Technology has not simply made learning easier for me. It has made learning possible. I have osteogenesis imperfecta, dyslexia, and dysgraphia. Because of these conditions, traditional education has not always been accessible. I have experienced fractures, medical appointments, and periods when using my hands or arms was painful or impossible. I also spent two years attending school virtually because an in-person environment had become increasingly difficult and unsafe for me. As a transgender student, I was afraid of bullying and struggled with the anxiety of not knowing how other students might treat me. At the same time, I was experiencing significant medical issues. Because osteogenesis imperfecta affects more than my bones, illnesses circulating through school could have a greater impact on me, and I was becoming sick too often. Injuries and medical treatment also caused frequent absences, making it difficult to keep pace in a traditional classroom. Virtual school gave me a safer and more stable way to continue learning while protecting both my physical and emotional health. Without modern technology, those years could have created a major interruption in my academic progress. Instead, online learning allowed me to stay connected to teachers, complete coursework, and continue moving toward graduation. One of the most important tools I use is speech-to-text software. Because of dysgraphia and dyslexia, writing can be slow and frustrating, even when I know exactly what I want to say. Speech-to-text allows me to focus on developing ideas instead of getting stuck on spelling, handwriting, or typing. It is also essential when I have an injured hand or arm. In those moments, the technology becomes more than an accommodation. It becomes the bridge that keeps me participating in school. I also use AI tools to check grammar, spelling, and sentence clarity. These tools help me identify errors I may not notice on my own. They do not replace my thinking or my ideas, but they help me communicate those ideas more effectively. For someone with dyslexia and dysgraphia, the difference between knowing an answer and being able to present it clearly can be significant. For reading, I use Audible and text-to-speech platforms such as ElevenLabs. Audiobooks allow me to engage with longer and more complex texts without becoming overwhelmed by decoding every word. ElevenLabs helps me convert written materials into audio so I can listen while following along, improving both comprehension and retention. YouTube is especially useful because I am interested in politics, international relations, and public policy. I watch debates, lectures, interviews, and discussions that expose me to different perspectives. This allows me to study not only what people believe, but how they build arguments, evaluate evidence, and respond to opposing views. These skills have helped me in Model United Nations and in understanding political issues more thoughtfully. Fifteen years ago, many of these tools either did not exist or were not widely available. A student with my combination of medical, learning, and safety challenges might have been forced to miss more school or accept fewer opportunities. Technology has given me independence, flexibility, and access. It has allowed me not only to survive difficult circumstances, but to continue learning, participating, and planning for a future in political science, government, and public service. For me, technology is not a shortcut. It is a doorway.

Growing up in a single-parent household has shaped my educational journey by teaching me that opportunity is rarely created by one person alone. Behind every class I attended, medical appointment I made it through, and college application I completed was my mother, balancing responsibilities that would normally be shared by two parents. My mother raised me and my two siblings while maintaining a demanding career. One of my siblings is adopted, and both my brother and I have osteogenesis imperfecta, a genetic condition that causes fragile bones and requires ongoing medical care. Our family life has included fractures, surgeries, hospital visits, specialist appointments, rehabilitation, school accommodations, and complicated insurance issues. My mother managed all of this while also handling the daily responsibilities of raising three children. Her support made my education possible, but it also made me aware of its cost. Missing school because of a fracture or medical procedure did not only affect me. It required my mother to rearrange work, communicate with doctors and teachers, manage transportation, and help me catch up. College planning has been similar. Every opportunity has involved careful budgeting, research, paperwork, and difficult decisions about how to stretch limited time and resources. Growing up this way has made me more determined and resourceful. I learned that I could not wait for my circumstances to become simple before pursuing my goals. In addition to osteogenesis imperfecta, I have dyslexia, so academic work often takes additional time and different strategies. I have learned to use accommodations, communicate with teachers, organize missed assignments, and keep moving forward after medical or personal disruptions. My mother’s example has also shaped my ambitions. She taught me that success should not be measured only by what a person achieves for themselves, but by what their work makes possible for others. Her career created stability for our family, while her advocacy helped my brother and me receive medical care, educational support, and opportunities that might otherwise have been out of reach. At Wheaton College, I plan to study international relations and political science. My long-term goal is to work in government, public policy, advocacy, or the nonprofit sector. I want to focus on communities whose needs are often overlooked, particularly people with disabilities, LGBTQ+ individuals, and families trying to navigate complicated educational, medical, and public systems. I plan to give back by helping make those systems easier to understand and more responsive to the people they serve. This could include policy research, legislative advocacy, nonprofit outreach, or programs that help individuals understand their rights and access available resources. I also hope to mentor younger students who feel that disability, family circumstances, or personal challenges have placed college or public service beyond their reach. Growing up with a single mother has taught me that resilience is often built through partnership. My accomplishments belong not only to me, but also to the person who kept our family moving forward when the path was difficult. In the future, I hope to honor her example by using my education to create opportunities, remove barriers, and help other families feel less alone while navigating challenges of their own.

