My current desired career path is vague on purpose. I just want to help people while using my knowledge of psychology and sociology to give them the right information. I’d rather it be vague right now than, “I want to be a child psychologist who specializes in counseling for PTSD.” That path would be noble and interesting, but I want to make sure that whatever specializations I take, they’re made because they end up being right for me (and, by extension, right for the people that may end up in my care), not only because I said I wanted to take them many years ago. I’ve always been interested in psychology. My autism had me question how others behave and how I could succeed in a world that favors neurotypical people. Sociology helped me better understand the explicit and implicit rules that uphold both harmful and beneficial status quos, and what to do in response. Thanks to my interests, I see lots of my interactions with others as fun, though sometimes challenging, puzzles. I wonder about their similarities to me and my circumstances, how they differ in profound ways and what that implies, what they’re passionate about, and on, and on… At the end of the day, if I were to separate the concept of a mental health career from my inherent curiosity of people, I’d be doing myself and those around me a disservice. It is vital that I keep up these revealing and sometimes silly conversations, because it’s a constant reminder that no matter who may be my client, they’re more than a series of circumstances or symptoms. In the meantime, I’m speaking with different professors of psychology or sociology to better understand my career options and find ones that I can use my strengths for. I’ve looked at internship options last semester, and as the new semester approaches, I’ll keep searching for internships that can give me an understanding of specific careers. No matter what job I determine will be best for my skills, I imagine I’ll be able to make a difference by making relevant information more accessible to people. I enjoy taking what’s discussed in research papers or lab reports and translating it into something that’s easy to understand and make use of without needing to be a huge nerd like me. There’s loads of useful information about ourselves and the societies we live in, and it’s about time that more people dedicate themselves to spreading that information to people that can benefit from it.

Receiving this scholarship support would be meaningful to me, because it means I can keep going to college and pursuing my education to find an opportunity that I can take with passion and confidence. I guess the reason for it being meaningful to me also answers the whole “pay this forward” question, but I’m chomping at the bit to have enough education and recognition as a scholar to have the power necessary to guide others with. I want to grant people the knowledge and service of skill that I work hard for, and while that could be done through an occupation like therapy, there’s many more avenues I could take to ensure that I can use my passion to help others. I just want to have others know that they’re not alone, and that they’re never without options that can take them out of whatever is causing them suffering, even if it takes a lot of courage and patience. One of the main adversities that I’ve overcome is my severely financially unstable background. I’m grateful for the living situation that I have now, because back then, I couldn’t even count on electricity. While my Mom worked hard to keep me happy, healthy, and largely unaware of our financial strain, I picked up a thousand little things. Not being able to go anywhere for fun, my biological father taking me to unique stores for enrichment and not allowing me to get anything, seeing my Mom stressed and depressed and not knowing what to do as a child… Needless to say, I hated it. I hated having this feeling of powerlessness, and that entire situation stemmed from that biological father being horribly emotionally and physically abusive when I wasn’t around to hear or see it, all the while gambling tens of thousands of dollars away and leaving us in poverty. He used me as a pawn, gaining my favor to use it as leverage – not because he loved and wanted to care for me. When I started to become more aware of the situation and decided to cut ties, he only took action whenever it’d make him look bad, sometimes bringing other people into the situation to confuse and scare me into “not being rude and making a scene.” At the end of the day, when it finally got across that I wanted nothing to do with him, it was like he instantly died to me. Only his “ghost” remained, haunting Mom and I by twisting her words into knots and finding any means to feasibly achieve not paying us. I don’t want others to be stuck with that feeling that I endured when he and my Mom were married. I don’t want them to have to sit in hopelessness and a feeling that there’s nothing that can be done, no matter the situation. No one deserves that, and I want to pay my scholarship forward by giving them the support, skills, and tools necessary to finally feel like they have power over the narrative of their lives again, no matter what adversity they’re fighting.

