Mental health is a deeply personal and often challenging aspect of life that shapes and is shaped by one’s experiences, beliefs, and aspirations, as well as one’s communities and life situations. My journey with mental health has been a profound catalyst for introspection and transformation, leading me to reevaluate my beliefs and approach to both personal and professional aspects of my life. Initially, my understanding of mental health was clouded by stigma and misunderstanding, influenced by societal stereotypes and a lack of awareness within my origin family, despite the presence of mental health issues and neurodivergence experiences. This limited perspective began to shift dramatically after the sudden death of my father when I was just 13 years old, a pivotal moment that forced me to confront my own mental health issues and prompted a journey toward a more nuanced and compassionate understanding of mental well-being. Growing up, the concept of mental health was largely veiled in mystery and stigma. The struggles within my family were never openly discussed or acknowledged; instead, they were swept under the rug of silence and denial. My origin family's experiences with mental illness were often hidden behind closed doors, shrouded in a fog of misunderstanding and miscommunication. This environment fostered in me a skewed perception of mental health as a personal failing or a source of shame rather than a common and manageable aspect of the human experience. I carried this misconception with me into my teenage years, where it was only through the pain of losing my father that I was compelled to begin confronting these deep-seated beliefs. The grief of losing my father was a significant turning point. It was during this period of intense emotional turmoil that I began to question the notions I had previously accepted about mental health. For the first time, I was forced to face my own mental health challenges and began to see them not as a personal weakness but as a part of the broader human experience. I embarked on a journey of self-reflection and education, seeking to understand mental health beyond the confines of stigma and fear. Therapy became a vital tool in this process, offering a safe space to explore my emotions and begin to deconstruct the harmful beliefs I had internalized. Through therapy, I learned that mental health is not a static state of being but a dynamic and evolving aspect of human life. It became clear that mental health issues are not a reflection of personal failure but rather a part of the human condition that everyone experiences to varying degrees. I began to see mental health as an integral component of overall well-being, deserving of the same level of compassion and care as physical health. This shift in perspective was liberating, allowing me to embrace a more empathetic and informed approach to mental health. In addition to therapy, I sought out educational resources to deepen my understanding of mental health. I read extensively about various mental health conditions, therapeutic approaches, and the role of community and spirituality in fostering well-being. This education expanded my awareness of the barriers to accessing mental health care, such as professional deserts in underserved areas, financial constraints, and systemic injustices that perpetuate inequalities in mental health support. This newfound awareness not only transformed how I approached my own mental health but also shaped how I interacted with and supported others facing similar challenges. One of the most profound lessons I learned was the importance of community and connection in mental health. I began to engage with support groups and mental health advocacy organizations, which provided a platform for shared experiences and collective action. These connections not only broadened my support network but also reinforced the idea that mental health struggles are a common experience that can be addressed through mutual support and understanding. Through these communities, I found a sense of belonging and a renewed commitment to advocating for mental health awareness and accessibility. My experiences with mental health have also significantly impacted my relationships, both positively and negatively. On one hand, my journey has deepened my connections with others. Sharing my experiences with close friends, my spouse, and support groups has fostered relationships based on honesty, empathy, and mutual support. These relationships have been a source of strength and understanding, offering a safe space to express my struggles and receive support. At times, my struggles have led to misunderstandings or distance between myself and those who could not fully grasp or support my experiences. Navigating these relationships has been a learning process, teaching me the value of clear communication, the importance of setting boundaries, and the necessity of self-care. I have learned that not everyone will have the capacity to offer the support I need, and that is okay. This realization has allowed me to focus on nurturing relationships with those who offer genuine understanding and support. As I reflect on how my mental health journey has shaped my career goals, I realize that my professional aspirations are deeply intertwined with my personal growth. I am pursuing a Master’s Degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. I intend to integrate my experiences into a career dedicated to mental health advocacy and support. My goal is to make a meaningful difference in my community by reducing mental health stigma, increasing access to mental health care, and incorporating spiritual practices into therapeutic approaches in ways that respect and align with the needs and beliefs of those I work with. My vision for my career is to create environments where mental health is openly discussed and approached with cultural sensitivity and compassion. I aim to contribute to a field where mental health care is not only accessible but also effective and inclusive, addressing the needs of diverse populations and fostering environments where individuals can heal, grow, and thrive. In conclusion, my experiences with mental health have profoundly influenced my beliefs, relationships, and career goals. Through my journey, I have come to see mental health as a crucial aspect of human life that deserves the same level of care and attention as physical health. These experiences have deepened my understanding of mental health, enriching my relationships and guiding my professional aspirations. By reflecting on how mental health has shaped my life, I have gained valuable insights that continue to drive my efforts to contribute positively to the mental health field and support others on their own journeys. My mental health experiences have been transformative, shaping my worldview and motivating me to advocate for a more compassionate and informed approach to mental health care.

Living at the intersection of queerness, neurodivergence, and loss due to suicide brings about a complex tapestry of experiences and challenges. As someone who embodies these identities/ experiences, the journey is not just about personal discovery but also about navigating the profound impacts of mental health issues and societal stigmatization. This life is particularly challenging in the face of rising political and legislative attacks against LGBTQIA+ community members. Being both queer and neurodivergent means confronting multiple layers of identity and grappling with societal normative expectations about how I should "function" within a system not designed with my queerness, trans-ness, and neurodivergence in mind. This has negatively impacted my ability to thrive, feel safe, and access basic needs like stable housing and employment. Due to my neurodivergence and queerness within the context of our society, I am highly sensitive and tend to be anxious- this is both a survival mechanism to keep myself safe and a pattern that enables me to see the world differently, to imagine differently, and to relate to other people differently. This is a strength. My experiences have instilled a unique flavor of resilience, yet also one that I wish I didn't have to cultivate. The journey of self-awareness and self-acceptance can be both empowering and isolating, and it also must be done within supportive community. Even then it is often still exhausting. Experiencing the loss of a parent to suicide is a profound trauma that reshaped my worldview. It brought about a range of emotions from grief and guilt to anger and confusion. Yet, alongside the pain, there was a peculiar relief at the passing of my father—a Vietnam veteran plagued by untreated PTSD, intergenerational trauma, and internalized ableism that corroded his mental health and deeply affected our family dynamics and general wellness. Witnessing his decline, and my family's inclination towards silence and secrecy rather than confronting our challenges, imparted conflicting lessons. On the one hand, I learned to never ask for help and never talk about mental health or suffering. On the other hand, I learned the harm these patterns of behavior cause and how silence and avoidance rots us and our relationships from the inside out. Through my personal therapy journey, I've come to understand that I've inherited mental health challenges and coping mechanisms from my parents, along with the strength and resilience to participate in the ongoing process of healing and reconciliation. The intersection of these identities and experiences is contextualized by society and community, therefore it is also political. This is one of the many reasons I returned to school to pursue my Master's degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. I want to support my queer/LGBTQIA+ and Neurodivergent community. To offer the support that didn't exist or wasn't accessible to me 15 years ago, sensitive to and competent in the unique lived experiences of my community. Despite the challenges, there is strength in community and in embracing one's intersectional identities. Finding solidarity among fellow queer and neurodivergent individuals can provide a sense of belonging and empowerment that is essential to our survival. Sharing experiences and narratives can also be a form of activism, advocating for greater awareness and support for mental health issues within queer/LGBTQIA+ communities. By sharing these experiences and advocating for inclusivity and understanding, we can forge paths towards healing and empowerment, reshaping narratives and advocating for a more compassionate society.

Service-related PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) affects individuals who have directly experienced trauma during military service and also has profound implications for their families, including children. My father was a Vietnam veteran suffering from untreated PTSD in the early 2000s. His suffering didn't have a name in my family because no one talked about it and he denied that there was a problem. His PTSD symptoms increasingly worsen in the silence, eventually leading to his death. Growing up as a child of a veteran with PTSD, I experienced firsthand the ripple effects of trauma within a family unit. The unpredictability of my father's symptoms, the emotional distance at times, and the challenges in communication created a complex environment. As a child, I struggled to understand why these certain behaviors occurred and often felt a mix of fear, sadness, and frustration. Due to the silence around his PTSD, I was indirectly taught that I was the cause of his rages. This in turn made me internalize that rage and push away any help or support, seeing any other option as weak and shameful. However, this experience also taught me resilience from a young age. Seemingly paradoxically, I learned to adapt to changing circumstances, develop empathy for others facing challenges, and appreciate the strength it takes to navigate PTSD as both a survivor and a supportive family member. The strength it takes to realize that something is happening and that the pattern can be changed. In my father's case, my family was not able to find support or even realize we needed support through our suffering. Witnessing my father's PTSD spiral emphasized just how important compassion, patience, and unconditional support are. This experience also taught me that the mind is a powerful, emergent aspect of humanity that can suffer acutely when not tended to within healing and healthy relationships. Building on these insights, my commitment extends to supporting not only veterans but also their families who bear the weight of PTSD's impact. Recognizing the unique needs of children and families affected by service-related PTSD, I aspire to tap into art therapy practices and programs that provide education, counseling, and community support for families navigating PTSD. These initiatives are shown to strengthen family and community bonds, improve communication, and foster resilience. Organizing workshops that educate families and communities about PTSD, its symptoms, and effective strategies for support and communication is also key. Language to talk about our experiences is essential to break the silence many families experience around PTSD and other mental health issues. The combination of direction support, psychoeducational, and advocacy raises awareness, reduces stigma, and increases the likelihood that veterans and their families not only survive PTSD but find their way into thriving. My experiences as a child of a veteran with PTSD have shaped my perspective on resilience, empathy, and the importance of holistic support for veterans and their families. Moving forward, I am dedicated to leveraging these insights to advocate for comprehensive support systems that address the unique needs of both veterans and their loved ones. By fostering understanding, providing resources, and promoting policy changes, I aspire to create a community where all families affected by service-related PTSD receive the care and support they deserve.

