Two parallel lines, two faint blue strips that dictated how drastically my life was about to change.

Pregnant. There’s no way, this can’t be right… can it? Not me, it was only once, so it doesn’t even really count, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

Lets back up for a minute and start from the very beginning.

I have always been a true-blue, textbook definition of a perfectionist. From as early as I can remember, if I couldn’t do things 100% the way they were supposed to be done, that was it, I could not handle it, so I just wouldn’t do it. The risk of failing far surpassed the risk of trying and not ending up being able to do it perfectly. This is probably why I flew through about half a dozen sports growing up before I landed on my one true love, which also fueled my perfectionism in more ways than I can even bear to think about: gymnastics.

I think it’s pretty common knowledge in the outside world that the goal of gymnastics is to be “perfect.”

The perfect 10, the most sought-out number on the face of the planet in a gymnasts’ eyes, and quite frankly, next to none of us ever experienced that success. But nonetheless it was a goal,  a goal that every single gymnast strives for.

From that point on, from the age of 6 years old, my entire being and human existence was dictated by the correlation between numbers and perfectionism. In gymnastics, it was the perfect 10, which let’s get real, I never even came close to achieving. Once I outgrew gymnastics, both figuratively and literally because I’m 5’6” which is a monster in the sport where all dominating forces are under 5’, I turned to running.

After running in a 5k for a late uncle, I realized I might potentially have some talent, so I decided to take up track and cross country throughout high school, which further fed my numbers equals success rationale. Times, miles, laps, it all had to add up to what I deemed to be “perfect”, most often determined by my coaches, but I also put my spin on it to determine how effectively I was meeting my own expectations for myself, which if you haven’t figured out by now, were unrealistically high.

My numbers equals success facade took a turn for the absolute worst the summer before my junior year of high school. 3 weeks before school began, I ended up being life-flighted to one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country for deadly blood clots in my leg and lungs.

After that 8-day hospital ordeal was over, as I was getting ready for discharge, the doctor turned to me and said “In order to prevent this from happening again, there are 3 things you must not ever do: Smoke cigarettes, take hormonal contraceptives, and become overweight.” I nodded and tucked that information in the back of my mind, and proceeded with the rest of my day.

As my recovery process began, I found myself laid up a lot longer than I originally had thought. It seemed my running days were over as I could barely hobble across my house to the bathroom with a walker without gasping for air. And to my absolute demise, I began to gain weight.

I have always been a muscular girl, between the immense amount of muscle mass gained from 6 years of gymnastics, to having “quadzilla” legs from running for 5 years up until that point, I had a good amount of mass. So 150 pounds on my 5’6” frame was normal for me, and I looked exceptionally fit and healthy. Or so I thought, until I found the internet.

Soon I began obsessing over weight charts, “normal ranges” for women my height, and to my absolute despair, I was considered “at risk for becoming overweight”. There was that word, overweight. One of those three words my doctor told me I could never become. Thus began my irrationally unhealthy relationship with food. Over the next 3 months, I would go on to lose close to 30 pounds, always fed by my numbers-driven thought process. By the end of December, I was 127 pounds and looked like a walking skeleton.

I had family members constantly down my throat, drilling me about how much I weighed and what I had eaten that day. It was constant, and it was exhausting. So I “recovered” or so everyone thought. My battles with food and disordered thoughts would continue to haunt me every day for the next 5 years. My weight had recovered, despite a few half-hearted attempts at starvation a few weeks before a big event like prom or graduation or the beginning of college, only to binge afterward and put on more weight than I had lost.

But in those moments of such bittersweet lows, I was perfect. In my eyes, in the eyes of my similarly disordered friends, I was perfect. The perfect body, the perfect boyfriend at the time, the seemingly perfect life.

I had been accepted into Duquesne University’s Doctorate of Physical Therapy program, and began my first semester there in the fall of 2012. This acceptance was just another reminder of how ‘perfect’ my life was to be; a great school in a big city far away from the controlling eyes and words of my family, I was pre-accepted into grad school as a freshman, I would graduate with my Doctorate and live the rest of my life as the strong independent woman I was always portrayed to be in a big city filled with opportunity… until those two little blue lines showed up.

I met D through a mutual friend at the University of Pittsburgh, and we instantly hit it off. He was different than anyone I had ever been with back home, so immediately I was even more intrigued. He had a history in modeling and was studying opera at Carnegie Mellon, the primitive music college right next door to Pitt. All of these things combined, plus a little liquid courage, made him more attractive by the minute.

