Being a first-generation means more than being the first in my family to attend college--it represents the fulfillment of sacrifices, resilience, and dreams that began long before me. My mother emigrated from Bolivia and my father from Guatemala with a little more than determination and faith. They worked tirelessly to provide opportunities they never had, teaching me the value of hard work, perseverance, and hope. To me, being first-generation is both an honor and a responsibility: it is proof of how far my family has come and a promise that I will continue building on their foundation. The journey, however, has not been simple. Without a roadmap from my parents, I often felt the weight of navigating academics, standardized tests, and college preparation alone. There were moments of doubt--times when the challenges of rigorous coursework or the uncertainty of applications felt overwhelming. Yet, these obstacles strengthen me. I learned to seek guidance from teachers, mentors, and peers, and O discovered resilience through persistence. Every barrier I faced became a stepping stone, showing me that while the path is uncharted, it is not impossible. My dream is to become a defence attorney, advocating for individuals whose voices are too often silenced in an intimidating legal system. This passion comes from my own experiences watching how language barriers, financial limitations, and lack of knowledge can leave people vulnerable. I want to use my education not only for personal success but as a tool for justice, ensuring that others have someone to stand beside them in moments in need. What drives me is the gratitude I feel for my parents' sacrifices and the belief that I can make a meaningful difference. I have dedicated myself to service in many forms--whether through volunteering in my church. teaching children, organizing fundraisers, or supporting causes like the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Leadership roles in my school and community have taught me that progress Is not achieved alone but through collective commitment and compassion. These experiences continued to shape my vision of a career rooted in justice and service. This scholarship would bring me closer to that vision. Financial limitations are a constant reality for my family, and receiving support would ease the burden on my parents while allowing me to pursue my education with focus and determination, More than financial assistance, this scholarship would affirm that the obstacles I have faced as a first-generation student are not limitations, but stepping stones toward a future of impact. Being a first-generation student means carrying forward that sacrifices of the past while shaping new possibilities for the future. With resilience, gratitude, and determination, I am committed to using my education not only to transform my own life but to stand for others and ensure justice is accessible to all.

For the first time I picked up a Lacrosse stick at age twelve, I learned the value of perseverance. Lacrosse quickly became more than a sport--it became a training ground for my character. As an attack for Robinson Secondary School's varsity team, I have faced long practices, close games, and moments where success meant pushing fatigue. These lessons mirror my approach to life: I am committed to excellence, no matter how challenging the path. My dedication to academics is just as strong. As a full-time International Baccalaureate (IB) student, I have embraced a rigorous course load, including Higher Level History, Theory of Knowledge, and advanced sciences, all while maintain a GPA above 4.0. My academic journey is driven by my passion for justice and my goal to become a defence attorney. I plan to major in political science on a pre-law track, with a focus on advocating for those voices that are often unheard. Beyond sports and academics, I have found purpose in service. I am co-trustee and treasurer at my church, where I manage financial records, organize fundraisers, and lead community outreach efforts. I volunteer through the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Cure Wave campaign, inspired by the loss of my longtime teammate to bone cancer. I also mentor Children in my church, helping them build confidence through dance, teamwork, and encouragement. Service is not an obligation for me--it's a way to strengthen the community I call home. Like Kalia, I believe in balancing ambition with joy. I cherish moments spent traveling, exploring nature, and celebrating milestones with family and friends. I also value the importance of leadership through example--whether it's motivating my teammates before a game, guiding younger students through the challenges of high school, or working late into the night to meet academic deadlines. Receiving the Kalia D. Davis Scholarship would be a profound honor because her life reflects the qualities I strive to embody: work ethic, kindness, ambition, and commitment to making an impact. This Scholarship would help relieve the financial pressure of pursuing a higher education and allow me to focus on excelling in my studies, serving my community. and preparing for law school. I want to continue Kalia's legacy by pursuing my goals with the same determination she showed in hers. Whether I am in the classroom, on the Lacrosse field, or in a courtroom one day, I will carry forward her example: to live with purpose, lead integrity, and encourage others to do the same. Kalia's story is a reminder that life's impact is measured not only by personal achievement, but by the way we inspire and uplift those around us. With this scholarship's support, I will counties to strive for excellence while making a positive difference--living, loving, laughing, learning, and leaving a legacy that honors her name.

