The first time I heard “It’s Alright” by Mother Mother, I cried. At the tail end of the longest depressive episode of my life, the verses shouted everything I had felt about myself for several years, but the chorus, chanting “it’s alright, it’s ok,” gave me a soft place to land so my heart and my head could begin healing. I struggle with high-functioning depression. I used to perform well at work and in social situations, but behind the scenes, my brain would run secret dialogues, mostly negative. By the time I received any personal recognition, I was so mentally exhausted that I would self-sabotage my own success. Often, it would be by lashing out with my long-kept temper, cutting deep at those closest to me. I didn’t trust good experiences because I always laced them with my own poison. The hardest part about my type of depression is feeling like no one will take me back if I let it take over. “It’s Alright” cemented the message that I am not a monster; there is no darkness waiting inside to take over my world. Mother Mother celebrates feeling different, reminding you that you are “capable of coming out alive.” Mistakes happen, but they are also an opportunity to do better the next time. Now, when I feel that imposter trying to tear me down, I pull up this song and listen to the playlist I made around it. I breathe in time with the chanting: in – it’s alright, out – it’s ok. This song’s message reminds me that it’s alright to be broken. It’s ok to be scared of who you might be. There is always a better day and another chance to do good.

I never thought I'd end up in a STEM major. I never thought I was smart enough, to be honest. Throughout my younger years, I was the artsy kid, the one who doodled in the margins of her notepads. I excelled in English and history, and while I was good at math and science, I just didn't think I was the caliber of person who could do those things for a living. I didn't know there was a field that combines statistics and design. As an adult, I stumbled into business finance. My college classes reminded me that I enjoy math - not just because I'm good at it, but because I enjoy the process of solving problems. With everything else in my life at the time falling apart, the one thing I knew I could do was my course work, whether it was homework or an exam. The further I got into my degree, the better I began to feel about myself. Having struggled with self-confidence all my life, rediscovering this simple skill helped me reinvent my self-image. And once upon at time, that might have been it. No STEM career aspirations, no ambition to do more. Then, one word crept into my vocabulary, and I haven't been able to go a day without thinking about it since. Analytics. I've been mesmerized by infographics and visual communication ever since I remember. I can give you 10,000 words on a topic any day of the week, but as I've progressed in my career, I find the greater challenge is using as few words as possible to describe an idea. I chose the STEM major of analytics because, at the heart of everything, I want to solve problems and find meaning in a way that makes a difference. I'm realizing that it's not about thinking I'm smart enough, or being an absolute whiz at statistics. It takes dedication, and the determination to keep asking, "But why, though?" Don't get me wrong, I'm terrified to take this new step. The old fears I used to have, that I'm not smart enough, that I'm better off being the daydreaming artist, nip at my ankles each time I let them think I'm weak. That artist's creativity, tempered with an overthinking brain that contemplates every possible if/then, has gotten me where I am today. The world needs creative problem solvers (yes, it's so much more than just a resume buzz phrase). The world needs people who can analyze real-world data, who can explain the results in words that everyone can understand. The world needs people who not only want to find out "why," but enjoy each and every discovery on the way to the answer. I want to be that person, and I want to encourage those who choose my STEM major to do the same. I want to discover tools that make me more critical, but also allow me to delight in learning more. I can't wait to succeed. I hope you join me.

My mom always warned me my thyroid would slow down after I turned thirty. I scoffed at the idea – I was at a healthy weight, I worked out, and I ate mostly healthy foods. As if any of that mattered to my tiny, butterfly-shaped thyroid gland. True to my mother’s words (and don’t tell her I said that), my body went haywire exactly when she said it would. Not only was my thyroid gland petering out, but I also was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). These conditions often go together, and without healthy eating habits, they can wreak havoc on your mental and physical wellbeing. Luckily, my primary care physician (PCP) put me on thyroid replacement medications, and we played around with a prescription to prevent my PCOS from causing unbalanced hormones. This helped at first, but I was still tired all the time, and, despite working out and eating what I still thought was “healthy,” I wasn’t losing any of the weight I had suddenly gained. Eventually, my PCP suggested I see an endocrinologist, and, reluctantly, I did. It was a rude awakening. “Have you considered a pre-diabetic diet?” What? I had never thought twice about insulin, and at first, I failed to see how my double-whammy diagnosis of hypothyroidism and PCOS affected my pancreas. Turns out, low thyroid levels and high testosterone levels are a surefire way to lead your body into sugar resistance. Sugar resistance puts your pancreas into hyperdrive. And failing pancreas results in diabetes. I was feeding this cycle by uninformed eating habits. I was so embarrassed. I thought I had been so healthy. Meanwhile, my body was falling apart while I had realistically changed nothing about my nutrition to help put it back together. Terrified, I went to the extreme. I tried going keto for all of two weeks. Honestly, I found it tolerable, but those around me did not. I had to eat at certain times, and I could only eat certain things. This caused more tension than I care to have in my household. Looking back, it wouldn't have been sustainable anyway. Defeated, I slumped back into doing nothing. When I stepped on the scale, I wanted to cry. The gym – once my refuge – became a chore. I gave myself time to sulk. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I said, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.” And honestly, that might have been the nicest thing I could have done for myself. I began reading about gentle nutrition and mindful eating. When I stopped labelling food as “good” or “bad,” I was finally able to find a balance. Bread, once strictly banned from my diet, is an occasional treat. Olives and avocados are tasty, fatty snacks that provide boundless energy. Instead of intermittent fasting, I ask myself, “Am I hungry, or am I just bored?” By changing how I think about food, I make healthier nutrition decisions every day. I’m proud of myself when I close the refrigerator because I realize I’m not actually hungry. I’m not tied to the scale, or to calories, or to carbs. Each day I make a conscious decision to fuel my body with healthy foods and the occasional treat. By choosing healthier habits, I have the energy to focus better at work, or to go for a jog if I feel up to it. I can manage my PCOS, and I’ve preserved my ability to start a family when I’m ready. And by offering myself just that – the choice to eat healthier – I’m creating a lifelong habit that supports my body and my goals.

