Living with Type 1 Diabetes has shaped every part of my academic journey. It’s something that never takes a day off — a constant presence that requires attention, preparation, and strength. From the moment I wake up, I’m calculating, adjusting, and making choices that most people never have to think about. And yet, through all of it, I’ve learned what resilience truly means. When I was diagnosed in college, five hours away from home, my world shifted overnight. I went from worrying about exams and deadlines to learning how to count carbohydrates, monitor my blood sugar, and manage a device that keeps me alive. There were moments when I felt completely overwhelmed — days when my blood sugar would spike or crash at the worst possible time, leaving me exhausted and discouraged. But slowly, I began to realize that living with diabetes didn’t have to define me. It became part of who I am, not all of who I am. Type 1 Diabetes has impacted my education in both practical and emotional ways. There have been days when I’ve had to miss class because of a low, or nights when I’ve stayed up correcting my levels before a big exam. I’ve learned how to plan ahead, communicate with professors, and give myself grace when things don’t go perfectly. At first, I tried to hide what I was dealing with because I didn’t want to be seen as different or less capable. But over time, I realized that true resilience isn’t about appearing strong — it’s about adapting, being honest about your needs, and continuing to move forward even when things feel uncertain. This journey has also changed how I view success. It’s taught me that success isn’t measured by perfect numbers or flawless performance; it’s measured by persistence, by showing up even when it’s hard, and by learning to be proud of progress rather than perfection. That mindset has deeply shaped the kind of teacher I want to be. As a future educator, I hope to create a classroom that reflects those same values — a place where students feel seen, safe, and supported, especially when life doesn’t go as planned. I want my students to know that mistakes don’t define them and that effort, kindness, and courage matter far more than perfection. My experience with Type 1 Diabetes has made me more empathetic and patient, and I hope to pass that understanding on to every child who walks into my classroom. Receiving this scholarship would make an enormous difference as I continue my education. Managing diabetes comes with financial and emotional challenges, and this support would help ease that burden so I can focus on what truly drives me: becoming a teacher who makes a difference. Living with Type 1 Diabetes hasn’t been easy, but it has made me stronger, more compassionate, and more resilient than I ever imagined. It’s taught me to adapt, to appreciate each day, and to keep moving forward with hope — and that’s the lesson I want to share with others.

To me, resilience means showing up, even when life doesn’t go as planned. It’s the quiet strength to keep moving forward through uncertainty, frustration, and fatigue. It’s learning to adapt, to find gratitude in small victories, and to give yourself grace on the hard days. Living with a chronic condition has taught me that resilience isn’t about pretending to be strong all the time—it’s about continuing to try, even when things feel heavy. When I was first diagnosed, I thought life as I knew it was over. Suddenly, my days revolved around managing something I could never take a break from. There were moments when I felt frustrated, isolated, and unsure how I would balance my health with the demands of college. But over time, I discovered that resilience is built in the day-to-day moments—choosing to keep going, to care for myself, and to find purpose in the process. Being a college student with a chronic condition means constantly learning how to adapt. It means preparing ahead for every class, making sure I have what I need to manage my health, and giving myself permission to slow down when I have to. I’ve learned to measure success differently. For me, resilience looks like waking up each morning and choosing to keep going—choosing to learn, grow, and show up for others, even when things aren’t perfect. This experience has shaped the kind of teacher and person I want to be. My condition has taught me empathy and patience in ways that no textbook could. I’ve come to understand that everyone carries challenges we can’t see, and that kindness and understanding can change someone’s entire day. In my future classroom, I want to create a space where students feel safe to be themselves and know that their worth isn’t tied to how “perfectly” they perform. Resilience, to me, is also about perspective. My condition has made me more grateful—for medical technology that sustains me, for supportive friends and mentors, and for the chance to pursue something I love. Those small, ordinary moments remind me why I keep going. College has challenged me in ways I couldn’t have predicted, but it has also revealed how capable I am. My journey has shown me that resilience isn’t a single act—it’s a mindset, a daily commitment to move forward with hope and determination. Living with a chronic condition has made me stronger, more compassionate, and more aware of how powerful perseverance can be. If my story can remind even one person that they are capable of facing their own challenges with courage and grace, then I’ll know that I’ve turned my struggle into something meaningful. Resilience isn’t about avoiding hardship—it’s about growing through it. And that, more than anything, is what I hope to model for others.

