I am Teagan Hansen, an 18-year old eldest daughter raised in a low income, single-parent household in a very rural area. Growing up in Carbonado, Washington -- a town of approximately 700 people where, throughout the 2010s, economic hardship was common and opportunity often felt limited. It is also the town where my mother grew up with her younger sisters and single father, which created this sense of generational repetition that shaped much of my childhood. For years, it felt as though our lives were moving along a path already worn down by those who came before us. My mom had remained primarily in Carbonado into her adulthood, and for a long time it seemed possible I would do the same -- not by choice, but by circumstance. For three generations, the women in my family had held the same kinds of jobs: my great-grandmother as a salesperson, my grandmother as a waitress and later a caregiver, and my mother as a waitress and bartender, a role she still holds today. The fear of continuing a three-generation long curse became real when our house burned down, an event that marked both loss and rupture. Losing our home, two weeks after my eighth birthday and a couple months after my twin brothers' birth, forced us to confront how fragile stability truly can be. Yet in the aftermath, that loss also severed the physical and emotional ties that had kept our family rooted in one place for generations. In the months that followed, displacement became our new normal. My brothers’ father-- my mother’s boyfriend at the time -- allowed us to live with him and his dad, offering what felt like a brief sense of relief. But, that arrangement didn't last. We were kicked out, and with no other alternatives, my family moved into a hotel. For months, that single room became our entire world. My mom tried to dress it up and make it fun, but being the eldest daughter with addict parents -- I grew up fast. I knew what it truly was, but I also knew I should fake a smile to not make my mom feel guilty or sad about doing the best she could. Eventually, we moved into a cramped studio apartment. Being in such close quarters forced constant adjustment; learning to be quiet, when to step in, and when to carry my responsibility silently. These experiences taught me awareness and restraint, but also resilience. I learned that survival often depends not on control, but on adaptability. Growing up this way reshaped how I see myself and others -- I became deeply aware of how circumstance limits choice, and how easily generational patterns repeat themselves when there are no resources to disrupt them. Ultimately, that realization sparked something in me: a determination to be the interruption. Education became more than an aspiration -- it became a form of agency, a way to create stability that could not be taken by fire, eviction, or circumstance. While my upbringing was shaped by loss and instability, it also gave me clarity. I carry where I come and what I went through with me, not as a limitation, but as motivation, to break cycles, to build security, to choose a future defined not by repetition but by intention, all while helping build the futures of my students. I dream to become a teacher and a writer, using my experiences to empower students, break cycles, and create opportunities. Through education, resilience, and the storytelling of an English major, I aim to transform hardship into great possibility for myself and others.

My name is Teagan Hansen, a queer 18-year old eldest daughter from a low-income family of no college graduates. My mother and biological father both dropped out of high school, and I've been set on not only graduating high school but on getting my Bachelor's since I was 7 years old. I have always had a plan and wanted to be the glittering star of my family, but it got harder every year. I'm in a family of addicts and have fallen to bad habits myself one time or another, especially when my mother didn't initially support me when I came out as bisexual/queer. Not being supported caused depression and a lack of motivation, so I struggled my first two years in high school to find a purpose... Though I've always found myself back to writing. I had learned to read and write young, immersing myself in fictional worlds to cope with my crumbling home. I read Harry Potter when I dreamed of being taken away from the house my mom got beat in, I read Percy Jackson when I wished my dad wasn't in prison but was a god that graced me with powers, I read Wonder when I experienced extreme bullying about my identity and my stutter, I read the Perks of Being a Wallflower when I struggling to stop self-harming. I even wrote myself new lives in stories. Using the backs of coloring pages to write them out, dreaming of becoming an author one day. Now, my dream is to become an English teacher while still pursuing writing. I want to inspire generations of new writers, to give their dreams life within paragraphs -- to paint their aspirations in words. As I inspire them, I believe they will inspire me too. I hope to see new generations that are confident and proud of their identities, to be inspired to be more proud of myself too. I want to see more queer authors, more POC authors, more differently abled authors, I want to see more perspectives on the stories we see all the time. I want to read about lesbian princesses and differently abled main characters, I want to see more truth in stories. Even if the truths are ones I cannot relate to, I want to inspire those to write them and to find those that can relate to them. There are audiences for everything out there, and one day I will find my audience. I will find another young queer woman that grew up poor, that was emotionally abused, that struggled with self harm, that understands my story in ways no one else could.