, loans, a job, extracurriculars, home responsibilities, future plans, and success while they are still daydreaming about playing with barbies and watching wonder pets. Then on top of those things, we are criticized constantly by older generations for our music, clothes, dependence on technology, need for reward and laziness. They refuse to acknowledge efforts that are not traditional. I have found the best way to encourage my peers to be acknowledging those efforts, however meager they may seem. The easiest way to ruin someone's day is if you ignore or belittle something they put their energy into. Something that seems small to you, could be hard for them. For instance, when you are dreading an unknown future and are being told to make tons of pivotal decisions, you may struggle to apply to scholarships or to research colleges. I have friends who have so much pressure on them that the word colleges make them nauseous. I encourage them by praising every step they make in the right direction. I validate their emotions because I don't know how hard the process is for them. Instead of pointing out a long list of next steps to trivialize the one they got done, I will help them see the manageable next goal. For some people growing up is exhausting, and critiquing and disregarding small steps forward leaves them wanting to take six steps back. Encouragement is shown through recognition of effort and empathy with the process.

I have an extensive bucket list. The things I have achieved thus far include, learning to embroider, rock climbing, hiking in Acadia National Park, seeing Niagara Falls, the statue of liberty, the site of the salem witch trials, and plymouth rock, going to renaissance fest in a costume I sewed, glass blowing, and keeping straight A's for over six years. Those are but a few of my aspirations that have come to fruition, and there are many more than I can't wait to someday achieve. For instance, I want to publish a book. I have never finished one of my books and all the people who read my partials are quite angry about it. I love writing but my schedule allows little down time to focus on it. I also want to sing in front of people. I have only ever sang in a choir, and while I have had solos, COVID-19 cancelled all my shows. I have developed anxiety with singing in front of people, and anxiety makes it hard to breathe, which makes it harder to sing. So a goal of mine is to rid myself of the singing anxiety. I also want a pet snake, specifically an albino hognose, because they always look like they are smiling. I want to get a doctorate in criminal psychology before I am thirty so I can help with criminal rehabilitation and victim advocacy. I want to start making my art consistently enough to sell it and develop a functional side business. I want to become independent enough that I can foster teens and give them a safe space. I have a lot of goals on my bucket list. I want to help people, I want to experience the world, and I want to enjoy my life.

Growing up we weren’t exactly financially comfortable. We were provided for but there were always money anxieties and we lived with our grandparents to save money. Due to this upbringing I developed a very strict sense of when to spend and when to save, that is, I am uncomfortable spending money. I knew that I would need to look into scholarships as soon as I was able to, because I want to go to college, especially given the degree I was hoping to eventually achieve was the most expensive degree available. I didn’t want my future to be ruled by money, but that also meant that my present would need to be focused on it. I took a financial literacy course in junior year and asked my family for advice often, unfortunately, due to my school schedule I was unable to get a job. My efforts to take as many college classes as possible in highschool to decrease future expenses was impeding my ability to earn money in a consistent capacity. I decided to dedicate my summer between Junior and Senior year, the summer I am on the brink of, to getting my license, a job, scholarships and a list of colleges that offer substantial financial aid along with my preferred degree. My priorities have always been to reduce financial stress on my family, so I have kept my grades up, applied and tried in contests and volunteered often. What I have learned from life experiences, advice and courses I have taken, have all taught me that money should not be your life, but it is a necessity if you want to live. I will save and take every opportunity to reduce the costs for college so that one day I won’t have to worry so much, and will instead focus on living and helping people. My passions lie in psychology and I want to be a doctor in criminology in order to help with criminal rehab. In the meantime, however, I need to focus on bolstering my savings account, keeping my car insurance low, my grades high, and getting a consistent job.

I am the mom friend, the group therapist, the one with the Mary Poppins bag and the one who will always have a bandaid and a pencil. I unknowingly created a sense of security for many at school, many have come to me just to talk. They say that they trust me. It's amazing that it only took the most basic actions of compassion to create such a welcoming environment. I never intended on gaining such a widespread reputation, I simply wished to be empathetic. I remain open about myself so that there is never confusion over a prejudice I may hold. I am loudly a christian but it isn't difficult to be clear that empathy extends past differences in belief. I offer aid to anyone who asks, or doesn't ask, and I don't push when they appear uncomfortable. I actively listen and give advice only when asked. I don't push boundaries, but I ask questions to gently prod harmful mindsets to hopefully help them come to their own understanding. I validate when needed, but I also call out when they are at fault. I try to be transparent and think about all aspects of a situation, and if I am unsure or ignorant of pivotal information, I will refrain from commenting, and instead will simply listen. While I'm not the most social person, my efforts are generally displayed enough through my actions, I don't have to force myself into uncomfortable situations. It is all a matter of open mindedness, and if Jesus was empathetic and held grace for the highest offender, who am I to cut off people and judge? I have the ability to help whilst sharing the truth of God's love through my actions. Why would I not take every opportunity to do just that?