Living with a chronic medical condition has shaped nearly every part of who I am. It’s taught me patience, self-awareness, and strength in ways I never expected. When I was first diagnosed, my world seemed to shift overnight. I had to quickly learn how to manage something that required constant attention, even when I was far from home and juggling the responsibilities of college life. Over time, what once felt overwhelming became a source of resilience and perspective. Managing a condition that doesn’t take a day off has forced me to slow down and appreciate the small moments most people overlook. There are days when things go smoothly and others when my body doesn’t cooperate, no matter how careful I am. Through it all, I’ve learned that success doesn’t mean having everything under control—it means continuing to show up, to keep trying, and to find gratitude even in the imperfect moments. What inspires me to excel despite these challenges is the realization that every day is a gift—one that many people take for granted. My condition has taught me how fragile and precious life really is, and that has completely changed how I approach both my education and my future career. I want to make a difference by helping others see that their limitations do not define them. Strength isn’t the absence of struggle—it’s the courage to keep going in spite of it. As a future teacher, I want to bring that message into the classroom. I know that many students will face their own obstacles—some visible, some hidden—and I want them to know that it’s okay to have hard days. I want to create a space where they feel safe to be themselves, where effort is celebrated more than perfection, and where empathy and kindness are part of every lesson. My own journey has made me more understanding, more patient, and more deeply committed to supporting others who are fighting their own quiet battles. In the end, this condition has given me more than it has taken. It’s given me perspective, purpose, and a heart that leads with compassion. It’s reminded me that strength often looks like persistence, and that making a difference in the world doesn’t always require grand gestures—sometimes it’s as simple as showing up for others with understanding and care. I hope to use my experiences to empower others, especially my future students, to believe in their worth and potential, no matter what challenges they face. If I can help even one person feel seen, valued, and capable of overcoming their own obstacles, then I’ll know I’ve turned my struggle into something meaningful.

Going to college, for me, means opportunity—an opportunity not just to earn a degree, but to grow into the kind of person and teacher who can truly make a difference. College is helping me turn a lifelong dream into reality: to have a classroom of my own where every student feels seen, supported, and encouraged to become the best version of themselves. Throughout my life, I’ve always put a lot of pressure on myself to be perfect. I wanted the best grades, the highest praise, and to always meet every expectation. For a long time, I thought that’s what success looked like—doing everything right. But as I’ve grown, and especially through my experiences in education, I’ve realized that perfection isn’t real. What matters more is effort, growth, and kindness toward ourselves and others. That realization has changed the way I see both myself and my future career. I want my students to know that it’s okay to make mistakes, to ask for help, and to try again when things don’t go as planned. True learning happens in the moments when we’re willing to be vulnerable enough to try, fail, and try again. If I can teach my students that their worth isn’t measured by a grade or a test score—but by their perseverance and heart—then I will have done my job. Going to college is giving me the tools to make that vision possible. Every course, observation, and classroom experience helps me understand more about child development, social-emotional learning, and the kind of teacher I want to be. It’s not always easy—balancing responsibilities, maintaining motivation, and staying confident in myself can be challenging—but the thought of one day greeting my own class of students keeps me going. To me, education is more than academics. It’s about building relationships, fostering curiosity, and creating a safe space where every child feels capable and valued. I want my students to leave my classroom not just knowing how to read or do math, but knowing how to treat others with kindness, how to believe in themselves, and how to keep trying even when life feels hard. College has taught me that making a difference doesn’t mean being perfect—it means showing up, caring deeply, and using your experiences to lift others up. I may not have all the answers, but I have the passion and the perseverance to keep learning, growing, and giving my best. That’s what college means to me: a chance to build the foundation for a life dedicated to helping others see their own potential. If I can help even one child feel proud of who they are, confident in their abilities, and unafraid to dream, then every challenge along the way will have been worth it.