Title: Heartstrings Attached: A new Love Island Challenge If Love Island proves anything, it's that romance can either thrive or combust under pressure. From tug-of-war kisses to trivia games that expose secrets, each challenge blends humor with high stakes. But what if there were a game that tested both emotional connection and physical teamwork? Enter Heartstrings Attached, where Islanders are literally connected at the hip, navigating the highs and lows of a "relationship" through a playful obstacle course. The Concept In Heartstrings Attached, couples are linked by a three-foot elastic bungee cord, forcing them to coordinate every step, compromise on decisions, and adapt to each other's quirks. The villa garden is transformed into a "Love Gauntlet" with four themed stations representing stages of a relationship. Any pair that stretches the cord to full length for more than three seconds receives a ten-second penalty, adding tension to every move. Stage One: The Meet-Cute Maze Every great love story starts with a spark, or, in this case, a hedge maze. Couples must navigate winding paths while avoiding oversized inflatable hearts that block certain routes. Staying close together is key to avoiding penalties, but rushing wrong turns and wasted time. Stage two: The First Date Dessert Dash At a picnic table, one partner is blindfolded while the other gives verbal instructions to assemble a dessert of strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. Misplaces ingredients mean starting over, making patience a clear communication essential, and often producing hilarious mistakes. Stage Three: The Argument Wall Every relationship has obstacles, and here it's a climbing wall. Still tied together, pairs must help each other scale it without speaking directly. Instead, the use pre-printed cue cards with phrases like "Let's compromise" or "Hear me out" to guide strategy. It's part teamwork, part silent comedy, and entirely revealing of how well they handle frustration. Stage Four: The Commitment Leap The finale is a giant inflatable platform with a heart-shaped pool in the center. Couples must time their jump perfectly to land together while holding hands. A misstep means an awkward splash and slower time, while a flawless leap earns bonus style points. Scoring and Rewards The fastest completion time wins, adjusted for penalties. Fellow Islanders act as judges, awarding style points for humor, creativity, and undeniable romantic chemistry. The pruse is a private candlelit dinner under the stars, plus immunity for the next recoupling vote. Why it works Heartstrings Attached offers the perfect mix of romance, comedy, and competition. Randomized pairing adds an unpredictable twist, testing loyalties and creating moments of drame. When couples succeed, it shows genuine capability; when they fail, the audience gets meme-worthy bloopers. The stations also reflect real relationship dynamics: meeting, communicating, overcoming obstacles, and taking the leap, in a lighthearted, visual and engaging way. The Takeaway This challenge is more than just a race. It asks whether two people can keep moving forward when the cord (lateral or metaphorical) is pulling them in opposite directions. Sometimes the best moments come from the unexpected: a messy dessert, a tangle at the climbing wall, or a laugh after an ungraceful pool landing. Heartstrings Attached would give Love Island exactly what it thrives on: genuine connection, playful conflict, and one unforgettable image, two Islanders leading hand-in-hand into a giant heart, proving that even when love is unpredictable, the journey can be a whole lot of fun.