Mental health for myself and others has been at the forefront of my mind for over a decade. My family and friends are nearly all either neurodivergent, combating mental health, or both. I myself have autism, which, while neutral on its own for me, can fuel my anxiety. It’s a hearty one-two punch of being too perceptive and thoughtful, but having a track record of being thoughtful over the “wrong” things. This leads me to check in with my loved ones somewhat often, asking if they need anything, if there’s anything I could do, or simply reminding them what I think about them. Similarly, I can get anxious over the idea that there’s something I should be doing, but for some reason have forgotten, which is sometimes true. Considering that for all of my life, I have been in some way shaped by mental health and lack thereof, I have trouble seeing the world and thinking about others without considering it, gauging how they feel, what could be done to improve their mood, what to avoid when talking to them, and so on. This attentiveness is what garnered me so many life stories, many of which spanning for many hours. Even with strangers, on occasion, I’d find myself sitting down with them and listening about what makes them stressed, or what shaped them in the past for bad or for good. Many friends and acquaintances have disclosed sources of trauma or despair with me, and while I may reference what I’ve been told if whoever’s talking could use some assurance that they’re not alone, I won’t go into detail or share any names. Listening to so many lives and remaining curious of those around me keeps me aware that, no matter how specific of a person I become, there are still over eight billion people. My experience will never be alone. For me, advocating for mental health is something small and daily. I openly talk about my autism and anxiety and how it’s affected me. It makes others comfortable enough to share their own struggles, knowing that around me, they don’t have to mask themselves. When I see someone struggling to understand a lecture, or worrying about something, I speak up and ask the professor to clarify for “my” sake, so that my peers can comfortably get what they need. When my mom has bad mental health days, I let her rest, taking care of the home and staying by her side. I extend the same courtesy to close friends and neighbors in my dorm. Everyone deserves to be understood and given the resources they need in order to be comfortable in their own mind and skin. Sometimes it takes one big change for someone to finally feel alright with themself, but more often, mental health is best advocated for through small yet consistent actions that communicate accommodation and appreciation. Those actions build a safe and open environment, prompting others to do the same actions for themselves and those around them. This – an environment that allows people to heal – is what I work towards every day.

Mental health for myself and others has been at the forefront of my mind for over a decade. My family and friends are nearly all either neurodivergent, combating mental health, or both. I myself have autism, which, while neutral on its own for me, can fuel my anxiety. It’s a hearty one-two punch of being too perceptive and thoughtful, but having a track record of being thoughtful over the “wrong” things. This leads me to check in with my loved ones somewhat often, asking if they need anything, if there’s anything I could do, or simply reminding them what I think about them. Similarly, I can get anxious over the idea that there’s something I should be doing, but for some reason have forgotten, which is sometimes true. Considering that for all of my life, I have been in some way shaped by mental health and lack thereof, I have trouble seeing the world and thinking about others without considering it, gauging how they feel, what could be done to improve their mood, what to avoid when talking to them, and so on. I think this attentiveness is what garnered me so many life stories, many of which spanning for many hours. Even with strangers, on occasion, I’d find myself sitting down with them and listening about what makes them stressed, or what shaped them in the past for bad or for good. Many friends and acquaintances have disclosed sources of trauma or despair with me, and while I may reference what I’ve been told if whoever’s talking could use some assurance that they’re not alone, I won’t go into detail or share any names. Listening to so many lives and remaining curious of those around me keeps me aware that, no matter how specific of a person I become, there are still over eight billion people. We are never truly alone, and despite that fact, it is crushingly common for people to believe that they are, and that no one will understand or be able to help them. I’ve both felt and heard countless versions of that hopeless feeling, of being trapped in one way or another and not being able to find a way to get out. It feels like there’s nothing ahead. It can get you wondering, no matter how strong, kind, or clever you are… what’s the point? Why keep doing… anything? And it’s– it’s stupid! It’s stupid that we, as people and human beings, have to feel like there’s nothing ahead for us, and that we’ll always be profoundly alone or without worth, because we’re not! It’s hard to see the gut-wrenching wrongness of such a message, because so many of us are repeatedly told, whether by those around us, our environment, or ourselves, that we can not find joy or company, or any escape from a cocktail of internal and external struggles. I don’t care if I sound childish. Everyone deserves to be heard, in one way or another, and I’m going to dedicate my life to being that person who listens, and being that source of information and guidance to help people regain autonomy and confidence over their lives, no matter how long it may take. This is why I’m going to continue studying my way through college. I’m going to deeply understand both psychology and sociology and how it relates to us, and then give that knowledge and solidarity to others. Those who are struggling deserve to know that there are people fighting for them, and not only want to listen to them, but give them the tools and opportunities needed to feel like they cannot only survive, but thrive through the odds.

