Congratulations to Our 2025 Scholarship Winners!

One out of seven. I was often reminded of just how lucky I was: in a large family of seven people, what were the chances that I would be the only member to not struggle with a mental health disorder? To be the only “normal one”, as my friends would call me. How lucky… was I really?

My brother's accident occurred in 2024, close to exactly one year before now. My little brother, whom I love deeply, was left paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life. It was devastating. Almost overnight, everything in our family was a mess, emotionally and financially. I stepped up and often took on the responsibilities of caring for my siblings while my parents were away in the hospital, in addition to the numerous tasks I was already handling. I did the best I could. I tried my best to be strong, like any good kid would. But it became too much for me. I went through a rough depressive phase and have dealt with high levels of anxiety ever since.

Suddenly, I was not “normal” anymore. People could not understand me. Why would you close yourself off from your friends, do you not care about how we feel? Why can you not handle your little workload when ours is far more difficult? It is not that scary. It is not that sad. So why do you struggle so much? What I have learned is this: people judge what they do not understand. I was one of those people only a few years ago. I am not one of those people anymore. I suffered so much, and I never thought I could be grateful–but I am. The lessons I learned are priceless, and my care and compassion for others who struggle with their mental health has increased tenfold. I had to go through it myself to understand, but I firmly believe that it is not required. Kindness is universal: you do not have to understand other people to give it freely.

For those of you who have worked with the Carlos Vieira Foundation to provide this wonderful scholarship to students in need, I would like to thank you sincerely. I am one of the many students in Tuolumne County born into unfortunate financial circumstances, and we truly need your help to make our dreams a reality. My dream is to be an Occupational Therapist. I want to help others be independent and overcome the challenges life has thrown in their paths. I will not let my anxiety hold me back from opportunities in life, and I will not let anyone’s physical or mental disabilities hold them back either. Thank you so much for taking the time to consider me. Even if I am not selected for this scholarship, I am so grateful for the opportunity to share my mental health journey and to spread awareness. Everyone deserves to feel loved, to be treated with kindness, and to know that it is okay to not be okay. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day.

Angry and Alone

She leapt from the Golden Gate Bridge, gone in a whisper. He hung from the redwood branch, the coarse rope caught in the imprecise transition between neck and chin—snap—gone with a gurgle. She took her final breath—inhale, exh—sprawled across her couch-turned bed, the piled-up evidence of her addiction sealing her tomb.

My anger is selfish, childish, cruel, and justified. To cope with my pain, I find something external to blame. I condemn god, drugs, technology, or capitalism, but my indignation ultimately falls upon the murderous victim. I am guilty of blaming them. Guilt brings guilt. I am guilty of abandoning them. I hesitate. Their lasting pain proves my genuine love; they were never truly alone. A moment too late is an eternity too late. Now they are gone forever. It is my fault.

Love is a curse we choose to bear. The pain found in an ordinary death is a horrible, beautiful, perfect, and natural thing. The pain found in suicide is twisted, cruel, and unnatural. As a descendant of suicide, I am acutely aware that the blood of the self-convicted pulses through my veins. This genetic curse, combined with a sense of abandonment sparked by my losses, resulted in anger throughout my early adolescence. I felt the impact of suicide, but I failed to understand the internal forces that would drive someone to that limit.

Over the past 18 months, my father has suffered from severe mental health issues. Witnessing his struggles has helped me grow empathy for those experiencing mental distress. Following the pandemic, my father realized that he hated his job. On top of a general distaste for his daily responsibilities, he felt wholly unfulfilled. Early on, this appeared to be—as described above—an ordinary mental health challenge, but his situation quickly worsened. Rather than verbalize and examine his emotions to determine an appropriate course of action, he chose to “toughen up.” By bottling away his emotions and allowing them to fester, he slowly slipped into a state of depression.

Months later, when he finally confessed his feelings to our family, he was trapped in what he frequently described as “a rut [he] couldn’t escape.” By ignoring the issue, my father had turned temporary self-doubt and sadness into a perpetual sense of hopelessness. I was confused and disappointed by his decision to hide his struggle; I found myself asking: Why didn’t you verbalize this sooner?

I found my answer when I began to witness the response of his community. As my father began to share his situation with peers in search of support and advice, he faced nothing but mockery and ridicule. In the highly conservative community where we live, his mental health struggles were deemed ‘womanly’; he was frequently told to “get over it” or “be a man.” In response to this lack of empathy, he lost any remaining self-worth, which caused him to isolate himself. He remained locked indoors for weeks, ignoring work and personal responsibilities.

My mom, siblings, and I realized we needed to step up, so we gradually inched our way into his life. We made sure that he was never alone, helped him talk through his feelings, and found him a therapist. While he has not fully recovered, he has recently shown significant signs of improvement.

When reflecting on this situation, it is important to understand that temporary mental health struggles are a common occurrence throughout a healthy life. Due to life’s unpredictable nature, we are inevitably bound to experience periods of sadness, difficulty, and inner turmoil. The causes, magnitude, and length of these periods may vary between individuals, but temporary mental health issues are as ordinary as a physical illness.

Unfortunately, the analogy between physical and mental health challenges cannot be extended to the recovery process. While our immune system handles the majority of bodily illnesses, typically without any external input, our mind lacks a similar system. Brain plasticity allows for mental recovery, but this repair process requires stimulation through external action. We must form new neural connections to overcome past difficulties, so simply sitting in stagnancy will never be a viable remedy for mental health struggles.

My experience has taught me that mental health stigma affects individuals by taking away their community, which then inhibits their ability to recover. We avoid those with a physical illness out of fear that they are contagious, but we trust that they will heal naturally with time and rest; once this healing process concludes, we allow them to reenter their community with minimal lasting impact on their relationships. Mental health challenges cannot be treated in the same way. To recover from mental health struggles, we need the support of others to help process our emotions and decide the changes that must be made. When others are at their weakest, we must unite in support to help them overcome. Temporary mental health issues do not lead to suicide; a prolonged sense of loneliness and abandonment does. Without the support of others, it is near-impossible to escape the so-called “rut” of depression.

In summary, as I have realized the extent of the stigma faced by those with mental health issues, my anger for those considering suicide has vanished, replaced by a profound sense of empathy and a burning desire to reshape how society views mental health. Through destigmatizing mental health concerns, we may empower those we love to share their struggles and find support.

The cure to suicide is not time, self-help books, or even psychiatric intervention. To prevent suicide, we must cultivate welcoming, safe communities in which people feel supported when sharing their struggles. Suicide occurs when someone can find no reason to continue living. Feeling loved by another offers a reason to stay. To feel loved, we must feel heard. Therefore, to cure suicide, we must listen.

Life often presents challenges that test our resilience and determination. For me, the loss of my father at the age of ten was not just an emotional hardship but also one that affected my mental health. My family and I were suddenly faced with unexpected burdens, and navigating through those has shaped my character in profound ways. My father was somebody who helped my family a lot in different ways and never let me feel down, and to this day I keep my head up for him and put in my hard work for him.

When my father passed away it disrupted the stability that had been the foundation of our lives. Mental health came into practice when this all occurred which left me in a hole. I realized I was not alone in this, but I knew I needed to seek help. My mom saw how I was struggling which she then asked me if I wanted to go to therapy. I said yes because I knew my mental health was important for me to be able to move forward with my life.

I was still young and it made me mad that I loss my father, but I was committed to my academics. Despite grieving my father’s passing, I maintained a strong focus on my studies, knowing that education will pave the way to a brighter future for me and my family. I never knew how important mental health is to an individual until this occurred. Your mental health is what keeps one from moving forward.