For a long time, I believe that strength meant never asking for help. I approached school, sports, and leadership roles with the determination to excel without ever revealing how much I was struggling inside. Mental health was something I rarely discussed--both because I feared judgement and because I thought my challenges were my own to bear. That mindset eventually became exhausting, and when my own began affecting my performance in school, relationships with friends, and my confidence in sports, I was forced to reconsider what strength truly meant. It started in my sophomore year, when my responsibilities seemed to multiply overnight. I was balancing demanding IB coursework, leadership positions in multiple school clubs, Lacrosse practices, volunteering at my church, and organizing fundraising efforts for the Leukemia & Lymphoma. On paper, I was "thriving". In reality, I was running on empty. My anxiety crept into everyday life--making it harder to concentrate in class, draining my motivation, and making me feel disconnected from people I cared about. The more I tried to push through without acknowledging it, the heavier it became. The turning point came during a particularlyy overwhelming month when I was preparing for Lacrosse tryouts, leading a church fundraiser, and working on multiple major school assignments. One night, I opened my laptop to start my homework and simply stared at the screen, unable to focus. I realized the the issue wasn't a lack of discipline--it was that I had been treating my mental health as an afterthought instead of a priority. That night, I talked openly with my mom about how I was feeling. For the first time, I admitted to someone else I wasn't okay. The conversation shifted my understanding of mental health. I began to see it not as a personal weakness but as an essential part of overall well-being--something that required attention, care, and support. I reached out to a trusted teacher for advice, leaderened better ways to manage my workload, and gave myself permission to rest without guilt. Slowly, I noticed the difference. I became more present in my friendships, more focused in class, and more confident in the lacrosse field. This experience reshaped my goals. i've always wanted to become a defence attorney, driven by my passion for justice and fairness. Now, I also carry the goal of making mental health a more normalized conversation in the environments I'm part of. Whether it's advocating for student wellness resources at school or encouraging teammates to check in with each other. I want to be someone who helps others feel supported. I've seen first hand how silence can make challenges harder and how simply talking about them can make a difference. It also transformed my relationships. Before, I tended to approach leadership by focusing on results—whether it was winning games, completing projects, or raising funds. Now, I lead with more empathy. As co-captain of my church’s dance team, I pay attention not just to performance but also to how each member is feeling and coping. In lacrosse, I make sure younger players know that their well-being matters more than stats. In my friendships, I try to create space for honest conversations instead of pretending everything is fine when it isn’t. Perhaps most importantly, my experience with mental health broadened my understanding of the world. I've realized that everyone carries battles we cant always see. Some are big and visible; others are quiet and hidden. This awareness had me more patient, compassionate, and willing to listen to without judgement. It's also made me more aware of the gaps in resources and understanding when it comes to mental health-especially in high pressure environments like schools and competitive sports. I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about pretending you’re unaffected by hardship. It’s about acknowledging challenges, asking for help, and still moving forward. That lesson will stay with me in college, law school, and beyond. I want to bring that mindset into my future legal career, where I will work with clients who may be facing some of the most difficult moments of their lives. Understanding the emotional weight people carry will make me a better advocate—not just for their legal needs but for their dignity and humanity as well. When I think back to the moment I first opened up about my anxiety, I see it as the beginning of a new chapter--not defined by struggled, but by connection and growth. My experience with mental health has taught me that success is not just about achievements; it's also about balance, self-awareness, and the ability to lift others up along the way. I now measure strength not by how much I can endure alone, but by how willing I am to seek help and offer it to others. In a world where pressure and expectations often push people to their limits, I want to be part of the change that says, “You don’t have to go through it alone.” That belief—born from my own journey—will guide me in my relationships, my goals, and my understanding of the world for years to come.