My educational journey has been a winding road marked by the shadows of intense anxiety experienced as a highly sensitive person. As I navigate the corridors of academia, the challenges posed by my mental health have cast long shadows over my path. However, within these same shadows is where I have discovered the strength to confront my fears, persevere through adversity, and embark on a journey of recovery and relearning within the context of intersectional community. From the earliest days of my educational endeavors, anxiety has been a steadfast companion, its grip tightening with each passing year. The prospect of social interactions, academic performance, and the pressure to conform to societal expectations created a breeding ground for chronic and disabling anxiety. Simple tasks that many take for granted, like participating in class discussions presenting projects, or even making a phone call, became monumental challenges that drained my energy. The weight of constant worry and self-doubt threatened to overshadow my academic pursuits. Social anxiety, with its isolating tendrils, further complicated my journey. The fear of judgment, rejection, and the perpetual worry about fitting in manifested in a reluctance to engage in social activities. The simple act of entering a classroom or initiating a conversation triggered a cascade of anxious thoughts, leaving me feeling like an outsider in the very spaces designed for personal and intellectual growth. Navigating my educational path while contending with intense anxiety required resilience and a commitment to self-discovery. Acknowledging the existence of these challenges was the first step towards understanding that my struggles were valid and deserving of attention. Seeking professional help was a pivotal step in my journey, as therapy provided a safe space to explore the roots of my anxiety, unraveling the threads that wove together my fears and insecurities. This support enabled me to work through my bias against using medication for anxiety and begin medical treatment. The journey to recovery was and is not linear. Developing supportive and adaptive coping mechanisms, such as mindfulness and grounding techniques, became essential tools in my mental health toolbox, as well as using medication to help ease the physiological impacts of chronic anxiety. Best of all, learning to set realistic goals and celebrating whatever small victories I made enabled me to gradually build confidence and foster a sense of agency within my life. Today, as I reflect on my journey, I recognize the immense progress I have made in the pursuit of education and recovery. The shadows of anxiety, while still present, have grown softer, allowing the light of resilience and self-discovery to illuminate my path. My experiences have fueled a passion for and dedication to mental health advocacy that motivates me to share my story in the hope of fostering understanding and empathy within society for people facing similar adversity. This is essential for the health and well-being of my communities and for all of society. The intertwining threads of chronic anxiety and social-based anxiety have deeply shaped my educational journey, transforming challenges into opportunities for growth, and ultimately leading me to my current graduate studies. As I continue my education and ongoing recovery, I carry with me the lessons learned within the shadows, resilient and ever-evolving on this transformative journey.

Navigating Identity and Empathy: A Queer and Trans Neurodivergent Graduate Student's Journey in Clinical Mental Health Counseling As the sun rises on my academic journey, the intersectionality of my identity as a queer and trans individual, coupled with my neurodivergent experiences, deeply influences my goals and career aspirations in the field of clinical mental health counseling. The labyrinth of my own mental health journey has been a catalyst for my passion for serving marginalized communities, offering a unique perspective that intertwines personal growth, resilience, and empathy. My journey as a queer and trans individual has been marked by moments of self-discovery, acceptance, and the quest for authenticity, often in the face of adverse sociopolitical systems and situations. These experiences have fueled my determination to create safe, empowering, and anti-oppressive spaces for others navigating similar paths. My identity is not just a facet of who I am; it is a lens through which I view the world and approach mental health counseling. The challenges and triumphs of my own journey provide me with a nuanced understanding of the struggles faced by individuals grappling with their identities within the larger systems of our society that are not always supportive. In my future practice, I aim to be a beacon of support and understanding for those who may feel unseen or misunderstood. Additionally, my neurodivergent experiences have endowed me with a unique perspective on mental health, emphasizing the importance of embracing neurodiversity approaches within the counseling field. I am passionate about dismantling stigmas surrounding neurodivergent conditions and fostering an inclusive environment where individuals with diverse cognitive processes and experiences can thrive. As a future mental health counselor, I intend to promote understanding and accommodation for neurodivergent clients, as well as ongoing advocacy within the wider networks of health and wellness that interconnect into every facet of society and community, My career aspirations are deeply rooted in my commitment to serving at the intersection of the LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent communities. These intersectional identities create a multifaceted understanding of the unique challenges faced by these specific communities, fostering a deep sense of empathy and connection. I aspire to contribute to the creation of affirmative therapy spaces that empower clients to explore their identities, embrace their truths, and build community-based resilience in the face of societal challenges. In conclusion, my experience as a queer and trans neurodivergent graduate student in the clinical mental health counseling field has instilled in me a profound sense of purpose to serve those who often find themselves on the fringes of societal understanding. Through my journey, I hope to contribute to a more inclusive and empathetic mental health landscape, where diverse identities are not only recognized but celebrated as essential aspects of the human experience worthy of care and well-being.

With the recent increase in transphobic laws in the U.S. and the ongoing murders of my Trans siblings, particularly Trans Women of Color, my career goals in the mental health field center around actively building, managing, and participating in community-based care, mobilization, and healing practices. This is important to me because I would not be alive today if it weren't for Trans and Queer elders who saw me before I knew who I was. I felt alone for much of my younger years and I want to make sure that no one else is forced to feel that way again. Never again. This is true for many of us. Being held in community and belonging is such an essential piece of being human and I believe that trans communities have the power to influence our society for the better by protecting Trans and Queer people in all walks of life. I have enormous privileges on many fronts due to whiteness, where I live, and the education and other resources I have access to. For a long time, I thought that it was enough that I survived my childhood and was able to come out as Trans. That choice to live in alignment with my true self was one of the most difficult things I have ever done, and I continue to do so every day of my life in the face of adversity. I can't even imagine the depths of what is it like for people with less support, and less access to healthcare, food, and safe shelter. The more I learn through my graduate education, engagement within my communities, and further training, the more I understand how connected humans are, and how connected our individual liberation is with wider systemic liberation. There is no one without the other. True liberation is a network of interconnected systems, like the mycelium woven through the roots of a forest, sharing resources for the betterment of all. I believe that Trans people are uniquely situated at intersections of identity and lived experience in such a way that recalls our sacred liminality to the world. This remembering is just that: re-membering. Reconnecting, putting back together, and returning to conscious wholeness as individuals and as communities. Embodying this work demonstrates what freedom and love can look like. That it is possible to be free of oppression, free of self-hate, and free of limiting stories that cause us to believe that we are alone, separate, and isolated. To be free of the idea that we can/should/have to go through life alone. Thus, it is my responsibility to align this important work with my passions, skills, and life choices. To demand and create change with every breath and with blood and tears. This scholarship will help me do this. From creating mental health support systems for individuals and communities on the ground that consider the wider contexts of experience to driving change at the legislative and executive levels of the U.S. government, this scholarship will enable me to continue to pay for my graduate education so I can better aid my communities and continue to make the world a better, interconnected place for all. This is a long process and I am committed to this lifetime work. Every drop helps.

From the time I could put words to my thoughts and feelings, I knew at some level that I was different from most people around me. I was highly sensitive, uncomfortable in large groups of people, and had a habit of seeing through people which turned off many of my peers. When I started puberty and began to menstruate, my body didn't feel like mine. These feelings only heightened as I grew and developed. I was miserable. It wasn't until after my father's PTSD meltdown and subsequent suicide that I had the space to explore who I was without the shadow of my father's fury. In my first year of high school, I participated in a Human Sexualities class that taught more than abstinence only. During this class, I came across research about transgender people. I was elated! This word was the word I'd been trying to find for such a long time. Not only was this my experience, but other people also experienced this. I was not alone. That summer, I came out as transgender, and a whole new layer of challenges and achievements opened up for me. My family struggled to understand, some more than others, but largely supported my decision. One such challenge was the requirement that I had to be seen by a therapist for two years before any other steps. I have a vivid memory of the therapist, Jen. She wore long drapes for a housecoat, wore rings on every finger, and her office was stuffed full of books, knickknacks from other countries, and a desk overflowing with papers. She told me that I had to prove I was trans to make sure I wasn't making a mistake, or trying to 'become' my father. I was perplexed and angry that she wasn't taking me at my word. This memory is one of the big moments in my life when I wanted to change the world so no young person would have to suffer the indignity of having to 'prove' they were trans. Without having a narrow-minded diagnosis code from the DM-5 that took the diverse spectrum of humanity and shoved it into a neat little box for insurance companies. These experiences, and more, influenced my life in a particular way. This enabled me to find community with other trans people, queer people, and later other gender- and neuro-diverse folks who's lived-experiences and daily struggles had been dismissed or pathologized. I learned how to be sensitive and aware of differences, including ability, appearance, and communication patterns. This process is ongoing to this day and makes me yearn for a world where queer people of every kind and creed were beloved and celebrated, where mental health isn't stigmatized and forced into capitalistic trends, and where mental health and medical health are holistically accessible for all. This dream of what the world could be like has become a torch for me. It is how I make it through low days when another Black transwoman has been murdered, when another queer club has been shot to pieces, and when the U.S. government allows legislation that targets queer and trans people. Mental health is key to making the world a better place. Not just for queer and trans people, but all people. We all deserve to be able to be true to ourselves, be safe in community, and be empowered to act in alignment with our needs and dreams. This is why I have returned to school to become a Clinical Mental Health Counselor, so I can be the therapist I needed when I was a kid, for other people.