On top of the world stands hesitation Eager to plunge But dreading the fall Stubbornly she seeks only perfection Elaborate plans Better than failing at all A blank page, the ultimate deception Infinite dreams A void that enthralls If it was just preoccupation Time to think I could forgive the stall To settle for mere amelioration At least to begin One step though small But I suffer that aberration Where good rivals great And while the world may call I stand with hesitation

I was certain when my student loan payments went into effect, my flimsy budget was going to sink like the Titanic. I made some bad financial decisions. Funny for a finance major, right? I just didn’t apply what I learned to my own finances. The worst choice I made was to pay rent with my credit card for an entire year. I was dating someone who earned more than me, and I didn’t want him to think I was cheap when we went out. I cried at the beginning of each month when I had to pay rent again. When I moved out of that apartment, I had to call my dad and beg him to co-sign with me on a consolidation loan to help me get out from under a $15,000 credit card bill at 25% interest. And of course I got a lecture. I deserved it. I knew the same habits couldn’t move with me to my new apartment. I had to make changes. I needed another job, and I needed to have an honest conversation with my boyfriend. The conversation was surprisingly easy. My boyfriend admitted he had had to get a consolidation loan once upon a time, too. Despite the seriousness of the situation, we both got a good laugh at my trying to be an equal partner. He assuaged my fears, saying it only made sense that if he earned more and wanted to do expensive things together, he should pay more. How did I get so lucky? Getting a second job was not a priority. I’d worked retail for ten years, and I did not want to go back to working at the mall. I spent weeks looking for side hustles. Then, I found Tutor.com. All Tutor.com required was a degree, a passing grade on a subject exam, and a successful interview. They advertised that they desperately needed college essay tutors. Easy enough, I thought. I applied, took my subject exam, and had a fun interview primarily through a Tutor.com chat application to make sure I was a good fit for virtual tutoring. Success! I had a work-from-home second job that I could do in my PJ’s. I finally felt some relief—this job could pay my student loans by itself, and my big paycheck was dutifully divided amongst my other bills. Rent came out of each paycheck, early and in equal halves so I couldn’t “accidentally” spend it. Tutoring began as a simple transaction, my skills for money to pay bills. I never expected to enjoy tutoring so much, though. I read about so many topics, and I see so many different ways of thinking. I used to be elitist about writing. In high school I hated peer-reviewing others’ essays. I thought, “If you can’t communicate your thoughts on paper, I can’t help you.” I worried this opinion would infest my tutoring sessions, but after my first session, I realized how wrong I was. More, I wanted to ensure no student I interacted with felt like someone could think that way about them. Most students say, “I can’t write. My paper sounds stupid.” I love proving them wrong, showing them how much they’ve already written, how well they explain their ideas. Half of what I do for my students is mental—validating them. Essay feedback is secondary. Just asking for a tutor’s help is a big leap of faith. I learned my financial lesson. Now I’m in the middle of another one. Keep trying. Ask for help. Most people will root for you to win, especially when you’re struggling to find the courage within yourself.

I have never gotten along well with my mom. We share interests, but we also share the same quick temper. I remember being at odds with her over everything: my not liking ham when that was on the dinner menu, boys, sports, homework. We love each other in our own way, but I worried I wasn’t the affectionate youngest daughter she might have wished for. Before Brave came out, I would have struggled to pick a favorite Disney character. Favorite movie? Sure, easy: The Lion King. But I never saw myself reflected in the princesses I grew up with. From the first preview of Brave, I knew: Merida was my princess. Finally, at 23, I had a Disney Princess! She’s a tom-boy. She loves her horse. Most of all, she is a reckless, fearless adventurer who loves her family. I still cry when I hear Noble Maiden Fair, the lullaby Queen Elinor sings to Merida when a storm sends the tiny girl running for the shelter of her mother’s arms. I can remember nights growing up in Kansas, timidly watching the lightning of some prairie storm from our front porch and shuddering as the shockwaves of thunder boomed through us. My own mother is hard on me. She demands, like Queen Elinor, “well, perfection!” Watching storms together wasn’t just a quiet moment between us. It was a lesson in facing your fears and finding wonder in the terrible and beautiful. I admire my mother, the bear, the ferocious mother who protects her daughters and requires them to be honest and persistent in all they do. Watching Merida learn that love overcomes the most bitter family feuds hit home. She’s not my favorite Disney character for her adventures and plucky attitude. She’s my favorite because I saw the unruly child I was, who learned to appreciate her family for all their faults and virtues and still remain true to herself. She learned to temper her fiery anger and see through her mother’s eyes. Merida is the princess for ones who were not the soft-spoken Snow White. For the ones who weren’t the graceful Aurora. For the ones who didn’t have Cinderella’s fairy god-mother. Merida is the princess for the wild at heart. For the ones who deal with anger and misunderstanding, who choose to accept and overcome the emotions that might once have held them back.

