Why Wasn't It Me?

At the height of college application season, I was granted a wave of confidence in myself and was inspired to write an entry entitled, “Why Not Me?” It was all about how I was capable of it all and worthy of every aspiration I strived towards. Now that I have come down from that high and faced the ugly truth that is reality, I now have the answer to a different question, “Why wasn’t it me?”

This question is one that I have come face to face with on multiple occasions. After having multiple rejections and failures in the past few years I have spent countless days pondering why it wasn’t me. Why didn’t I win? Get what I thought I had always wanted? In all honesty, the answer that I have curated isn’t even a good one, but it is the most genuine and honest one.

I’ll never know.

It’s unsatisfying and makes my stomach twist and turn more than if I did know, but it is the only answer I can hold onto, especially with college applications. There is never going to be an honest and concrete answer as to why I was denied or why I lost or was rejected. The only real way to find peace in those failures is to be content with never actually knowing.

Now I can speculate and point to the “C” I got in AP Calculus BC or the spelling errors in my essays or whatever else I can zero in on, but none of that will give me closure. None of that is going to give me the satisfaction I so dearly desire and that is okay. Stressing about finding something that isn’t even there is much more uncomfortable and taxing on the mind than just learning to adjust to the discomfort of not knowing.

“Why wasn’t it me?” Who knows.

Coping

This goes out to every high school senior, every college applicant, and every student who received an admissions decision this college season.

Personally, I went 3-3-1 for college admissions. As much as I prayed for a “winning season”, the pieces ended up falling into different puzzles, ones that I didn’t even know were there. And as much as it pains me to leave my initial hopes an unfinished picture, I am genuinely excited to see where the new paths forged take me.

Now, this new surge of hope that has taken control of me did not come to me easily and it very may well be a passing feeling, but I intend to hold onto it as long as I can. It definitely feels more comforting than the sharp pain that pierced my heart every time I read a rejection letter, and it beats the agonizing repetition of wondering “what if”.

That is the most essential idea that I have taken away from the college application process and that is what has been helping me to move through each stage of grief with more ease than I expected. I am the first to judge myself and critique every little thing, I admit that, and I am always the last to see what I have accomplished (and that’s if I even decide to accept that I have accomplishments). That mindset poisoned me, seeping into my bloodstream. The toxicity of low self-esteem prevented me from being unapologetically myself and instead of falling into the trap of fixating on “what would’ve happened if I let myself be me?” I have decided to just do it.

That sounds so easy, right? If only it were. It only took me multiple failures and thousands of hours crying over my supposed insignificance to finally realize that all I needed to do was make my own box. I spent so long trying to fit into a box that I wanted to fit into, one that I thought I needed to when in reality I just needed to build a new one. One that grows as I do and one that allows for every part of who I am to feel welcomed.

My heart goes out to everyone who received a “no” when they longed for a “yes” and my congratulations go out to everyone who was graced with good news. Coping isn’t what we desire to do, but it necessary for us to see the joys in every response.

My Personal Essay

The following is my personal essay that I wrote for the Common App. I chose prompt number 4 which was: Describe a problem you’ve solved or a problem you’d like to solve. It can be an intellectual challenge, a research query, an ethical dilemma — anything of personal importance, no matter the scale. Explain its significance to you and what steps you took or could be taken to identify a solution.

I crumbled into the corner of the hallway and cried the kind of cry that strips away your ability to breathe, the kind that fills your chest with pain, the kind that leaves you exhausted and beaten. My parents didn’t know what was happening to me as the pace of my breath quickened and my body fell into itself. I didn’t have the rational mind to explain that I had woken up five minutes late and wasn’t able to finish the last problem on my math homework. God, how would I even explain that to them, tell them that I was falling apart because I’d put my alarm on snooze for five minutes? Five minutes and my whole world crashed down on top of me. When I finally caught my breath and my tears began to dry I looked up and saw the aching confusion in my parents’ eyes. That was it, my turning point, the inciting incident in the story of my life. Soon enough I started therapy. My first session ended with a long diagnosis: OCD, general anxiety, panic disorder, depression. As my world picked up the pace with treatment sheets and failed remedies and nights of endless screaming and crying, I started to lose myself in my own head. I felt so isolated. My parents tried to make me feel better, by telling me that I wasn’t the only one on this path, but if that was really true why did I still feel so alone? No one talked about mental illness unless it was overly romanticized, unless it was a punchline, unless it was a dramatized caricature of reality. The only place I could find solace was in my writing. 