My name is Tessa, and I am studying to become an elementary teacher. Teaching has always represented hope to me — the hope that every day brings a chance to make a difference in someone’s life, no matter how small. But hope hasn’t always come easily. For the past three years, I have battled suicidal thoughts that have tested my strength and perspective on life. Living through that darkness has shaped who I am today and how I view my purpose as a future educator. There were moments when it felt impossible to see beyond the pain, when even ordinary things felt heavy. Yet, with time, support, and reflection, I began to realize how much I would have missed if I had given up — the laughter of the students I see every morning in my placement classroom, the warmth of their curiosity, and the friendships I’ve built with fellow pre-service teachers who share my passion. These small joys, which I once took for granted, have become my reminders that even in the hardest times, there is light to be found in connection, purpose, and service to others. Struggling with my mental health has given me a deeper understanding of what it means to truly see and care for others. As I prepare to become a teacher, I know that many students will face invisible battles of their own. I want to be the kind of teacher who recognizes that learning doesn’t happen in isolation — it’s shaped by how safe, supported, and valued students feel. My own journey has taught me how powerful it can be when someone simply believes in you, listens, and helps you feel seen. Mental illness is still too often misunderstood or hidden away, but I want to be part of changing that. I hope to use my experiences to foster open conversations about emotional well-being in my future classroom. I want my students to know that their feelings matter, that asking for help is brave, and that their lives hold value and possibility, even on the days they can’t see it themselves. Looking back, I see my struggle not as something that defines me, but as something that has refined me. It has made me more empathetic, patient, and determined to bring kindness and understanding wherever I go. Teaching is more than a career to me — it’s a way to give meaning to what I’ve lived through and to help others see their own worth. Mental illness has challenged me deeply, but it has also revealed my strength. It has given me the heart of a teacher — one that leads with compassion, resilience, and hope.

If I could create a class that every student from kindergarten through twelfth grade was required to take, it would focus on social and emotional learning. While subjects like math, science, and reading are essential, I believe that understanding our emotions, building empathy, and learning how to connect with others are just as critical to a student’s success—both inside and outside the classroom. A class centered on social and emotional learning would give students the tools to navigate challenges, communicate effectively, and build strong, compassionate relationships with those around them. Throughout my own experiences in school and in the classroom as a teacher’s aide, I’ve seen how deeply emotions influence learning. A child who feels unseen, anxious, or unsafe struggles to focus, no matter how good the lesson plan might be. On the other hand, when students feel supported and confident, they are far more willing to take risks, make mistakes, and grow. This class would focus on helping students develop self-awareness, manage emotions, set goals, show empathy, and make responsible decisions—skills that are foundational for success in school and in life. In the early grades, lessons might focus on identifying feelings, showing kindness, and working together as a team. As students get older, the class could evolve to include topics like conflict resolution, stress management, goal setting, and digital citizenship. High school students could engage in reflective discussions about empathy, community service, and how emotional intelligence influences leadership and relationships. The goal would be to make SEL a continuous thread throughout a student’s education, not a one-time lesson. The impact of a class like this would be powerful. Students would not only learn how to handle emotions but also why emotional awareness matters. They would understand that it’s okay to ask for help, that listening is as valuable as speaking, and that empathy can transform how we treat one another. I believe this class would create kinder, more understanding communities where students feel seen and valued for who they are—not just for their grades or achievements. Social and emotional learning also teaches resilience, something every student needs. Life is unpredictable, and students who can cope with challenges, communicate their needs, and manage their emotions are better prepared to face the world beyond school. In a society where stress and disconnection are growing, an SEL class could remind students that compassion and understanding are strengths—not weaknesses. Ultimately, a required SEL class would shape not just better students, but better people. It would remind young people that intelligence isn’t measured only by test scores, but by how we treat others, how we care for ourselves, and how we contribute to our communities. As someone who hopes to build a warm, nurturing classroom of my own, I believe that teaching the heart is just as important as teaching the mind. This class would do exactly that—helping students grow into empathetic, confident, and kind individuals who are ready to make a positive difference in the world.