I believe that I am a strong candidate for this scholarship because I exemplify perseverance, determination, and a commitment to excellence. The financial support provided by this scholarship would alleviate some of the burdens on my family, allowing me to focus entirely on my education and personal growth. I also have an older brother who is in college so this said, having this scholarship would really help me financially since my mom is going to be supporting two college students by next fall. I will be seeking a major in the mental health field which is psychology. I will complete my bachelors then will strive to receive my masters in counseling. I do believe this is the best career for me because I have gone to therapy throughout my teens and realized this is very important. I want to give something in return to the ones who helped me because I believe I will be a great counselor to all.

Moreover I see this scholarship as more than financial assistance-it is an investment in my potential to make a positive impact. With your support, I will be able to pursue my goals without hesitation and work toward becoming a role model for others facing adversity. I am determined to not only overcome challenges but also to use my experience to uplift others in similar situations, demonstrating that success is attainable even in the face of hardship.

By awarding me this scholarship, you would be supporting someone who is deeply motivated to achieve academic and personal excellence while honoring the legacy of resilience and perseverance.

Growing up in a hispanic household, emotional vulnerability was often limited. You would often find my parents pushing my siblings and I to adapt to strong personalities where we had to tough it out or suck it up. This sparked my early interest in understanding and improving mental health, especially in young people.

“Quiere llorar! Quiere llorar!”

A common chant you find yourself surrounded with whenever you’ve tripped over a rock or when your brother smacked your face into the birthday cake. How peculiar it was that my family allowed me to cry when it was to their amusement, but when I began to cry because I had a problem of my own, they would say with a stern tone,

“Stop crying or I’ll give you a reason to.”

Growing up, this mentality of toughening it out and bottling my emotions led to a state of exhaustion where I would lay for days in my room alone, having no one to talk to about my emotions. It worsened when my parents decided to divorce. At first, I blamed the world. I blamed my mom, I blamed my dad. Anyone I could find within reason to blame, I did and with a passion. I didn’t want my family to split. I didn’t want two Christmases, two houses, two families. Whatever it became, I didn’t want any part of it. However, going through the whole ordeal taught me something special,

“Hurt people hurt people.”

I was often the person my parents would go to to tell me their troubles. I saw that saying in my mother’s eyes as she cried to me about fighting against my father’s addiction to alcohol. I saw that in my father’s eyes as he was scared of losing the family he worked so hard to build and support. I saw it in my brother as he began to grow distant from my siblings and I, preferring to hang out with his friends instead of us. I realized that all the hurt inflicted on me, was coming from a larger hurt that didn’t have anything to do with me.

I also realized that I was the person my parents would find comfort in talking to because of that tough mentality I had. I was surprised when they didn’t hold themselves to the same standard when it was the other way around. Maybe I should’ve chanted what they did with me and see how that went. But I didn’t, I realized that they were hurt, and even if I was hurt, I wanted to stop them from feeling what I did. I figured if I was there for them, then they could start being there for me, and that- they did. Creating a space of vulnerability made everything better for those hurt, and those who were comforting the hurt.

I would often find myself in counseling positions throughout my life in relationships with friends, loved ones, and even myself. Before my problems with expressing my emotions, I would talk to my reflection in the mirror as if I was having a conversation with my eighth grade science teacher, my best friend, or even my mom. I would pretend someone else was on the other side of that mirror while I sat on the floor, just talking about life and my problems.

Having this practice of self dialogue would sometimes turn into a boxing match. At first, I would say all these negative thoughts about myself or whatever was troubling me in my youth. Then, I would again step into the ring from the other side, the punches would go back and forth, fighting against these negative thoughts with positive contrasts and motivating words. These words became both my weapon and shield against myself, until I eventually put myself through enough fights to know exactly how to pick myself back up again. I knew that I would always have myself, and I knew that the people around me would pick me back up in the ring when I would fall under the heavy weight of anxiety and depression, and I would eventually win.

Some days, I did get saddened by the fact that the only consolation I found in my life was myself, but I believe that by practicing self counseling, it toughened my mentality and increased my emotional intelligence. Deciding to console myself was a pivotal moment in the change of my perspective of what it takes to become a better person.

Through my personal journey, I was able to realize what my passion was. It was always helping others. My goal is to become a licensed clinical social worker, specializing in adolescent mental health. I want to use therapeutic techniques such as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to help at-risk youth build emotional resilience and to better cope with trauma. I want to become the person they talk to in the mirror so I could help them navigate whatever challenges they want to overcome.

I plan to pursue a bachelor's degree in social work at San Diego State University that will equip me with the skills needed to work with vulnerable populations, particular children and teens facing mental health challenges. My goals include continuing my studies with a master’s in social work, focusing on clinical practices that address trauma and emotional wellness. I want to become a licensed clinical social worker who owns my own practice and clinic to reach as many kids as possible. However, this promise of further education will not be possible without opportunities to close the gaps in the financial aspect of it all. I plan to take out loans and apply for as many scholarships and grants as possible. I hope to close these financial gaps in order to reach my dream of helping others.

I have spent my whole life caring about others. I've always tended to put other people before myself, whether it's their feelings, what makes them happy, or how I may be of greater help to them.

My life's ambition has been to support young children who, like myself, have to attend therapy from an early age. I feel like trauma has followed me around for most of my life. And although trauma seemed like a curse to me for a long time, I've since realized that it's rather a blessing.

I never stayed in therapy for very long; I would get dropped off and spend an hour sobbing in a room. After the timer sounded, I would dry my eyes, smile, and return to the car. Life got busy and I would stop attending therapy after I participated in a couple of sessions.

I was dropped off at my aunt's house when I was three years old, along with my brother, who was fifteen months old. My cousins felt like older siblings to me, so I was thrilled to go spend time with them. I had no idea that day would be the day that changed my life most significantly. I can recall the worst parts of the narrative, but my memory is foggy in other areas. My cousin and I are playing in a small playhouse on the side of the home when we hear screams so loud they pierce our ears. At this point, my memory goes blank, and I refuse to recall. The next thing that comes to mind is my little brother being carried out of the pool after accidentally crawling in. Then I go blank again. Following that, we are sitting in the driveway of a house I will never be able to come to again, feeling the same. Being this young and experiencing the death of a sibling truly changed my whole life.

Throughout my life, many events followed this one. My family felt as if it had shattered into pieces. I felt like I was slowly drowning throughout my entire childhood and even into my teenage years. My physical and mental health had suffered as a result of repressing all of my feelings from these incidents and bearing them as a burden throughout my life. However, at some point throughout my journey, my entire outlook shifted. I suddenly had the desire to use all of these experiences for something bigger rather than to live in misery.

I could easily fill this essay with my struggles, but instead, I want to focus on my aspirations in the mental health field. I plan to enroll at Fresno State this fall, majoring in childhood development. My goal is to specifically help children who have faced similar challenges as I have. I have always been ready to listen and provide support to others. I believe I have a comforting presence in difficult times, and these qualities will help me succeed in this profession. Despite the doubts others have expressed about my dreams, due to the difficult stories I may encounter, my mind has never wavered. I have always felt a strong calling to this career, and I am determined to achieve my goals.
Everyone experiences various hardships in life, whether they are significant or minor. My primary aim is to assist children who feel overwhelmed and in need of rescue. I want to be the person who can make a difference in someone's life. I aspire to be the therapist who continues to reach out, even when they stop attending sessions, because that’s the support I needed. I have faced many challenges, and while some may label me as damaged, I believe there is more to a person than their experiences. I want to demonstrate to these young individuals that they can rise above their difficulties if they set their minds to it. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship opportunity.

A sociology 1A class introduced me to many new concepts that I still use and apply in my daily life. The sociology course thoroughly examined human society, focused on social behavior, relationships, interactions, and cultural aspects that shape everyday life. As we went through the chapters of the material, we arrived at the topic of stereotypes and stigma. That particular chapter revealed to me how the stigma surrounding mental health disorders affects those who have them. When stereotypes are created, they in turn lead to negative outcomes and social consequences.