I embody selflessness by paying attention to people who may feel unseen and choosing to support them, even when there is no recognition for doing so. To me, selflessness does not mean ignoring my own needs or trying to solve every problem. It means noticing when someone is struggling, listening without judgment, and being willing to give time, patience, or encouragement when it may help. My own experiences have made me especially aware of people who feel different or isolated. I am transgender, have osteogenesis imperfecta, and have dyslexia. I know what it is like to enter a room and wonder whether I will be understood, included, or treated as a burden. Because of that, I try to notice when another person seems uncomfortable, left out, or hesitant to speak. One of the most meaningful ways I have helped others was through my role as vice president of my high school’s Gender and Sexuality Alliance. Students often came to the group because they needed a place where they could feel safe and accepted. Some were confident and outspoken, while others were still trying to understand themselves or were afraid of how people might respond. I helped by listening, participating in discussions, and making space for students who were not ready to speak loudly. Sometimes support meant having a serious conversation. Other times it meant helping create an environment where someone could relax, laugh, and feel normal for a while. I learned that helping someone does not always require the perfect advice. Often, the most important thing is showing that you are willing to stay present and take their concerns seriously. I have also supported classmates and friends who were dealing with anxiety, loneliness, or difficult situations at school. When someone seemed withdrawn, I tried to check in rather than assume they wanted to be left alone. I listened when friends needed to talk and encouraged them to reach out to a counselor or trusted adult when their problems were larger than what a friend could safely handle. I believe selflessness also includes recognizing your limits. Caring about someone means helping them find the right support, not pretending you can fix everything yourself. My family has also shaped how I understand service. My brother and I both live with osteogenesis imperfecta, so our lives have included injuries, medical appointments, and periods when one person’s needs had to become the family’s immediate priority. Growing up in that environment taught me flexibility and patience. Plans sometimes change because someone is injured, tired, or facing a medical challenge. I have learned that being part of a family means adjusting, helping where possible, and understanding that everyone needs extra care at different times. These experiences have influenced my future goals. I plan to study international relations and political science and hope to work in government, public policy, advocacy, or the nonprofit sector. I want to serve communities whose needs are often overlooked, particularly LGBTQ+ people and individuals with disabilities. I do not think selflessness is usually one heroic act. It is a pattern of choices: listening when it would be easier to walk away, including someone who feels invisible, and using your experiences to make another person’s path less lonely. That is the kind of person I try to be and the kind of service I hope to continue throughout my life.