Writing was my escape. I wrote after every panic attack, every bad day, every moment of hopelessness and used my pencil to climb out of the pit in my stomach. I found that with every sentence I felt freer and allowed myself to let the emotions that were pouring from my mind envelope me. Writing was, is, my escape. It is my safe haven. It is the thing that has given me a companion amidst my isolation, the thing that has helped me realize I’m not actually in isolation. My parents were right, and I hate to admit it, but they were. I am not the only one on this path and I am not the only one who feels alone on this path. The only reason that I have felt so isolated for so long is because of the fluff and the lies that fill the conversation around mental health. It barricades people who are struggling into their own personal solitudes and I, quite frankly, am tired of feeling alone. Writing is my escape. It is a tool, one that I am using to tear down the obstacles that have prevented me from being able to see I’m not alone, and one that I plan to share.

I have thousands of stories to write about, ones that I used to pray someone else would tell so that I could feel understood, but the thing is they are my stories and while that seems quite obvious now, it has taken me years to fully understand that I am the one who needs to tell those stories. I am the only one who can tell those stories because I not only know that what I write can pull someone out of their own head and give them a safe place of understanding, but that what I write can also add more authenticity to the conversation around mental health. I am tired of seeing mental health portrayed as a controversial topic, one that is riddled with assumptions and misleadings. I am determined to end the stigma that surrounds mental health and bring a clearer cognizance of what mental illnesses entail to people who don’t understand, yet at least. 

A Yale Essay: Community

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Yale Application. The prompt was to reflect on my membership in a community.

Every Tuesday, when I would set foot into my religious education classroom in elementary school, I played the part of the perfect little Catholic girl, fulfilling my duty to be a role model in my church. In reality, I was increasingly struggling with my faith. I felt like I had an obligation to uphold this reputation of being a "model Catholic". This self-imposed pressure prevented me from confronting my doubts and instead I let them amplify as I moved to the middle school program. Eventually, I was drowning in uncertainty so I finally approached my parents with how lost I was feeling. I feared their response. I thought that they would be disappointed in me for challenging the very thing that was supposed to be the foundation of my life, but instead I was greeted with a constructive conversation on not just my own anxieties but also theirs. 

I learned two things that day, my parents' love for me is unending and questioning the world around me is essential to moving forward. If I hadn't opened up to my parents, I would still be under the impression that insecurity in my beliefs is a terrible thing. When instead, the truth is that I should feel encouraged to challenge what I am given and what I am taught. Since then, car rides and family dinner nights have been filled with these types of conversations, ones that reevaluate the world and produces new perspectives and I am far better because of them.

A Yale Essay: A Topic That Excites

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Yale Application. The prompt was to talk about a topic that excited me and why I am drawn to it.

I love the mind and how it works. I am fascinated by the many ways we interact with one another and how we process our emotions by turning them into actions. This is why I am so drawn to true crime stories. The intricate analysis of why we do what we do is the reason I obsessively consume every bit of media on them as I can. One of my favorite podcasts, Rotten Mango, accompanies me on my weekly trip downtown to get coffee. As I drive down the road, I ruminate on the story that's being told. I not only focus on the beauty in being able to celebrate and remember the lives of the people lost but also on the question that each story prompts: how can we use these stories as an insight to mending broken minds? 

It is certainly an existential and somewhat morbid way to spend my Saturday mornings, but I love it. That question is a universal one that is applicable to any situation that is born out of pain, anger, neglect, or sadness and a necessary one to answer. Each story in itself is unique but a singular thread of commonalities weaves them together to help create an answer to how we mend broken minds. To me these stories go beyond the shocking value they hold, they are a key to a better understanding of who we are and what we do.

A Yale Essay: Why Yale

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Yale Application. The prompt was to explain what led me to apply to Yale.

In third grade I Googled, “What are the best schools for writing?” and a variety of different colleges popped up on my screen. Yale stuck out to me the most, solely because I didn’t like any of the other schools’ mascots. Never owning a dog myself, I was determined to go to a school that had one, eventually, that simple love of dogs lead me to take a tour of Yale the summer before my sophomore year. It was a rainy Thursday afternoon and after listening to the little stories my tour guide told about the window glass and the statues and the libraries, and after watching the “Why I Toured Yale” video, I knew it was the perfect place for me to be.

A Yale Essay: Areas of Study

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Yale Application. The prompt was to describe why the areas of study I chose appealed to me.