Through my education and personal research, I have been motivated to explore deeper into the stigmas commonly associated with various mental health disorders. It emphasizes the significance of educating oneself about mental disorders in order to get rid of any misconceptions and avoid perpetuating harmful, ignorant stereotypes.

For example, mental health remains a taboo topic in the Latino community, mainly because previous generations lacked the necessary resources to address it, resulting in a lack of understanding and awareness about the issue. Whenever mental health was discussed, my parents dismissed it and linked it to laziness. I would correct my parents and tell them it is very much a real thing that people go through, even animals. Instead of dismissing the discussion, I guide them on how they can be helpful.

For instance, depression can present differently in everyone, and it's not always accompanied by sadness. So, when someone appears happy despite being depressed, avoid jumping to the conclusion that they're faking it. When I took the class, I not only taught my parents about it, but I also learned how to properly use words and phrases when discussing mental disorders, which has strengthened my ability to communicate effectively. Although there may be a cultural lag in Latin countries, I believe it’s essential to educate my parents and siblings. Despite their age, my older siblings are still learning to break down the stereotypes and stigmas surrounding mental health issues and encourage a more open-minded and accepting attitude towards them. When conversing with others or discussing the topic in a group setting. I always remind them that certain words can be particularly harmful and that it is important to choose better, more suitable words instead.

The access to education and the sociology course were crucial for gaining a deeper understanding of daily community interactions. Additionally, I provided my family with resources to examine, and these resources contain the same information that I studied in my classes. Furthermore, developing effective interpersonal communication is a vital skill that I had the opportunity to learn and refine last fall semester. This skill has empowered me to communicate more effectively, forming deeper connections and developing my emotional intelligence, which is essential in both personal and professional settings.

All of these experiences and discussions have led me to have a much more open mind and also tackle some things I thought were true to be false. I'm still learning new things each day and continue to teach my family and friends.

During my four years of being on a high school campus, my awareness of mental health has grown. I am now able to identify different struggles my peers are facing daily. I wish to be a factor of change on campus and be someone who provides support.

From my youth, I’ve always had a natural characteristic of strong empathy for others. I’ve been a part of the Associated Student Body for four years, where I currently hold the position of the ASB Executive President in our student government leadership program that strives to create a positive impact in all aspects of campus. Being Executive President this year has truly increased my ability to face daily situations that require critical thinking to solve problems, ensuring each person is being considered. Leading my peers in an effective way in each event we produce, while making sure that showing kindness towards each other is our first priority.

A newer program I am proud to be a part of is the Student Outreach and Advocacy Resources Center. This center is a safe place for students to go on campus to be mentored and guided by their peers. Being a trained advocate in the SOAR Center allows me to have a direct, positive impact on my campus community by working with students to reach a developed goal. Along with reaching different goals, I must frequently respond the correct way to various situations. Providing my peers with enough support while maintaining control over mentoring sessions throughout a series of weeks. I have learned the importance of attentiveness, sympathy, and building connections with students who may need guidance due to past difficulties on campus.

These connections allow me to understand that individuals have their own unique stories that shape their life experiences, and as their support system, I must have the knowledge needed for each interaction. Each session, I try to make my peers as comfortable as possible to build true trust for them to confide in me their struggles. Being a contributor in the healthy, mental change someone would see in their life allows me to have a different outlook on my personal experiences. It causes me to increase my sense of understanding other’s verbal and nonverbal communications. Being a part of the SOAR Center only caused my desire to enter the psychology field to grow. The routine I follow in SOAR is similar to a therapy session with a therapist, including the discussion of potential problems, providing advice, or introducing a new, healthy method of coping.

Thus, my plan is to become a Clinical Psychologist because I believe our mental health is just as important as our physical health. Mental health is not an aspect that should go unnoticed due to our mind shaping our entire life involving our decisions, feelings, thoughts, and actions. My main ambition in life is to be of service to others and do what I can to improve their overall well-being. My background fuels my inspiration to grow into my desired career, which requires capabilities I presently intend to use and perfect in college.

As an Asian-American woman, I have always been taught to not speak up about my feelings. Even when going through tough times my freshman year I felt uncomfortable telling people that I was struggling mentally or trying to reach out for resources. I realize that many groups of people struggle with similar issues around the idea of mental health. Whether there are cultural stigmas against therapy for certain racial groups, or the idea of depression making men less masculine. I’ve recently been striving towards trying to reduce these stigmas through my HOSA mental health awareness campaign in hopes to cement the idea that Mental Health deserves the same amount of care as taking care of one’s physical health.

In my campaign I research weekly on specific mental health issues to find resources and spread information to other high school students. Some of the topics I have researched and focused on include: Mental health in Sports, Stress & Anxiety, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Meditation, and more. Beyond making digestible instagram posts for high school students I launched a mental health pod with me and my two friends on spotify and on youtube. In our first episode we discussed our experiences as high school student athletes and how we learned to manage our mental health. During the episode, I was able to open up about my struggles facing injuries in sports as well as personal doubts as a player. The main advice I gave was that maintaining our physicality in sports is just as important as making sure that as an athlete you are mentally okay. As they can coincide and affect each other. Initially I didn't know if making a podcast would be helpful for our cause, yet the positive response that we received from our peers and even strangers made me so excited and motivated to work even harder to spread awareness. My teammates started coming up to me talking about their personal issues and how our episode made them feel heard and seen. Because of this, me and my friends try to regularly make videos and research topics that we feel our peers may struggle with or things we have dealt with. Every wednesday I meet with my AP Psychology teacher/ HOSA advisor to gain consultation and expand our knowledge. This is to make sure what we are promoting is backed up ethically and to learn more about the psychology behind mental health. As the HOSA president I have held multiple workshops during our meetings regarding mental health initiatives.

Whether it be practicing meditation and positive self-talk, or informational presentations regarding depression and PTSD I feel that I have taken many steps toward reducing mental health issues. Next month I will be presenting my campaign at the state level and be judged based on how well I have promoted mental health to high school students. Even when the competition ends, I want to continue my Mind Body Soul account because the amount of people that I have been able to help throughout this journey is something that keeps me going every single day. To think that opening up about my personal experiences can have such an impact on others, makes me realize the importance of leadership. To end this stigma of mental health more people need to spread awareness, be more vocal, and provide more resources to unsilence the voices that are scared of judgement.

If someone were suffering from a severe physical health issue, they would not hesitate to seek help from a medical professional. So why are mental health conditions such as depression, PTSD, and anxiety so slow to be recognized and treated? Whether the reasons are due to societal stigma or self-inflicted shame, mental illness is too often considered a weakness rather than a legitimate health concern. Personally, I have struggled with mental health challenges, including depression and anxiety, and I understand firsthand how difficult it can be to speak openly about these issues. I can say with confidence that seeking proper help would have made my struggles easier to manage.

One of the root causes of mental health stigma is a lack of education, which leads to misconceptions, inadequate support systems in work and school environments, and an unrealistic expectation for individuals to be entirely self-sufficient. These factors create a culture where students, in particular, feel afraid to ask for help—even when they desperately need it. My involvement with student leadership has shown me that many students either witness or experience mental health struggles, yet few feel empowered to seek support.

My work with the California Association of Student Councils (CASC) has strengthened my commitment to addressing mental health stigma and providing tangible solutions. Over the past three years, I have served as Outreach Director and Secretary within my regional cabinet, where I worked closely with peers to develop proposals to improve mental health support in schools. We presented these proposals to the California Board of Education, advocating for increased mental health resources, free mental health lectures from keynote speakers, and the promotion of credible information about mental health. Our goal was to ensure that students, parents, and staff across various districts were aware of and had access to available mental health resources. For districts with established support systems, we focused on actively promoting these resources to ensure they reached those in need. This initiative has helped make mental health resources more accessible and widely recognized in schools.