Soon enough, I found myself in his suite the morning following a party we had attended together, not entirely sure what had happened the night before, but through deductive reasoning, I had a pretty good idea. In the midst of getting around and ready to head back to my campus, the conversation was brought up that the condom had broken. “Oh well, it happens”, I thought, and back home I went.

A few weeks later, that “oh well” thought had turned into a feeling of absolute despair as I walked alone to the nearest pharmacy to buy the one and only pregnancy test I have ever taken to this day. There it was, 6pm on a cold November night, 6 hours away from home, with a white stick with two faint blue lines running down it, confirming what I believed to be something that happened to unlucky people, people who weren’t careful, people that weren’t me… I was 18, and pregnant.

The next few weeks were a blur, honestly. Abortion was never an option as I am explicitly pro-life and there was no way to persuade me otherwise. I had made a decision, and now it was my job to take responsibility for my actions, a lesson that had been taught to me from a very young age.

At first, D and I had decided that an open adoption was the only way to get through this. I would have the baby and his aunt who had been trying to have kids would adopt it, that way we could still be a part of his or her life. But that idea was shot down after a conversation with my mother one day, who had also gotten pregnant at 18, and she asked one simple question that determined the direction that my life would go from that point on, “Where do you think you would be today if I had given you up for adoption?” Thus began the planning.

I applied and was accepted at a small branch campus of Penn State University that had a 2-year Physical Therapist Assistant program, a “measly Associates degree” that I thought to be a cake walk compared to the Doctorate program I was currently a part of.

I withdrew from Duquesne at the end of the semester, returned home, and immediately began working. I got a job at a new deli in my small rural hometown, and worked throughout the entire length of my pregnancy, up until a few weeks before my due date, July 2nd. July 2nd came and went, without any sign of “Baby Bella” as she was affectionately known as.

The morning of the Fourth of July came, and I was woken up abnormally early, about 6:45am, with these weird cramps. I tried going back to sleep but they seemed to be getting stronger, so after taking some time to shower and relax, I realized exactly what was going on… I was in labor. So off we went to make the 2-hour drive to the hospital that I was to deliver at.

By the time I got to the hospital, I was already 5cm dilated, half-way there! I began walking laps around the hospital floor, doing everything in my power to have gravity help me move things along. I never planned on having an epidural, just something about needles and my spine that I’m not too comfortable with! By 7pm, it was go time, and by 7:10, I heard those first beautiful cries from my baby girl.

The only words I could say following her birth were “I did it!”, and that unknowingly would become my mantra for the years to come.

The first few weeks after delivery were tough, but with some minor complications and feeding issues resolved, things were beginning to calm down. That is, until the end of August came around. I had decided to begin my schooling immediately after my daughter was born, with the rationale being that I would get through a two-year program while she was young and wouldn’t remember me being gone, and then I would be home and with a career once she was old enough to start remembering things from her childhood. This all sounded fine and great, except for one thing; she wouldn’t remember I wasn’t there, but I sure would remember not being there.

The campus was an hour and 40 minutes away, far too long to make the commute every single day with no income to help pay for gas and all of the mileage on my car. So with the immense love and support from my family, it was decided that I would stay on campus during the week, and come home on the weekends, with my mom and grandma taking turns helping out with my daughter throughout the week. Welcome to the next two and a half years…

My daily schedule during the week proceeded as follows: wake up by 7am, class from roughly 8am to 4pm, depending on the day, library from 4pm to 10pm, back to my room to study from 10pm to between 2am-4am, off to bed and up by 7am the next day. It was grueling, and it was exhausting to say the least. I would force myself to do whatever necessary to get all of my work done throughout the week so by Friday night, I could come home, snuggle up with Bella, and be passed out asleep by 8:30pm.

Weekends consisted of all of the time I could get with her, interspersed with the increasingly less frequent naps as she got older that I craved in order to catch up on all of the lost hours of sleep during the week. And week by week, I found myself collapsing into bed on a Friday night, muttering the same phrase “another week down, I did it.”

Summers consisted of more hours in the heat of the kitchen back in my hometown deli, with the hopes of making enough money throughout the summer to get me through the school year to follow. I was fortunate enough to be chosen as the class tutor my freshman year in both Anatomy and Physiology, so through the schools’ work-study program, I was able to make a minimal amount of money that helped with the ever growing expenses of being not only a college student, but a single mother on top of that.

In the midst of everything, I also found myself struggling once again with my obsession of numbers dominating my existence. I knew I had to get good grades in order to be competitive in a graduate school application, and seeing as that was my ultimate goal, I let that far off illusion control my every move. Any second I wasn’t sleeping or eating, both of which I rarely did, I was studying.