I switched my undergraduate major eleven times. To say I was indecisive is an understatement, and to make matters worse, I chose to take a seven-year break from college. By the time I returned, most of my friends and high school classmates had completed their undergraduate degrees. We’ve all been told not to compare your own progress to others, but in a world of social media with carefully curated lives on display, it’s hard not to feel substandard. I resumed my studies in 2015, determined to complete the degree for the graphic design career I thought I wanted. Working two retail jobs to make enough money for rent and necessities left little time for creativity though. I found myself struggling again, comparing myself to my younger classmates who lived in the dorms and had no concerns for where their next meal would come from. I had confidence in my designs, but the effort to create came at an exhausting cost, both mentally and physically. At the beginning of one fall semester, my best friend and then-roommate asked me why I was so stressed out if I was pursuing what I claimed to love. She attended the same university, and she told me about one of her lectures that day: a student had asked the professor if it was ever too late to change their mind, and the professor said, “No, if you’re not happy, change what you’re doing. You can always change your mind again. There may be a cost, but at least you will know you tried.” That day, I switched my major for the last time, from art to business. I breezed through my finance degree, never once feeling the sickening dread I had felt trying to muster up 100 thumbnail sketches for illustration class. Then, my last semester, I took a data analytics class. I found myself wanting to learn more about data. I wanted to immerse myself in analytics. I have that weird brain combination where I love math but can apply it creatively. I can make people understand complex issues with a simple, effective report. Analytics was the career I was born for. But I was two classes away from a bachelors of business administration in finance. And I couldn’t afford to change my major one last time. So I finished my finance degree, and I stepped into the corporate world of financial analysis always wondering if I would make it back to the analytics field. I frequently think about that fateful day I decided to pursue a business degree. I’m thankful for the opportunities that choice opened. I imagined what would happen if I took that step again. I did it once… what if I did it again? Higher education is an exercise in making choices. It’s finding out who you are, what you love to do, and how to make the world better. I am an inquisitive learner, voraciously curious. I love discovering the how’s and why’s and explaining them in simpler terms. I want to make the world better by providing decision-makers with better data, better analysis, and better conclusions. Higher education means making a decision to try something new, and hopefully having the means to succeed in all that I wish to do.

Moxie is twelve, and in her short years on this planet, she has become a better character than I could hope to be. It’s hard to call Moxie “just” a dog. She has her own unique personality, the quintessential bull terrier clown with a heart of gold. She smiles at me when she’s happy. She drags her feet on the ground when she pouts. And she constantly reminds me to find joy in the little things. When I met Moxie, she was a puppy. She was a birthday and wedding anniversary gift, and raising and training her was a series of lessons in patience and persistence. If you’ve ever met a terrier, you know they can be sweet one moment and then stubborn the next. I chose the name Moxie because she had a spark of sass tempered by relentless affection. She had lived up to that name and then some. In 2015, my life drastically changed. My husband of almost seven years wanted a separation, I started started college again after a long hiatus, and I moved into my own place for the first time. Moxie was my rock, my best friend, and my inspiration. If she wasn’t in my life, I would have had no reason to try to improve my situation. While taking a full schedule of classes, I also worked two retail jobs. As poor as I found myself, I refused to neglect Moxie’s needs. Vet care, food, toys—there was no way I would allow myself to let my dog suffer because my means had fallen. After long days working at the mall, I would study with her curled up in a soft, warm ball beside me. Statistics homework was infinitely more palatable with a bull terrier study buddy. After long fights with my soon-to-be ex-husband, Moxie would wag her tail at me and demand a distracting walk or game of fetch. Divorce was something I could face with dignity with a four-legged partner who insisted I always take the high road. I have succeeded where once I would have given up because of the role Moxie plays in my life. The patience and persistence she required of me as a puppy taught me that I can do anything. And now, she gets to reap the benefits of having been such a stalwart professor of life. She’s laying beside me, basking in the sun, while I write this. She trusts that I won’t ever leave her wanting, and I refuse to disappoint her. Twelve years with Moxie, and however many I have left with her, will never be enough, but she will always be the reason I try harder to be a better person.