Beyond my efforts at the state level, I have also taken action within my local community. I am a dedicated supporter of our local Peer Court, operated by Youth Options Shasta. As a leadership panel member and peer advocate during court trials (the equivalent of an attorney for respondents), I have worked closely with young individuals facing legal and personal challenges. Through these experiences, I have witnessed firsthand how societal standards discourage people from acknowledging their feelings, making it even more difficult for them to seek support from others. Many respondents feel embarrassed by their struggles, but I see something deeper: individuals who are fighting to make it through each day, who take accountability for their actions, and, most importantly, who are willing to change.

Additionally, I have worked within my school to support students struggling with mental health challenges. As Senior Class Vice President, I have helped implement initiatives such as Kindness Week, Student Appreciation Week, Mental Health Breaks, and student “shout-outs,” all of which contribute to fostering a supportive and uplifting school environment. Kindness Week and student shout-outs cultivate a culture of openness, encouraging students to reach out for support when needed. In advocating for more mental health-focused initiatives, I was also responsible for designing and distributing encouraging flyers, online posts, and “Warm and Fuzzies,” which are notes exchanged between students to uplift and encourage one another. While these gestures may seem small, their impact is profound. We received significant positive feedback on these initiatives, with students expressing that they found the campus to be more welcoming and uplifting as a result. “Warm and Fuzzies,” in particular, stood out as a powerful tool for connection, as recipients were often moved by such direct kindness and appreciation. Mental Health Breaks provide students with a chance to step away from academic stress, while shout-outs celebrate individual achievements and boost self-confidence. By leading these programs, I strive to create an environment where students feel safe discussing mental health and seeking help without fear of judgment.

The stigma surrounding mental health is a deeply ingrained societal issue that prevents individuals from thriving. I believe that those who have confronted and overcome their own internalized stigma are best equipped to help others do the same. This belief has guided my work, and I remain committed to dismantling the barriers that discourage people from seeking the help they need. At the end of the day, mental health isn’t mind over matter- it matters. Until we treat it with the same care as physical health, we’ll be stuck treating the symptoms instead of the cause. So, I’ll keep fighting to make mental well-being a priority because a healthy mind is a terrible thing to waste.

What is a mental health stigma? Mental health stigma refers to the beliefs or stereotypes that a society or culture holds about an individual's mental health. These beliefs can lead to discrimination, harassment, or even social or family exclusion, causing people to feel less capable, unwanted, or unheard. This stigma can prevent individuals from seeking help, reducing their quality of life due to feelings of shame or judgment from society or culture. It affects how people view themselves and how others treat them. Ultimately, the long-term effects of stigma can contribute to generational trauma.

Imagine yourself living in a rural community as part of a lower-income Hispanic family of six, all male siblings, raised with cultural teachings of masculinity. In this environment, the man is expected to be the “breadwinner” or the “Macho.” My family has always expressed that emotions should never be shown, that feeling depressed is unacceptable, and that vulnerability should be avoided, as we must work hard and provide for the family.

I remember a time when I tried to speak to my father about how I was feeling, but my emotions were dismissed, and I was rudely redirected to grab the shovel outside. As I stood there, staring through the kitchen window at the shovel on a hot summer day, marinating in the sun, I found myself questioning whether my expression of depression was even worth sharing. Walking back to my room, feeling a sharp pain in my chest and overwhelmed with regret, I grabbed my phone and reached out to a supportive friend who would understand.

Throughout our conversation, I realized I needed a higher level of support. Without my parents' consent, I reached out to local behavioral health services. As I filled out a mental health referral in the lobby, it felt like a betrayal to my family. I tried to convince myself that this wasn’t necessary or that it wouldn’t work, since it was all I knew. This experience left me feeling a lack of self-worth, disorientation, and a sense of not belonging due to not meeting cultural and family expectations. Mental health was often projected as something negative or "crazy." This was my version of mental health stigma.

As a newcomer to mental health, it was discomforting sitting through sessions, unable to express my emotions because I had suppressed them for so long. I felt a large knot in my throat, with walls surrounding me. These barriers hindered my ability to speak, even though the environment was welcoming. I was reassured that I was in a safe place, but I realized that all I needed was time. The consistency and time gave me the reassurance that I belonged and that I mattered.

Mental health isn’t for the "weak" or the "crazy." It is for individuals like me, those with generational and unresolved trauma, a lack of coping skills, and little education around mental health. This experience gave me a strong understanding of a new perspective on mental health stigma. Now, I advocate for my friends and myself, sharing my positive experience in the hopes of bringing something fruitful into their lives and driving meaningful impact.

Mental health stigma affects individuals and communities as a whole, causing individuals to avoid seeking help, feel isolated, experience lower self-esteem, and suffer increased psychological distress. These stigmas often lead to negative perspectives of oneself, feelings of shame or embarrassment, and hesitation to seek treatment. This delay in seeking help can cause mental health issues to worsen over time, potentially leading to generational trauma. Without proper documentation of need, rural communities lack the leverage to access proper care and offer limited resources, leaving large groups of people untreated. The absence of support groups and the creation of unsafe environments create barriers to open discussions, leaving both communities and individuals discouraged from talking about mental health.

Ultimately, it leads to my biggest encouragement: "LET'S BREAK THE STIGMA!" Let's address mental health by advocating for and educating young adults, normalizing the idea that it's okay not to feel okay. We must show empathy and encourage safe environments. This will lead to a better future, helping individuals and communities thrive. If we embrace the normalization of mental health, we will create a healthier society.

I had dedicated myself to my high school’s basketball program for four long years, devoting hours of training, discipline, and unwavering commitment. But while I gave my best on the court, my mental health suffered in ways I never could have imagined. The anxiety, depression, and anger I experienced—especially during my senior year—were not just byproducts of a demanding sport. They were the direct result of a toxic environment, one that revolved around manipulation, gaslighting, and emotional neglect at the hands of my coach, Sean. And to think, I am only a 17-year-old girl, and for four years, I was harassed and emotionally abused by a fully grown man.

Just making the team was a battle that it seemed no one else had to fight. While my teammates only had to undergo a single tryout, Sean forced me to prove myself twice both my freshman and sophomore years. As a freshman, I had to try out for both the freshman and JV teams, ultimately making JV . The next year, it was even worse. While others had their spots on varsity secured with a single evaluation, I was forced to attend both JV and varsity tryouts. Sean dangled my position in front of me like a prize I hadn’t already earned. The message was made clear: no matter how hard I worked, my place would always be in question. And that uncertainty followed me throughout my entire high school career. No matter how much I gave, Sean made sure I never felt secure in my role. The summer before my junior year, he promised me a captain position, only to go back on his word without any explanation in the following months. The year before, he benched me during state playoffs, despite the fact that I had started every single game leading up to that moment. His reasoning? That I had “too much energy.” It was an excuse that made no sense; another way to exert control over me and remind me that he could take anything away at any time for no true reason. With every lie, every broken promise, and every moment of manipulation, Sean had made it very clear that my hard work didn’t matter. He controlled everything, and the more I pushed to prove myself, the more it felt he pushed back, ensuring that no matter how much I gave, I would never be rewarded for it.

Any hope I had that Sean would finally treat me with respect in my final year as a senior, quickly disappeared. He singled me out behind the backs of my teammates, telling me I was lazy, irresponsible, and a poor example in an attempt to tear me apart. Although I didn’t ever show it on my face or through my behavior, those words stung more than anything because they felt like direct insults to who I was. I had the highest GPA on the team. I worked harder than anyone on the court. I was one of the only players who remained absolutely sober. Yet, none of that mattered to him. I don’t even think he knew. What hurt the most wasn’t just his words, but the way he stripped away my achievements. The practice before my Senior Night game, he pulled me aside and told me I had to “be okay with not scoring any points.” However, this was the same man who had previously insisted that every effort be made to get seniors shots on their special night. But for me, he changed the rules. Additionally, when I reached 1,000 career points—a milestone that has not been reached at my high school in a long time—he made no effort to acknowledge it. No announcement. No recognition. No celebration. It was as if my achievements didn’t exist. This simply wasn’t just tough-love coaching. This was calculated cruelty from a grown man who had spent four years tearing down a teenage girl.