Mental health is important to me as a student because it affects every part of a person’s ability to learn, connect, and imagine a future. A student can be intelligent, motivated, and hardworking, but if they are struggling with anxiety, depression, isolation, or a lack of safety, it can become difficult to focus on assignments, participate in class, or believe that their goals are still possible. I understand this personally. I have faced depression, anxiety, and periods when my sense of belonging felt uncertain. I am transgender, live with osteogenesis imperfecta, and have dyslexia. Each of those experiences has brought different challenges, including medical stress, academic frustration, social isolation, and the feeling that I had to explain parts of myself before people could understand me. At one point, threats at school became serious enough that I had to leave and continue my education in a new environment. That experience taught me that mental health is not separate from academic success. Feeling safe, supported, and respected is part of being able to learn. Over time, I have learned that protecting mental health requires both personal honesty and community support. I have had to recognize when I need help, communicate with trusted adults, and accept that asking for support is not a failure. I have also learned that recovery and resilience are not always dramatic. Sometimes they look like returning to class, completing one assignment, attending therapy, or trying again after a difficult day. I advocate for mental health in my community by helping create spaces where people feel less alone. In high school, I served as vice president of the Gender and Sexuality Alliance. Many students who joined were carrying stress, fear, or uncertainty that was not always visible. Some were exploring their identities, some felt isolated, and others simply needed a place where they could speak without being judged. I tried to contribute by listening, supporting discussions, and helping build a community where students felt respected and included. I also advocate through the way I respond to others. I try not to assume that I know what someone is going through based on how they appear. I understand that a student who seems withdrawn, distracted, or unmotivated may be dealing with something difficult outside the classroom. Sometimes advocacy means encouraging someone to talk to a counselor or trusted adult. Sometimes it means checking in, listening without trying to fix everything, or reminding someone that needing help does not make them weak. As I prepare to attend Wheaton College, I hope to continue supporting mental health through campus organizations, peer communities, and advocacy related to disability and LGBTQ+ inclusion. My long-term goal is to work in government, public policy, or the nonprofit sector. I want to help create systems that treat mental health as a real part of education, healthcare, and community wellbeing, not as an issue people are expected to manage silently. Mental health matters to me because students should not have to choose between struggling alone and succeeding academically. When people feel safe enough to ask for help and supported enough to continue, they are better able to learn, grow, and contribute. I want to help create more communities where that kind of support is normal.

Living with osteogenesis imperfecta has shaped nearly every part of my education. Osteogenesis imperfecta, or OI, is a genetic condition that causes fragile bones and other medical complications. For most students, attending school means keeping up with classes, completing assignments, and preparing for exams. For me, it has also meant balancing school with specialist appointments, hospital visits, treatments, injuries, rehabilitation, and the uncertainty of not always knowing when my health might interrupt my plans. A fracture or medical procedure does not only affect the day it happens. It can create weeks of missed instruction, pain, reduced mobility, physical therapy, and catching up on assignments while my body is still recovering. Even when I am physically present in class, fatigue, discomfort, or concern about another injury can make it harder to concentrate and participate. Ordinary parts of school life, such as crowded hallways, stairs, transportation, and group activities, sometimes require additional planning. I also have dyslexia, which means that reading and written assignments can take me longer than they take many other students. Managing a learning difference alongside a chronic medical condition has often required me to work harder simply to remain on the same academic path as my peers. There have been times when I felt frustrated that so much of my energy had to go toward overcoming barriers before I could even begin the work of learning. Over time, however, I have developed resilience by learning how to adapt rather than waiting for my circumstances to become easier. I have learned to communicate with teachers, request accommodations, organize missed work, and break large assignments into manageable steps. I have returned to school after medical disruptions and continued working even when my progress did not look like everyone else’s. I have also learned that asking for support is not weakness. It is a skill that allows me to remain engaged in my education and responsible for my goals. My experiences with OI have also influenced what I hope to do with my education. At Wheaton College, I plan to study international relations and political science. My long-term goal is to work in government, public policy, advocacy, or the nonprofit sector. Living with a disability has shown me that policies are not abstract. They determine whether people can access healthcare, education, transportation, accommodations, and opportunities. I want to help create systems that include people with disabilities in decisions that directly affect their lives. Receiving this scholarship would reduce the financial strain created by the combined cost of college and ongoing medical care. My single mother supports three children, and both my brother and I have osteogenesis imperfecta and substantial medical needs. Scholarship assistance would reduce the amount my family must borrow and give me greater freedom to focus on my coursework, health, internships, and service opportunities. OI has made my educational journey more complicated, but it has also made me persistent, resourceful, and aware of barriers that others may not notice. I cannot control every medical challenge that may arise, but I can control whether I continue moving forward. This scholarship would help me do that while preparing for a career devoted to making education, government, and public institutions more accessible for others.