It was obsessive, it was compulsive, it had friends worrying and whispering behind closed doors, but I thought I knew what I had to do in order to ensure I would have a chance at another opportunity of furthering my education after this phase of my life was over. I isolated myself in the library, in my dorm room, even in the laundry room in order to utilize every single minute I had to study, to get that elusive 4.0, that “magic number” that I thought would be the only way I would ever feel that I had made something of myself, the only way to be perfect.

But weeks and weekends came and went, exams and practicals passed and aced, and next thing I knew, it was May of 2015 and graduation day was here. I cannot put into words the overflowing emotions that overcame me as I walked into the gymnasium and across that stage. All of the sleepless nights, all of the countless hours of studying and stressing and practicing time and time again for practicals, it was all worth it.

I walked across that stage with a 3.73 GPA and nothing less than an A- in any class except my freshman history class because let’s get real, a science geek like me could not stay awake to save my life in that class! I was inducted into Alpha Sigma Lambda, a collegiate national honor society for adult learners, for those who exemplified leadership and academic excellence while managing a family or competing interests outside of the classroom.

But none of the exam scores, practical grades, or GPAs mattered in that moment, because I was officially a college graduate; 21 years old, with a soon to be 2-year-old cheering over everyone else in the audience… I did it.

And in that moment, everything was great. The Monday following graduation came, and our clinical rotations began. I had 6 weeks at a nursing home, followed immediately with 6 weeks in an outpatient rehab facility in my hometown. Once those were said and done, the real work began.

In the field of Physical Therapy, your degree means nothing without passing the national Board examination. Like the MCATs for medical students or the LSATs for prospective law students, “the Boards” are the biggest cumulative exam a physical therapy student will ever take. It encompasses the last 2.5 (or 7 for DPT students) years of knowledge and clinical experience you have gained and puts it to the test in clinical application questions.

While studying for 20 hours a day in college was something that could be done, studying with a two-year-old proved to be one of the most challenging feats I had come across at this point. Cue again the late nights studying, the minimal sleep, the begging for nap time so I could continue the quest of finally finishing this process, once and for all. Any spare moment of silence I had was spent with my nose in the books, and many pages of my review book are marked with the drawings of a 2-year-old Picasso.

October 7th arrived, and I woke up knowing that my and my daughters’ entire future depended on what was about to happen in the following hours.

As I made my way to the testing center, I was overcome with a calming sense of relaxation and peace. The nervous jitters were replaced with a feeling of complete satisfaction and confidence, knowing that I had dedicated every single ounce of myself into getting to this moment. I had taken practice exam after practice exam, hitting target scores on each, and continuously solidifying in my mind that this journey that had started just about 3 years ago was finally about to come to an end…

The exam began and to my pleasant surprise, it was easier than any practice exam I had taken, and my confidence began to elevate. By the end of the 4 hours, I was exhausted, I was brain dead, I didn’t know my left from my right, nor did I think I remembered how to drive. But the one thing I did know, was that I had passed. We would not get our results for another week, but in the back of my mind, there wasn’t a single doubt that that was the last test I would ever have to take in my PTA career.

The week following was the slowest and most agonizing waiting I had ever experienced. But finally the day came when we would find our results. The group texts were blowing up, everyone anxiously waiting for the first person to tell everyone that results were up. I checked feverishly every hour on the hour until 6pm, when I told myself that I would stop checking if they weren’t up by then. But around 8:30pm, the first text came through, “THEY’RE UP!” My eyes scanned for that one word, one single 6-letter word in parentheses that was to determine my future… Passed. I did it!

I looked down at my miracle, my motivator, the tiny human being that pushed me and gave me the strength I needed to push through every obstacle, “Mommy did it, Mommy passed her test!”

Tears flowed uncontrollably from my eyes as she threw her arms around me, even at 2 years old, she could understand the importance and significance of this moment. I assume the minutes and hours following were full of text messages and calls to those most important to me to share the big news, but there was no better way to have found out that everything was worth it than to have my precious girl right by my side, just as she was for the past 2 ½ years.

As with every college graduate, next came the job search. There are pros and cons in being from a small rural town. Pro: there probably aren’t many of whatever degree you just graduated with, so if the job is there, there’s not much competition for it. Con: It doesn’t matter if there’s competition if there is no job available in said area. I was experiencing the latter. My hometown has two physical therapy offices, and neither of which had postings for jobs. I searched far and wide, every job search engine, websites of every hospital and nursing home within a 30-mile radius. Nothing.