I highly value knowledge as a source of autonomy. It’s what allows me to make informed decisions, and when it comes to mental and physical health in particular, I want to make sure that I understand what can help and hinder me. Hopefully, once I have a thorough understanding of psychology and sociology from my higher education, I can spread what I know to others so that they can make informed choices and have a broader understanding of themselves and the society around them. While information isn’t necessarily the same as medication or medical treatment, I believe that it can still massively help others by letting them be aware of what they’re able to influence and what to expect, as well as what is influencing them and how to change that if need be. While there are many experiences that have motivated and reminded me to pursue further education, one that currently sticks out in my mind is a talk that I had with a professor that taught one of my classes. It was a class covering how knowledge of psychology and cognitive science could be used to help children learn and heal. I sat down with her and expressed my concern that I wasn’t quite sure what path I wanted to take with my psychology major. I told her that I wanted to help people, and be more than someone finding information but being unable to share it with the wider public. She suggested that I could work as a translator – that is, someone who takes the findings of studies in lab reports and articles, and makes the information more easy for people outside of the science sphere to understand. One example could be taking the findings of a study on anxiety and turning them into a short, informational webcomic, but technically, translation can be done even in therapy, as therapists can take what they have learned and share it with their clients in a way that can better their lives. At that moment, I realized that I had already done a form of translation. Some time ago, a woman expressed concern over her autistic son to me. He only ate a handful of different kinds of foods, and she didn’t know what to do, wanting to make sure that he was healthy. I let her know that most autistic people like eating only a handful of types of foods, because they’re considered “safe” foods – foods that they are able to eat and expect the same flavor and texture every time. Lo and behold, her son had been eating foods manufactured to taste and feel the same every time. Once she returned home and asked her son if that’s why he only ate those foods, and was able to better connect with and understand him, she ended up in tears of relief. Just one crucial piece of information helped both that woman and her son profoundly. If it wasn’t for me telling her, how long would she have been worrying over the health and eating habits of her son? How much time would she have wasted trying to figure out what she could do for him? The more I understand the fundamentals and intricacies of both psychology and sociology, the better I can convert them into different forms of communication. In order to do that, I’m more than ready to continue my path through higher education and dedicate my life to something that others can benefit from.

A doctor in experimental psychology, influencing the public's thoughts on people with disorders through ensuring accurate, respectful representation of mental health in media.