My “awkward” thing is that I have never been especially good at blending in. Some of that is physical. I have osteogenesis imperfecta, a genetic condition that causes fragile bones. Growing up, I learned that activities other kids considered normal could come with a surprisingly detailed risk assessment. A simple fall could mean a fracture, a hospital visit, physical therapy, and a new story explaining why I was once again wearing a cast. I became very familiar with doctors, medical terminology, and the deeply unfair fact that hospital gowns have apparently never been redesigned by anyone who has actually worn one. School could be complicated too. Medical appointments and injuries sometimes interrupted my classes, and dyslexia meant that reading and writing often required extra time and different strategies. I sometimes felt as though everyone else had received an instruction manual for school and mine had arrived with several pages missing. I had to learn to ask for support, advocate for accommodations, and keep working even when progress was slower than I wanted. I am also transgender, which added another layer to feeling different. For a long time, I struggled to understand where I belonged. I often felt out of place in groups of boys, but also worried that I did not fully belong with girls. There is a particular kind of awkwardness in entering a room and immediately wondering whether people see you as you see yourself. It can make introductions, friendships, photographs, and ordinary school events feel much more complicated than they appear from the outside. At one point, threats at school became serious enough that I had to leave and continue my education somewhere new. Starting over was difficult. I had to rebuild my confidence, make new connections, and learn that leaving an unsafe situation was not failure. It was an act of self-respect. Over time, the things that made me feel awkward also became the things that shaped my strengths. Living with a disability taught me adaptability. Dyslexia taught me persistence. Being transgender taught me empathy for people who feel unseen or misunderstood. Changing schools taught me that a new beginning can be frightening and still be the right choice. These experiences also influenced the activities I chose. I became involved in Model United Nations, where being different was actually useful because it helped me look at problems from multiple perspectives. I also served as vice president of my school’s Gender and Sexuality Alliance, helping create a more supportive space for students who were still figuring out where they belonged. I still have awkward moments. I overthink introductions. I am not always comfortable being photographed. I occasionally need more time than other people to read a page or trust a new environment. But I no longer see those differences as evidence that something is wrong with me. My awkwardness has made me observant, resilient, and determined to build spaces where people do not have to hide the parts of themselves that stand out. I may never be the person who blends effortlessly into a crowd, but I am becoming comfortable with that. Standing out has taught me how to notice others, and I think that is a pretty good thing to carry into the world.

I want to pursue a career in the nonprofit sector because I believe lasting change often begins with people who are willing to work closely with communities, listen to their needs, and turn concern into action. Nonprofit organizations often serve where systems leave gaps, especially for people whose experiences are misunderstood, overlooked, or excluded from decision-making. I want my career to be rooted in that kind of purpose. My interest in nonprofit and public-service work is personal. I am transgender, live with osteogenesis imperfecta, and have dyslexia. Throughout my life, I have navigated medical systems, accessibility barriers, academic challenges, and environments where I did not always feel safe or fully included. These experiences taught me that policies and programs can shape whether a person is able to participate, succeed, and feel that they belong. They also showed me how important advocacy organizations can be for people who are trying to navigate complex systems without enough support. In high school, I served as vice president of the Gender and Sexuality Alliance and participated in Model United Nations. Through those experiences, I learned how meaningful it can be to help create a space where people feel heard. I developed skills in leadership, research, diplomacy, collaboration, and public speaking, but I also learned that service begins with listening. Communities do not need someone to arrive with every answer. They need people who are willing to understand their experiences, build trust, and work alongside them. At Wheaton College, I plan to study international relations and political science. I hope to pursue internships and service opportunities with organizations focused on LGBTQ+ rights, disability inclusion, civic engagement, and public policy. My long-term goal is to work in the nonprofit sector in a role that combines advocacy, policy research, communication, and community outreach. I am especially interested in helping organizations translate the experiences of real people into stronger policies, more accessible programs, and better public understanding. I hope my work will create impact in two ways. First, I want to help individuals gain access to resources, representation, and opportunities that might otherwise remain out of reach. Second, I want to address the systems that create those barriers in the first place. Direct service can help someone today, while policy advocacy can make the path easier for many people tomorrow. I want to contribute to both. A nonprofit career may not be the most visible or highly paid path, but that is not what draws me to it. I am motivated by the possibility of doing work that has a clear purpose and measurable human impact. I want to use my education and lived experience to help build communities where people are not treated as problems to be managed, but as voices to be included. For me, success will not be defined only by a title. It will be defined by whether my work helps someone feel safer, gain access, understand their rights, or see a place for themselves in the future. That is the kind of career I want to build and the kind of contribution I hope to make.

