Teachers are the foundation of our world. They shape the minds of the next generation, not just by teaching lessons from a book, but by believing in the potential of every student who walks through their classroom doors. I know this because my life has been profoundly shaped by teachers both the ones who saw my challenges and the ones who saw my possibilities. When I was diagnosed with dyslexia at six years old, reading and writing became daily battles. Words that seemed to flow effortlessly for others often looked like tangled puzzles to me. In fifth grade, I was told by a reading specialist that I would “never be able to read.” For years, that sentence echoed in my mind. But what changed my life was not that prediction it was the teachers who refused to accept it. They adapted lessons, gave me extra time, and most importantly, treated me like I was capable. They taught me that success doesn’t come from fitting in, but from finding your own way to learn. Those experiences sparked my desire to pursue a career in education, because I want to become the kind of teacher who helps students see their strengths instead of their struggles. I understand how it feels to sit in a classroom feeling different, to work twice as hard for half the results, and to wish someone would just understand. That empathy is what drives me. I want to make sure every child especially those with learning disabilities feels supported, believed in, and seen. My teachers were more than educators; they were lifelines. They built my confidence, one encouraging word at a time. Their faith in me helped me challenge the limits others placed on me. Because of them, I pushed myself academically, advocated for accommodations, and earned my place in advanced courses. Each victory reminded me that education is not just about academics it’s about perseverance, compassion, and growth. As I look toward my future, I plan to major in education and special education, combining my lived experience with professional training to reach students who learn differently. I want to design lessons that engage multiple senses, celebrate diverse learning styles, and create classrooms where curiosity outweighs comparison. My goal is to become a teacher who doesn’t just prepare students for tests, but helps them build confidence, self-worth, and a lifelong love of learning. Teachers don’t just teach subjects they shape lives. They spark curiosity, inspire resilience, and lay the foundation for everything that follows. The best teachers are the ones who see potential in every child, no matter how they learn. I want to be one of those teachers. Because of the teachers who believed in me, I discovered my voice. Now, I want to spend my life helping others discover theirs.

“You’ll never be able to read.” Those words weren’t said in anger they were delivered with cold, clinical certainty by a fifth-grade reading specialist. At nine years old, already struggling to reconcile my love of stories with severe dyslexia, that sentence felt like a verdict on my future. My IEP was supposed to open doors, but too often it felt like a lock. Teachers would sigh when I asked for extra time, and administrators questioned whether I “belonged” in advanced classes. I was fighting the system for permission to even try. Every day became a negotiation between what I knew I could do and what others assumed I couldn’t. Reading a single page could take twice as long, writing essays required hours of planning, rewriting, and voice-to-text software. Being singled out for my differences made me question whether I truly belonged in classrooms where “smart” was measured only by speed and spelling. Still, I refused to let dyslexia define my limits. My mom became my fiercest ally, sitting beside me through late-night study sessions and IEP meetings that often felt like battles. Together, we learned that advocacy is not about confrontation it’s about persistence. Slowly, I began to take ownership of that process myself. I started speaking up when teachers forgot my accommodations, writing my own progress updates, and pushing for opportunities I’d been denied. My sophomore year became a turning point. After months of advocating, I finally persuaded my counselor to let me enroll in two AICE (Advanced International Certificate of Education) classes “just to see if I could handle it.” That small victory meant more than a schedule change. It was the moment I proved that I could thrive when given the same opportunities as everyone else. Each essay I completed and each exam I passed wasn’t just an academic success it was evidence that my determination could outshine doubt. As my confidence grew, so did my purpose. I realized that my advocacy could help others too. I began mentoring younger students with IEPs, helping them understand their rights and encouraging them to use their voices. I wanted them to see that their accommodations weren’t signs of weakness they were tools for success. Every time one of them told me, “You make me feel like I can do it too,” I understood that my struggle had created something powerful: empathy. Winning second place in my district’s literary competition was the moment everything came full circle. The same girl once told she’d never be able to read was being recognized for her writing. But to me, the real victory wasn’t the award it was the journey. Every missed word, every reread page, and every late night study session had built the resilience that carried me there. What inspires me to continue pursuing education is simple: I want to become the person I once needed. I plan to major in Psychology and later become a Speech-Language Pathologist. I know what it’s like to have ideas bigger than the words you can get out and I want to help students find their voices sooner than I found mine. Living with dyslexia has taught me that intelligence isn’t defined by how fast you read or how neatly you write it’s measured by how hard you fight for your understanding. My IEP didn’t hold me back it became my blueprint for persistence. The same challenge that once silenced me has now fueled my voice, my purpose, and my unshakable belief that no child should ever be told what they can’t do before they’ve had the chance to try.