Areas of Study: English, Psychology, Sociology

I've always known in my heart that I am a writer. One that is capable of bringing people together through stories and in order to be effective in telling those stories, it is vital that I understand how people feel, how they think, and how they live. With that understanding, I can better empathize with people and create pathways for communication, which is something we a society are in desperate need of. I aspire to be the kind of writer that tells the stories no one else can so that I had help create the important conversations that are yet to be had.

An NYU Essay: Why NYU

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my New York University Application. The prompt was simply Why NYU?

It was a Tuesday afternoon in July and I was excited. NYU had been on my college list for years and I was finally going to be able to see what I had been fantasizing about. I knew I was going to love it, but I didn't realize how much I would. I instantly felt welcomed when I met my tour guide, she was incredibly friendly and that openness followed through the entirety of the tour. As we walked down the sidewalk, I couldn't help but get lost in the city. Every turn there was something new and another NYU building that embodied the exuberance of its environment. I think that is the biggest draw for me. NYU isn't just in the city, it is the city. It takes it's surroundings and embraces them fully, using them as a way to amplify their courses and student life. The emphasis on leaving the confines that we place on ourselves and venturing out into the world, inspired me if I'm being completely honest. Not only was the focus on going beyond the walls of a classroom compelling but also the study abroad program. One of the opportunities I want to take advantage of in college is the ability to study abroad and not only does NYU offer an amazing program for it, but it also encourages students to do so. NYU is full of life and exudes a creative atmosphere that would be the perfect place for me, an aspiring writer. I want to spend my life telling stories and bringing people together through those stories, and I can't think of a better place to do that than at NYU.

A Syracuse Essay: Why Syracuse

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Syracuse University Application. The prompt was to take about why I am interested in Syracuse University and how I see myself contributing to a diverse, inclusive and respectful campus community?

During my freshmen year, I signed-up for Raise Me to start earning money for college. As I started to fill in my information and prepare my list of schools, I couldn't help but notice the bright orange logo that kept popping up on my screen. Intrigued, I clicked on it and was introduced to Syracuse. The journalism program immediately popped out at me. I absolutely love the emphasis on storytelling that is adaptable to all platforms as well as the diversity of the courses available. Not only did my interest peak at the academic opportunities but it was also sparked after I learned about the rich student life. To me, one of the most important parts of a campus is the environment it fosters, and Syracuse produces one that is genuine and thoughtful. The expansive list of opportunities that Syracuse provides its students is amazing alongside its dedication to students' wellbeing and health. I am a creative leader who enjoys taking on challenges no one else will and I believe that is exactly the kind of leadership that Syracuse builds. I can see myself being apart of mental health student groups, such as the Active Minds club, to help dismantle the stigma that surrounds mental health. I would also love to be able to help with any of the student wellness programs on campus, I find that Syracuse's dedication to its student body is unwavering and rare to find in college campuses.

Anticipation

Pennants from every college under the sun line the walls as I sit in my study hall. Each triangular point feels like an eye, staring down at me and sending pressure with its gaze. Everyone told me that actually filling out my applications was the most stressful part, but I beg to differ. The anticipation of waiting and not knowing is far worse than writing an essay and answering a question.

My chest is in a constant tightness that squeezes the life out of my heart and deflates my lungs. Every email sends a red alert to my brain and I shut down for a minute or two. I can’t stop myself from imagining each admissions officer reading the pages of my application and trying to put me together.

They don’t know me and that’s the problem. They should know me. I should been able to write myself well enough that they can see who I am. I keep telling myself that and every time I do, my breath catches in my throat. It’s unrealistic, that I think they can know me, who I really am. And yet I still feel their eyes staring into my soul, judging every piece of who I am. Debating whether or not I am worthy enough to be admitted, if I am good enough to make it in.

Maybe I’m being overdramatic and am narrowing my focus onto the minute details in order to distract myself from the reality that life is going to be in the coming months. Maybe I’m not being dramatic enough and am setting myself up for a disaster that I can’t even possibly imagine. Or perhaps I just take things too personally and have a tendency to overthink. Either way, the anticipation is killing me.

A UVA Essay: The Greater Good

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my University of Virginia Application. The prompt was to describe a time when instead of complaining, I took action for the greater good.