About a month had passed, and I was getting more and more worried by the day… How am I going to support my daughter as a single mom with no job, OR how am I going to afford to move out on my own to go find a job elsewhere without the help of my family?  They say fate has a funny way of taking its own sweet time, but eventually it will come back around and find you. And that’s exactly what it did one November day.

I had just put my daughter down for a nap when my phone rang, and to my surprise, it just so happened to be the facility director from one of the local physical therapy offices in my hometown, where I had done my last clinical rotation. “Hey Victoria, congratulations on passing your boards! Just curious as to if you had a job lined up yet. If not, why don’t you come on in for an interview, we would love to have you back on board as a full time licensed PTA!”

I’m not sure which emotions were strongest, those after finding out I had passed my boards, or those that I felt in that moment after hanging up the phone. Here I had been searching for a month all over the county, just to have my clinical location call ME to ASK me to come back to work for them!? A lesson for anyone having to do internships of any kind: ALWAYS do your best, ALWAYS give your 110%, and NEVER burn bridges, because you never know where they can lead.

I have been working for just over 5 months now, and it is everything I could have asked for. Being able to say that I put myself through college as a single teen mom and came out on top with a degree, a license, a career, and a toddler that I can fully support financially on my own is absolutely without a doubt my proudest moment, and most meaningful accomplishment.

People ask me regularly if I plan on going back to school to finish what I started originally and complete my Doctorate, and yes, that is certainly a goal that I keep in the back of my mind. I am currently teaching myself biology at home from an old college textbook in order to get a head start on some of the classes I know I will have to eventually take to finish out my Bachelors and proceed with grad school. But after spending two years away from my daughter, my only priority is spending as much time as humanly possible with her.

Sure she won’t remember those first two years that I was gone, but I certainly do.

I missed a lot of her firsts: her first time rolling over, her first word, her first steps. But I can’t wait to be here for the remainder of her firsts, and every other moment, both important and unimportant. School will always be there, and I will always have an opportunity to finish what I started. But my baby will only be my baby for so long, and spending time with her and watching her grow is more valuable than any additional piece of paper (and additional $100k in student loan debt).

I hope this story will inspire anyone else going through a similar issue; whether it be an unplanned pregnancy, or any life circumstance that might be limiting your ability to pursue your dreams. I thank God every single day for allowing me to have the strong family support that enabled me and encouraged me to continue my education and not be another “teen mom” statistic. However, I know not everyone can be as lucky as I am with a supportive family.

Whether you are surrounded by a loving and caring support system or you’re totally on your own, always remember that you have the capability to do anything you set your mind to. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” People told me time and time again that “my life was over” and I had “ruined my life”, even those I thought were closest to me. The funny thing about that is, a large majority of the people who told me that, never finished college themselves, or are barely scraping by to pass. How’s that for karma for you.

Moral of the story is: No one can tell you “you can’t” or “you won’t”, every decision you make is a reflection of your inner strength and your inner determination to succeed. You can’t “kind of” want it, you can’t just think about it… whatever you do, whatever you set your mind to, you have to WANT it. You have to want it so bad, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get you there. It’s not going to be easy, it’s going to be really hard. You’re not going to sleep, and you’re going to survive off of m&m’s and popcorn. It’s not going to be a walk in the park, and you’re going to miss out on a lot of things your peers get to do.

But you have to find that inner strength and desire to throw the rule book out the window, let any comments from people telling you that you can’t roll right off your back, and always keep your goals in the front of your mind and allow your dreams to lead you. I went through my entire college career reminding myself every day of this quote…  “Believe in yourself and all that you are. Know that there is something inside of you greater than any obstacle.”

My entire life can be summed up in one sentence: it didn’t go as planned, and that’s okay.

And despite my desperate attempts through my time in gymnastics and running, my struggle with eating disorders throughout high school, and my time in college, I have finally learned that there is no such thing as perfection. There is no perfect number, no perfect person, and no perfect situation that will determine how successful you will be. Success comes from within, it comes from a passionate drive and unwavering determination to succeed.

Today, myself and many of those around me would consider me to be successful, and guess what, there is no number dictating “how” successful I am.

The biggest lesson I have learned through everything I have made it through in this life is to strive for progress, not perfection. Don’t let perfection be the enemy of good and great. What you put in, you will get out. As for me, I will continue to have dreams to chase and goals to achieve, but I am perfectly okay with my imperfect life.

Maintaining a healthy lifestyle is vital for your overall health and wellness in life. The way that best fits for me to do so is through conscientious routine and consistency.