I have five siblings, take over six college classes, play in the marching band, sing in the audition choir, and have home responsibilities and future plans to attempt to balance. Relaxation is difficult to achieve and when I do I consider it very important. While I do read, knit, write, carve and embroider, which can all bring some reference to relaxation, the most calm I have ever found was in a tree. I have been climbing trees since I was six. There was a huge pine in my grandma's front yard, it was my and my sisters' castle, safe haven, war outpost, and hotel. It was the center of any game we could play and our refuge from anything that was happening on the ground. We would climb to the top with fabric scraps and ribbons to tie on the highest branch we could reach. The top is unreachable now because we have grown too big, but to this day, if you look closely, you can see pieces of faded flannel from my sister, and sparkly pink ribbon from me. Climbing trees still carries nostalgia for me, and nothing compares to finding the perfect branch and cloud watching from so high up you could touch them if you reach out. It feels like I am disconnected from stressors on the ground, like I have climbed out of reality and can almost regain the childish sense of imagination I once carried. It is difficult to find such a well preserved sense of childhood that can be universally applied. Yet, any tree with strong enough branches has the same possibilities as they did when I was 3 feet tall. People say one day I'll have to "mature" and act like an adult, but until then I'll spend my time in the trees.

The scholarship process has taught me a lot of things, the most prevalent are encompassed in two statements. One, there are always more topics to write about, and two, you have to be determined. I was naive at the beginning of the process, expecting responses immediately. Then, I lost the first six I applied to, then the first thirty, then the first hundred. Of the many, many, scholarships I have submitted, I have not won a single one. At first I was upset. I was sure that I was messing up some pivotal aspect of the submission process in order to fail so many times. Then I realized how proud I was acting, and I resolved to stop holding my failures against myself. Now, I have submitted many more scholarships and have thus far not won any of them. Yet, I still think I am gaining something from them, a heightened understanding of myself. I have written so many personal essays now that I have had to face many aspects of my life that I had tried to ignore, and many aspects of my personality I have since worked to fix. I have written of my talents and skills so much that I have realized I have the ability to achieve many things that I never thought I could. I have written of my family so much I have relied how important they are in the building of my character. I remain determined to trust the process, and in the meantime I will cherish every aspect of my life I had been taking for granted. That is not to say that I don't hope to at some point win a scholarship. As one of five siblings I am struggling with the ability to pay for college. However, as I have had straight As for years and participate in many extracurriculars I hope to gain support that way as well. Determination plays largely into my hope to go to college. Despite all the obstacles that keep popping up in front of me, I will continue to work for my future until I achieve it, using scholarships or not.

Confidence is living in spite of shame. It is taking criticism as a bruise and not a permanent scar. Confidence is humility when wrong, and open mindedness to learn. Confidence is a self assuredness that grows with you and isn't based in a fragile outside factor. I have not always been confident, nor am I particularly confident now, but I have witnessed others standing secure in themselves despite any onslaught they faced, and it has inspired me strengthen my self image. In the past I have tied my confidence to things that are fragile and it caused a lot of insecurity. When I got bad grades, messed up something, or got in trouble I lost all confidence. I only felt confident in myself when praised by others and reassured by those around me, when they stopped or criticized me that approval was ripped away. Then I began to grow in my faith in God, I got a therapist, and my focus shifted to my internal traits. I began to build my confidence on the fact that God made me personally and has a plan, and how I was allowed to be happy, excited, and have needs, without that meaning that I should be embarrassed. I have a long way to go but the process has been enlightening. I was creating critics in my head, they were tearing me down and instead of fighting them myself, I relied on others to fight them for me. Now I have realized that was a temporary solution, and a pathetic one in comparison to the security I have found in what God has given me.

I have many hobbies, I hate when I don't have something to do with my hands, and that has spurred knitting, crocheting, origami, drawing, sewing and recently, embroidery. I never thought I would enjoy embroidery. It has seemed to be a waste of time in the eyes of all my favorite historical fiction heroines, so I attempted based on the urging of my sister alone. I was unaware when I began that it would become one of my favorite forms of expression. It seemed tedious to others because it took hours to finish one piece, and I preferred to use thin thread, so it took days to finish a piece the size of my palm. It was grounding however, a repetitive, consuming, task that allowed for me to take a moment to breath when in nearly every other situation I was pressured, stressed, and rushed. I could work on it whenever I wanted, I kept my thread and needles in my bag easily because they were small, and I added a small carnation to most of my clothes. My favorite piece I have completed to date is a goldfish on my backpack. It took me three days over the summer and nine thread colors ranging from dark red to light yellow, and he would fit on the bottom of a water bottle. I did each of his scales individually and went back over it with plastic thread so that his fins were shiny. I made his tale ombre red to light orange and his fins yellow to white. He isn't perfect, I am still not amazingly skilled at it, but he has my literal blood, sweat, and tears worked into his threads. I stab myself with the needle a lot. Embroidery is tedious and painful and I love it.