Teaching is so much more than delivering lessons or following a curriculum—it’s about making a lasting impact on students’ lives. My journey toward becoming a teacher began when I was a teacher’s aide in a second-grade classroom at the same elementary school I once attended. Walking those familiar halls as an adult gave me a new perspective on the power of education. I began to notice the small, meaningful moments that truly shape a child’s experience—the quiet pride after solving a tough problem, the relief of being understood, or the comfort of knowing someone believes in you. As a teacher’s aide, I learned that the best learning happens when students feel emotionally safe and supported. Academic success and emotional well-being are deeply connected, and I saw firsthand how much confidence can grow in a student when they are met with patience and encouragement. This experience made me fall in love with the classroom—the “aha” moments, the laughter, and even the small challenges that reminded me how important social and emotional learning is in helping children thrive. Social and emotional learning (SEL) is, to me, one of the most vital parts of education. It helps students understand themselves and others, build empathy, and develop skills like perseverance and self-regulation. These lessons go far beyond what’s written in textbooks; they are what help students navigate life. As a future teacher, I want my classroom to be a space where SEL is woven into everything we do—where collaboration, kindness, and reflection are just as valued as reading and math. I want my students to know that their feelings matter and that mistakes are simply part of the learning process. Not every child has a stable or supportive environment at home, which makes the classroom even more essential as a safe and welcoming space. I want to be the kind of teacher who creates that space—a room where students feel seen, heard, and cared for. I hope my students will learn that they are capable, resilient, and deserving of respect, no matter their background or challenges. Beyond academics, I want my students to carry with them a deep sense of confidence and compassion. I hope they leave my classroom understanding that success isn’t just about grades—it’s about kindness, perseverance, and the courage to keep trying. I believe that when we nurture both the mind and the heart, we prepare students not only to succeed in school but to grow into thoughtful, empathetic people who can make a difference in the world. Ultimately, I want to lead with heart and teach with purpose. Education has the power to shape futures, but more importantly, it has the power to heal, empower, and inspire. My goal is to be the kind of teacher who helps students believe in themselves, not just as learners, but as people who matter.

Teaching is so much more than delivering lessons or following a curriculum—it’s about making a lasting impact on students’ lives. My journey toward becoming a teacher began when I was a teacher’s aide in a second-grade classroom at the same elementary school I once attended. Walking those familiar halls as an adult gave me a new perspective on the power of education. I began to notice the small, meaningful moments that truly shape a child’s experience—the quiet pride after solving a tough problem, the relief of being understood, or the comfort of knowing someone believes in you. As a teacher’s aide, I learned that the best learning happens when students feel emotionally safe and supported. Academic success and emotional well-being are deeply connected, and I saw firsthand how much confidence can grow in a student when they are met with patience and encouragement. This experience made me fall in love with the classroom—the “aha” moments, the laughter, and even the small challenges that reminded me how important social and emotional learning is in helping children thrive. Social and emotional learning (SEL) is, to me, one of the most vital parts of education. It helps students understand themselves and others, build empathy, and develop skills like perseverance and self-regulation. These lessons go far beyond what’s written in textbooks; they are what help students navigate life. As a future teacher, I want my classroom to be a space where SEL is woven into everything we do—where collaboration, kindness, and reflection are just as valued as reading and math. I want my students to know that their feelings matter and that mistakes are simply part of the learning process. Not every child has a stable or supportive environment at home, which makes the classroom even more essential as a safe and welcoming space. I want to be the kind of teacher who creates that space—a room where students feel seen, heard, and cared for. I hope my students will learn that they are capable, resilient, and deserving of respect, no matter their background or challenges. Beyond academics, I want my students to carry with them a deep sense of confidence and compassion. I hope they leave my classroom understanding that success isn’t just about grades—it’s about kindness, perseverance, and the courage to keep trying. I believe that when we nurture both the mind and the heart, we prepare students not only to succeed in school but to grow into thoughtful, empathetic people who can make a difference in the world. Ultimately, I want to lead with heart and teach with purpose. Education has the power to shape futures, but more importantly, it has the power to heal, empower, and inspire. My goal is to be the kind of teacher who helps students believe in themselves, not just as learners, but as people who matter.