Mental health is often invisible, yet it can shape lives just as deeply as physical illness. I learned this through one of the hardest experiences of my life: losing my longtime Lacrosse teammate, Vivian, to bone cancer. While her battle was physical, the emotional impact it left on me and those around her revealed how connected physical and mental health truly are. Vivian and I had played together for years, sharing early-morning practices, post-game celebrations, endless tournaments, and the kind of friendship only teammates understand. when she was diagnosed, our conversations shifted from lacrosse strategies to chemotherapy schedules. I told myself I needed to be strong for her, hiding my sadness so I could keep her spirits high. But pretending I was fine made me feel alone, and each game without her was a painful reminder of what we were losing. As her condition worsened, I felt overwhelmed by a mix of hope, fear, and frustration. I had never faced grief before and did not know how to navigate it. When Vivian passed away, I was left with sadness and guilt, wondering if I could have done more. Over time, and with the support of my family, church, and coaches, I learned that grief is not something you “get over.” It is something you learn to carry, and part of that process is allowing yourself to feel the pain instead of hiding it. Her passing completely changed my understanding of mental health. I realized that people can appear strong while quietly struggling and that emotional well-being needs as much care as physical health. In her memory, I became active in the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s Cure Wave campaign, raising iver $60,000 my first year on the team for the purpose of providing funds for cancer research and supporting affected families. I have helped secure corporate sponsorships, lead events, and share Vivian’s story to inspire action. This experience also shaped my future career goals. I plan to become a defense attorney, advocating for people during some of the most difficult moments of their lives. The empathy and compassion that I have developed through my experience with Vivian will guide how I approach my clients and my community. Losing Vivian was extremely devastating, but it taught me to value connection, check in on others, and create spaces where people feel safe sharing their struggles. Sometimes, the most meaningful support we can give is simply just being there to listen.

My story begins with my family’s journey to the United States, a journey defined by courage, sacrifice, and an unshakable belief in opportunity. My mother left Bolivia and my father left Guatemala, both driven by the hope of building a better future. They arrived in a country where they had to navigate a new language, culture, and way of life, but they carried with them the values that would shape me: faith, perseverance, and compassion. Growing up as the daughter of a pastor, I witnessed firsthand how leadership rooted in service can transform lives. My father’s ministry was not limited to Sunday sermons. It extended into our community, where he offered guidance, support, and hope to those in need. This upbringing gave me more than a sense of belonging. It instilled in me a responsibility to give back. From a young age, I became deeply involved in my church. I started by volunteering in children’s ministry, teaching lessons, organizing activities, and serving as a role model for younger members. Over time, my responsibilities grew. I now serve as the co-trustee and treasurer, managing finances, tracking donations, preparing fundraisers, and ensuring that every dollar is used to support outreach and community initiatives. I am also the co-captain of our church’s dance team, a group I helped name and brand. Together, we choreograph performances, lead presentations, and raise funds for our church and charitable causes. These roles have strengthened my leadership skills, taught me financial responsibility, and shown me that service is most meaningful when it is personal. While my faith community has shaped my character, my experiences outside the church have sharpened my vision for the future. In school, I am an active member of organizations such as the National Honor Society, Mock Trial, and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s Cure Wave campaign. My work with Cure Wave carries a personal connection. My longtime lacrosse teammate, Vivian, lost her life to bone cancer. Her passing fueled my commitment to advocacy and fundraising. I have worked to secure corporate sponsorships and lead community events in her honor. These experiences have deepened my understanding of how collective action can create real change and how personal stories can inspire others to join the fight. My immigration background, combined with my community involvement, has shaped my career aspirations. I plan to become a defense attorney, advocating for those whose voices are often ignored or silenced. As the child of immigrants, I understand the fear and uncertainty that can come with navigating legal systems. I also know that justice should not be determined by a person’s background, wealth, or social standing. My goal is to use my legal training to protect the rights of vulnerable individuals, especially those from immigrant and marginalized communities. I intend to take this mission further by integrating my faith and values into my professional life. My father’s example taught me that leadership is not about authority. It is about stewardship. Just as he uses his position to guide and uplift others, I will use my role as an attorney to ensure that justice is accessible, fair, and compassionate. Whether in a courtroom or through pro bono work, I will strive to be a steadfast advocate for those who cannot afford legal representation. The challenges my family faced in their immigration journey have prepared me for this path. I have learned resilience from watching my parents work tirelessly to provide for our family. I have learned adaptability from balancing two cultures and finding pride in both. I have learned the power of voice from seeing how advocacy, whether through a sermon, a fundraiser, or a legal argument, can spark change. These lessons are not just part of my personal story. They are the foundation for the work I hope to do in the world. Through my career, I plan to create a ripple effect of positive impact. As a defense attorney, I will help individuals navigate the legal system, protect their rights, and provide the representation they deserve. I also hope to mentor young people from immigrant families who may be considering careers in law, showing them that their backgrounds are a source of strength, not limitation. I will continue to volunteer in my church and engage in community service, ensuring my work extends beyond professional obligations. I believe that every person has a role to play in building a more just and compassionate world. For me, that role will be to stand beside those who have been marginalized, to fight for fairness, and to ensure that the legal system works for everyone. My family’s immigration journey, my upbringing in the church, and my commitment to service have prepared me to take on this responsibility with dedication and integrity. This scholarship is more than a financial opportunity. It is an investment in my ability to make this vision a reality. With your support, I will continue my education, pursue my legal career, and devote myself to the work of building a future where justice and compassion go hand in hand.