Since 2012, when I went on my first International competition outing in Puerto Rico, I kept a training log to monitor my progress. I started this log to have a form of accountability for myself when my coach (Dad) wasn’t around. This log consisted of everything from how my mood was that day, the weather, and how fast my intervals were or how many miles I ran. I also logged how I felt emotionally because in the sport of track and field, I believe the majority of it is mental.

I found that even if the log did nothing for me, it was a consistent routine of self-reflection. When analyzing areas within yourself in which you desire to change, it is a good Idea to keep track of how you feel and what the aspects of it are so that you can attain your goal and monitor progress. My training log is also psychologically vital to my overall health because in high school when I didn’t always have others there to talk to during stressful home life, I was able to shut my door, focus on my reflection, and vent anything that was bothering me onto paper.

Even if I didn’t ever reevaluate the log that I wrote for the day, it was good to get it off my chest so I can sleep better and prepare for the next day of work.

At the top of each page of this college ruled composition book I wrote a statement or quote to live by for that week. I often wrote my goals in this space as well, that way I keep them fresh in my mind and constantly remind myself of them so I do not lose sight.

Reflecting on my past, physical activity has had a huge impact on my life and without it, I do not know where I would be today. My upbringings weren’t all that great, I lived in 23 different houses, and attended 10 different schools up until I was 18 years old. I come from a very low (if any) income household with 6 siblings and a total of 9 family members under the same roof.

I lived in a very stressful environment with a dysfunctional parenting style being one that my parents never agreed upon anything.  The dysfunctional relationship between them had a negative impact on our family atmosphere. Overall, there was a lot more to it than just them arguing. Their un-agreeableness and their lack of financial support led to many problems within my family life that were very challenging to cope with at a young age.

Luckily there was no alcohol or drugs in my household but there was unhealthy amounts of control and mental abuse.

Ultimately, my “norm” was one of pure chaos, stress and agony. Exercise for me, was an escape of my reality. It allowed me to exit the building of pain which I lived in at home. It gave me hope, it restored my emotions, my attitude, my stress levels and my spiritual well being.

That’s when I found that running, to me was much more than just a competition or a leisure activity that most people do simply to stay in shape. I found the love for exercise through my unhealthy home lifestyle that I was trapped in yet I could escape it in two ways, my dreams, and my running.

At a young age I knew I was in a place in my life where I was unsatisfied, and I wanted change. My biggest dream was to travel the world and do what I love. What would be better than doing something that you are gifted at, and earning a salary for it? I did not know exactly what that would look like but I knew I wanted it. I knew traveling the world is very expensive, so how could I possibly travel for free? Seems impossible.

Hope is how, Hope is how seemingly impossible things become possible.

The way that I was able to make that transition to change was that I had an endless amount of focus on my dreams and visions because I wanted it more than anything. I thought about being great every single day, not a time passed when I wasn’t thinking big, imagining myself being great, and one day being free from stress.

After years of running consistently, I was able to develop quite a skill for something I did for fun. I have a competitive edge that flows through my veins and whatever the activity may be whether its back yard basketball or a friendly game of kickball, I wanted to win!. I started to see that I have special abilities that come to me more naturally than others, this is when I found my true self, I found hope for my future, I found my vision.

Self-belief was a huge factor to maintaining not only a healthy lifestyle both physically and mentally, but having a small minuscule amount of hope can go a long way. I often think of quotes that motivate and inspire me and one that I came up with is “If you take a simple word, give it direction and purpose, it can go a long way.” So I would think of simple encouraging words and phrases that are uplifting and I gave them purpose and direction. “Bailey you CAN succeed” “BELIEVE in your abilities” “TRUST in your training.”

What I mean by this is through various forms of self-efficacy, self-assessment and monitoring self-progress, there is a lot more to maintaining a healthy spirituality than it may seem. I developed my self-confidence through positive self-talk, trial and error, and testing my abilities by pushing my limits on the track and in life. I would climb trees, go exploring, run up the wall and do a backflip, breakdance, ride a unicycle, walk along tall and narrow fence lines, all of which are random skills.

Whether it be learned or natural that I incorporated into my arsenal of abilities. I just let my true identity speak for itself.

Once I compiled and established all these random skills. I was able to realize that all these activities that seemed purposeless actually played a huge role in who I am today. Little did I know that the more back flips I did, the more trees I climbed, my desire to explore, create, and accomplish allowed me to form a foundation.

From my adolescence, my abilities, visions and mentality have exceeded my physical age by being aware of my surroundings. I am very observant and constantly learn from my experiences. I learn from other people’s actions, people I’ve met, places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. With that being said I have always been good at forming my own ideas and goal setting. I know exactly what I want, and I work backwards from that to my current situation and develop a plan of action.