From the time I could put words to my thoughts and feelings, I knew at some level that I was different from most people around me. I was highly sensitive, uncomfortable in large groups of people, and had a habit of seeing through people which turned off many of my peers. When I started puberty and began to menstruate, my body didn't feel like mine. These feelings only heightened as I grew and developed. I was miserable. It wasn't until after my father's PTSD meltdown and subsequent suicide that I had the space to explore who I was without the shadow of my father's fury. In my first year of high school, I participated in a Human Sexualities class that taught more than abstinence only. During this class, I came across research about transgender people. I was elated! This word was the word I'd been trying to find for such a long time. Not only was this my experience, but other people also experienced this. I was not alone. That summer, I came out as transgender, and a whole new layer of challenges and achievements opened up for me. My family struggled to understand, some more than others, but largely supported my decision. One such challenge was the requirement that I had to be seen by a therapist for two years before any other steps. I have a vivid memory of the therapist, Jen. She wore long drapes for a housecoat, wore rings on every finger, and her office was stuffed full of books, knickknacks from other countries, and a desk overflowing with papers. She told me that I had to prove I was trans to make sure I wasn't making a mistake, or trying to 'become' my father. I was perplexed and angry that she wasn't taking me at my word. This memory is one of the big moments in my life when I wanted to change the world so no young person would have to suffer the indignity of having to 'prove' they were trans. Without having a narrow-minded diagnosis code from the DM-5 that took the diverse spectrum of humanity and shoved it into a neat little box for insurance companies. These experiences, and more, influenced my life in a particular way. This enabled me to find community with other trans people, queer people, and later other gender- and neuro-diverse folks who's lived-experiences and daily struggles had been dismissed or pathologized. I learned how to be sensitive and aware of differences, including ability, appearance, and communication patterns. This process is ongoing to this day and makes me yearn for a world where queer people of every kind and creed were beloved and celebrated, where mental health isn't stigmatized and forced into capitalistic trends, and where mental health and medical health are holistically accessible for all. This dream of what the world could be like has become a torch for me. It is how I make it through low days when another Black transwoman has been murdered, when another queer club has been shot to pieces, and when the U.S. government allows legislation that targets queer and trans people. Mental health is key to making the world a better place. Not just for queer and trans people, but all people. We all deserve to be able to be true to ourselves, be safe in community, and be empowered to act in alignment with our needs and dreams. This is why I have returned to school to become a Clinical Mental Health Counselor, so I can be the therapist I needed when I was a kid, for other people.

I see myself practicing creative queer vulnerability, expansion, and interconnection with my many overlapping communities to continually investigate and act at the intersections of our needs, desires, and dreams to make the world more equitable, accessible, and loving.

Selflessness can be thought of as a state of no self. This state is one from which we can move beyond our fixation on caring only for ourselves, to caring about other people, creatures, and the planet we are a part of. This more expansive state enables us to connect more deeply, practice vulnerability, and be part of integrated relationships that honor our differences while also recognizing our interconnectedness and interdependence. Some examples of when I have helped someone in need are also examples of when I chose connection instead of disconnection, even when I felt uncomfortable doing so. When I was living in Olympia, WA, I was walking down the street one day with a co-worker and I saw a man in a manual wheelchair stopped in a curb cut. He was calling out for help, but people were just going around him as they hurried to cross the street. I went over to him and asked how I could help him. He needed to cross the street, he told me but his blanket was caught in one of his wheels. I tried to work the blanket out but it was jammed. I ended up having to cut part of the blanket to free the wheel. The man swore at me for cutting his blanket and I apologized. He was shelterless and the blanket seemed to also serve as clothing. I apologized. Then he told me to push him across the street and I did so, trying to make sure his blanket didn't get caught again. Unfortunately, the blanket did get caught again and I had to pry it out and tuck it around the man's boney legs. He swore at me again and complained that I pushed his wheelchair too fast. I apologized again and asked if he wanted me to keep pushing his chair to a specific place. He waved me off and I left him. My co-worker had waited for me farther down the street. "I wouldn't have done that," He told me. "Those blankets were soaked in piss." My co-worker tried to praise me, but I stopped him. I told him that I had the time and ability to help him, so I did. The fact that he thought it special and of note was problematic. "I didn't do it for me. That man asked for help and I gave it, no more and no less." When I lived in Bellingham, WA, I was part of a small maker market. Part of my time there was spent helping other vendors set up and tear down their booths. People were always surprised when I offered to help, and grateful. One day, I noticed that the woman who organized the event was looking tired. I went over and asked her how she was doing. "Life," she sighed. "I've had some health stuff going on and it's-" She started crying. "Would you like a hug?" I asked. She nodded and came around her booth. I gave her a big hug and held her for as long as she wanted. When I pulled back, the lines around her eyes had eased and she seemed more present. "Thank you- I didn't realize I needed that." She told me. "You're always welcome," I told her. "Do you want to talk about what's going on?" She considered my question for a moment. "I'd like to share now if that's okay?" She looked over to my booth. "I have time," I assured her. "So what's up?" Time, ability, and willingness are essential for the practice of selflessness. That and practice.

As a recovering workaholic and un-learner of perfectionism returning to school for my Master's degree, I find myself at a crossroads of professional and personal development. At this crossroads, taking care of myself and stretching my limits is key. Part of this balance is practicing being aware of how I schedule my time and space. I am in a remote and largely independent program where I design my curriculum within the requirements of the college and my state's licensure requirements. This places a huge responsibility on my part for my education. This also affords me a great amount of freedom and space to engage creatively with my studies and focus on what I am most passionate about within my field of study, Clinical Mental Health Counseling. This also means that it is very easy for me to bite off more than I can chew. I love learning new things and there are times when my enthusiasm gets in the way of completing my assignments and other course requirements. There are several tricks I use to help myself through this balancing challenge. Firstly, after I write up my syllabus and before I send it to my professors for their feedback, I make sure that I only have one main text and a handful of supporting ones. I know that I will find more resources as I go so I make room for them. I make sure not to overwhelm myself with paper-length requirements between my various classes. One key to my success is to allow myself to do 'enough', not everything. Even if part of me thinks that it would be more fun. Again my enthusiasm can run rampant if I'm not mindful. A more recent addition to my routine is using timers to ensure I take breaks from studying, get outside on walks in nature, and bring more movement into my daily life. Movement and exercise help to clear and settle my mind, improve my mood and resilience, and also remind me that the wider world still happening as I go through my program. This help to keep me connected to my community, friends, and family who are my supports through life, as well as school. Outside of academics, I take care of myself by making sure I'm eating well-rounded meals and planning fun activities to do after I'm done for the day, as well as continually returning to my 'why'. My 'why' gives me context for what I am doing and learning, providing a container for my learning that rests on intentionality and connection. Just my enthusiasm can lead me down rabbit holes in research and studying, my recovering anxiety can sometimes rear up and demand perfection that is not obtainable and in fact, becomes an obstacle to my engagement and participation in my field. In these ways, I support myself (and allow others to support and help me) through my studies and to succeed as a student and as a future counselor.