My name is Sofia Deras, and I am a proud daughter of Bolivian and Guatemalan immigrants who have always taught me the value of resilience, service, and education. As a first-generation college student and an IB diploma candidate, I’ve grown up understanding that opportunity must often be earned through persistence and hard work. I’ve applied that mindset not only to my academics, athletics, and leadership roles, but also to uplifting my community in every way I can. My most meaningful community involvement has come through church, school, and advocacy. At my church, I serve as a co-trustee and treasurer, responsible for budgeting, tracking donations, organizing fundraisers, and ensuring our community outreach is effective. I also teach and mentor younger kids every week, helping guide their spiritual and social development. In school, I am involved in multiple honor societies (NHS, NEHS, FBLA, SHS), serve as a dance team captain, and actively lead initiatives in the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Cure Wave campaign. My participation in Cure Wave was especially personal—one of my close lacrosse teammates, Vivian Seay, passed away from bone cancer. Her memory inspires me to help other children and teens feel seen, supported, and safe in every space they enter. As I look ahead to higher education, I know that financing college will be one of the greatest obstacles my family and I face. My parents both work tirelessly, but with rising living costs and the long-term effects of supporting relatives abroad, funding college independently is out of reach. I’ve worked hard to seek out every opportunity—through scholarships, part-time work, and leadership—that can help ease the financial burden. I want to pursue pre-law, with the goal of becoming a defense attorney, and I know that each dollar of support brings me closer to representing and protecting vulnerable voices in the legal system, just like I do now in my own community. Protecting children and youth from bullying—especially in the digital age—is one of my core values. As someone who works closely with young kids at church and volunteers in school-wide campaigns, I emphasize kindness, conflict resolution, and accountability. I’ve helped lead youth workshops that address healthy online behavior, how to speak up when something feels wrong, and how to stand up for others experiencing bullying. On social media, I use my own platforms to share resources about cyberbullying and mental health awareness. I also launched a church campaign promoting digital respect and safe internet use among teens, emphasizing that cyberbullying can be just as harmful as in-person cruelty. Most recently, I’ve initiated a diaper drive and outreach campaign called Bundles of Love, which supports young mothers and babies in underserved communities. While the mission focuses on physical needs, our work also includes distributing information on parenting safety, online risks, and emotional wellbeing. I believe that protecting children starts with empowering families—and every effort, whether big or small, contributes to a safer world for all. I carry these lessons and passions into every space I enter. Whether I’m mentoring a child, working with a peer, or preparing for my legal career, I will always fight to create communities rooted in safety, dignity, and hope. This scholarship would not only help relieve my family’s financial burden—it would allow me to continue protecting and uplifting others, just as I have always tried to do.