Growing up with a single mother has shaped my understanding of strength, ambition, and responsibility. My mother raised me and my two siblings while building a demanding career and managing the needs of a family that has never fit neatly into an ordinary schedule. One of my siblings is adopted, and both my brother and I have osteogenesis imperfecta, a genetic condition that causes fragile bones and requires extensive medical care. Watching my mother hold all of these responsibilities together has taught me that ambition is not only about personal success. It is also about using your abilities to create security, opportunity, and change for others. My childhood included frequent hospital stays, specialist appointments, medical procedures, physical rehabilitation, and ongoing battles with insurance companies. My brother required many of these same supports. My mother coordinated appointments, communicated with doctors, managed medications, advocated with schools, handled insurance claims, and made difficult medical decisions, all while working and caring for three children. She did not have the luxury of focusing on one problem at a time. She had to manage everything at once. What has influenced me most is not simply how much my mother accomplished, but how she accomplished it. She learned complicated medical and insurance systems because we needed her to understand them. She challenged decisions when she believed we were not receiving proper care or support. She made sure that disability did not become an excuse for others to underestimate us. Her advocacy taught me that systems do not always work fairly on their own. Sometimes someone must be willing to ask questions, speak firmly, and keep pushing until a need is recognized. My mother has also shown me the value of ambition. She has continued advancing professionally while raising our family, demonstrating that caring for others and pursuing meaningful goals do not have to be opposites. She works hard not only because she wants to succeed, but because her success creates stability and possibilities for our family. From her, I learned that drive should have a purpose. Achievement matters most when it allows you to make a positive impact beyond yourself. Because of her example, I have become determined, observant, and deeply aware of people whose needs are overlooked. I plan to study international relations and political science and pursue a career in government, public policy, or advocacy. As a transgender person with a disability, I understand how policies and institutions can affect whether someone feels protected, included, and able to participate fully in society. I want to help improve those systems, especially for LGBTQ+ individuals, people with disabilities, and communities that are too often spoken about without being heard. My mother is also my best friend. She is the person I trust most, the person who has seen me through medical challenges and personal uncertainty, and the person who continues to believe in my future when I struggle to see it clearly myself. Our relationship has taught me that strength can include both independence and connection. Growing up with a single mother has shown me that impact is created through consistent action. My mother did not wait for life to become easier before moving forward. She built a life for our family while carrying responsibilities that would have overwhelmed many people. Her example has shaped my ambition, strengthened my drive, and inspired me to use my education to create opportunities and better systems for others.