Teaching is so much more than delivering lessons or checking off curriculum standards—it’s about connection, growth, and the lasting impact that comes from showing up for others. My journey toward becoming a teacher began when I was a teacher’s aide in a second-grade classroom at the same elementary school I once attended. Walking back into those familiar halls, I realized how deeply a classroom can shape not only a child’s education, but also their sense of belonging. As a teacher’s aide, I learned that some of the most meaningful moments in education happen quietly—like when a student’s eyes light up in that “aha” moment of understanding, or when a shy child finally raises their hand to share an idea. I wasn’t just helping with worksheets or classroom routines; I was helping create an environment where students felt safe to make mistakes and proud of their progress. That experience made me fall in love with the idea of being part of those small, transformative moments every day. It showed me that teaching is an act of service—one that extends beyond academics and into a child’s emotional world. What motivates me most about becoming a teacher is the opportunity to provide students with something many may not have elsewhere: a consistent, safe, and nurturing space where they can be fully themselves. Not every student goes home to a peaceful or supportive environment, but I want my classroom to be a place where they know they are seen, valued, and cared for. I want them to feel comfortable expressing their ideas, making mistakes, and exploring who they are without fear of judgment. Beyond teaching reading, writing, and math, I want to model empathy, resilience, and curiosity. I hope my students will carry with them not only academic skills, but also the understanding that kindness and effort matter just as much as intelligence. I want them to remember that their voices are important, their feelings are valid, and that learning can be joyful. In the future, I see myself creating a classroom that radiates warmth and encouragement—a space filled with laughter, teamwork, and creativity. I believe that when students feel emotionally safe, they are far more open to learning and growth. Teaching, to me, is about planting seeds of confidence and compassion that will continue to grow long after students leave my classroom. Ultimately, I want to lead with heart, think with purpose, and use education as a force for good. Every child deserves a teacher who believes in their potential, even on the days they can’t see it themselves. I hope to be that teacher—the one who not only teaches lessons, but also inspires students to believe in their own ability to learn, grow, and make a difference in the world.

Life is really damn hard. I don’t mean to be harsh when I say this, but that is the unfortunate reality. I finished my freshman year of college in May 1st, 2024, turned 19 years old on the 5th, and wound up getting diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes on the 10th. I felt so angry and confused. I was so lost and frightened for what was to come. But a few days later I had a job to do. I had already told my hairdresser I would babysit her two little girls and I couldn’t back down, so I went and I will never regret it. She has two daughters, 1 five year old and 1 two year old. They never fail to make me smile even in dark times. The first thing they noticed and asked questions about was my Dexcom G7 on my arm. And it’s so hard to explain to a 5 year old what that means and why I have to take shots to live. But when I slowly started to explain to her I started to realize I was extremely lucky. My parents are loving and supportive and even though I am 19 years old I am still their baby and they didn’t leave me in the dust to figure out my new life. I didn’t end up in the hospital and by an act of someone or something out there I got to take a cancellation appointment with my doctor. I couldn’t be more grateful to have seen those little girls that day and have shared my story because I was alive and well besides a sore arm and a healing heart. Now this journey will stay with me for the rest of my life and I can not be more proud of it. I am an elementary education major at the University of Alabama and I plan to make my classroom a safe space of every kid and to teach them the joy of being alive and being a kid and teaching them the skills they need to grow up and be astronauts, veterans, doctors, nurses, teachers, plumbers. I want them to understand that what they do is important no matter what it is. My doctors who cared for me are important. Those nurses are important. My mom and my dad are important. My summer school professors are important. All of those people and many more are here for a reason and are worth. And so am I.