As seasons passed over the years, the weight on my chest grew heavier. I became constantly on edge. I would leave the gym and break down, crying uncontrollably. I thought about quitting more times than I could count. I wanted out so badly, but I also felt so trapped as the best player on the team. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one suffering either. One of my teammates quit during the preseason because of Sean’s treatment. Others would call me, crying about how uncomfortable they felt. Parents even reached out to me, asking if I could check in on their daughters because they could sense something was wrong. And so I did. I took my teammates out for late-night donuts and frozen yogurt just to give them a space to vent. I listened, consoled, and carried their pain alongside my own. In a way, I became the true coach of the team. But in all those moments, no one ever stopped to ask how I was doing. No one ever checked in on me. I had become the rock for everyone else, but there was no one to hold me up. The loneliness was suffocating; The depression, all-consuming.

Now, just a week after the last game I will ever play in high school, I look back in reflection. I see how mental health issues aren’t just personal battles but community-wide struggles. I see how easy it is for suffering to be ignored when it’s not convenient for others to acknowledge. And more than anything, I see the importance of being the person who does acknowledge it. My experience has made me more perceptive—tuned into the silent struggles people carry. I know what it’s like to feel isolated, unheard, and broken. And because of that, I make sure others don’t feel that way. Mental health isn’t a weakness, and it’s not something to be dismissed. I only hope now that through my experiences I can continue to help others feel seen, so then maybe, it wasn’t all for nothing.

Ballet Body Ballet Mind

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to eat, it was that I didn’t need to. So I didn’t. That’s not entirely true, I did eat, but I ate as little as possible. When I was thirteen years old, I became aware of my body in a way that many of us become. It wasn’t discovering it existed, or discovering what it could do, but a cruel sort of discovering what it was. It was too much. I had just begun to grow into my body, and just as quickly I had begun to hate it.

I had two choices: accept my fate (my body) or change it. The more reasonable of the two would have been the first, but unfortunately my impressionable age combined with cultural pressures led me to choose the second. This was only worsened by the fact that I do classical ballet. It’s so painfully stereotypical, isn’t it? A ballet dancer with a deep hatred for the very instrument they use to perform. Personally, my hatred manifested itself in an abusive relationship between my body and mind. When I joined my current ballet company, I stopped eating lunch. Not all at once, but foregoing lunch once or twice a week turned into skipping it entirely, which turned into skipping breakfast aswell. I hid food, threw it away, and lied about eating it or planning to soon. Not only did this emaciate my body, but it also led to a great deal of mental suffering. I lived in a dissociated state, as any amount of mental focus would make me aware of the excruciating hunger I felt. And yet I did not stop.

Ballet was no kinder to me for my efforts. While I was thin, there was always someone thinner. When my pas de duex partner failed to lift me as he lifted others it felt like a reflection of a personal inadequacy. I was missing something the other dancers had, or rather, I had something they didn’t. Weight. Every role I didn’t get, every program I didn’t get into whispered to me, coldly suggesting “maybe it’s because you’re too big.” From a logical standpoint, I knew this wasn’t true. In theory, I wanted to get better. Each year my new year’s resolution was to eat three meals a day, and each year, despite my good intentions, I faithfully broke it.

While healing is not a destination, it certainly is a journey. I have come a long way, and I am proud of the distance I have put between myself and my days of throwing away food. It has taken considerable time and effort to heal my relationship with eating, but it has not been in vain. Food is fuel, and improving my diet has helped me improve not only my skills in ballet, but my mental state as well. I have more stamina, I can concentrate more, and each day I feel myself growing stronger. I am far from perfect. The temptations of my past are stillpresent; but as I look to the future, I see a life with food, and more importantly, a life with peace.

My individual experiences have made me more aware of the severity of the harmful eating culture in ballet. Not only is it a cruel stereotype, but it is also a cruel reality. This community is niche, but that does not stop its toxicity. In all my experience, I have never met a woman in ballet who has not been plagued by the sick call of thinness and the diseased rewards it carries. There is a stigma attached to this struggle, as we are supposed to keep silent. Pretend you eat, preach healthy habits, share your snacks. But don’t gain weight, don’t overeat, don’t tell anyone you still have your contract because you lost the pounds your director asked you to. This was once my normal, the life I was prepared to accept no matter the cost, physical or mental. That is no longer the case. I have seen the detrimental effects of this lifestyle both in my own experiences and the experiences of others in my community. This is wrong, and it must change. Through all this, I have come to realize that we must demand change not just from ballet, but from ourselves as well. But unlike what ballet has taught, we must change our minds, not our bodies.

Mental health is such an important part of who we are—it affects how we think, feel, interact with others, and handle life in general. Unfortunately, there's still stigma surrounding mental health, making it something people often avoid talking about. This stigma usually stems from misunderstandings, fear, and a lack of knowledge. As a result, many people feel ashamed, isolated, or even overwhelmed to the point of suicidal thoughts. Honestly, before I went through my own struggles with mental health, I believed many of the misconceptions myself. But after experiencing it firsthand, I've come to understand mental health in a deeper way, and how harmful the stigma can be for those who need support the most.

My grandpa lost his battle with mental health, and even though I hadn't gone through it personally, I saw the toll it took on my family. Things changed when I was 13. After a traumatic event, I became extremely anxious, which eventually led to several vitamin deficiencies. At the time, I didn't understand why I was feeling this way, nor did I know how to explain it to others. Over time, the constant anxiety turned into depression, and eventually, suicidal thoughts. I felt completely alone, hopeless, and like I had nowhere to turn. During this period, I lost friends, isolated myself, and struggled to see how things could ever get better. After months of constant depression and debilitating anxiety, I wasn't sure how to go on. This experience truly opened my eyes to the seriousness of mental health and the way it affects not just the individual, but everyone around them.

Eventually I started going to therapy, and it made a huge difference in how I coped with my mental health struggles. Therapy was incredibly beneficial for me—it taught me healthy ways to cope and help normalize my experiences. It truly saved my life and forever changed the way I think. Before I went through these struggles, I never fully understood mental health. If I'm being honest, I thought it was something everyone dealt with from time to time and would eventually get over. I assumed anxiety was just an uncomfortable feeling and depression was simply sadness. The keyword being “just”—because really what is mental health? If you had asked me about it back then, I wouldn't have been able to define it. Since facing what I'd consider debilitating mental health challenges, my perspective has changed completely. I now see mental health as a vital part of my well-being—just like I need my lungs to breathe, my mind is essential for living a healthy and balanced life. These experiences have shaped me into who I am today, even influencing my future career as I plan to become a therapist to help others like myself. Mental health isn't just incredibly important to function; it needs to become a priority in society.

The stigma surrounding mental health does not benefit our communities or society. The idea of mental health being considered a bad or uncomfortable topic harms everyone. I never fully understood this until I was struggling myself. Many people deal dealing with mental health issues don't speak out because of fear—fear of judgement and vulnerability. Until society normalizes mental health and asking for help, suicide will continue to be a tragic statistic. I experienced this firsthand. I watched my well-being deteriorate over just a few months because I was too scared to speak out. I was struggling, and no one would have known because I was afraid to ask for help.