My dreams of going to college, running on team USA, and becoming financially independent for example would not have come if it weren’t for my focus and determination. Factors that I took into account on a daily basis such as nutrition, sleep, hydration, preventative maintenance activities, and positive reinforcement were those of which I focused on in order to achieve my goals.

I was so focused on my goals that the big picture was much more beautiful than instant satisfaction of leisure activities. I would rather be getting the right amount of rest needed to perform well in my next interval session than to be staying up late at night with friends. In our society, it is very easy to give up on your dreams if you’re not careful.

“There is always going to be an option to give up, and there will not always be a reason to keep pushing.”

Too many things in my life atmosphere were telling me to give up, quit, stop trying so hard, the odds are against you but I would never quit, so I did the opposite. Deep down inside of me there was that will to succeed that outweighed anyone’s negative remark or doubt in me because the most important aspect is that I believed in myself more than anyone could ever doubt me. I believe that if you’re going to do something at all, might as well give it 100%. I’m not sacrificing my whole lifestyle to be mediocre, I am in it to be great. Those were some words that I lived by in all areas of my life.  None of the less, I stayed focused and accountable to myself through monitoring my progress in my training log and stayed consistent throughout because consistency is key in this game.

My dad always said, “Son, if you want to be so great, you need to master the small things in life and the big things will come easier”, this gave me a perspective that changed my life. All the small things I did such as stretching, ice baths, rolling out, and getting a good amount of sleep allowed me to be ready for the tough challenges I faced in both running and in life. It is not always what you go through or experience in life, it’s how you handle them that shapes who you are.

Another quote that my dad always said was, “Small successes are the stairway to great performances,” this was a reinforcement to my self-confidence because I was setting myself up for success not failure. He always believed in me 100% and with that, my outlook on this had a huge impact on my performance because I did not fail, I set realistic goals, and I attained them. If I exceeded my goals whether short or long term “icing on the cake” as my dad would say.

Throughout my upbringing of struggle, I was able to become resilient to adversity. Through the various places I have lived and the exposure to real-world environments have allowed me to form the ability to adjust. As simple as that may sound, I consider it one of my finer qualities because without it, I would not be able to cope with the amount of stress and overload that my body withstood.

Running has allowed me to maintain a healthy stability throughout any form of hard ship I have encountered and meet my goals regardless of the situation. I am a survivor and I use that to my advantage when I need to adjust to a new environment, situation or place in my life. I use my survival instincts to fuel the fire for my success. Instead of letting stress get the best of me, I make it work for me not against me. I apply my developed resiliency to maintaining a healthy lifestyle and focusing on my priorities.

I am currently a sophomore in college, living my dreams and enjoying a healthy lifestyle.

Because I never gave giving up a chance.

I’ve traveled to multiple foreign countries, I’ve won national championships, I’ve crushed national records and I’ve won a Pan-American gold medal. Little did I know that this all came from a little hope, a little boy with a big dream. From staying focused and monitoring my steps of self-planning, I’ve been able to consistently attain a healthy lifestyle. With my competitive edge and my will to succeed, I am always looking for avenues to improve on within myself.

Being a sophomore now, I have adjusted to the life of being a D1 student athlete and it is quite tough to balance all that entails. With that being said, I constantly monitor my progression and still keep a running log to this day. I have come up with ways that I can better myself through evaluating areas in which need improvements.

I started a “Life Log” a few months ago that allows me to keep track of my priorities, goals and steps of action because the journey to the ultimate goal is how the goal will eventually be attained. Each day I set time out and use my Life Log as an accountability check that forces me to prioritize what is important and allow me to stay focused. Even if it 5-10 minutes and a few sentences of reflection, it keeps me in check with where I am, and where I want to go.

I choose to prioritize this plan of action so that I do not allow any negativity that I can control to affect my life. I have control of my current life situation as a student athlete, and I have big goals. I’m going to keep continuing to use these methods to allow the big things in life to come easier from the mastery of the small things.

Bailey’s Recommended Resource for other athletes: 

Running for My Life by Lopez Lomong

Lopez Lomong is a big inspiration and one I have had the chance to meet in person. He is a Nike sponsored US Olympian who grew up in Sudan during the Sudanese Civil War. He inspired me to never lose hope and even when there was no reason, to keep pushing.

People often ask – either with a curious or perplexed expression – “What made you want to start the nonprofit?” I smile and say something to the effect of, “A lifetime of screwing up.”

Be About Change (the nonprofit) provides higher education scholarships to students from low-income households, and we write about individuals and organizations that embrace change and seek to make a difference in the lives of others.