My journey toward college has not followed a straight or easy path. I am transgender, live with osteogenesis imperfecta, and have dyslexia. These experiences have shaped how I move through the world, but they do not fully define me. I am also a student who is deeply interested in politics and international affairs, someone who believes communities are strongest when every voice is valued, and a person determined to use my education in service of others. Living with osteogenesis imperfecta has meant growing up with frequent medical care, physical limitations, and the knowledge that ordinary activities can carry unusual risks. Dyslexia has required me to work differently and often harder in academic settings. As a transgender student, I have also experienced environments where I did not feel safe or accepted. I eventually left a previous high school after facing threats and had to rebuild both my education and my sense of belonging in a new community. These experiences taught me determination. I have learned how to adapt when circumstances change, return to school after medical disruptions, and keep pursuing my goals when the path becomes more complicated than expected. To me, determination is not simply refusing to quit. It is the ability to adjust, learn, and continue moving forward without losing sight of the future I want to build. One of my greatest strengths is empathy. Because I know what it feels like to be misunderstood or excluded, I pay attention to people whose voices are often overlooked. I am also persistent, curious, and willing to work through difficulty. At the same time, I know I can become guarded when I feel that I do not belong. I am learning that strength does not mean handling everything alone. It also means asking for help, building relationships, and remaining open to community even after disappointment. Faithfulness, to me, means continuing to show up for the people, principles, and goals that matter. It means staying committed when progress is slow and living according to my values even when doing so is uncomfortable. I demonstrated that commitment through Model United Nations and by serving as vice president of my high school’s Gender and Sexuality Alliance. In those roles, I developed skills in research, leadership, diplomacy, collaboration, and public speaking while helping create a more supportive environment for other students. My community involvement taught me that contribution does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it means listening to someone who feels isolated, challenging an unfair assumption, or making space for someone who is hesitant to speak. I do not want simply to be included in existing systems. I want to help improve those systems for the people who come after me. At Wheaton College, I plan to study international relations and political science. My long-term dream is to work in politics, government, public policy, or advocacy. I am especially interested in how institutions affect LGBTQ+ people, individuals with disabilities, and other communities whose needs are too often discussed without their meaningful participation. I hope to pursue internships, campus leadership, and service opportunities that will prepare me to turn lived experience into effective policy. This scholarship would help make that future more attainable. My family is led by a single mother supporting three children, two of whom have significant disabilities and ongoing medical needs. Scholarship support would reduce the amount my family must borrow and allow me to focus more fully on my education, health, leadership development, and service. I hope to honor the values associated with Treye Knorr’s life through determination in the face of difficulty, faithfulness to my goals and values, and meaningful contribution to my community. Through education, public service, and advocacy, I hope to help build a world in which fewer people must fight simply to be seen, heard, and included.

I plan to make a positive impact on the world by helping build political and public institutions that listen to people who are too often overlooked. My goal is to pursue a career in politics, government, or public service, where I can help shape policies that make communities more inclusive, accessible, and responsive to the people they serve. My interest in this work comes from personal experience. I am transgender, have osteogenesis imperfecta, and have dyslexia. Throughout my life, I have had to navigate medical systems, physical barriers, academic challenges, and environments where I did not always feel safe or understood. I also had to leave a previous high school after facing threats and rebuild my education in a new setting. These experiences have shown me how strongly institutions can affect a person’s opportunities, dignity, and sense of belonging. They have also taught me that positive change requires more than good intentions. Policies must be informed by the people who live with their consequences. A building may technically meet accessibility requirements while still being difficult for a disabled person to use. A school may claim to support LGBTQ+ students while failing to protect them when they are threatened. A government program may exist, but remain too complicated or inaccessible for the people who need it most. I want to help close the gap between what systems promise and what people actually experience. At Wheaton College, I plan to study international relations and political science so I can better understand government, public policy, diplomacy, and global affairs. I hope to pursue internships, participate in campus leadership, and work with organizations focused on civic engagement, disability rights, and LGBTQ+ advocacy. My experiences in Model United Nations and as vice president of my high school’s Gender and Sexuality Alliance have already helped me develop skills in research, public speaking, collaboration, and leadership. In college, I want to strengthen those skills and learn how to turn advocacy into effective policy. My long-term goal is not simply to speak for underrepresented communities. It is to help create spaces where people can speak for themselves and be taken seriously. I want to make government more understandable, accessible, and connected to the realities of the people it serves. Whether I eventually work in policy development, legislative advocacy, diplomacy, or public administration, I want my career to be rooted in service. I know I cannot solve every problem alone. Meaningful change is built through persistence, coalition-building, listening, and the willingness to improve systems piece by piece. I plan to bring my lived experience, education, and determination into that work. By helping institutions recognize barriers, include more voices, and turn compassion into action, I hope to leave the world more equitable than I found it.