I play saxophone, sing, knit, write, sew, embroider, draw, paint, sculpt, do calligraphy, and more. These are all considered talents in their own right, but I think they all play into a talent that I have been cultivating since I was young. A talent for seeing something and immediately trying to replicate it. I never measure when I am sewing, I look at pictures and copy them. I can barely read music but I can play and sing something if I have heard it before. I can draw based on reference and I can reach goals even without explicit direction by using creative and divergent thinking. I don't mean that I am a prodigy or anything fancy, I simply have a talent for finding ways to reach my goals that aren't necessarily traditional. I taught myself calligraphy. I didn't have calligraphy pens or brushes, so I learned to mimic and replicate word art with pencils and sharpies. I got an ocarina and a kalimba for my birthday, I had never played either, but after focusing for about an hour I could play songs. I know I wasn't playing them the traditionally correct way but they sounded just as good. I constantly try new things, new instruments, new art forms, new hobbies, I love playing with how my brain can pick things up. I had never worn makeup before this year and after watching a few youtube videos I did my own for prom, I made a flower crown for my little sister based on a pinterest photo, I started working with leather to make a sheath for the sword I got because I started to learn HEMA. I have a talent for learning, replication, and creative problem solving, and to practice, I never stop searching for learning opportunities.

I have gathered many skills over the years, knitting, rock carving, drawing, painting, embroidery, sewing, singing, and saxophone, but my best would likely be my writing. I have been writing for years, storytelling for longer. I write historical fiction, fantasy, essays, and poetry to entertain myself and my sisters. I prefer poetry because it is such a simple, intimate, and rhythmic way of writing. I like that you can write an entire poem about something without ever stating that something directly, yet people can still understand by the end what it is. I improve my writing primarily by reducing the behaviors that make writing difficult for me. I struggle to get motivated to write consistently, and I go back and edit before I finish. I get so preoccupied with perfecting the word choice that I rarely finish a piece. I did some research and started to try to proactively fight my perfectionism with writing. I downloaded an app that deletes everything I have written if I stop writing for more than fifteen seconds. Initially this app caused more tears than production, however, after writing and rewriting entire short stories I got to a point where I started to focus on the storyline more than the little mistakes, I also started to type really fast. I also would ask people for story prompts so that I felt an outside pressure to finish the short stories. Others also gave me new topics to write of that I would not have come up with alone, it forced me to see new perspectives. I have used many different prompt methods to learn how to write in different styles and of different subjects. I have worked and learned a lot to improve my skill in writing and I hope to grow farther in the future.

Joy is a feeling that I have found in my faith. Many things make me happy of course, caramel sauce, BBQ chicken pizza, sushi, many other foods. Primarily food makes me happy. Happiness, however, is not permanent. Joy is the overall satisfaction and positivity you find in your life regardless of the small moments of sadness or happiness. Joy feels like an inflated balloon under your sternum and weight off your shoulders, it's when your cheeks hurt from smiling, and when you cry the small voice that says it isn't permanent. I am a christian and I have found that joy in my life knowing that this isn't permanent, and things will always get better because this is God's plan and I can only do my best to fulfill the potential he has given me. It is joy that I find when I make mistakes and I know that he has mercy and grace enough to overlook it, so I don't have to keep carrying the guilt. It is joy that I find when I go to christian concerts and sing and cry in a crowd of people on their own journeys in faith. It is joy that I find when I think of how my grandma's final moments were spent smiling at her husband. It is joy I find in every medical test that comes back clear. And it is joy that I find when I see that every hardship I have overcome was carefully orchestrated to make me stronger. Joy is not happiness, happiness is fragile and fickle. Joy is a continuous feeling, it's what pulls you out of your sadness and helps you see the bright side in tragedy. I have not always been happy, but ever since I found my faith I have had joy.

I have many seemingly small things that make me happy, like when the sky is blue and has a singular cloud, because it makes me feel like I'm in a drawing I did as a kid. Also, when the sun shines through the window in my living room, because my cat sits on the back of my couch and it makes a mini cat silhouette on the ground. Singers with raspy voices singing high notes, swing music, and somehow successfully sewing a dress after not measuring makes me happy. Weird food that my dad finds in gas stations, crime shows that all have the same actors as background characters, and drawing odd pictures on my homework all make me happy. I am happy when my sister comes to visit and make wedding plans or when my mom takes my sisters and I out thrifting. It makes me happy how my little brother puts his finger on mine like they did in the movie ET and how he demands I sit with him until he falls asleep most nights. The flow and dynamics of classical music like the song "A postcard to Henry Purcell" in earbuds makes me happy, as does the sound of typing when I have an idea fresh in my mind and my fingers are struggling to keep up. Trying to remember music last minute while performing in a choir concert, and buying new reeds for my alto saxophone also makes me happy. I am happy because I have family, friends, passions, hobbies, and traditions. I am happy because despite any bad things, this life has allowed me to have a bright future and a strong character, and I will be grateful to all experiences for that, even if they did not make me happy in the moment.