I remember the day we lost Vivian as if it split my life into two parts: before and after. Before, we were just two girls on the same lacrosse team--sprinting across the field, laughing between drills, pushing each other to be better. After, I was standing at her candlelight vigil, trying to make sense of how someone so full of light could be taken by bone cancer at seventeen. Vivian was my teammate, but she was also my friend, my motivator, my inspiration. She never complained about the pain. She never asked for pity. She showed up, even when she had every reason not to. And I thought: If she could fight like that, then what excuse do I have to stay quiet, to play small, to lead from the sidelines? At first, I didn't feel strong enough to do anything about the grief. I cried in silence. I felt helpless, angry, and unsure. But something inside me shifted. I didn't want to just mourn her--I wanted to honor her. That's when I got involved in LLS Cure Wave, a student-led team that raised funds for blood cancer research. I joined as an outreach and sponsorship chair, but quickly became more than a title. It became a mission. I wrote emails to my dentists, small business, and church members--telling Vivian's story and asking for their support. I hosted fundraisers, attended meetings, and recruited teammates. I pushed past fear and rejection because her story deserved to be heard. What surprised me most wasn't how much we raised--it was how much we grew. I realized I could lead even in pain. That I could turn heartbreak into a purpose. That maybe I was stronger that even I thought. People saw me as the quiet one, the responsible one, the girl who gets things done behind the scenes. What they didn't see--until then--was how deeply I feel things, and how much I care. Vivian brought that side of me out. Her strength gave me mine. That strength has followed me into everything I do. It's what pushed me to start Bundles of Love, a youth-led diaper drive I launched after learning about my mom, a social worker, that many families in our community couldn't afford basic baby supplies. I created the logo, built a website, organized the drives, and shared our story everywhere I could. I didn't wait for permission. I just started. Because I had already learned, though Viviam, that impact doesn't wait until you feel ready--it starts the moment you decide to care enough to act. Today, I lead with compassion, persistence, and purpose. I serve because I know what it's like to feel powerless, and I don't want others to feel alone in that. I organize, speak up, and create because Vivian can't--and I refuse to let her legacy fade. What I began to see myself, though losing her, is that leadership isn't always loud. Sometimes, it's rooted in love. Something is born in grief. But it always begins with the courage to show up--especially when it's hard. I carry Vivian with me in everything I do. And every time I lead, I remember: she fought until the very end. So I will fight too--not just for her memory, but for every person whose voices need to be heard.

Last year, everything was starting to blur together. I was deep in the IB program, managing schoolwork that seemed to end, while leading multiple clubs, volunteering through Leukemia and Lymphoma society Cure Wave, teaching at church, and training for lacrosse season. I kept telling myself that I could fit all of this in- and I did, at first. But eventually I was running on empty. The spark I once had for everything I loved- academics, leadership, even church- was dimming. I was tired all the time- one of my friend had told me “you say “I’m tired” all the time Sofia”, and it was true- overwhelmed, and too burnt out to admit how much it was affecting me. For a long time, I believed that strength meant pushing through stress without complaining, constantly proving that I could balance it all. But ignoring my mental health didn’t make me strong—it made me disconnected. I stopped enjoying the things that once brought me joy. I lost patience with the people closest to me. I was constantly exhausted but couldn’t sleep. One night, after breaking down mid-assignment, I knew something had to change. I had to stop pretending everything was fine. So I made a decision: my health-mental, emotional, and physical-needed to come first. I reached out to my school counselor and started talking about what I was dealing with. That simple step felt terrifying, but it became the most powerful thing I could’ve done. I began journaling at night instead of scrolling on my phone. I learned to say “no” to extra commitments that didn’t align with my values. I gave myself permission to rest, to be human, and to let go of perfection. Lacrosse also helped me reconnect with my physical health. I started training not just to perform, but to feel strong again. I fueled my body with better food, focused on sleep, and stayed consistent with workouts—not as punishment, but as a form of self-respect. Exercise became my therapy. It gave me an outlet for stress and a reminder that I was capable of more than just grades or leadership titles. This experience completely shifted the way I approach my life. I learned that being successful doesn’t mean overextending myself—it means showing up fully, intentionally, and with balance. I now build my schedule around priorities that keep me grounded: my faith, my health, my relationships, and my long-term goals. I still work hard and stay involved, but now I check in with myself regularly and honor my limits. As I prepare for college and my future career in law, these lessons will stay with me. I know that law school—and life in general—will be demanding. But I also know that I have the tools to handle pressure in a healthy way. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself and protect my peace. I’ve learned that asking for help is not a weakness but a strength. And most importantly, I’ve learned that I am worthy of care and rest, even when I’m chasing big dreams. Taking control of my mental, emotional, and physical health gave me my confidence back. It taught me how to show up—not just for my goals, but for myself. And that’s a lesson I’ll carry with me forever.