I truly believe that we have the power to change the harmful stigma around mental health. Society needs to normalize talking about mental health, and to do that, we need to show more empathy for others and be willing to open up ourselves. By doing this, we can help end the stigma that makes so many people feel ashamed or afraid to ask for help. Without that stigma, I think many people who are struggling could be supported and even saved because they would feel safe reaching out without fear of judgment. On a larger scale, the shift would strengthen communities, making them more compassionate and understanding. When we remove the stigma, we can create a world where everyone feels heard and supported and where mental health is treated as just as important as physical health.

Mental health is not just a chapter in my story, it's a thread woven through my past, present, and future. I can remember my first encounter with mental health to this day. I was young, curious, and innocent, around the 3rd grade, riding in the car with my mom. I don’t recall where we were going but I do remember the question hanging in the air, lingering in my mind. For a long time, I had noticed cuts and faint red scars on my older sister's arm. They were just there, a part of her, like freckles or birthmarks, perhaps she was born with them. That day I was curious, so I turned to my mother and asked, “Why does my sister have cuts on her arm?”. She hesitated before replying, “You’ll understand once you're older”. I stared out the window, confused and unsatisfied. What was there to understand? Was it serious? Something bad? Although disappointed, I let the subject drop, assuming it had something to do with puberty or periods—things I wasn’t supposed to know about yet. Looking back, I realize this was my first fight with the stigma that surrounds mental health. My mother’s reluctance to answer wasn’t out of malice but discomfort—to avoid a conversation she had never been taught to have.

Being the youngest of 4 children in a large family, I’ve always looked up to my older siblings. They’ve been my role models, playmates, and, whether they liked it or not, my unpaid babysitters at times. I always saw them as strong people who had everything figured out. As I got older, I realized that they were fighting demons I couldn’t understand at the time. The first time I noticed something different about my brother was when I first moved to California in 5th grade. When he came back from college he wasn’t the person I remembered leaving. He would shift unpredictably, depressed one week, the next filled with energy and newfound confidence. Then came the days of paranoia and anger, making the air in our house feel heavy, causing me to walk on eggshells around him. It was confusing, even scary at points, watching somebody I loved turn into a stranger. My parents knew my brother needed help. They tried time and time again to support him, advocate for him, and motivate him to try treatment, but nothing seemed to work. Sleepless nights of arguing, yelling, and police visits are forever ingrained in my head. I could see clearly that he needed help, so why wouldn’t he just go get it? Even when he was diagnosed with bipolar schizoaffective disorder, there was something else that was stopping him from fully embracing treatment: stigma.

I’ve had numerous amount of conversations with him about therapy and medication, but they all seem to end the same way. “ So you think I’m crazy?” he asks. “I’m just paranoid right?”. My brother is unable to overcome the negative connotations surrounding mental illness created by our culture. He doesn’t want to be treated like he’s crazy– nobody does. And then there are times he reminds me of moments when even I used his diagnosis against him in arguments. Those words, once thrown carelessly in frustration hit me like a train when I hear them now. My brother has been my greatest teacher when it comes to understanding mental health. Through him, I’ve seen how deeply stigma is embedded in our culture and what it can do to someone. I’ve watched him struggle to be taken seriously, apply for disability, maintain jobs, and maintain relationships. It hurts to see somebody I love fight so hard to be understood, especially when he has such a gentle heart.

I now know my mother wasn’t trying to be dismissive on purpose, but her silence reflects the fears of confronting or even acknowledging mental health issues. I've always wondered what would have happened if mental health was more openly talked about. Would my sister have felt safe enough to reach out sooner? Would she have gotten the help she needed before choosing self-harm? Would my brother have been able to recognize he needed help? These questions have haunted me, but they pushed me to confront the ugly truth: many others aren’t given a second chance like my sister. Loved ones are lost every day to crushing isolation, shame, and silent suffering. When mental health is met with ignorance, shame, or stigma, people hide. It forces them to suffer alone, believing their struggles are not acceptable, and need to be hidden. Too often they don’t seek help, not knowing they need it, not knowing where to turn, or worse, being too ashamed to seek it. I know it doesn’t have to be this way. I strongly believe that mental health is something to be discussed and prioritized from an early age, just like physical health. It’s time to build a future that champions seeking help as a sign of strength, promotes mental wellness, and ensures that no one suffers in silence.

In my childhood, my family never spoke of mental health. My mother and father did not mention the topic because they were unaware of its effects on children; they knew it was important, especially due to my father’s bipolar disorder, but found it irrelevant to my brother and me. My father’s side of the family was much worse, they were private individuals that held many secrets from each other. To them, mental health was a myth told to scare and stress individuals. They conditioned my brother and me to have similar mentalities about the topic, preparing us to reject any idea of mental health. However, it was not until my father’s suicide that everything changed.

It was a warm and sunny April 22nd morning. My younger sister and brother were preparing to attend a dog show with our aunt. My older brother and I sat on the couch watching television. I remember seeing my mother looking confused at her phone and walking into my bedroom. Within a moment, I heard a loud bang and the sound of her hysterically crying. My brother and I ran into the room trying to help her up, begging to know what monstrosity had happened, but she remained curled up on the floor. My aunt had entered the room and helped my mother stand up, attempting to calm her down. I remember my mother’s broken face as she looked at me and my brother. She told us to wait in my brother’s bedroom, so we sat on the bed, waiting for answers. After she entered, she kneeled before the bed, took our hands into hers and said, “Daddy is dead.” I sat there speechless and confused while my brother asked her questions. I remember feeling angry because it seemed like a sick joke, but when I looked at my mother’s expression, I knew it was real. I could not cry or speak, just stare with an emotionless gaze. Beside me, my brother sobbed while my brother attempted to soothe him. He asked her how it had happened, but she avoided the question each time. When my mother exited the room to call my stepdad, my brother looked at me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders; it was only then when I began to cry.

The period after his death was more complicated for my family. My brother fell into a deep depression while I distracted myself with school. My mother and stepdad were stricken with grief due to the loss of their best friend. Knowing of their condition made me push all of my feelings down so I could be strong for them. It took two months after his death until my mom could tell me what truly happened. However, it did not change anything for me because I knew it could not falter to any weakness. It was not until the first anniversary of his death that I began to process what had truly happened.

Before the first anniversary, I fell into a brutal depression that lasted over a year. I developed severe separation anxiety from my mother, forcing me to be constantly attached to her hip. I refused to eat, drink, or speak during this period; all I could do was sleep. My brain was relatively empty, except for the memories from my father’s viewing. My mom and stepdad grew incredibly worried, so they enrolled me in therapy two days every week. In counseling, I was diagnosed with clinical depression, separation anxiety, panic anxiety, and ptsd, which are conditions that I still struggle with today. However, instead of ignoring my pain, I have learned to process and grieve everything.

My mentality towards mental health has significantly changed due to my father. Mental health is constantly talked about in my household and therapy is a regular occurrence for many of us. My mother and I have attended online suicide survivor meetings to educate ourselves onthe topic. I have read countless books on grief management and anxiety to learn better techniques to help myself.

To me, mental health is an important topic in our society. As the newer generations have aged, they have shined light on the subject, bringing more awareness; however, the stigma only grows due to disbelievers. I understand where the ignorance stems from because that is how I was raised, but now, I stand with the mental health community. My experience as a survivor of suicide loss and mental health has altered my perspective for the better. I empathize with others who have experienced a life similar to mine and sympathize with those struggling. I have seen and felt the effects of stigma on individuals and the community. It is a deadly weapon that people yield to protect themselves from weakness; however, if better educated, they too can help shed light on this important topic. I try to bring awareness wherever I go, supporting and loving others to ensure they do not fall down a path similar to mine.