I have many favorite paintings, but unfortunately I will have to be cliche and say that the most inspiring to me is Ophelia by John Everett Millais. People question me on this, understandably so, because it is a depiction of a dead ophelia after falling, or jumping, to her death after Hamlet left her. To me however, in addition to it being a scene from my favorite shakespearean play aside from As You Like It, it carries a lot more meaning. Generally people look for positivity, some way to make the painting seem happy and thus make the viewer happy, but Ophelia wasn't. She was driven mad and left alone. Her death was accidental, as she was too crazy to understand the danger. After being toyed with by all those around her for so long this was when she was finally given freedom. She does not smile, she is expressionless, because she had left behind her physical prison. She is tragic and beautiful and it has a backwards way of making me feel like I can get through the hardship in my life. Nothing is permanent, and I do not think of Ophelia's end as death, but as a dramatic literary way of saying she was finally able to escape. Aside from the meaning, it is just beautiful. I love how Millais incorporates nature into his works, and especially in Ophelia, the amount of flowers and plants that surround her make it seem intimate. The bundles of flowers floating around her remind me of a gravesite, like she had died on her own terms and for her this was the proper burial. This painting makes me want to write and draw and attempt to communicate even an ounce of the meaning this painting carries. It inspires me to keep growing.

The most inspiring book I’ve ever read is “Fearless” by Tim Lott. It was the first book to make me cry. It is fictional, set in a dystopian world and focuses on a facility for supposedly troubled girls. The girls are stripped of all controllable individuality. They are forced to shave their hair, wear the same clothes, and are given numbers and status letters as names. They refer to each other by whatever their most prevalent personality trait is, thus the main character’s reference name is little fearless. Little fearless sacrifices everything and is punished severely in order to escape nightly to try to convince the outside world to help the girls. She then ignores freedom and returns every morning to give them hope. Despite her continued effort she is ignored by the townspeople. She is then isolated from the other girls and over time they forget her. She is reduced to a cautionary tale or myth told to the girls. By the end the girls are saved but at that point little fearless is gone, yet right before she died she was told that the girls were safe, though had forgotten her. She was happy despite being forgotten because they were saved. She was willing to fight for a future she would never see and receive no thanks. I believe little fearless has become a role model in my life, I want to make a difference like she did and be proud of those who reach the destination even if I never can. I don’t need remembered or a hero status, I don’t need my name written down, I want to make this world a better place because I have the ability to, not to get recognition. I want to fight for the future and not just the now.

I have always been very driven. When I was in middle school and began to have control over more aspects of my life, including my academics, I decided to set my ambitions high. I was aware that I had more opportunities than many and I didn’t want to waste them. I got the highest GPA in my grade for the next three years, losing it only when I had to be isolated due to COVID and unfortunately fell behind at the end of sophomore year. The past few years have been hard but my determination has not swayed. Academically I am seeking to learn as much as possible with the time and money available to me. Ideally, I would like to reach a doctorate in criminal psychology in order to work in victim advocacy and criminal rehabilitation. I have been passionate about working in this field since I was young, I wanted to be a detective for years until I realized that I could be put in a situation where I could have to hurt someone and I don’t think I would be able to handle that. Instead, I have found the psych field incredibly intriguing, and after hoarding books and resources on it for the past few years I believe I have found my calling. As for family, I want to foster kids. I know that I am incredibly lucky to have had the support I have been given and my intention is to pay it forward. I want to make a positive impact in as many lives as possible, and if that can come coupled with providing a positive influence and bond it is all the better. Aside from that I intend on evolving in my faith and role in the church, and pursuing my art and music.

I was told by my psychology teacher that God did not make us to be islands. Most people would write this off as common sense, that connections and relationships help people to grow and be healthy, but it caught me off guard. I had just moved schools, I was starting antidepressants, and I had barely spoken a word to anyone besides my family in weeks. I believe her words changed my life past anything she could understand. I have generalized anxiety disorder and depression, and I have become very reserved due to past experiences. I have been described as cynical, quiet, intimidating, proud, and rude by the people I had never even interacted with. When I was going through a hard time I isolated myself. I accepted that I had no friends. I tried to rationalize it as a personal strategic decision to better focus on school work, ignoring the fact that it became harder and harder to focus because the loneliness affected my productivity. I swore that I was fine as an island, that it was beneficial, but in the end I was just alone and depleted. Then I tried to convince myself that I wasn't an island, that every now and then I would smile and wave at passing boats. The boats, however, always left because I never invited them to come ashore. I discouraged meaningful relationships because they scared me. I started to think about it, God didn't make me to be an island. He gave me gifts to share and I was worth prioritizing. I slowly attempted to become more outgoing, and while still reserved and decidedly guarded I have managed to start building bridges. Wise words are those that inspire thought and change, even if common sense, like "We were not meant to be Islands."