Everything I have experienced, and been inspired by, has led me to pursue studies in psychology and counseling. As an interdisciplinary sponge fascinated, and admittedly distracted, by every course of study I’ve come into contact with, I have found it difficult to choose just one path. However, whatever I have done thus far, psychology has always been an integral part of my life. My interest in psychology was first illuminated for me during an intense period of my pre-teen years. In a complex situation colored by untreated parental mental health issues, pervasive bullying, and my own gender dysphoria and undetermined neurodivergence, a question that unhelpfully bounced between my ears was ‘what’s wrong with me?’. I was fascinated by what inside us (me, my parents, my classmates, etc) created, or at least influenced, the situations we were in and the world. Why did we think or feel a certain way? Why did I feel so different from other kids? Without parents able to answer these questions, I chose to dive into my own research. During this time, I also began my therapy journey. When I learned from my first psychotherapist that the art I made helped inform him about the dynamics of my family from my perspective, I remember being both irritated at this discovery and excited. There was a way to peer into people’s minds and souls that didn’t involve invasive surgeries. Art was a window. From that point on, I kept daily journals filled with my thoughts, art, and stories. This provided me with a framework for exploring my own internal world. After the suicide of my father due to untreated PTSD, this intense period of my life eased. It felt as if a plug had been pulled and all the extra chaotic energy drained away. I was able to think without being so afraid. Emboldened, and with the full support of my mother, I left public school to join a small independent high school that focused on interdisciplinary studies and experiential learning. It was here that I was introduced to human sexuality studies. I was blown away when I learned that there were people like me! People who didn’t identify as the gender they were assigned at birth. I dived into research again, further supported by my high school mentor. By the end of my first year, I came out as transgender, found a new name, and made it official in the eyes of the law. A whole new world and community opened up for me. The question bouncing between my ears was no longer ‘what’s wrong with me?’. It became ‘What’s happening in the world?’. With that door open, I was able to start exploring the outer world more intently, and with more nuance. I continued to journal, make art, and wonder at what I was processing through those practices. During this time, I was heavily influenced by my high school teachers and my mentor. Through them, I was introduced to similar concepts like neurolinguistic programming, Buddhism, and non-violent communication. The more awareness I learned to bring to my experiences, the more the world, and humans, made sense. When I started my undergraduate degree, I entered a program at Evergreen State College called ‘Awakening the Dreamer’. There I was introduced to a whole new level of exploring the mind through somatic and unconscious practices like meditation, yoga, and ecstatic dance. I was thrilled to dive below the thinking head into feeling and sensation, into how the body affected the mind and vice versa. I found a mentor in my dance professor who was highly invested in me and had a wealth of resources to share. She encouraged me to think about art and psychology as interconnected and worthwhile to study. Her life was enriched by that understanding and that in turn enriched my life. This has led me to my Master's level education and training at Goddard College, where all of my interests merge with a profession that gives me hope for the world. I am training to become a multicultural, trauma-informed therapist who can help people process their traumas, find healing, and grow beyond their grief and suffering. There is a shortage of available therapists where I live and so many people- particularly young queer people- are without support. The world needs more people who are able to hold space for all these feelings so they can transform into something greater and make the world better for everyone. Particularly in the face of hateful legislation and policies that devalue the queer experience to dangerous ends. Through my professional development as a therapist-in-training, I am discovering more ways to interface with the issues we are facing. Part of my future career will include creatively engaging in public policy at the state and federal levels to support the health and well-being of my interconnected communities. Right now, Trans and BIPOC communities are facing particularly dangerous times politically. I chose to lean into my privilege, professional power, and creativity to directly aid those who are being targeted by prejudice and hateful actions, legislation, and exploitation. I chose to engage in advocacy to secure universal healthcare for all, to make sure that more people have access to mental health support that meets them where they are, and to share resources, information, and access. Community-minded and a firm believer in the power of creativity to empower people, I believe that the more people who are in good relationships with themselves and are supported within their communities, the more likely they will be in good relationship with other people and other communities. The more people in good relationship with each other, the more likely people will be in good relationship with the environment and planet Earth. Psychology and counseling are ways to help people achieve this connection and well-being. This career touches on all my interests and passions, my values and core beliefs, and connects me in a new way to my communities for the betterment of all.

As an interdisciplinary sponge fascinated, and admittedly distracted, by every course of study I’ve come into contact with, I have found it difficult to choose just one path. However, whatever I have done thus far, psychology and counseling have always been an integral part of my life. My interest in psychology was first illuminated for me during an intense period of my pre-teen years. While surviving the complex situation of untreated parental mental health issues, pervasive bullying, and my own gender dysphoria, I was fascinated by how the inner and outer dynamics of being human worked. I began to study body language, social psychology, and dream interpretation. Much of my exploration was creative- through visual art and writing stories. These practices aided me in my own survival and processing of the difficult situations I experienced. After the death of my father, this intense period of my life eased. I was able to think without being so afraid. Emboldened, and with the full support of my mother, I left public school to join a small independent high school that focused on interdisciplinary studies and experiential learning. It was here that I was introduced to human sexuality studies. I was blown away when I learned that there were people like me! People who didn’t identify as the gender they were assigned at birth. I wasn't alone! With this greater understanding of myself, I was able to start exploring the outer world more intently. As I continued to journal and make art, I consciously realize that I was processing my experiences through those creative practices. I linked my art-making to my interest in human psychology and found a whole new field to dive into. The more awareness I learned to bring to my experiences, the more the world, and humans, made sense. When I started my undergraduate degree, I entered a program called ‘Awakening the Dreamer’. I found a whole new level of exploring the mind through somatic and unconscious practices like meditation, yoga, and ecstatic dance. I was thrilled to explore below the thinking head into feeling and sensation, into how the body affected the mind and vice versa. I found a new mentor in my dance professor who was highly invested in me and my exploration. She encouraged me to pursue an interconnected course of study that expanded art and psychology into the social sphere. To ask and seek to answer 'how can we make the world a better place?'. Now, as a graduate student in an MA program, I have found my way of how to answer that call. To become a therapist who can help people process their experiences, find healing, and grow beyond their grief. To do so creatively, holistically, and wholeheartedly. There is a shortage of available therapists in my communities and so many people- particularly queer people- are without support. I am discovering more ways to interface with these issues. Part of my future career will include creatively engaging in public policy at multiple levels. Right now, Trans and BIPOC communities are facing particularly dangerous times. As my communities are attacked, I lean into my privilege, my developing professional power, and my creativity to directly aid those who are being targeted by prejudice and hateful actions, legislation, and exploitation. My future career in counseling is just one piece of the solution and connects all of my interests, values, and needs so that I can positively impact the world.

For the longest time, I learned to considered my species detrimental to the Earth. Parasitical, poisonous, and good only for destruction was my SparkNotes version of humanity. The messaging from my parents, my schooling, and the media reinforced this idea. Nature was always OUT THERE. Nature was in the forest, in protected state and federal parks. I was separate from it, outside of its reach and touch. One of the books that changed this perspective was Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants by Dr. Robin Wall Kimmermer. Dr. Kimmermer brings her heritage and traditions as a member of the Potawatomi Nation forward in her work studying the ecosystems of Earth. Beautifully written and a forceful reminder of the limits of white and captialist perspectives, I would have everyone read or listen to this book. Through her Braiding Sweetgrass, I learned that long before white colonizers arrived in what is now called North America, Indigenous communities stewarded the land. The "untouched wilds" in the eyes of white colonizers were a myth. A myth that ignored the peoples who were here before us. Learning that plants grow faster, healthier, and more nutritious when we harvest from them sustainably and respectfully, reminded me that humans are part of Earth. We are part of the ecosystem in which we live. Pretending otherwise is the doom of our species. This book is important because it raises Indigenous scholarship and ways of knowing into collective awareness. It reminds us, white people in particular, that we have a lot of unlearning and learning to do. Nature is us and we are nature.

Ever since the initial lockdown during the height of the COVID-19 Pandemic, my communities have struggled to access therapy and other professional helping support. Many, if not most of us, were unprepared for the Pandemic. Consequently, this unpreparedness continues to impact my communities in ways that the US government and big corporations dismiss. There is a push to 'get back to normal', but this fails to understand that for so many of us who aren't cis-gender and heterosexual middle-class, white men of a certain age, 'normal' means inaccessibility, discrimination, and financial instability. This 'normal' is why police murder unarmed Black men. This 'normal' is why hundreds of Indigenous women go missing and are murdered every year. This normal is why Trans people, especially Black Transfemmes, are harassed, villanized, and murdered just because they want to use restrooms they feel safe in. Going back to 'normal' implies that 'normal' is the preferred state of being. A very narrow definition of 'normal'. For everyone, despite evidence and calls for other ways of being. The changes I want to see in my communities are the same ones I want to see across the U.S. and the whole world. I want people to learn how to have difficult conversations with people whose ideas they disagree with. I want people to act in accordance with their highest good, with love and compassion, instead of fear and greed. I want people to learn how to set healthy boundaries with themselves and others without immediately 'canceling' each other. I want people to demand and enforce sustainability, antipollution, and earth-centric modes of being for large corporations and governments, including redistributing wealth that is currently hoarded by a very small percentage of the human population. Most of all, I want the concept of 'normal' to dissolve into a wider network of being, moving through the world, and connectedness. When we see people who are outside our understanding of 'normal', we other them. We see them as less than. This also means that we see ourselves as less than. This perceived hierarchy is a construct that mass culture creates and maintains. I am part of mass culture, which means I can also influence it. Even just a little. If enough people lean into influencing culture with love, creativity, and accountability, we can change the path we are on to one that directs us toward healing instead of harming. Toward listening instead of ignoring. Toward connectedness instead of isolation. This is a big dream. A big ask for myself and for my communities. Yet, every day I think, talk, and write about this dream, the more I discover other people who dream a similar dream. I am not alone in this work! None of us are. One of the ways in which I act locally to help make a difference is by returning to school to get my Master's in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. I believe that working with people and their emotions, fears, hopes, and dreams is one of the best ways to bring forward healing. Therapy is one of the support beams of my own healing and I want to offer that opportunity to my communities. To help people adjust and find a new 'normal' that is more expansive than the old 'normal'. To figure out how to live in community with disabled people, chronically ill people, trans and non-binary people, etc. I share my thoughts and dreams about healing, therapy, and interconnectedness through writing, poetry, and art- and most importantly: by sharing it as much as I can. I listen to other people's thoughts and dreams- expanding my own idea of 'normal' and uplifting their creative works so more people can find and connect. This is the way.