Mental health is something that I continue to struggle with today. The sounds of my mother hysterically sobbing and screaming, as well as the feeling of my brother weeping in my arms, have forever imprinted on my brain. The sensation of my father’s chilled grasp has scarred my heart; sometimes, when my hands are cold, his cold clutch is all I can think about. There are days when I cannot get out of bed or care for myself. However, I refuse to let these haunting memories hinder my path to greatness. I will continue to fight, strive, and advocate for mental health because it is everything to me.

A Curse or Blessing?

A boyfriend; a romantic partner whose duties are to support, nurture, and most of all respect and protect. Dating at the age of 13 comes with the expectation of an innocent relationship. I spent two years in a relationship where I endured emotional abuse, narcissistic abuse, and sexual abuse. The first time it happened, I remember feeling violated and confused. Why didn’t he understand what my physical resistance meant? At that naive age I was easily manipulated into believing this is what people in relationships did. I suppressed all negative sentiment about my sexual assault. It was difficult for my young self to define what had happened. Afterwards, it would only get worse.

He became hypersexual to the point where I would feel forced to participate in other inappropriate activities, in fear that he would get angry if I didn't. This lasted for 2 years. Eventually, my parents intervened and we broke up because they discovered some of the inappropriate behavior between us. Even after, I still found myself caring about him. I hated my empathy. It felt like a curse. Why did I still care about him even after everything he did?

Occasionally, I would remember what he convinced me wasn’t sexual assault and surpressed it as much as I could. I felt that having the title “victim” would let him win. Fast forward to May 2024, and an unexpected trigger hit me. Everything I suppressed came into view and felt overwhelmed with the 4 years of built up resentment, shame, and guilt that it had affected and changed me as a person. After reporting it to my counselor and parents, I felt that simply speaking out on my story relieved the 4 years of burden I carried on my shoulders.

During the summer I was introduced to EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing); a type of therapy used to process a traumatic event. I gained an understanding of how to use empathy to process not only this event but other future potential challenges. I also learned that forgiveness is a valuable tool that allows you to truly heal and find closure without holding grudges or have any strings attached.

I used to believe that forgiveness was justification for someone's wrongdoings. During my therapy, I learned that forgiveness actually gave me the control to free myself from the burdens of those who harmed me. When used right, empathy was a powerful tool that gave me the ability to use my comprehension and perceptiveness to forgive. But the most significant lesson was prioritizing healing properly. Holding resentment and hatred was only destructive towards myself. Meanwhile, using forgiveness allowed me to truly let go and develop an understanding that people are only a reflection of their experiences/community. Today, I use empathy; not to justify their actions, but to recognize that they’re on their own path. I learned to be grateful for my ability to forgive, making me realize that empathy was truly my biggest blessing.

I have always considered myself happy. I always kept my grades up and a smile on my face. I always had the loudest laugh in a room and a joke for any situation. Until I didn’t.

My freshman year, my grandfather passed away. Just a week later, three students I knew died in a car accident, followed by the sudden death of my Spanish teacher—all within ten days.

I didn’t have a loud laugh anymore.

The summer after my sophomore year, a close family friend committed suicide, and I was the last person to see him alive.

No more jokes from me.

I struggled to get out of bed. My grades plummeted. My hair fell out.

But, after a year, things got better. It didn’t make the last year go away, but I healed. I found a job that I love and friends that I care about. I started laughing again. I became successful in my drama class and was able to be someone else for a few hours of the day. I found myself looking forward to attending school, working harder to bring my grades back up, and slowly, I did it. I started feeling like myself again.

Recently, the passing and suicide of another top student deeply affected my community. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and reopened everything I thought I had moved past. I only had four weeks left in the school year, and once again my grades plummeted. I struggled daily to attend school, to do homework, I even struggled to brush my teeth everyday. I felt like once again, there wasn’t a point, that even if I work hard there will always be something horrible in my path.

But, I was lucky enough to be surrounded by people who pushed me to get up, take care of myself and try. It was maybe the longest few weeks of my life, but I did it. I attended counseling, I studied everyday, and slowly but surely made my way back to passing my classes.

These experiences made me realize there was so much room to improve, and that I was one of the lucky ones who was able to overcome my situation. To try and help other students to overcome their struggles as well, I became actively involved in the Mental Health Advocacy organization on my campus and I played a key role in creating a Peer Counseling Class.

My team organized yearly mental health fairs, which served as platforms to educate students and our community about mental health and share valuable resources for managing mental health needs. I also presented to middle schools, working to de-stigmatize mental health issues, particularly in our rural community where mental health issues are not often spoken about. These presentations sought to foster understanding and open dialogue among younger students in the goal that more students would feel comfortable seeking support, and would know what resources were available to them once they reached high school.

As the work continued, it became clear that more needed to be done for students on campus. So, myself and a group of Mental Health Advocates along with two counselors presented to our school board to advocate for a dedicated peer counseling program. We believed that student-to-student support could significantly impact how students viewed and accessed mental health resources, allowing them to feel more comfortable seeking help and talking about their struggles.

After two years of advocacy and petitions, a breakthrough occurred when the school board finally approved our proposal. Now, as one of five peer counselors, I meet with students daily, providing a safe space for them to discuss their struggles.

Through these efforts, I have witnessed firsthand the positive impact of peer support on students' well being. By creating a supportive environment and educating my peers, I am making progress toward a community where mental health is prioritized and openly discussed.

I have always struggled with my identity. Being a quarter Caucasian and three-fourths Mexican, I never felt like I fully belonged to either culture. Growing up in a predominantly white school, I was constantly aware of my differences. I noticed how easily some students fit in, how teachers favored certain kids, and how I was often overlooked. When I transferred to a more diverse school, I thought I would finally feel at home. But instead, I found myself caught between two worlds—never white enough, never Mexican enough.

That feeling of isolation took a toll on my mental health. I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but I often felt anxious, self-conscious, and disconnected. I thought if I could just prove myself—if I could just work harder, achieve more, and fit into some predefined box—then maybe I’d finally feel whole. I turned to language as a way to bridge the gap, immersing myself in Spanish, hoping it would make me feel more connected to my roots. While learning the language did help me embrace my heritage, it didn’t erase the deeper struggles I faced.

Mental health wasn’t something openly discussed in my family. Like many in my community, I was raised to believe that you simply pushed through your struggles. There was no room for weakness. Stress, sadness, anxiety—these were just obstacles to overcome, not feelings to acknowledge. It wasn’t until high school that I truly began to understand the importance of mental health.

Volleyball became my first outlet. The court was the one place where I felt in control. The sport gave me structure, discipline, and a way to channel my emotions into something productive. When I made the team my freshman year, I felt a sense of accomplishment I had never experienced before. But even in my proudest moments, the pressure never left me. I constantly felt the need to prove myself—not just as an athlete, but as a person. I believed that as long as I kept pushing forward, I would be fine.

But then life threw me a challenge I couldn’t just push through. When I was ten, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. It was the first time I truly understood fear. The possibility of losing the one person who had always been there for me was unbearable. Though she survived, her health struggles didn’t end there. From arthritis to degenerative disk disease, she has continued to battle chronic illness. Watching her endure so much, I felt guilty for struggling with my own emotions. How could I justify feeling anxious or overwhelmed when she was going through so much worse?

That mindset followed me for years. I bottled everything up, believing that my problems weren’t valid enough to deserve attention. It wasn’t until I took a Chicano Studies class at my local community college that I started to see things differently. In that class, I read stories of people like me—people who had struggled with identity, expectations, with the unspoken weight of generational trauma. I saw how cultural stigma around mental health kept people silent, and how so many suffered in isolation because they believed they had to be strong. For the first time, I realized that struggling didn’t make me weak. It made me human.