I have always been dedicated to my education and learning. My goals have been to gather as much as I can, not only facts that I could memorize, but cultural differences I could understand and ideals that would broaden and inform my views of the world. I have tried to expand my faith in the process, applying what I have learned to what I hear and read in church and the bible. I enjoy knowing how things work and why they do so, but even more so, I love grasping how I can use this knowledge to help people. I want to work in criminal psychology in order to help with the rehab and healing of criminals and victims of crime. I have also prized my education because I learned very young that I couldn’t grow up to be what I wanted to be, at least not as easily as some other kids did. When I wanted to be a princess we would sew our own dresses and have tea parties with a considerably fancy watered down Dasani lemon water in Dixie cups. We didn’t understand then, but money is a large aspect of being what you want to be. I had written off having my dream career when I realized how much money it would cost. Then I started to learn about how much you can gain by simply working hard. I started to push harder for As and to maintain the highest GPA in my grade. Which I did until I got COVID and my trips to the hospital dropped me to a B in one class. I took harder courses, college level classes and filled my schedule. I grabbed every opportunity to prove myself academically, praying that it would help me to reach my dreams. It has yet to do so but I hold out hope that I can one day reach a doctorate despite my current situation. In addition to my own motivation I have five siblings, two sisters and three stepbrothers. I try to remain as unproblematic as possible, good grades and hopefully less money required for schooling is on the list of unproblematic behaviors. I know how stressful everything can become very quickly, so I try to distinguish myself as one who requires little stress or help. It’s simpler that way. So, my education is for my growth and learning, but also for my family and my future. I hold it as a priority because it determines so much that I can’t imagine now working as hard as I can.

I will not complain about how my life has gone, my experiences gave me the ability to empathize and learn. I have dealt with mental illness personally and with relatives. We have not always had much money, but we had what was necessary and creativity handled the rest. If I had the chance to go back and change things, however, I can say that there are absolutely situations I would have tried to prevent, if only to lessen the present therapist's bill. What I can say with absolute certainty is that I would not be able to look so favorably on my past if not for the people in my life who distracted, supported, and helped me learn from the experiences as opposed to internalizing them as inevitable reality. When I was younger I had church to escape from any issues I had, then I joined a youth group and it was no longer an escape, but a way to apply the scripture to my life experiences. I was shown how God was present even in the darkest days. I began to lean into my faith harder in the dark, where I used to hide, especially from God, because I was ashamed that I couldn’t handle things on my own. I was a founder of the Cindness Carolers club in my middle school. I spent the summer handwriting inspirational quotes on notecards. We anonymously put one on every single person’s locker. We managed to make another five hundred before the end of the year to do it again. The group showed me just how rewarding it was to help others, seeing them smile made me smile knowing I had caused it. I joined the drama club, which helped me to loosen the shell of invisible convenience I used to cling to. It terrified me to be in front of so many people and be seen, let alone sing in front of them. Then the others in the club encouraged me and I got through an entire audition freshman year before hyperventilating. I was cast as the only freshmen as a lead. I would have been on stage if not for the epidemic. The point, however, remains that I never even would have entertained trying for a role had those around me not assured me enough that they drowned out all the voices in my head that I had been taught to heed. I learned about teamwork and dedication in marching band, and about harmonies in choir. National Honor Society and numerous volunteer projects taught me about respect and community service. Many of these people didn’t know how important they were to me. Not because I didn’t tell them, but because the words didn’t carry as much gravity with them. When I said they saved my life they laughed it off. They didn’t grasp that they truly did save me. When I go to college I know that I’ll need to find a new church because my faith is always my priority. I hope to find local theater programs to be a part of wherever I go to continue diminishing my stage anxiety. I will find, or start if needed, a study group so that there is less academic stress on me and my peers. I want to keep up my dedication to spreading kindness for my own benefit as much as others. I had a teacher who always used to say that we were not meant to be islands. So, I am dedicated to constructing as many boats and bridges as are needed for my own and for others growth.