"No one else is running for president so congratulations are in order." The text flashed across my phone and I immediately felt ready to get to work. Key Club at McClintock was far from perfect, in fact, it was failing. The final meeting before school shutdown held a total of eight members, if even that, and half of them were officers. I had always envisioned Key Club to be something extraordinary and life-changing but when I joined my freshmen year, that vision was met with disappointment and only declined as the years went on. So when I got my congratulations message, I could already see the potential for what I could do. I took it upon myself to prepare and plan. I spent the majority of my summer laying down a foundation that would allow us to build something beautiful upon it. I reached out to members of our division who weren't even aware we had a club anymore and reestablished every relationship that had been tarnished for years. The lack of advisor left open a door of possibility for someone to walk through. I spent days emailing back and forth with my administrators trying to find someone who wanted to take on the job. Slowly but surely, I assembled my team of fellow officers and we created a game plan to rebuild our neglected club from old rubble left behind. Now our meetings average a total of forty students who are active members and aspire to serve. We've held a meeting with our newly elected mayor to discuss leadership in times of strife. The year has barely begun and we are lightyears ahead of where we've been. I took something that everyone always complained about and turned it into something people praise. 

A UVA Essay: Media

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my University of Virginia Application. The prompt was to describe how a work of art, music, science, mathematics, literature, or other media has surprised, unsettled, or inspired me, and in what way.

I watched an episode of Monsters Inside Me in fourth grade. This documentary-style tv show featured exaggerated tales of deadly viruses and parasites that plague our water and food. One night I stumbled into the kitchen to find my parents watching an episode that featured a teen boy's stomach infested with maggots. Needless to say, I was a little traumatized. That image burned itself into my ten-year-old brain and left a scar, one that invoked fear and anxiety in me for months. Soon enough every little thing sent me into panic just because I feared a parasite that wasn’t even there. In fact, I was so concerned with a disease I had seen on tv that I failed to recognize the one that was really eating me alive: fear. Reflecting on it now, I've begun to notice myself fall into the same cycle over and over again. I hyper-focus on the things that are out of my control and fail to acknowledge what I can control. I can control how I feel and react and how I deal with obstacles that are thrown my way. This realization didn't hit me at the age of ten when my parents explained why I shouldn't be afraid, but now I understand that I can't allow fear to control me and what I do.

An Emerson Essay: Metaphors

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Emerson Application. The prompt was to write about a metaphor that I find powerful and explore its potential to be helpful and/or harmful in my thinking.

Chaos is a friend of mine. 

As a child I hated silence. It left me alone with my thoughts and they scared me. Every time I was exposed to utter quiet, I spiraled into a pit of darkness filled with fear. This immense anxiety left me petrified and hopeless. To combat it, I decided to never allow myself to sit in silence. I refused to be in peace because despite the connotation of it, peace was my personal hell. Soon enough, excess sound became futile against my mind. Thoughts crept their way between verses of songs I used as a distraction and I was crushed beneath the weight of my worries. In hindsight, I should have faced myself head on and accepted the darkness that lingered in my mind, but in the moment, I could only see one way out of that black hole: chaos. 

I began to fill my days with activity and deprive myself of rest, because even one second to spare was a key to collapse. As I ran from the clutches of my own insecurities, I grew exhausted and fatigued. That's the problem with running from yourself, you are incapable of escape. I remember there was one day when I was at the dinner table with my parents and all of a sudden I started to cry. I stared at my plate, attempting to conceal the tears as they trickled down my face, but the emotion exploded as I started to  explain that I felt overwhelmed. The irony is that I wasn't tired by what I was running from, but by what I was running to. The chaotic frenzy I had turned my life into was suffocating me and I was fully convinced that it was my solution to all my problems. I told everyone that I thrived in constant activity, that I didn't need to take a break, but I was just ignoring the fact that I had replaced one crippling avalanche with another. Despite the fact that I was clearly breaking under my self-imposed pressure, I couldn't seem to let go of it all. I couldn't stop myself from diving into the sea of mayhem.

This pattern of distraction is one that I have noticed quite frequently, not only in my life, but in everyone's around me. Denial is comfortable because we believe that avoidance is the secret to eradicating the problem. The truth is that you can create as much chaos as you want, but none of it will take away the problem at hand. Chaos was my crutch for so long and I have realized how to genuinely turn it into my friend. Chaos is always the enemy when you create it yourself, but by transforming the chaos of the world, you can create harmony in spaces that are void of it. 

Chaos is a friend of mine when I take the incontrollable things and learn to accept them and to work with them. It is a friend when I transform obstacles into art and use them as tools to save people from their own chaotic creations. This metaphor is powerful to me because it can either lead you straight into demise or guide you into greatness. 