Lately, when interacting with people, whether I just met them or have known them for a while, I ask myself two questions: Is there anything I can do personally to help further their goals? Who in my network of people might be able to help them?

But things were not always this way.

The questions I used to ask were usually quite the opposite and I spent a lot of time figuring out ways to avoid dealing with internal conflict, or at the very, least suppressing it (only to realize that this in fact compounded things). Social media? I thought that was a platform for complaining and posting versions of my ideal self, as projected by my ego. As it turns out, the ego can be useful, but I’ve found its energy is wasted on creating facades.

Ironically – and I’ve never actually said this before – the nonprofit functions in a similar way. It’s an alter ego of sorts, and when I compartmentalize what I believe are positive efforts, I seem to be able to hold myself to a higher standard within the confines or premise of the nonprofit. In a way, it gives me a place to practice BEING my ideal self. Not the aesthetic kind – but the kind that is rooted in the foundational principles with which I was instilled when I was growing up.

Not so long ago, I made decisions from a very self-serving place; this of course compelled me to act in corresponding ways – addictions, self-isolation, no consideration of others, permanent judgment of others, and essentially no value for the lives of others or my own.

Things got so bad I knew I either had to change or I would lose everything…including my life.

Even still, almost a year into sobriety, my darkness seemed to have a stronghold on me…and I knew, yet again, it was time for change. In a way, I felt cheated…where was the reward for voluntary sobriety? Wasn’t life supposed to be much better now? 2015…dead sober…and it was one of the most difficult times in my life…because for the first time in my life, I knew I had to travel to the deepest, darkest corners of my mind if I was to find peace.

I signed up, trained for, and ran my first half-marathon.

I spent a lot of time identifying behavioral patterns in my life and learning how my mind works. I habitually sought out new experiences and scenarios that made me uncomfortable. I got used to immersing myself in my fears. My running training was often at 4:30 and 5:00 a.m., with no sunlight. There was something liberating about conquering physical challenges in darkness.

After the run, hitting other personal records, and practicing writing more honestly, it dawned on me that I could actually harness the madness…the unsettled nature of my mind, and channel it to do something productive, while trying to help others. I use the word “trying” because there is an inherent sense of arrogance in saying “I help others.” It’s presumptuous to assume you know what is best for someone else. Rather, I try to configure and reconfigure my motivation to be conscious of where others are in life, understanding that all of us generally operate from a place where we feel mentally safe.

So…this is the longer answer to the question “What made you want to start the nonprofit?”

I can’t honestly say I wanted to…it was never some life-long goal of mine. I guess you could say I became a person that was no longer solely motivated by service to self. I became aware that the smallest effort we make TODAY can have a positive impact on a person…generations later, after that spark ignites action in others throughout time.

As I conclude this article, a song starts playing on my Spotify playlist that I used to hear when I wanted to make changes in my life, but couldn’t. When fear of the unknown was paralyzing. But don’t take my word for it.

Imagine your fears and the stronghold they have on you. Thank them for bringing you this far (gratitude for them is important, in my opinion). Then allow that energy to propel you into a state of continuously being about change. Thank you for letting me share my #halfthestory.

What is your most valuable resource?

Some answers might vary to scarce resources like coal or oil or natural gas, some might say money, some might say people. I say time.

Everyone has the same amount but everyone uses theirs differently. You cannot exchange it or return it.

You cannot go back. You cannot go forward. Once it is gone, it’s gone. I think time is the most valuable thing people can spend. I think so many people use time as a crutch instead of a tool. If you use your time with resentment or envy, you’ll be disappointed. But if you cherish it and spend it in a positive light, I really do think you will live a fuller life. I compare my freshman year of college versus my senior year of college.

Freshman year I had all the time in the world. How did I spend it? Going out late, catching up on sleep the next day, watching movies, mindlessly playing on my phone. Now here I am a senior wondering if I had more hours in the day as a freshman. Yes this is due to the fact that I got more involved, but I just cherish my time so much more now. I think the past few years have shed light on how valuable of a resource time really is.

UGA Relay For Life has been a major factor in this. My friend found out her dad had stage 4 cancer a while back.

He died just recently.

I cannot wrap my mind around that because it is so hard to imagine. You hear horror stories of it all the time, but it is not until it personally effects you that you begin to take notice. I think it is so sad that it takes something like this for people to realize how important our cause is and why we do what we do.

This is when it really hits home.

That is the thing about time. You cannot borrow time. You cannot gain any more time. It expires everyday. What you do in that span is so important because it is a day you will never get back.