My community, from my church youth group, to my high school drama and theater club, has taught me that support and understanding, both giving it and receiving it, is the only way to grow. This cultivated a distinct want to show it to those around me. I have volunteered at the animal shelter for years, along with various school events. I have aided in repainting a local theater after there was water damage, and because my dad is a contractor I have had the unique opportunity to aid in renovations and building a retaining wall at the homes of local veterans. This want to help is one reason why I want to become a criminal psychologist. I want to help criminals. They are often left with meager support in times when it is pivotal for their growth and healing. My father worked in a kitchen for years, many that worked with him had criminal records. Many would also give anything to change the past, citing their familial or friends’ support as the only reasons they turned their life around. I’ve also seen when people are isolated and shunned, with no obvious choice but to continue on the path that will inevitably further harm themselves and others. I live in a small town and have worked hard to give time and effort to the building of its community, albeit often from the background. I intend on carrying this sense of community to anywhere and anyone I find myself interacting with. I have five siblings, two sisters and three step-brothers, out of which I am the second oldest. I was raised helping with my dad’s contracting business so I am able to add tiling, painting, and the basics of plumbing, installations, and building to my extensive list of hobbies. These in addition to knitting, sewing, embroidery, carving, drawing, cake decorating, singing alto, and playing saxophone as well as some other things. I crave knowledge and I love to learn. I have been reading for years and hoard whatever books I can from fantasy to biography to science. I want to foster kids when I am older and I want a pet snake. My biggest goal, to generalize everything, is to spread love. I’m aware that it sounds very hippy-ish, I have been told so along with more patronizing phrases, but I feel like our society is focused hugely on judgment, standards, and expectations. I have worked hard and am still working to overcome my own anxiety disorder, and I believe I can empathize with many in a way that I can help them. When I became educated, not only on the mental illness I had, but on the community of others with mental issues who were willing to share and teach, I felt less alone and more hopeful that growth was possible. I know how comforting it is for someone to reach out when you are at your darkest point, and I want to be that person for as many as possible.

I have always been dedicated to my education and learning. My goals have been to gather as much as I can, not only facts that I could memorize, but cultural differences I could understand and ideals that would broaden and inform my views of the world. I have tried to expand my faith in the process, applying what I have learned to what I hear and read in church and the bible. I enjoy knowing how things work and why they do so, but even more so, I love grasping how I can use this knowledge to help people. The want to help people is one of my reasons for wanting to become a criminal psychologist. I want to help criminals and victims of crime to keep from losing hope. I know what it is like to feel stuck, and I believe both of these groups can feel this. Not only because of inner turmoil, but because many peers give up on people in these situations, unable to see a bright future for them. I believe that no one should be judged solely on their current situation, as it does not determine their future. I want to help people reach that future, or at least as close as I can get them. I know that it will be difficult to get there myself, not only in the way of making it through all the schooling, but to mentally handle emotionally charged situations. However, I believe I can do it. I want to help people heal, and in the process help lead us to a safer, more understanding, society. I am not embarrassed to say that my biggest "why" is spite. It has always been a strong motivator for me. When I finished elementary I told my youth group leader that I wanted to be top of my class. He said that it was practically impossible given the amount of kids in my class. I held onto those words and the highest GPA spot for three years before Covid-19 dropped me to third in sophomore year. I have known that I wanted to do some form of criminal justice work since I was six when I told my dad I wanted to be a detective. Then I realized that I could never bring myself to hurt anyone, even if necessary. So, I shifted and upon exposure to the psychology books that I soon began to hoard, I found my calling. When I told others the response was surprising. I was told I would most likely end up, at best, stuck in a small town, with a useless degree and excessive debt. Especially if I pursued something so long term as a doctorate. They looked at my current situation and couldn't see a successful future. It's funny, they were quick to rewrite the script of how we could grow up to be anything we wanted when I stopped saying I wanted to be a princess. Being told that something you have wanted to do for years was a waste of time can push you in one of two ways. Either it can dissuade you and add your name to the long list of people whose dreams were impeded by someone else’s sad concept of reality, or it can fuel your determination to achieve it. This is where it becomes spiteful. In addition to my wish for personal growth and to lend to the healing of others, I want to show people that simply because my dreams are different from theirs doesn't make them pointless, and I am strong enough to achieve them.

The future has been considered with fear more so than anything by my generation. We have spent years watching questionable decisions be made and being belittled for what meager efforts we could contribute to any cause. When we began to use reusable straws, question politics, or criticize companies we were immediately taunted for our apparent ignorance and the futility of the actions. They didn’t seem to understand that we were well aware of how small a difference, if difference at all, that we were making. However, at least we were trying. We are criticized for our sense of humor that seems meaningless to older generations, and for dancing in public. We are described as weak and whiny because we have pushed mental health advocacy and are building communities where mentally ill people can feel welcome that are more present and noticeable than what was accessible before. We are sensitive for calling out hate, ungrateful for dismantling harmful traditions, and a rainbow of slurs for breaking down societally constructed ideals. Watching how the young generation has moved to call out issues other generations have ignored has begun to rebuild my hope for the future. I don’t agree with everything the advocates push but at least someone is advocating. Apathy and willful ignorance has left us prepared only to fake a surprised face when the next disaster occurs. Politicians spout nonsense about solving the climate crisis while they make few to no efforts to change resources or fuel sources. Celebrities make ignorant and hateful commentary and fans brush it off as judgement lapse, ignoring the thousands of people already poised to follow that celebrity’s example. People will talk about helping the less fortunate while they still recoil when a homeless person asks for money. We are tired of ignoring problems or simply talking about them. I am hopeful for the future because I have witnessed how this generation handles issues. We aren’t hiding from them or sweeping them under the rug. We have been trying for as long as we were able to make a difference and I can’t wait for the day we start getting the power to make actual changes. This generation is fed up with the consistent degradation and we are excited to prove everyone wrong.