When I first came into contact with Carl Jung and his work, everything clicked for me. Here was a celebrated psychiatrist and scholar who plunged into the depths of his own psyche to better understand his patients, the world, and himself. He didn't consider himself an artist but knew that art-making was important for the soul and so pursued the creation of the Red Book, a compendium of his dreams and visions compiled and edited over decades of his life. He understood that dreams were important messages from the unconscious, that they could help us understand what was drifting below the surface of our conscious thoughts and decisions. It was like magic, like Merlin the Druid casting spells in real life. A visionary who could see beyond the veil of reality as we knew it. Learning about Carl Jung was the first time I saw someone who did what I instinctively moved towards. The idea that my vivid dreams could mean something- that they could help me understand myself felt right. It was almost like his ghost took me by the hand and showed me the path I would one day take. The tower he build at his home on the edge of Lake Zurich was one of my fairytale daydreams. While he is not without his faults and biases, so much of modern psychology was born from his work and his diligence. There is so much potential for healing, further discovery, and nuance to adventure through for the betterment of the world. I want to expand upon his work and those who came after him. My admiration of Carl Jung is one of the main reasons I have decided to go back to school.

The world is very loud to my brain. I am Autistic and highly sensitive to sound, smells, and the energy that accumulates in groups of people. I am also a fan of Sherlock Homles. I've often identified with Holmes- his keen attention to detail, his manners, and his oddities all speak to me of autistic tendencies like superpowers to help other people. Holmes was a substance user. In some versions, he was convinced that he functioned better with a '3% solution'. Sometimes he was shown as a recovering addict like in the CBS show 'Elementary'. In this modern take, Holmes speaks about using drugs because the world is too loud for him. That drugs allowed his mind to quiet and rest. Though I have never used any drugs myself, I have some very close to it for exactly this reason. To quiet my mind. To dull the constant input from our noisy modern lives. However, I was fortunate enough, and privileged enough, to find other ways to support myself through those tough times instead of turning to drugs. Being neurodivergent, I am called to become a therapist to help people through the noise of the world around them. I am convinced that substance abuse is caused by the constant overwhelm, the pressure of capitalism, and enforced social patterns that 'other' people for the slightest offense. All of these things fill up our insides until there is nothing left of us, no space for our souls to rest. In our efforts to heal ourselves, some of us turn to substances. Medicine that, at least for a moment, reconnects us to something beyond the surface of our current situation. It's understandable. When I envision the work I want to do, I see myself working with people to find other ways of reconnecting with themselves. Finding more supportive ways to build a more sustainable container for them to live and breathe within. This also means that the structures of our modern societies also need to shift. Easier said than done- however, we are already seeing these changes begin. Humanity needs more of these kinds of shifts. Less focus on pure production, more holistic and easy to access health care, and more time in nature. The health of humanity is connected to our ecosystem, the Earth. The more we pretend we are unaffected by climate change and the turn of the seasons, the more we will be driven to abuse substances that numb us, distract us, and ultimately chase us into the grave sooner than our time. Changing these structures and systems takes time. Leaning into the power of voting, demanding the end of gerrymandering and other underhanded politics, and holding corporations accountable for the damage they cause are all ways to heal the problem of rampant substance abuse at the roots. To create lasting change, we need to dive deeper than the surface, increase our abilities to speak and understand with nuance, and make space in our minds, bodies, and souls to welcome in these changes. This is why I want to become a therapist. To help foster these changes. It will be challenging. It won't be perfect. Yet, it will be worth it.

Being laid off from a job that you love is difficult. Even more so with the current economic climate and the rising cost of living in the US. This has recently happened to me and a group of friends and co-workers. The company we worked for had grown just enough in the last few years that they could offer us 401ks. I was ecstatic. We all were, we could start saving for our futures! Unfortunately, within three months of this announcement, the company shut down the production shop I worked in and transferred everyone that could and wanted to back to their headquarters. Over half of the people couldn't do the transfer because of the hour-plus commute time, the lack of any sort of gas stipend, and the merging of two production shops with very different cultures. So we were laid off. Thus began our battle to be given severance pay. We made a Discord chat where we could communicate easily outside of the company Slack. There, we checked in daily with each other and shared tips for better communication. We also vented our frustration at businesses that promised to take care of us and yet failed to do so. In the past, I've not joined such social media groups, but this was too important not to. Through our ability and drive to stay connected, we mobilized. We emailed our supervisors and HR leader on each other's behalf, providing constructive feedback about transparency and suggesting the production teams unionize to protect other employees from having the rug pulled out from under them. I became even closer with people who I'd only partially known when we worked together. I felt more confident and connected than ever before. The best part is that we got our severance pay. The company agreed to our demands and even extended the cut-off several times as some of the transferred employees found they couldn't sustain the commute on top of everything else. We won. Even better, I am still in regular contact with most of the people I banded together with. I am more likely to ask for help when I need it because of this group of like-minded and diverse humans. I am more likely to help others when they need it because they have helped me more directly in return. That is the very definition of community.r

My father was a good man in many ways. He took care of me and my sister, he supported my mother in her successful career, and he could fix just about anything with his toolbox and some time. He was a man of a particular generation and demographic, keeping his tender heart well-armored inside his chest and never talking about his time in the Vietnam War with anyone. Ever. This was part of his downfall. For me, it started on Sept 11th, 2001. I remember my father calling us into the living room to watch the World Trade Center towers fall. I was early in my grade school years and didn't understand why some people would ever want to hurt other people. The PTSD my father had carefully concealed and worked around reared its head. He began stockpiling guns and MREs. He would sit for hours watching fear-mongering and sensationalized new channels and become so riled up, so angry that I took to hiding in my room from him. Those years were some of the worst in my life. What I learned from that period of time was that people have a bewildering capacity to sabotage themselves, to convince themselves that no one loves them or cares for them, even when people around them are offering their support and their love with open hands. My father's PTSD and eventual suicide is an extreme example, but I have found that most people have this pattern within them at some level. I am fascinated by this human capacity. How and why does this happen? What can we do support people in these situations? What do we need to change in our society to better answer the needs of people who live with PTSD and C-PTSD? How can we stop the transmission of these traumas and resulting challenges to younger generations? My experience with my father is one of the many reasons why I am returning to school. I am called to become a trauma-informed therapist who can help people through these kinds of difficult situations. There is a shortage of therapists in my local community, especially since the pandemic started, and I want to change that. I want to foster healing and recovery skills in people so that can live the fulfilled lives they deserve.

Climate change is the biggest and most dangerous problem the world is facing right now. The effects are beyond noticeable now and we must take responsibility. Not to pass the blame, but to empower everyone to act urgently. Fortunately, there are many ways to work on this problem and from many directions. From all areas of study, business, and community, at the very core of these solutions is a healthy relationship to change. Change is uncomfortable and scary, not knowing what and who we will be on the other side of these great shifts is one of the reasons people hang on to what they know. Even if it has been proven to be harmful. We must welcome change and work alongside its energies. How do we do this? I have found that the more curious and interdisciplinary we approach problems, the more open we are to change, different ideas, and able to decenter ourselves through the process. Listening to and learning from cultures and peoples who are traditional land stewards, like the indigenous peoples of Turtle Island is an important learning curve. Understanding how to decenter the 'normalized' mass culture and take responsibility for what we have done to the Earth is the same process. This is a deeper change than the important and surface-level shifts of banning single-use plastics, dramatically decreasing the use of fossil fuels, and other 'green' or more sustainable practices. It requires us to change how we think and move through the world. How we hold corporations accountable for their pollution. It is at the core of solving the climate change problem.

Falling into the trope of the starving artist right out of my first college experience, I had to work a lot of 'internships'. These were not jobs, these were 'experience-building' time frames in which I was working 60-80 hour weeks, being 'paid' with $5 Starbucks gift cards, and living on a cup of lentil and rice soup for lunch. I sublet single rooms in college houses that were drab and mold-infested, destined to be put on the market for the highest bidder. I moved every year for 7 years. During that time, my more experienced colleagues urged me to buckle down, to stay the course because it is worth it, in the end, to do what we love. I trusted them. Trusted their opinions. I chased the idea of joining the Union where I'd have access to better-paid work and the protection that the Union provided. 'It will be worth it.' I repeatedly told myself as I ate peanut butter for dinner. "Get out." Those words came to me suddenly. I wasn't exhausted for once, nor in that crystal clear one in the morning headspace. I looked around myself. I was good at what I did. This is what I studied to become. Why was I thinking I had to get out? This was a piece of financial and life advice from inside myself. It was the part of me who knew I was worth more, deserved more, and that I needed to expand my definition of what I was capable of. I was too comfortable being the 'starving artist'. I was good at it, excelled in shoving aside my own needs (this was before my Autism diagnosis), and stayed in the background while other people collected the benefits of my labor. It took a while, but I got out.