Let’s get one thing straight: I have anxiety. I also have a mild fear of heights. Did I choose to go into Adventure Education knowing that I could be far from the ground? Absolutely – anything is better than gym class. I was open to being challenged by this new kind of P.E.; I found friends, kept calm and canoed on, and got rid of spiders the other students found. A challenge I wasn’t expecting was the log from a telephone pole. My eyes couldn’t help but drift skywards, following the bungee rope our teacher held. It ran all the way above a lovely little fifteen-foot pole, decked out with large bolts for climbing. I felt dizzy just looking at it. While one end ran through and down for some belayers to keep climbers safe, the other end of the rope was attached to a harness for one of us remaining students. The teacher demonstrated how to get in the harness and climb properly, helpfully explaining that it – bless his heart – was much higher than it looked from the ground. Once at the top, we would be expected to jump and get lowered back down. I couldn’t look up at the thin tower for long. I was left staring, glancing away, and staring again. As much as the sight put knots in my stomach, my awe kept bringing me back. Potentially, I could be up there. I wanted to try it. All of my sweats, dizziness, and nerves were obstacles, but I wasn’t going to let my life be limited by them. If no one went, I was going to go – anxiety be damned. The teacher’s preamble was up, he asked for volunteers, and not a single student raised their hand. Mine slid up from my side, slow and unbreaking as a hydraulic press. I had sealed my fate. My mind was in a haze as I put the harness on. The whole time I assured everyone that if I – an unathletic, nervous nerd – could climb, jump, and be fine, then any one of them could do it. My hands were numb as they gripped the bolts and went through the motions. I narrated my progress for both them and myself, only stopping to register what I’d done when the pole’s summit was right there before me without warning. I had climbed fourteen feet. Of course, the teacher told me not to look down. I did what anyone does when told that and instantly regretted it. I tried to hoist myself onto the top anyways, but my body wouldn’t allow me. Even if I couldn't reach the top, I didn't get this far only to shimmy down. I told the volunteers responsible for my safety that I was going to jump, and then I turned to the pole. I breathed. “Three… two..” I jumped. I fell. I… I continued to fall. In a single moment my whole life blazed before my eyes; the love of my mother, the houses I’ve lived in, every single time I said something even remotely embarrassing. These were my last moments, and these were going to be my last words. “JESUS! FUDGE!” Only I didn’t say fudge. As soon as the word left my mouth, the bungee rope caught me – the rope that stretched, that wasn’t immediately taught, and that continued to bounce me like an awkward yo-yo as the volunteers lowered me back down. My heart was pounding when my jelly legs touched the ground. I did that. Yes, I also forgot what a bungee rope did and made Adventure Education more entertaining for my peers, but I did it. I was alright and showed everyone else that they would be, too. My mind was busy shaking off the adrenaline, but I knew one thing. I just proved that they'll be fine, too.

I’ve always liked to call myself a triple-A battery. It’s a way to have some fun with the fact I have allergies, asthma, and autism. Over the years, I’ve grown to accept these disabilities one by one. They’re what shape my unique experience as a person, setting up both formidable challenges and opportunities to see the world in different ways. Severe allergies were the first challenge to be discovered. I’ve been allergic to any kind of nut since I was a toddler. All it took was one peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I was completely red and swelled up. I have to be careful with everything I eat so I don’t have asphyxiation. Reading labels every time is a must. On top of the nut allergies, I’m also badly allergic to pollen, grass, and birch trees. Luckily not to a life-threatening degree, but they’ve deterred me from playing outside often to avoid itchiness and congestion. For a long while, my fear of death caused by so much as a trace amount of my allergens drove me to be overly critical of everything I ate, as well as wipe down every surface I touched. I was worried that I would die from a mistake by whoever prepared my food. Every time I ate out, it felt like I was playing Russian roulette. My asthma only heightened this fear. I have even less of a chance to survive if I or someone giving me food had ever made an innocent mistake. When walking up stairs, I need to rely on handrails – which hundreds of people touch every day – to not get short of breath and light-headed. How many of those people could have been eating a protein bar or trail mix? As if that wasn’t enough, I also have a genetic skin condition called hidradenitis suppurativa. Big scientific name aside, it's essentially a form of acne that is far, far more painful. One time a boil in an unfortunate area had burst, causing walking without extreme pain to become impossible. It forced me to stay home for two days and luckily hasn’t happened again as of yet. Stress, sweat, sugar intake, and a myriad of other variables can cause these boils to form more often. I’m not at war with these disabilities – not anymore. As self-hindering as they can be, they’ll always be a part of me. I won’t let anything, internal or external, stop me from reaching my goal. Psychology has always been fascinating, and every time I learn more about it, the more I see ways I can better the lives of others. I want to study it and one day get a Ph.D. in one of its fields. Considering my deep interest in how and why people function the way they do, I can’t imagine a life where psychology isn’t involved. I plan to one day be able to use my knowledge, passion, and research to challenge the public’s stigmatization of mental illness.