One of the earliest memories I have is seeing an ambulance in front of my house. I didn't understand what was happening, but I cried because that is what you do when your mom goes to the hospital. They tried to explain, that she was there because she was sad. It confused me. A hospital was for broken bones and stitches, not emotions. Later, she explained that she had attempted suicide, in fact it was her second attempt. Still my brain couldn't fathom the gravity of the word and I filed it away with other words that apparently applied to my mother, words like bipolar, depression, and disorder. The only things I could put together was that she was sad enough to be sick, and to fix it they separated us. My sisters and I seemed to come to the same conclusion because suddenly we all stopped asking for things. We knew we didn't have much money, so we made an effort to keep from bringing it up. We stopped asking to go places, or for money for school things. We retreated to make room for any healing she would possibly need, which is difficult for children. Unfortunately, this behavior became generalized. I started to become more reserved around everyone, terrified that if I stepped out of line, out of this very carefully constructed box I made, that people would cry and end up going to the hospital for sadness. As far as I was concerned, sadness was too scary an emotion to express anyway, if it led to doctors and overnight stays away from my family. As I got older it rationalized into what I have been told is called generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I had spent so long trying to keep others from feeling the way that my mom did that I found myself isolated and constantly on edge. The person everyone knew, that made jokes and smiled, was a pitiful attempt to cover my fear of causing waves in any way that was meaningful. I couldn't be vulnerable with people and I couldn't handle prolonged attention because that heightened the risk of slipping from my carefully worded script and reservoir of safe phrases and topics. Thus, I had few friends, and even fewer goals besides making sure I was not an inconvenience to anyone. Then I got a therapist and social media, both of which are incredibly hard for someone who doesn't know how to open up and share. From these things I learned two things; One, what I was feeling was, in fact, not normal. Two, I was not alone. Through social media I found communities of people just like me. Some were in various stages of healing, which gave me hope, and some were able to share stories that were more personable than a doctor. I found that I felt validated and seen in a way that I hadn't before. Then I went to my therapist and she taught me how to apply what I had learned to grow through all of the guilt that had been with me since I was a child. I am still trying to lose many habits and learn that I am allowed to take up space but the progress I have made has left me very hopeful for the future. It is this hope and this recognition that I wish everyone could feel, it inspired me to look into psychology as a career. I have witnessed the growth that can occur with therapy, medicinal help, and even simply education, and I want that to be accessible to everyone. My focus has slowly grown to favor victims of crime, or criminals. I want to do the hard work. I want to be the hand that reaches towards those who feel that everyone has turned their back on them and I want to make progress in identifying how to keep events like this from recurring. I have been told that my mental issues would be only a hindrance in a job where I am supposed to help others with their own. I can't say that I agree. I have spent years building up to the point where I can speak with spontaneity, be able to rejoin choir and band, and interact normally with others again. I feel like I am the perfect person to work with those who are experiencing issues because I have experienced them too. I can relate inspire trust and growth. I can personally attest that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't always a dumpster fire. I didn't know what the word suicide meant when I heard it the first time. At this point in my life the word inspires emotions ranging from fear to anger and tears that can mean anything from relief to sadness. I have far too much context for the term and I am determined to keep it from carrying such meaning in the future by applying anything and everything I can possibly learn.

The time when I struggled the most with my mental health was when I didn’t understand how many other people could relate. I believed there was something inherently and majorly wrong with me, something that could not be fixed. Then I began interacting with others who have mental health issues, I found communities I could be a part of, and suddenly I didn’t feel so isolated. I could see people in different stages of healing, which gave me hope, and I could hear accounts from people who were much more personable than a doctor. I had never felt so seen and included. A practical solution to help those with mental health issues is to promote more communities and education for them. When you are told you have a disorder or condition your immediate instinct is to hide it, mask it, pretend it’s ok, they need an area where they are allowed to relax and discuss things without stigma. Too often we isolate ourselves with the fear of being rejected or pitied, on a forum in which we can relate to each other that isn’t a concern. This isn’t the kind of suggestion that would change the course of mental illness entirely, and it wouldn’t suddenly solve people’s problems, but I have found friends can help extensively with anxiety and depression, and support systems are needed by everyone.