An Emerson Essay: Not Milk

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Emerson Application. The prompt was to explain what I would title a story of my life up until now and why.

Not Milk. When in third grade I took on the saint name, "Isadora" and it turned my initials into the word "milk". I've always loved this accidental creation because it's given me the perfect humorous ice breaker. Even the most childish jokes can lead to the most heartfelt conversations. It's that shared laughter that bonds us, which is why I would use the title "Not Milk" for the story of my life. On one hand, it is a play on the slogan "Got milk?" and on the other it fully encompasses what the story of my life has been. I recently came to the conclusion that I have spent far too much time trying to be liked by others, just trying to "perfect" myself. However the cruel reality is that instead of becoming a better version of myself, I have become someone I don't even recognize, not me, not "milk". It pains me a little, to have taken 17 years to realize that, but now that I have, I aim to live more authentically in the chapters yet to come in the story of my life. 

An Emerson Essay: Your Major

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Emerson Application. The prompt was to explain what influenced me to select my major.

Major: Writing, Literature, and Publishing

I've always known in my heart that I am a writer that is capable of bringing people together through stories. In order to be effective in telling those stories, it is vital that I understand how people feel, how they think, and how they live. With that understanding, I can better empathize with people and create pathways for communication, which is something we as a society are in desperate need of. I aspire to be the kind of writer that tells the stories no one else can so that I can help create the important conversations that are yet to be had. This is exactly why I am drawn to Emerson. Its focus on storytelling is enough to make me fall in love. But, it's the emphasis on adaptable storytelling that is malleable and capable of fitting into our changing world that occupies my mind everyday. I have always found a home in my writing, and after years of telling people my dreams and being met with the "starving artist" trope, I knew I needed to find a place that understood how creativity is vital to how we move forward in the world. Emerson is exactly that place. 

The Flinn

Almost a month ago, as I was standing in my kitchen talking to my dad, I got my rejection email from the Flinn Foundation. My immediate reaction was, “okay”, and then I carried on talking with my dad. Thinking back on it, I am still shocked at the nonchalant response I gave to learning I hadn’t advanced to the next stage of the Flinn Scholarship Application. Mostly because 6 months earlier, in July, I had spent an hour crying over a ‘2’ I had received on my AP Language exam.

I have always feared failure. Whether it be because I wish to never disappoint my parents or the people around me, or because I fear the judgment that comes with falling short of success, I have always feared failure. My therapist always reminds me that I am too hard on myself. She will go on and on about how it’s going to be hard sometimes but that doesn’t mean I should be hard on myself. To be completely honest, years of her saying that same affirmation have traveled through my ears and then right back out, until this past year.

Towards the end of 2020, I was cramming to finish my college apps. I felt disappointed in myself for procrastinating until the last minute and kept screaming in my head that I was useless and unable to achieve any amount of success. This only led me to write incredibly depressing answers to my college questions that could’ve only been written by an insecure student who didn’t believe in anything, let alone herself.

Guess where reading over those answers left me?

Right back to criticizing everything I did. Finally, when winter break hit and the deadlines were inching closer and closer, I came to a realization: the feeling of never knowing, the regret of never doing something, is far more agonizing than being told no. I told myself that everyday I spend yelling at myself for not choosing the perfect word to place on the page is a day that I’ve wasted and a day I will regret wasting forever.

That day, I wrote my “Why Not Me?” entry (you can read it in this section of my website ;). I felt a wave of inspiration wash over me that carried me through every deadline. While this epiphany hasn’t eradicated my fear of failure, it has allowed me to be comfortable with it, more than I used to be. I am more afraid of knowing I never tried than trying and never winning.

It’s probably not the most sustainable solution to my problems, replacing one crippling fear with another, but it is a start, and a start is better than never doing anything. Failure is inevitable, it’s out of our control and that is terrifying, but what we do with those feelings of spiraling is what we can control and what breeds new opportunities.

A Flinn Essay: What Did You Do to Speak Up?

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Flinn Scholarship Application. The prompt was to describe a time when I said something or did something and what the costs and rewards of that were.