Because I've written IA paragraphs in my Notes app at 1:47 a.m. while scrolling Instagram reels, replying to Be real, watching lacrosse highlights, and answering group chats about whether or not we are actually going to hand out this time. I thrive in organized chaos. I can have 42 tabs open- three scholarship apps, Canva, the Common App, my extended essays draft, Pinterest boards titled "sof y bear in gorg tow n", and a Buzzfeed quiz I forgot about- and still get stuff done. I consider playing Spotify on shuffle while writing a paper on Olympic-level sport athletes. I teach kids at church on Sunday, draft fundraising emails for LLS Cure Wave on Monday, and spend the rest of the week switching between cleats and Google Docs. I genuinely think a well-made Canva flyer can fix almost anything. I overanalyze my BeReals. I text in lowercase but write like I'm applying for a U.N. ambassador role. I've mentally narrated my life like a podcast episode while walking into school. If that isn't peak Gen Z, I don't know what it. My digital life is an extension of how I experience the world: creatively, chaotically, and constantly connected to people and purpose. Weather I'm on the field, in a classroom, or deep in an Instagram real rabbit hole about oat milk conspiracies and IB burnout- I'm learning, laughing, and low-key thriving. So yes. I am the main character of my Notes app. I'm the multitasking queen of Google Calendar. And I am without a doubt- the most Gen Z person alive.

Mental health has shaped who I am more than almost anything else. As a first-generation student in a rigorous program and some involved in many activities, I've experienced the weight of high expectations-both from others and myself. for a long time, I thought mental strength meant never showing stress or emotion. I kept my anxiety hidden behind straight A's, leadership roles, and a constant push to do more. But over time, I learned that ignoring my mental health wasn't strength-it was silence. And that silence almost cost my ability to enjoy the things I cared most about. During my sophomore and junior year, I started experiencing increasing burnout. I was balancing IB/AP coursework, club responsibilities, volunteer work, church duties, and Lacrosse. I felt overwhelmed-especially my junior year- but believed that admitting I needed help would make me seem weak and incapable. Eventually, the stress began affecting my sleep, focus, and relationships. I became more withdrawn, less patients with friends and family, and harder on myself when I couldn't keep up. That year, I began talking to my school counselor- something I once thought "strong students" didn't need. Those conversations taught me that mental health is not a weakness- it's a form of self-awareness and strength. She helped me reframe my thinking and prioritize balance, boundaries, and grace. My mother was also a great help in contributing to shaping my time management in rethinking what my priorities were. This experience transformed my beliefs. I now see mental health as essential, not optional. I've learned that taking care of your mind is just as important as working hard or being kind. I've become more open with those around me and more empathetic toward others who may be struggling quietly. It's also deepened my relationships. I'm more present with my friends and family, more understanding of their challenges, and more willing to talk honestly about my own. Mental health is now something I speak about confidently rather than hide. These lessons have had a direct impact on my career aspirations. I've always been passionate about justice and fairness, and my experiences have drawn me to a career in law-specifically as a defense attorney. I want to advocate for people who are often overlooked or misunderstood, just as I once felt. I know firsthand how damaging stigma and silence can be. In the legal field, I want to not only fight for others' rights but also approach each case and clients with empathy and humanity. I believe good lawyers listen as much as they argue, and they seek justice in ways that consider the whole person-not just the facts on the paper. My journey with mental health has been one of growth, humanity, and strength. It's taught me how to care for myself, connect with other, and commit to a future that combines resilience with compassion. I now see mental health not as a barrier but as a foundation- one that I will continue to build on as I move forward in school, relationships, and the career I hope to pursue.