Generosity is categorized generally as the sharing of your material possessions with others. You give away food, money, and things. As someone who absolutely loves giving gifts, generosity has always been used to describe me. However, I can’t say I agree. Giving people gifts and things can be helpful in showing how much you care, but breaking it down to the basics, I give people things that I have no connection with. It costs me little to nothing to hand them something. And I can’t say that is true generosity. Generosity is the willingness to make a sacrifice for another, and this can refer to materials, but it can also refer to giving someone your time or attention. Generosity is when you sit and listen as they ramble about things you don’t understand because you know that they love it. Generosity is the time you spend making or finding the perfect gift. Generosity is giving help even when it isn’t expressly asked for. There is little reason to praise a person for handing someone another item that may or may not be important. Instead, notice when they are generous with their time. This is something I have been working on, and I still love giving gifts, so, I have learned a myriad of odd skills in order to make things for my friends and family. From knitting to rock carving I have been putting in much more effort to be truly generous.

I don’t deserve this scholarship. I hate zebras and love the heel of the bread loaf and the taste of robitussin. I talk during movies, loudly, and especially in a movie theater. I’ll name my first child Larold. If Harry is short for Harold, then logic states that Larry is short for Larold. The last thing I deserve is a scholarship meant to aid someone in becoming a valuable member of society. I have no goals besides eradicating the use of refillable bottles. I hate washing them. My Academic goal is to pass high school, maybe go to online college. I’ll never go past a two year degree. I’ll teach children to commit arson. Children are whiny and sticky, but are unlikely suspects. My career goals are motivated by the fact that I want to be able to expand my collection of left socks. I will hoard my money. My role model is Scrooge from the Christmas story, before the ghosts. I have overcome nothing. When I reach something difficult I ignore it. I have seventeen emails I cannot access. I forgot their passwords and made new ones. I was diagnosed with mental disorders and tendon issues. I’ve since not been to a doctor. Ignoring issues makes them go away.

One of the earliest memories I have is seeing an ambulance in front of my house. I wasn’t old enough at the time to understand what had happened, I was told that my mother was just very sad and needed to talk to some people to get happy again. It was incredibly vague, even for a child, and it took me quite a while to realize that she had attempted suicide. The word had little gravity with me when I first found out, I filed it away with the other terms that felt like they carried more weight than I was ready to pick up, words like bipolar, depression, and disorder. They had simply told me she was sad. Which hadn’t made sense to me. A hospital was for broken bones and disease, not emotions. I interpreted it as, she is sad and has to get away from the source of the sadness, and the only thing she seemed to be leaving behind was my sisters and I. It was then that I began to feel like I had to protect her, that whatever I had been doing before contributed to her leaving, and so I would be better than ever before. I stopped asking for things, or to go anywhere, I stopped telling her things that would insight emotion, I built as big a wall as a six year old could build to keep my mother from crying again. The unfortunate side effect to this method, however, is that it generalized. I stopped showing my emotions to anyone. Every thought I had remained in my mind, expression was too dangerous to risk. I didn’t want to be the cause of anyone feeling the way I had seen her feel. I couldn’t trust that others would react well to my feelings, so I didn’t interact. I didn’t know how to make meaningful connections or maintain friendships because I couldn’t be vulnerable. Then I was diagnosed with depression and generalized anxiety disorder. I was amazed. I couldn’t imagine either of two things. One, that I was feeling the way that I had tried to shield everyone else from, and two, that this feeling wasn’t normal. I became very engrossed in learning about psychology, as much to validate my feelings as to convince myself that they were wrong, that I was perfectly normal. That is not what I found. I found that there were a number of unhealthy mindsets and habits that I had taught myself or learned, or simply seemed to have spontaneously picked up. I was running myself into the ground to keep from being in other’s way and for the first time I recognized that this wasn’t the way to achieve what I wanted. I started going to a therapist, a very difficult thing for someone so used to bottling their feelings. She helped me to see that I didn’t have to blame myself for what happened, or for what my reaction was. It was the first time I felt like someone was reaching out to me. It was the moment I finally knew how to help, I didn’t need to shield people and repress everything, I needed to help them face it. Since then I have been determined to work in the psychology field, to learn how to handle these situations in a constructive and healthy way and show that to others. I don’t want anyone to feel the way I did, or attempt what my mother attempted. I have seen firsthand the effects of those emotions, they will not be ignored, so I don’t want to ignore them anymore. The next step is simply to access that education, and I look forward to a future in which I can apply these lessons.

My dad worked as a chef and told me when I was little that I should not go out to eat unless I had enough to tip the waiter/ess the full price of the meal. When I was little, of course, I though that was random and very odd to tell to a child. However, I have never forgotten it. Every time I go out to buy something I wonder if I could buy it twice over and if I can’t, or wouldn’t need it if it were a doubled price, I put it back. Not only did it instill a question of necessity but it added a certain regard for the service workers. I thought often of how much people were willing to pay for an item, yet those people didn’t believe that the person enabling the item or service deserved even basic respect. That saying emphasized the worth of the people in the service industry so that I thankfully did not instead succumb to this general idea that devaluing a person due to their job title is acceptable. This is something I will absolutely be telling my kids in the future and I am glad it was told to me when I was little, even if, as a six year old, I did not even know what money was.