I was what adults called a "troubled kid." Born a 7th child in the Redwood hills of rural California to poor, fractured parents experiencing homelessness, I remember feeling ashamed to be adopted and separated from my family. The other elementary school kids couldn't understand what it felt like to be parentless - I acted out all the way into High School, unable to contain the bizarre well of emotions inside me. I feel like I would've continued along that path, feeling lonely and volatile, if I hadn't found reading and writing. I appreciated my High School counselor Laura, but she never let me into the 'advanced classes.' In her mind I was a delinquent, not a scholar. I bargained with her to let me into my first and only honors class my senior year, AP Literature, and I fell in love. Finally, language gave me the tools to break apart my inner world; to relate to others, to face an internal pain head on. School could be challenging and, surprisingly, fun. I was the only one to score a perfect '5' on the test. A sign that maybe I too, like some of my classmates, could go to college. None of my siblings went and my birth parents never finished High School. I'm now a graduate student at the University of Chicago pursuing a clinical social work and policy degree. With it, I hope to conduct group therapy work with youth and those from similar communities to my own, building trust and solidarity to envision a way to heal collectively and build better world free from inequality. I see my social work as powerful activism. Love and mutual aid guide me. Thank you for reading!