The thing that saved my education was being able to create and follow my own syllabus. As a neurodivergent person, I do best when I can follow whatever interests me, however wide or narrow that net of curiosity might be. Being able to lean in and focus on these interests, apply them to my life, and investigate why it is important to me- was my real education. An educational pattern of behavior that would continue throughout my life. Not simple rote facts to regurgitate on cue, but an exploration for me to turn over in my hands. To ask questions and be challenged to think outside the box. In my mind, the goal of education is to empower students to become empowered adults who have the time, space, and energy to engage with the world and the wider communities. When students can create, or at least co-create, the structures of their education as soon as possible within their schooling career, the learning is an opening experience. Being responsible for their education in this way better prepares them to engage within their wider communities, find and follow their passions, and be more curious and open with the world. These are qualities that will enable our communities to find the justice and healing we so desperately need. Another aspect of this change is that standardized education doesn't meet the needs of all students. Standardization is a very narrow field that often destroys nuance and fabricates a story that divides us. This story is one of how 'normal' people learn and behave with knowledge and how 'other' people learn and behave, with a focus on 'normal' people. This is ableist and out-of-date thinking. When students have a hand in their learning, the education structure around them shifts to meet their needs. This is a good thing. This education system would need to be personalizable, able to shapeshift, and able to support teachers better than the paltry support nowadays. This is the education that would carry us into a better, more nuanced future.

When my father died, I was summoned back to life. The last few years of my father's life were hard, charged with anger and paranoia as his PTSD spun out of control. I had shrunk into myself to survive. I hid my growing pains, my dreams, and my need to be myself without fear. Along with this home life, I was stuck inside an outdated, 'normalized' path for kids my age. This path was full of expectations of normality, neurotypical, and cis-heteronormativity. This story was reinforced by adults around me and the kids who didn't know any better because they were also trapped by it. The death of my father kick-started me out of that story. It provided me the fuel to demand the change I knew I needed. Difficult conversations with my origin family followed. I insisted to be pulled from public high school and that another way be found. While baffled by this, my mother believed me when I told her that I would not survive high school if I continued this way. By leaning into my natural strengths of research and dreaming larger than myself, I found a host of other possibilities. My mother and I investigated and visited several other schools. Fortunately, my family was privileged enough to be able to afford to pay tuition for a small, independent high school that focused on interdisciplinary and experiential learning. This shift was one of the most important ones in my life. It broke down the obstacle of the 'normal' expected path. It set me on a journey that empowered, enlightened, and expanded my sense of self, my place in the world, and the possibilities of a life beyond other people's expectations. I am proud of this, despite the challenges. Thus, I continue here.

Creativity is like breathing for me. I wouldn’t be alive without being consciously creative. Period. First and foremost, my creativity is how I process the world and my experiences within it. As a queer, neurodivergent person, supporting myself by making art and writing is key to my survival. It helps me reflect on situations and experiences so that I can learn from them, to make different choices if necessary. Process whatever feelings and emotions come up, to let myself feel what I feel. To take more time answering next time. Secondly, my creativity brings me joy. I love beauty, texture, and vibrant colors. I know myself well enough to understand that my surroundings affect my mental state. For example, I know that living in a rented apartment with bare, off-white walls will lead me down an uninspired path. It will make my living space off-putting, distant, and impersonal-feeling. This is not how I want to feel when I am at home. Being creative, painting the walls of my home, infusing it with life and stories, puts me and my space into context. It grounds me to the earth, and I can sense better- with greater nuance and care. Like taking a conscious moment to breathe in and breathe out, creativity connects me with the present moment and feeds the fire inside me. It is my main reason for living.

It has been a challenge to find my place in the LGBTQ+ community. Largely because I had such a negative experience during my first college experience. There was a lot of trans exclusionary behavior and ideas on my old campus- it was one of the reasons I left to complete my first degree off-campus on a self-designed syllabus. Another challenge for me was and still is, that I am autistic. This can make connecting with other people more difficult and limits the sort of gatherings I can attend and actually enjoy myself. I do better in smaller gatherings that have more structure, like a project or task, to help me engage with others beyond small talk. My career goal is a multifaceted one. I am called to be a trauma- and neurodivergent- informed therapist, a creative coach, and queer fiction writer. These areas are interconnected and interdisciplinary efforts to make the world a more supportive, accepting, and aware place for queer, neurodivergent folks through creativity, representation, and informed holistic therapy practices. I lean into my queerness and my autism to uplift the superpowers inherent within my experience. To share my story with the world, to connect with similar people, and to change how queerness and ND are seen and treated in the wider world. All this begin said, I have a lot to learn and unlearn. Ableism, racism, and colonialism are very prevalent in this country, in my communities, and also in myself. I want to be part of the change, the healing to set us on a more loving, sustainable path in the present and into the future. I must start with myself. This is why I am going back to school.

I grew up with dogs. Working dogs mostly. They were all mixed breeds had a job to do and were at their best when out doing that job. Focused and driven, I followed them through the patterns of their work on the family farm, and they followed me through mine. Things were balanced and simple when there were dogs around. Pack, family, togetherness. Hard work was rewarded with treats, snuggles, and runs out to the lake. There was a balance of inside and outside, warm and cold, work and rest. The dogs understood this simple way of being in the world, and so taught me to understand as well. When I moved away to college, it was bit of a shock to not have dogs and other animals directly in my life. I was lonely without my pack and out of rhythm with the wider world. This time without dogs taught me not everyone is comfortable working with dogs, or know how to communicate with dogs and read their body language. When I came across dogs who were friendly and their humans were okay with me saying hi, I immediately dropped down to their level, instantly finding the best scratching spot, and grinned at the goofy grins curling their mouths. After college, I had an opportunity to work for a dog daycare and kennel in the edge of downtown Seattle, WA. There I learned how to manage large packs of all sorts of dogs, large and small. It was hard- so many dogs to pay attention to, so many dogs cooped up in daycare or tiny apartments. It was also delightful. Even city dogs are simple creatures- mostly joyful and eager to play, snooze, and cause mischief. They don't care about the rush and crush of city life. They show their anxieties more readily than humans, especially in the stressful environment of the big city. I learned how to enjoy the present moment with those dogs. How to be firm and gentle with the skittish ones. How to pay attention to subtle, and not so subtle, shifts in the energies of the pens and kennels. How to break up the rare fights when they broke out. How to care for elderly dogs with no teeth, ingrown claws, matted teeth. I learned to manage my compassion for the differences in needs and temperaments of dogs- and learned how to shift that care towards people as well. The hardest lesson my time with dogs taught me is that there is only so much I can do. There is only so much care I can give to situations I do not have control over. I only have so much care to I can give without burning myself out. A difficult truth when one cares so much.

Golden sunlight filters through tall windows, animating the heather green wall opposite as if it is growing. The white cat on my lap protests as I stand up from my desk. I’ve just finished a video call with my agent- my third queer, neurodivergent fantasy book is set to go and we’ve finalized the cover art. My knees are a bit weak as I move across my studio. I always get a bit shaky when I press ‘go’ on a project. When it really becomes real. Excitement plus terror. The feeling of releasing a creation into the world will never get old. The calendar by the door catches my eye and I pause there, a grumpy cat butting my shins, and check off the purple line saying ‘green light book’. It helps me keep track of all my projects- an important support aid for my ADHD and Austistic brain. I’ve nothing else planned for the day on purpose, to let me rest, play, and reflect on this achievement. I check the upcoming week. I have an Expressive Art Therapy class I am co-teaching tomorrow at the Healing Center and several one-on-one clients to check in with later in the week. I turn back to commissioned painting I am working on. My head are still buzzing from all the movement and happenings today. I bob up and down, then decide to turn on some music. I shuffle around my palette and paint, laughing as the white cat who has grumpily given up and curled in a spot of sunshine in the middle of my studio. The music tinkled in through my laptop speakers, an Irish fiddle and bodhran weaving through each other. I tap my foot along with the rhythm and begin waking up my paint with water.

For the last few years, I have been on one wild ride. It has felt like something big happens every six months to shift and shiver my life down it my foundations. Moving every year for four years has taught me how to be adaptable and bend with the surprise waves. It has reminded me that I have the focus and physical ability to make stuff happen when it comes down to the wire. I can do hard things. Challenges are part of the process. This has also reminded me to be thankful for what and who I have in my life. To acknowledge my privileges while also acknowledging that life has hard moments which are valid. My experiences with dysfunctional origin family dynamics has been a lesson in leaning into my needs, my opinions, my desires and dreams. It was a challenge on many fronts, yet reminded me that I know myself better than anyone, that I am valid, and that it is possible for my origin family to be wrong. I was able to figure out how to set healthy boundaries and maintain them even when people reacted negatively. That space empowered me to advocate for myself and ultimately choose a path which more fully aligns with my values and goals. It was scary, absolutely necessary, and humbling. These experiences have set my on a course which feels right. I am capable, vulnerable, and curious to see what my future brings from this new path. I feel more open to possibilities and opportunities. Less fear chokes me, less defensiveness cuts me off from the world. There is bittersweet too. My choices are not always understood or accepted by my origin family, and that is okay. I will be okay. Deep breath. Go for it.