A long-standing problem that’s been affecting individuals across the globe is stigmatization. It’s of all kinds; based on race, gender, sexuality, and more, but there’s one that’s often overlooked. I am of course talking about mental illness. The frequent misunderstanding of it drives neurodivergent people to isolate themselves from society and their own families. In fact, it has even led to self-harm and suicide from struggling people who have been convinced they’re broken and alone. One giant aspect that perpetuates this stigmatization is the media. Often before meeting someone with a disorder such as autism or dissociative identity disorder, people are exposed to the representations of these individuals in media such as books and television. Widely-known caricatures such as Norman Bates and Sheldon Cooper are the culminations of misinformation and half-truths that their creators have been exposed to. On top of this, it’s understandable for people to not know a lot about many kinds of disorders in the first place. The result is then consumers with new or reinforced misconceptions about the portrayed mental illnesses. I want to change this cycle of misinformation by instead spreading accurate, respectful experiences about various disorders. As much as cold, hard facts are loved by the scientific community, humans are naturally drawn to stories and art. Therefore, one of the most effective ways to turn psychological findings into widely acknowledged facts is to weave them into those creations. While at first glance it’s a nebulous task, it’s one I’ve already seen accomplishment in. I’ve been combining art and psychology for around half a year now. To see how well I can do justice for three of the most stigmatized mental illnesses, I have been doing extensive research and then using my findings to depict their different symptoms. For instance, to better understand schizophrenia, I studied using various college lectures and those with it speaking about their experiences. I then use those notes to guide the creation of five works of art. I have found that people who have been exposed to my creations gained a greater understanding of the experiences I was depicting. At first, I couldn’t believe it. Many of those I showed my art had gained sympathy for individuals they had likely not thought about in much depth. They better realized that the people I had portrayed are fellow humans – just ones with added struggles who are ultimately trying to survive as well. Humans are storytelling creatures. We’re moved by our own creations, and it’s often the case that people are more easily influenced by stories than raw facts. That’s why I will strive to find truthful information about even more kinds of mental illness, and, if I had the resources, influence the portrayal of specific disorders in media by acting as a reputable guide for accurate, tasteful writing around them. Just as we deserve to see ourselves in the media we consume, so do neurodivergent people. It is the acknowledgment that they exist and that their experiences aren’t alien. Stories are what make us human. It’s about time more people realized that humanity extends to everyone.

First thing's first: I have anxiety. I also have a mild fear of heights. Did I choose to take Adventure Education knowing that I could be far from the ground? Absolutely – anything is better than having Gym! I was open to being challenged by this new class; I found friends, kept calm and canoed on, and became desensitized to spiders. Of course, the challenge I wasn’t expecting was the log from a telephone pole. My eyes couldn’t help but drift skywards, following the bungee rope our teacher held. It ran to the top of a lovely little fifteen-foot pole, decked out with metal bolts for us to use for climbing. I felt dizzy just looking at it! While one was managed by a team of students to keep climbers safe, the other end of the rope was attached to a harness for one of us remainders. The teacher demonstrated how to get in the harness, very helpfully explaining that the pole – bless his heart – was much higher than it looked from the ground. I couldn’t look up at it for long. I was left staring, glancing away, and staring again. As much as the sight put knots in my stomach, my awe kept bringing me back. Potentially, I could be up there. I wanted to try it. My sweats, dizziness, and nerves were obstacles, but I wasn’t going to let them limit my life. If no one went, I was going to go – anxiety be damned. The teacher’s preamble was up, he asked for volunteers, and not a single student raised their hand. In the silence, mine slid up; slow and unbreaking as a hydraulic press. I had sealed my fate. My mind was blank as I put the harness on. The whole time I kept assuring everyone that if I – an unathletic, nervous nerd – could climb, jump, and be fine, then any of them could do it. My hands were numb as they gripped onto the bolts and went through the motions. I narrated my progress all the way for them and myself, only stopping to register anything when the pole’s summit was right there before me. I had climbed fourteen feet. Of course, the teacher told me not to look down. I did what anyone does when told that, and regretted it instantly. I tried to hoist myself higher anyways. My body wouldn’t allow me. There wasn’t anything else to do than the obvious. I turned to the people keeping me safe on the rope's other end and told them I was going to jump. I turned back. I breathed. “Three… two..” I jumped. I fell. I… I continued to fall. In a single moment my, life blazed before my eyes; the love of my mother, the houses I’ve lived in, every single time I said something remotely embarrassing. These were my last moments, and these were going to be my last words. “JESUS! FUDGE!” Only I didn’t say fudge. As soon as it left my mouth, the bungee rope caught me – the rope that stretched, wasn't immediately taught by design, and continued to bounce me like an awkward yo-yo while I was lowered. My heart was pounding when my jelly legs touched ground. I did that. Yes, I also forgot what a bungee rope did and made Adventure Education more entertaining, but I did it. I was alright and showed my peers that they would be, too. My mind was busy shaking off the adrenaline, but I knew one thing. I was going to stand on top next time.

