Growing up with a single mother didn’t just shape me, it raised me in ways that went far beyond the basics of childhood. My father passed away when I was eleven years old, and it changed my in a way I couldn't fully understand at the time. What I didn't realize was that my mother had to carry everything alone. The bills, responsibilities, and four children who still needed her everyday. Watching her stepping into that role is the first time I realized what strength looks like. My mother became a parent long before she ever had the chance to fully be an adult. She had my older sister at sixteen years old and me at eighteen, still trying to figure out who she was while raising two daughters without guidance or good examples to follow. Her childhood was full of instability, and she often had to learn right from wrong on her own. Even now, I can see the damage that was left on her, and on us. But what stands out more than anything is how hard she tried. Even when she didn’ have much, she provided what she could. Even when she was tired, she kept going. Her effort wasn't perfect, but it was real, and it taught me that perseverance isn’t always loud or noticeable. Sometimes it’s just a person choosing to start moving. Financial struggles were a constant part of our lives. I saw my mother stretch every dollar, work long hours, and sacrifice her own needs so we could have what we needed. I learned early that I didn’t want to add to her burden. As soon as I was old enough, I got a job to pay for my own school expenses. I joined dual enrollment programs, earned scholarships, and pushed myself academically. I completed my associates degree early and even skipped a grade in college because I refuse to let my circumstances limit my future. Every achievement felt like a step toward the life I wanted to buil; one that honors my father and my mother's sacrifices. Growing up with a single mother made me independent, determined, and mentally strong. It taught me to set goals and chase them with everything I have. It taught me that hardship doesn't define me, how I respond does. Most importantly, it taught me that I want to do better and be better, not just for myself, but for the people who thought of me when life wasn't easy. This didn't just shape me, it pushed me further, it gave me ambition, drive and desire to make an impact.

My father was the first person I ever looked up to. He wasn’t perfect, and maybe that's exactly why I adored him so much. He has two daughters, me and my older sister. And as the youngest, I was proudly “Daddy’s baby”. I followed him everywhere, repeating the little quote we made for each other: “wherever you go, I go. Wherever I go, you go.” It sounds simple, but it meant everything to me. It was our way of saying I'm his twin. For most of my early childhood, he wasn’t physically there. My father was in prison, and at that age I didn't fully understand what that meant. I just knew he was gone. He was released when I was around 7 or 8, and I finally got to know him as a person. And what I saw at the time was a man trying to turn his life around. Even as a kid, I could feel the difference and I was proud to say “yeah, my father was in prison, but he's changed now.” I truly felt like I was his number one supporter and he was mine. He was home for about a year and a half, maybe two. It wasn’t long, but those years felt full. Everyday with him was something new. We didn’t need big plans or fancy outings; just being with him made the day feel brighter. I finally had the father I spent years imagining, and I held onto every moment. Then, four days after my birthday in 2016, he was killed in a drive-by shooting. Losing him broke something in me; I didn't know grief could feel this heavy or confusing. For months, I struggled to function. I felt like the world kept moving but I was stuck in place. Trying to understand how someone who had just gotten his life back could lose it so fast. It felt unfair to me, like I had done something to make the world angry. I felt like I still had more memories to make with him. Even now, talking about him is hard. His name alone is a tender spot that I didn't know was still there. I still struggle from the night he died, but I am in therapy, and I am trying to not let that night affect me as much as it has these past few years. His memory is one of the reasons I push myself. My father has always made it clear how proud he was of me when it came to school. He would come to my class to talk to my teacher to make sure I was behaving well and doing my work. And everytime, he would reward me for “trying your best”. When school gets hard or life feels overwhelming, I think about those memories; telling me not to give up and to try my hardest. I can either fail or I can succeed, but I have to always try. He taught me that. I want to build a future that honors his last name. Losing him was and still is the hardest thing I've ever faced. His memory makes me thrive for greatness. I carry him with me in everything I do, and I am determined to create a life he would be proud of.

Over the past years, I have shown courage, resilience, and growth. I am on a self-journey of overcoming my depression; all while trying to stay on the honor roll and getting my associate's degree in dual enrollment. I have experienced mental health issues due to personal reasons like stress, me and my mom having issues, my mom getting shot, and my dad passing away. While also having to balance taking care of my little sisters, and doing my schoolwork, work, and sports. At first, I thought I was having a lot of bad days. That what I was feeling inside wasn't a big deal. But I found myself in this vicious cycle where I locked myself in my room, doing nothing, and not eating. It became difficult to pull myself away. In the mornings, it was hard for me to get up because sometimes my body would just shut down. I would stay in my room all day and curl into a ball. When I'm like this, I think of nothing. I get to block everything that makes me sad and reminds me of all my stress. These issues have distracted me from my responsibilities and have impacted my academic performance greatly. My grades were slipping, and I was failing to show up to school. This was a repeated cycle for 5 years and I knew it was toxic for my future and mental health. Around late November- early December 2024, I felt as though I reached my breaking point. I have been getting triggered for a while due to my stress and I would randomly cry alone at school and home. I was in my College Tracks counselor's office crying because I got triggered by my emotions. I then began to tell her about how I just always felt sad and numb every day, how I was failing my classes and the increased amount of stress that I was putting on myself. It was a difficult thing to do, to finally talk to someone about my struggles and my mental health. I am not used to expressing my thoughts and feelings genuinely. I always thought of myself as someone who could find a solution no matter what. That I can fix all my problems easily. But it felt so comforting to finally be heard. To not feel alone and to get the help I need. My counselor made me feel safe and sane. She helped me feel heard and she made everything feel as if I am not alone, mentally. Reminding me that the future is what I make of it. This helped me realize that if I want to graduate and become the best version, I know I can be, I have to put myself first. I have to advocate for myself. I surround myself with better people and I put my goals first. I am still fighting my depression as I now get counseling every week at school, but with the support and the new strive for greatness, I am finally seeing everything differently.