Every Tuesday, when I set foot into my religious education classroom in elementary school, I played the part of the perfect little Catholic girl, fulfilling my duty of being a role model in my faith. In reality, I was struggling with my beliefs, and doubt was taking over. I felt obligated to uphold this reputation of being a "model Catholic" that I feared speaking out and instead kept to myself. This only fed my doubts and they grew as I progressed into the middle school program. I wanted to reach out to my parents and tell them my relationship with God was weak but I didn't want them to be disappointed in me for questioning what was supposed to be my foundation for life. Eventually, I broke and I approached them with my feelings and opened up about how I felt lost in my religion. I was relieved when they responded with their own uncertainties and then we had a long constructive discussion. I learned two things that day, my parent's love for me goes beyond any doubts I may have, and questioning the world around me is essential to moving forward. I always assumed I needed to color inside the lines to be a good person and to do good things, but I am also encouraged to challenge what I am given and what I am taught. Then through those conversations, I can see progress and I can become that good person who does good things. Since that day, my parents and I have had countless discussions, just like the first, breaking down our thoughts and ideas, and this consistent exchange between us has aided me in creating fuller relationships with the world around me.

A Flinn Essay: Leadership

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Flinn Scholarship Application. The prompt was to explain how I have been a leader in my community.

"No one else is running for president so congratulations are in order." The text flashed across my phone and I immediately felt ready to get to work. Key Club at McClintock was far from perfect, in fact, it was failing. The final meeting before school shutdown held a total of eight members, if even that, and half of them were officers. I had always envisioned Key Club to be something extraordinary and life-changing but when I joined my freshmen year, that vision was met with disappointment and only declined as the years went on. So when I got my congratulations message, I could already see the potential for what I could do. I took it upon myself to prepare and plan. I spent the majority of my summer laying down a foundation that would allow us to build something beautiful upon it. I reached out to members of our division who weren't even aware we had a club anymore and reestablished every relationship that had been tarnished for years. The lack of advisor left open a door of possibility for someone to walk through. I spent days emailing back and forth with my administrators trying to find someone who wanted to take on the job. Slowly but surely, I assembled my team of fellow officers and we created a game plan to rebuild our neglected club from old rubble left behind. Now our meetings average a total of forty students who are active members and aspire to serve. We've held a meeting with our newly elected mayor to discuss leadership in times of strife. The year has barely begun and we are lightyears ahead of where we've been. My leadership is about taking on challenges no one else will and seeing the possibilities even if no one else can.

A Flinn Essay: Tell Us Your Story

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Flinn Scholarship Application. The prompt was to tell them my story.

I crumbled into the corner of the hallway and cried. The kind of cry that strips away your ability to breathe, the kind that fills your chest with pain, the kind that leaves you exhausted and beaten. My parents didn’t know what was happening to me as the pace of my breath quickened and my body fell into itself. I didn’t have the rational mind to explain that I had woken up five minutes late and wasn’t able to finish the last problem on my math homework. God, how would I even explain that to them, tell them that I was falling apart because I’d put my alarm on snooze for five minutes. Five minutes and my whole world crashed down on top of me. When I finally caught my breath and my tears began to dry I looked up and saw the aching confusion in my parents’ eyes. That was it, my turning point, the inciting incident in my plot line. Soon enough I started therapy. Walking into that office for the first time, I remember the feeling of hostility running through my veins. I didn’t want to talk about my problems because that would mean I actually had problems. My desire to resist melted away once I opened my mouth and a flood of endless agony spilled from my lips, pain I didn’t even know I had bottled up. That day as I sat in a small wooden chair opposite my therapist, I took control. I picked up the pen and assumed the role of writer and began to curate the story of me. The story that I will dedicate my life to telling in order to create a better world for those who struggle silently and fear weakness in asking for help.

A Barrett Essay: 2020

The following is an essay that I wrote as apart of my Barrett (honors college at ASU) application. The prompt was to reflect on the past year.

2020

Pivot, growth, rise. Those are my words of the year. My love of structure and routine fell apart quickly at the beginning of the year, which gave me plenty of time to work on my ability to adapt. I learned the importance of backup plans and switching gears when one falls through and falls through hard. Because of this opportunity, this year has also given me the chance to grow in all aspects of my life. I have grown as a leader by strengthening my voice and communication skills, as an individual by learning to take time to breathe and relax, and as an artist, a creator, by acknowledging the fact that nothing gets done when you fill your time with things you don’t love. Which brings me to my last word of rise. This year has presented me with a multitude of opportunities to back down and cower, but I have tried my best to rise up and avoid giving up. I know that this year hasn't been easy for anyone, but I know that I have done my best to make sure I don't let that deter me from striving for the best.