For me, improvement is a never-ending process. Life is about change and adaptation! The more I improve, the more I’m able to do what I love and find personal success. For instance, I’ve taken to writing down tasks in a personal planner. It’s small, but it’s helped me greatly in understanding what’s on my plate. This is a big help since I’m currently in a time of great change. Not only am I preparing for college, but since my single mom is frequently out of the house to take care of my grandfather, Dziadzia, I have a lot more responsibility. I do my best to make the most out of a situation, so I’ve been treating this time as preparation for living alone. Being alone then becomes a personal challenge to see how well I can take care of our home, the two dogs, and our cat by myself. Knowing that my mom doesn’t have to worry about home on top of Dziadzia’s health is a source of pride. Understanding oneself is the key to improvement. It can take some work, but in the long run, knowing what makes me tick and what I can and can’t do helps me maneuver through many different situations. For instance, knowing that I’m a good student, I can afford to not worry about my grades. It sounds counterintuitive, I know. The less energy I spend worrying about my A’s – God forbid – turning into B’s, the more I can put into properly learning about the material I’m given. In the end, I have well-done work with a calmer mental state. Another key to improvement would be a change in perception. It took me a while, but I recently realized that the opinions of those close to me are just that – opinions. We’re able to disagree, and thanks to acknowledging that, I’m able to go about my day and complete what I need to. When someone around me is upset, I can of course try to help them back on track, but I’ve also realized the importance of knowing when I’ve done what I can. I can now step back with some peace of mind and allow them to process what they need to. Not everything is in my control, and that is okay. Managing this lack of control while having anxiety is a process, but it’s one that I welcome as its own challenge. I can always control my actions and how I take care of my environment. Knowing this, I can at least distract myself from what I can’t influence by managing what’s in my control. My grandfather is ill, but I can still visit him and use the downtime there to ready myself for the future. Even small actions such as being there for someone, shifting perception, or writing about improvement can end up meaning the world.

Autism is my double-edged sword. It can be a great well of passion and allows me to see everything bit by bit, but it also easily leads to overstimulation. Even the smallest sounds and sensations are registered in my attention, often splitting my focus. On top of that, I sometimes have trouble processing speech. These difficulties only get worse under stress. Pair that with anxiety, and I need to pay special regard to what I can and can’t do in a given situation. The daily challenges my two disorders present are why I pursue psychology. I want to make the experiences of others with learning disabilities understood and treated seriously by the wider public. If I’m able to make progress in breaking society’s stigmas surrounding those who function differently, it will make the lives of neurodivergent people less difficult. It won’t be easy, and I accept that my actions will never fix the lives of every single person. Nonetheless, I have to try with all my cleverness and resilience for the sake of those like myself. I’ll learn as much as I can about psychology and other skills that can bolster it with my time in college. Knowing myself, it’ll be a breeze to apply what I know to daily life – which then helps me cement learned concepts and enrich my experience. Besides that, college is simply an incredibly exciting experience! It’s brimming with opportunities to make connections and better understand the conditions of those around me. More exposure to the world will even further increase my understanding of how different people function! That, too, can be applied to my goal of adding more cohesion between neurodivergent and neurotypical people. I understand fully that I’ll face challenges I have not seen before. Both autism and anxiety leave me geared toward routine. While I at times can’t control my immediate reactions to personal adversity, I can absolutely control my actions, thoughts afterwards, and know what is likely to shut me down. My college experience will certainly not be normal, but I have no problem making a path for myself that will lead to the most happiness and academic success. With the aid of this scholarship, I will be able to forge that path toward my goal of helping others with learning disorders reach success – whatever that may mean for each individual. Everyone deserves a chance to grow, enjoy life, and have pride in overcoming obstacles.