This shift in perspective made me recognize just how deeply mental health stigma affects individuals and communities. I saw it in my classmates, who hesitated to seek help because they feared being judged. I saw it in my mother, who carried the weight of her struggles alone because she didn’t want to burden anyone else. And I saw it in myself, in the way I had spent years denying my own feelings. Now, I refuse to stay silent about mental health. I want to be part of the shift toward open conversations, especially within communities where stigma is still strong. I want to break the cycle of shame that keeps people from seeking help. My goal is to become a radiation therapist, helping cancer patients receive the treatment they need while also providing them with compassion and support. I know firsthand how difficult a cancer diagnosis can be—not just physically, but mentally. I want to be there for patients the way I wished someone had been there for my mom, ensuring they feel seen, heard and cared for beyond just their medical needs.

Winning this scholarship would allow me to focus on my studies without the added stress of financial burdens. Coming from a low-income household, I have seen firsthand how much of a difference even a little support can make. This opportunity would not just help me achieve my goals—it would allow me to give back. By furthering my education, I can work toward creating spaces where people feel safe discussing their mental health, and where they don’t have to suffer in silence like so many before them.

For years, I believed that strength meant pushing through pain alone. Now, I know that true strength comes from acknowledging our struggles, asking for help, from creating a world where no one has to feel alone. I hope to be part of that change, and this scholarship would be a step toward making that vision a reality.

I first became familiarized with mental health disorders when I had an Erica’s Lighthouse presentation in my sixth grade class. Having been raised in a family that emphasized self-control and self-reliance, I found the information about depression to be confusing and ultimately unimportant. As a young child, I honestly believed that mental health struggles were a thing for the weak. I remember remarking to myself, “There’s no such thing as depression! You just need to choose not to feel that way.” Little did I know that within a year, I would begin my own dark and lonely struggle with mental illness.

For the past five years, I’ve battled unceasing clinical depression and severe anxiety. With no resources but the notions I had acquired as a sixth grader, I experienced a long journey of despair, shame, and fear surrounding my mental health. It took me four years to even admit to myself that I had a severe medical condition.

Growing up in an Evangelical Christian community, I was quick to label my increasing depression and anxiety as a spiritual deficiency–a lack of faith and self-control. I began to believe that I was a “sinful” person who let my emotions prevent me from doing what was right. This began my consistent cycle between fervent spiritual striving and complete despair and guilt. There were nights when I lay on my bedroom floor, praying for more faith, for more humility, begging for something to fix me.

After several years of struggling alone, I turned to my church community for help. Although many Christians have embraced the issues of mental health, the people I went to had not. I tried to share my struggles, and was misunderstood. Instead, I was told that my anxiety and depression meant that I was turning my back on God and choosing sin and rebellion. Experiencing this condemnation from others that I trusted sent me spiraling. For months, I was suicidal and broken. I began to fear that my faith really was “fake”, and that I was an evil person who did not deserve a life.

After my church community turned their back on me, I walked through the next few years alone. On the outside, I was a shiny picture of success to my peers and classmates. They saw me as a confident and outgoing person, a two-sport varsity athlete, the valedictorian, and a leader in my community. People would praise me and ask me for advice. But no one ever asked me if I was okay. This was one of the most isolating things. I felt that I could never let anyone in on my mental health struggles, fearing that they would scorn me for having it all and still being broken on the inside.

Just about six months ago, I finally decided to seek medical help and suddenly, everything about the past five years began to make sense. Yes, I could truly be a good person and struggle with mental health. Yes, I could really be a faithful Christian and struggle with mental health. Yes, I could genuinely be successful and struggle with mental health. I was diagnosed with the most severe levels of anxiety and depression, but yet, I did not have to be defined by them.

I began to realize how deeply my internalized opinions of mental illness had affected my body and soul over the past many years. I never gave myself grace. I could never admit that I was struggling with something that I could not fully control. Instead, I condemned it as evil, and hid myself from the rest of the world out of fear of being disgraced.

I also started to realize how deeply flawed my church’s response to my mental illness had been. A church is meant to be a place of life-giving support, grace, and acceptance. And yet, their misunderstanding of mental health struggles resulted in some of the most damaging and soul-crushing interactions I’ve experienced. I don’t hold a grudge toward them and have not lost my faith in Christianity, but I do now know how vital it is for communities to be informed about mental health.

I’ve only just embarked on my journey toward healing, but I realize now how radically my perspective on the mental health stigma has changed. Mental illness does not make someone a lesser person, nor is it a judgement of character or strength. Just as having a broken knee or diabetes does not change the value of a person's heart, neither does a medical condition like mental illness. In the midst of soul-sucking depression or the constant lies of anxiety, having others affirm and accept one as they are is incredibly healing. Instead of perpetuating people’s struggles by isolating or judging them, our communities must understand how to have compassion.

I sometimes wish I didn’t have to learn the true impact of mental illness “the hard way.” But then again, I’m also grateful for my messy, heavy, and complicated journey, as it’s given me a unique sense of perspective and compassion for others in similar seasons of life.

I spent most of my high school career alone. As an only child, I carry the traits of being hyper-independent, which separated me from joining any clique or group I could fit into. Walking straight to class after each bell was a monotonous and repetitive experience. The lingering self-doubt and alienation I felt during this time challenged my confidence but ultimately motivated me to redefine my sense of self-worth. I was never comfortable admitting that I was lonely because of the stigma associated with mental health and the idea that problems should be handled in private. I was also worried that acknowledging my feelings of loneliness would be interpreted as a sign of weakness.

In Arabic, the word "Riya" means to act superior, to be the opposite of purity and intention. When I was lonely, I would either try really hard to make other people like me or hide so they wouldn't notice I was a loner. This insecurity affected my academic performance as well. I had a tendency to elevate peers who appeared to be smarter than me. As a result, I never voluntarily raised my hand in class. If I had to choose between being confused and appearing incompetent in front of my classmates, I would choose confusion. I subconsciously believed that if I openly struggled academically or emotionally, I would appear incapable, and my fear of judgment only grew.

At the beginning of my senior year, I came to the conclusion that I needed to force myself to make a change. Instead of hiding in the restroom during lunch break, I sat myself down on a bench and engaged in various forms of journaling. Through this introspection, I realized that in order for me to grow, I needed to start accepting my experiences and circumstances in their current state. Over time, this shift in my mindset helped me recognize that struggling does not equate to failure and that seeking connection is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength.

I was finally able to form a friendship during this time of healing. I, however, made the decision to stay in my solitude as I started to appreciate the tranquility that came with walking straight to class. This was a routine that had previously made me feel miserable to follow. During this time, I actively sought out opportunities to interact with others in settings that felt comfortable for me. I began socializing at club events and made plans to volunteer at my local soup kitchen. Through the actions I took I was able to meet like-minded people who share my values. I now realize the power of solidarity and community during times of isolation. It also made me realize how the stigma surrounding mental health isolates individuals even further as it is easy to suffer in silence.

By cultivating in plain sight and relishing being overlooked, I adopted and personified a new word, “Durriya,” which is my middle name. It means brilliant—the one who shines brightly. My name has Riya embedded in it. Without possessing Riya, I would not have been able to transform my feelings of inferiority into confidence. By embracing authenticity, I was able to attract positive and true friends, experiences, and connections.

Looking back, I realize how difficult it was to overcome the obstacles I faced. My mind was in a very dark place because of a lack of something I felt I had in life. I now deal and perceive mental health with a different outlook. I now make an effort to talk about how I am feeling and to seek assistance whenever I need it, knowing that this openness can help dismantle the stigma that once held me back.

This change in viewpoint has increased my empathy for people who go through comparable hardships. Whenever possible, I remind myself to be compassionate. This is especially noticeable when I see peers in my club sitting by themselves or when I come across someone who appears to be wallowing in their loneliness at school. I might have thought they wanted to be by themselves in the past, but I now understand that assumption deters people from seeking help. Although I am aware that it is impossible to completely understand what another person is going through, I can only offer empathy and solidarity to the people I come across.