Timers are my best friends when supporting myself during study sessions. I am autistic and one of my superpowers is hyperfocus. This means I don't get distracted very often. However, I can spend four or five hours studying and forget to take breaks, go to the bathroom, and drink water. This isn't good for me. My phone has a variety of timers that I can easily access that help me stay on track, both academically and personally. I give them all funny labels to help remind myself to take care of my needs, get up and stretch, and switch to another task if I am running into a wall. Each alarm has its own sound so I can tell which one is ringing. Making sure I have a place to work with good lighting that doesn't buzz, a plugin for my computer, and not too close to other people are also part of my study support routine. I have my desk at home which I make sure is clear of painting supplies and other crafting projects when I need to study. I love working in cafes around my town, using noise-canceling headphones so I don't get overstimulated by all the people and espresso machine noises. The change in scenery can be a great way to shift my thinking out of routine paths. Number one support to academic success would still be my timers.

There is a creek down the road from my house. Ferns drip water onto sponge-like, acid-green lichen. I can barely hear the cars passing on the road. The trees hold the grey sky far away from the ground in this place. Like a vaulted cathedral of living wood. The floor is the living carpet of the forest cut through by the gurgling, frigid creek the color of uncut tourmaline. My feet are pale fish against the slick algae-covered rocks and the squishy muck of the creek bed. My head has stopped buzzing. My jaw unknots. The tension in my shoulders eases. The modern world is very loud. Too loud for my sensitive, neurodivergent brain. This is why I retreat to the forest. I can think here, with my feet in the creek and my lungs full of crisp, damp air and the faint scent of newly blooming osoberry. I wonder what the trees feel with all the rush and rumble of humanity. Behind me, my pack sits on a rock, well out of the splash zone. It is my habit to pick up trash on my walks and all my backpacks have bags stashed in them for exactly this purpose. Today, my haul includes four beer cans, a ziplock bag full of cigarette butts, and several handfuls of lost level three medical masks. Picking up trash is one of the ways I say thank you to the creek for its care, beauty, and carpets of tickling moss. It is the least I can do.

I am called to become a trauma-informed, queer-focused, neuroemergent therapist. I am convinced that therapy is one of the best ways to support, connect, and celebrate people. Since the outbreak of Covid-19, it has become clear to me that there are not enough mental health professionals to support all the change and hardships in the world and within ourselves. In my community, there are queer people, both younger and older, who don't want to 'take therapy sessions away from people who need it' despite them needing that support themselves. Feeling worthy of therapy support and then access to support is a big issue. Everyone deserves emotional and spiritual support to uplift and empower them to be their best selves, especially during tough times like these. My goal is to practice holistically, merging therapy skills with mentorship experiences in order to meet these needs, help people love themselves, and aid them along their life paths. The world is changing. Some of this change feels slow, some of it feels lightning fast. The best way for humanity to meet these changes is through support and connection. This will allow us to think and speak with more nuance, move with more adaptability, and foster greater understanding within ourselves. The better we know ourselves, the more understanding can be brought into the reality of our interconnected interdependence with each other, with the Earth and the natural world, and whatever spirituality connects us to all that is.

"People are generally doing the best they can." Imagine being told that and immediately scoffing. That was me. That was me in judgment mode, looking down my nose at someone else's choices. I believed that I could do better in their place, that I wouldn't make those 'mistakes'. My thoughts were unkind: "How could they possibly be doing their best? Look at what happened!" It took a while for this wisdom to sink in. For me to realize the depth of compassion and nuance I was being called to rest into. As a recovering perfectionist and overachiever, the path to non-judgement has been cluttered with preconceived notions of what it meant to be a 'useful member of society', fear of being seen as 'lazy' and/or 'mediocre', the pressure to 'succeed' in a mostly neurotypical and heteronormative society. Through lots of trial and error, therapy, and unlearning, I came to understand that my judgment of other people was really me trying to protect myself from other people's judgment. When those words: "I'm doing the best I can" left my lips next, I understood. An amazing thing happens when I am able to catch myself. That judgment transforms into compassion, both for the other person and for myself. I think "Ah, I've found a tender spot in my soul." I know that what I am feeling is about me and what I think and feel, not about this other person. This wisdom of acknowledging that people are doing the best they can is one of connection, rather than division. It is the wisest thing I've ever heard.

Golden sunlight filters through tall windows, animating the heather green wall opposite as if it is growing. The white cat on my lap protests as I stand up from my desk. I’ve just finished a video call with my agent- my third queer, neurodivergent fantasy book is set to go and we’ve finalized the cover art. My knees are a bit weak as I move across my studio. I always get a bit shaky when I press ‘go’ on a project. When it really becomes real. Excitement plus terror. The feeling of releasing a creation into the world will never get old. The calendar by the door catches my eye and I pause there, a grumpy cat butting my shins, and check off the purple line saying ‘green light book’. It helps me keep track of all my projects- an important support aid for my ADHD and Autistic brain. I’ve nothing else planned for the day on purpose, to let me rest, play, and reflect on this achievement. I check the upcoming week. I have an Expressive Art Therapy class I am co-teaching tomorrow at the Healing Center and several one-on-one clients to check in with later in the week. Satisfied, I slip out the door of my studio and pad barefoot to the kitchen. My partner is on their phone at the scrubbed kitchen table. They wave at me, and continue their conversation. I realize it is one of the distributors they’ve been playing phone tag with. I pour myself some steaming tea and then walk into their sight line. I sign ‘walk later?’ with raised eyebrows. They nod enthusiastically and sign ‘at 2:30?’ I nod back and return to my studio. I have a commissioned painting to finish.

When I sat down to write this, I had a particular piece in mind. I only knew it as ‘The Goddess’ and that it was painted by Gustov Klimt. The dark haired woman reminded me of the goddess Hecate- powerful and aloof, but also a healer and sacred teacher. She is draped in gold and burning orange holding a shining serpent and a shallow bowl. Her gaze is deep and otherworldly as she looks down her nose at the viewer. This piece is actually called ‘Medicine’ and was commissioned by the University of Vienna as part of a series celebrating the school’s educational efforts. The goddess who spoke so strongly to me was, in fact, Hygieia. She is the Greek goddess of cleanliness, sanitation, and continued health. She holds the Aesculapian snake and a bowl of Lithe, often likened to anesthesia for its qualities of forgetfulness. She is just one aspect of a much larger art piece exploring the ideas of life and death and humanity. The aspects which draw me in are both visual and historical in context. Visually, this painting feels like a dreamscape, textured in bold patterns and etheric bodies. The mythic and timeless feelings around this painting are a reminder of the beauty and terror of life and death. Hygieia seems like a potent goddess to relate to during this Pandemic. Historically, Klimt was an artist who didn’t shy away from showing people’s bodies, dancing with ambiguity, and fighting the institutions who were shocked and outraged by his work. I admire this. While this painting is said to have been destroyed by Nazis in 1945, there is no real evidence to confirm this. This mystery is inspiring as well- since sketches and a grayscale photo are the only known evidence of what this piece looks like.

Mental health has always played a huge role in my life. I grew up with a mentally unwell parent during my formative years. Unfortunately, this experience culminated in his suicide when I was thirteen. Around the same time, I was beginning to learn how to consciously navigate my own internal world and how I interfaced with the wider world around me. Eventually, this exploration would introduce me to my queer and neurodivergent reality. This deeper understanding of myself was crucial for my continued existence. It was what empowered me to survive the worst years of my life and come into a sense of belonging and ability to thrive. My greatest support during this time came from my mentors and therapists. These inner and outer experiences enabled me to be sensitive to other people and their experiences, for better and for worse. This sensitivity has been reinforced by curiosity and creativity. These have focused my attention on investigating how to support people through these processes of becoming, recovering, and discovering. Particularly for queer and neurodivergent people who struggle against the expectations and biases of neurotypical, cis-heteronormative, white-centric societies. We have a lot to unlearn. This is my call to become a trauma-informed, queer focused, neuroemergent therapist. I am convinced that therapy is one of the best ways to support, connect, and celebrate people. Since the outbreak of Covid-19, it has become clear to me that there are not enough mental health professionals to support all the change and hardships in the world and within ourselves. Particularly in my communities where I live and work. There are queer people, younger and older, who don't want to 'take therapy sessions away from people who really need it' despite them really needing that support themselves. Feeling worthy of therapy support and then access to support is a big issue. Everyone deserves emotional and spiritual support to uplift and empower them to be their best selves, especially during tough times like these. My goal is to practice holistically, merging therapy with mentorship in order to meet these needs. The world is changing. Some of this change feels slow, some of it feels lightning fast. The best way for humanity to meet these changes is through support and connection. This will allow us to think and speak with more nuance, move with more adaptability, and foster greater understanding within ourselves. The better we know ourselves, the more understanding can be brought into the reality of our interconnected interdependence with each other, with the Earth and the natural world, and whatever spirituality connects us to all that is.

