My mental health journey began when I was just 12 years old. That’s the first time I remember suicidal ideation creeping into my mind—quietly at first, but persistently. By the spring of my junior year of high school, it became impossible to ignore. I started experiencing anxiety attacks almost daily. They began subtly: sharp pains in my chest, waking up at all hours of the night, struggling to breathe. But they escalated into full-blown panic attacks—episodes of screaming and sobbing, where the world around me became a blur. The scariest part? I often couldn’t remember them afterward. They were blocked out, much like the traumatic experiences from my childhood.
After one particularly severe episode that landed me in the hospital with chest pains and breathing issues, my mom and I realized this wasn’t something that would resolve on its own. It wasn’t just stress or growing pains. It was something bigger—and we needed help. That realization was painful. My mom and I had always handled life’s challenges together. She’s my rock. Admitting that this was beyond what we could handle as a team was heartbreaking, especially for her.
I was diagnosed with clinical depression, situational anxiety, and PTSD. I started therapy twice a week and was put on medication. But even then, things didn’t improve right away. I was doing all the right things: going to therapy, taking my meds, keeping up with school, work, athletics, and friendships. And still, I didn’t feel better. Some days, it felt like I was running on fumes—barely able to drag myself out of bed, let alone perform as a top student, a friend, a daughter, an athlete. But I kept going, even when it felt impossible. Because giving up wasn’t an option.
Eventually, something shifted. After cycling through countless medications—trying to find ones that worked without interfering with my chronic migraines or birth control—my psychiatrist and I found the right combination. I began using breathing techniques to manage my anxiety attacks. I discovered mindfulness, started reading again for joy, and began carving out time for things that fulfilled me—not just things that were expected of me. Slowly but surely, I started to feel like myself again.
Through this journey, I learned that healing isn’t linear. It’s messy. It's frustrating. And it takes time, patience, and the bravery to keep showing up, even on the darkest days. I’ve also learned that taking care of my mental health isn’t selfish—it’s necessary. If I don’t advocate for myself, no one else can do it for me. That lesson has become the foundation for how I approach my future.
As I prepare to graduate with a degree in Political Science and begin law school, I carry these lessons with me. I plan to become a family and custody lawyer, working with vulnerable children and families during incredibly difficult moments. My personal experiences with trauma, mental health, and resilience will allow me to serve my future clients with not only legal skill, but deep empathy and compassion. I want to be the kind of advocate I wish I’d had as a child.
Making my health a priority saved my life. And now, it’s shaping my purpose.