Growing up, I never really had the childhood that movies or books like to portray. There was no picturesque dinner table, no, “How was your day, honey?” Just empty bottles, slurred apologies, and the constant fear of what version of a parent would walk through the door. I was raised in a family of alcoholics. Generations of them. My earliest memories are clouded with yelling, broken promises, and moments of silence so loud they left bruises. Addiction didn’t just live in our house, it ruled it. My father drank to forget, my mother drank not to feel, and my older siblings followed suit. I was the youngest, the observer, the one who quietly cleaned up the messes and learned how to tell if someone was drunk by the way they turned a doorknob. It hurt deeply to watch people I loved deteriorate, losing jobs, friends, and even themselves. I constantly asked myself why love wasn’t enough to make them stop.
There were nights I cried myself to sleep, wishing someone would come save me. But no one ever did, so I saved myself. Their addiction became my motivation. I swore I would never become them. I worked multiple jobs throughout high school, cashiering, babysitting, stocking shelves, anything to build my own life. I didn’t have the luxury of asking for help with homework or being driven to practice. Every ounce of independence I have, I earned. Still, the temptation came. There was a time when I found myself surrounded by the wrong people, with easy access to marijuana and harder substances. I could’ve gone down the same path. It would have been easy. For a moment, I considered it maybe to feel something different or maybe just to forget, like the rest of my family had. But something in me clicked. Maybe it was the memory of my mom passed out on the kitchen floor or my sister getting arrested for a DUI. I walked away. Not because I was better than them, but because I knew I deserved better for myself.
At my lowest points, I needed an escape from the reality of my home life. That’s when I found art. Painting landscapes became my way of shutting out the noise, of bringing beauty into a world that often felt hopeless. While my parents drowned their problems in alcohol, I poured my emotions onto a canvas. Each brushstroke was a release, each color a feeling I couldn’t put into words. I painted the mountains I wanted to escape to, the open fields where I imagined myself free from the weight of my family’s choices. Art gave me control in a life where I often felt powerless.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that in this world, you truly only have yourself to rely on. No one was going to pull me out of my situation; I had to be my own savior. And I was. I learned that pain can either break you or build you. I chose the latter. Ironically, being surrounded by addiction has made me stronger, more compassionate, and focused on a future I want to be proud of. It’s what drew me to health and pharmaceutical studies. I want to understand addiction, not just as a victim of its destruction, but as someone who can help dismantle it from the inside. I want to be a part of solutions, treatments, and education that change lives. If I can prevent even one person from going through what I did, then all of my struggles will have been worth something. Today, the only thing I’m addicted to is progress. I’m addicted to working hard, setting goals, and proving to myself that my past doesn’t define me. I’ve never let my circumstances make me bitter, only better.
Receiving this scholarship wouldn’t just ease the financial burden of college, it would be a symbol that my story, my pain, and that my resilience matters. It would be a reminder that despite where I come from, I am capable of building a future where addiction no longer has the power to destroy families like mine.