Every morning, I stumble out of my bed, down the stairs, and sit down in front my altar. I light a candle smelling of bergamot and orange peel. I cross my legs, lift my heart, and breath with purpose. I smile with my mouth as I move through my stretches and physical therapy routine. I am so glad to be here, grateful for the breath in my lungs, my healing ribs, my aching joints. Counting each breath, I whisper an intention for the day. Not everyone has the opportunities I do, the resources, the time, the energy. I spent a long time being ashamed of my privileges, trying to downplay them, not feeling like I was worthy because I had done nothing to earn them. However, I never took the time to be grateful for these privileges. I never honored them and I never used them to help other people. That is changed now. My work is to move in gratitude within my life, share what I have or make or learn. To use my opportunities to see how I can make the world a better place. To give back in gratitude for the life I have now.

I am selfish. I grew up in a family with a lot of silence around mental health issues. It wasn't talked about at all, despite my mother being a doctor herself. This was especially complex and baffling because my father suffered from PTSD from his time in the Vietnam war and my mother is Bipolar and has an intense eating disorder. Not knowing how to talk about mental health, or that it was even a thing, weighed heavily on me as a child. I knew that something was going on, but I didn't have any guidance. In forced silence, I was taught that my needs were not worth notice and love from my parents because they were not capable of answering my emotional needs. I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought I was the problem. I wasn't. After my father committed suicide, I found space. It was a deep breath after years of shallow breathing. Watching his slide into paranoia, fury, and self hatred, I quietly learned that I needed to pay attention to my own emotional needs. I became fiercely loyal to myself. This was my battle to push back at the silence, at people-pleasing, at keeping quiet so as not to rock the boat. Bravely, I told my mother in no uncertain terms that I was leaving public school. I knew deep down to my bones that if I stayed in public school, I would die. There wasn't any space for me to be true to myself without being viciously bullied by my fellow students and even some teachers. In choosing myself, I shocked my origin family. They were used to me being quiet and passive. They were used to me being the peace-keeper and agreeable. They didn't react well. They couldn't have, honestly. They were just as stuck in silence as I had been. They only difference is I realized what was going on and was able to break the pattern. I knew I didn't want to end up like my father- broken and hopeless at the end of his rope. I didn't want to end up like my mother- anxious and passive-aggressively controlling. I wanted more. To be more. So, I allowed myself to expand. Instead of continuing the silence, loneliness, and self-flagellation, I started working with a therapist. I got into a college away from my origin family to breathe in a different kind of air. Experimenting with dance therapy, martial arts, and energy healing opened up a whole new avenue of self-understanding while I was in college. I had, and still have, a lot of healing to uncover within myself. I came to understand more why my origin family operated the way it did, why I had been stuck, and why/how I was evolving and growing. This awareness and growth lit a spark in me. This spark has led me to return to school to pursue a degree in Psychology and then a Master's in Clinical Mental Health Counseling so I can be a resource, guide, and therapist to people who experience similar patterns. As a way of honoring my own journey by helping others, to help them expand into their full, whole selves. To choose themselves.

I paint stories out of colors, shapes, and textures. With various types of ink, paint, textured paper, and a box full of second-hand crayons, I layer dreams into reality. It is how I process the world in all of its wonders and pains. Art is how I find healing deep within myself, a guided meditation to bring me into relationship. Into balance. It is how I share my inner self with my community. A visual representation of my own heart and soul, and the hearts and souls of the people and places I experience. Art is my practice of vulnerability, visibility, and connection. I practice art by showing up every day. I make time and space, I allow the dishes to go unwashed several times a week because art is important to me. This sacred time beyond time. I slow down, the world slows down. I transcend all differences and become a conduit of the greater whole. The Divine Source. It demands I listen more deeply, feel more directly. Making 'bad' art is also part of this process. 'Bad' art is the practice of allowing imperfections. It relieves the pressure of my day job, of precision, and of the rush of modern life. I can make art without expectation or explanation. This freedom allows for greater creativity and greater connection. In turn, this practice empowers me to think creatively in the wider world. To dream up other ways of being and of doing. To see solutions in a different mindset than that which created the problem in the first place. This is the superpower of art.

We humans are part of the natural world. We are integral to the ecosystem of this beautiful planet Earth from the DNA in our bones into the deepest depths of our psyches. We are Earthings. Yet, so many of us are isolated from the Earth, from the turn of the seasons, and from the origins of our food and our water. This isolation enables humanity to do terrible things to one another, to ourselves, and to the non-human kin who share this planet with us. How do we heal this isolation and help ourselves and others who struggle with mental health? By shifting our relationship with the natural world. By getting out into the natural world, beyond skyscrapers that block the horizon and cast long shadows. This can be as simple as taking regular walks in a park, planting a deck garden in flower pots, or volunteering at a park clean up or trail crew. This isn't a one and done sort of thing- it is a practice. A relational way of moving through the world. Embracing the cycles of life and death, growth and decay. To be curious and open to both sides of Life. This relational way of being will be one tool for helping more people who struggle with mental health. It is also one part of a larger shift that must happen if humanity is going to survive and thrive. By making conscious effort to connect with the Earth, we also shift the way we interact with other humans. Everything is connected. When you improve connection in one part of the environment, the rest will want to move in that direction too.

Pain is a very tender thing to hold. One moment, it is a fragile baby bird cupped in your hands, and then it is the crushing pressure of a rhino sitting on your chest. When I was recovering from my gender affirmation surgery, pain was very present for me. It was the sort of pain that couldn't be touched, shifted, or eased. During the first three weeks of my recovery, I needed to wear a velcro compression vest and a thick piece of hard foam to make sure everything stayed in place and healed well. That vest lit electric fire through my torso like nothing I had ever experienced. I didn't know it at the time, but my ribs had been damaged by years of wearing compression vests and binders. Through the healing process, there were times when I could only cry through the ever-present pain. I lost track of time in the haze of it. Those three weeks felt like a lifetime. My loving partner held my hand and wiped tears from my cheeks. They called my doctor, who was baffled as to why I was in so much pain. My poor ribs hadn't been noticed during the pre-op visits. With nothing else to do, we had to wait. To persevere, I returned to my breath. I took to humming quietly to myself. Singing nonsense songs like they were spells to keep me connected, even though all I wanted to do was disconnect. Each day, I imagined my pain as a flower blooming and dying. When those three weeks came to an end and I was able to remove the recovery binder, it was a relief. That first full, deep breath relaxed the muscles between my ribs, my latissimus dorsi unclenched. The pain eased, leaving only echoes to remember.

There is nothing better than talking with passionate people about what they are passionate about. In a fast-paced world where so much of social media is me, me, me and how many likes you get, slowing down and actually having a conversation with someone about their art, their project, or their passion is the epitome of connection. I value real connections and real conversations that go beyond the polite script of 'how are you?' 'fine, you?' 'fine.' Connection has been challenging during this pandemic, which is why podcasts have become fundamental to my schedule. One podcast show that is all about passionate people is Ologies by Alie Ward, a science communicator and passionate asker of dumb questions. Alie is a fantastic host because she is genuinely excited to learn from the ologists she interviews, who in turn are passionate about their work. Everything on Ologies will very likely blow your mind, get you excited about a subject you never even considered before, and send you down an internet rabbit hole for more information (or is that just me?). Connecting with passionate people is important for humanity. Without passion or exposure to passion, we run low on vital energy (Carl Jung called this Libido). Without vital energy, we stagnate and get stuck in a rut. Passion driven work is creativity in action and there is nothing better than getting to witness enlivened people making cool shit.

Nature reminds me to breathe. I don't know when I forgot to breathe on my own. It was sometime when I was a pre-teen. I was so anxious and unsupported that I stopped going outside. The world felt dangerous and threatening, like the sky was going to fall. Disconnection was my usual for a long time. Then there was a shift. Trying to put my finger on it is like trying to catch sunlight. Yet I managed to pull myself out of the hole. I had hit the bottom and all I could see was the blue sky. That, and the peregrine falcon that flew over every day. I left public school with its perfectly manicured lawns and wilting violets in pot by the front door. Instead, I went to small, independent school in the bend of a creek that ran high in the spring time. Out of the back windows, I could hear the river flowing. There wasn't a bus to my new school, so I had to ride my bike 2.5 miles each way. Looking back, it wasn't far, but to me back then it was lightyears. In order to get to school on time, I had to wake up before sunrise in the fall and winter. I had never seen such beautiful sunrises in my life. My lungs burned and my knees shook, and I made it. Slowly, I remembered how to breathe again. The asthma which had plagued me faded. I could bike faster and longer; I began exploring different ways of getting to school. I found confidence in movement, in the air in my lungs, the sting of the air against my cheeks. I found humility at the bottom of steep hills and relief at the top. Nature reminds me to breathe.