Coach Joni Taylor, the head Women’s Basketball Coach at the University of Georgia, came to speak at an exec meeting and I will never forget what she said. She stated, “if you are still thinking about what you did yesterday then you have not done enough today.”

That really struck me. I used to make to do lists with things I wanted to accomplish and I would just say “If I can just make it through today, I’ll be good. Tomorrow I can rest and relax.” And while I do think it is important to take a break from this stressful time of life, I think it is important to keep moving forward and to keep pushing yourself. I hate when people say “I don’t have time.” There is a difference between not having time and not making time.

If there is one thing I learned throughout my three and a half years at Georgia so far, it is to make the time. If you commit to something, make sure you make the time. If someone asks for help, make the time.

Don’t cancel plans. Don’t flake. Spend time with friends and family. Spend time with teachers. Spend time with classmates. Support your friends’ causes and efforts. I’ve learned that just making the effort and making the time goes a long way. I think making people realize how valuable a resource time is is tricky because it is not necessarily tangible. You can’t do anything with it but spend it. You just have to choose what you spend it on.

In my last few months here in Athens, I devote myself to not wasting a minute of my time when it could be spent towards something much more meaningful.

(Written by Anonymous)

Author’s Note: My recount of experiencing a panic attack is not a general model that all sufferers of panic disorder experience. Panic attacks can occur at any time and the triggers and signs of a panic attack are unique to each person experiencing one. However, many people have trouble describing what it’s like to experience a panic attack after it’s over. People who have never experienced a panic attack often wonder what’s “really happening” in someone’s head during a panic episode. I wrote this to answer that question: to show what’s happening in my head during a live panic attack.

10:00am

In bed. I need to get out of bed. I’ve been in bed all morning and I have so much I need to do. I need to put in my transfer application; I need to rewrite my resume; I need to check my email. But I’m so warm and comfortable and safe in bed. I don’t want to leave this comfortable, safe haven. I can wait a little longer…

11:30am

In bed. I really need to get out of bed. I’m starving and I need to pee. Fine, I’ll get up. I just don’t feel good: my stomach hurts, my back hurts, my head hurts, it all hurts. But I don’t want to stop feeling safe and comfortable. But… ok I’m getting up, I’ve really got to pee now.

11:35am

Bathroom. Alright, come on girl. Just wash your hands, brush your hair. Ugh, my teeth are disgusting. And I’m breaking out again. I swear, I don’t get why people say I’m pretty; all of these zits are disgusting. I don’t think it would make much of a difference if the zits weren’t there. Why would anyone think I’m pretty? Zit-faced, overweight, out of shape, small boobs; I don’t even want to show my face in public. People will know as soon as they look at me; they’ll know I’m screwed up, they’ll never help me. Why would anyone help someone like me? No one would bother helping me; they’ll just watch as I get yelled at again.

11:45am

Kitchen. Cereal: check. Milk: check. Coffee: check. I should check my email…I haven’t checked it in three weeks. How many emails do I have? Don’t think about that. I bet the statuses of those job applications are in, I should probably check to see if…Why would they give me a job? I screwed up college, I don’t even have an official degree yet, I look disgusting. They’ll just be rejections anyway, like all the others. And there’s probably a ton of other emails I have to answer. I don’t want to see that number on my inbox; I can’t look at it. If I see that number I’ll know just how much a failure I am. Why do I even need to see that number? I already know I’m a failure.

12:20pm

Dining room with laptop. Ok, I can do this. I need to put in my transfer application. Put in contact information, done. Income and taxes, done and done. College credits completed…crap. I don’t want to know.

I have to pull up my school’s student portal and look at my grades to find out how many credits I’ve finished. All those B’s and C’s and two F’s, and so many class withdrawals. I can’t see those grades again; they’re just proof that I’m a failure and I can’t even take a freaking class and do well. And withdrawing from everything last semester…that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had him as a professor. He was so scary; he was just like her…No, stop! Don’t think about her, don’t do it. She’s in the past, just click save and go take a shower. Yeah, a shower will help.

1:00pm

In the shower. Breathe in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three… It feels really small in here. Maybe if I open the curtain a little bit that’ll help, but then I could get hurt. If I open the curtain the water will get all over the floor.

Mom will be mad and she’ll yell; I can’t risk that. I can’t get yelled at, not again. I’ll get hit if I get yelled at. Everyone already knows I’m a loser and a failure and ugly; don’t yell at me because of that! I can’t breathe, I can’t, she’s going to hit me again, he’s going to yell. Sit down girl, just sit down, head between your knees like you learned in first aid training.

I’m not safe, they’re going to hurt me, they’re going to yell – *A gray-haired severe looking woman wields a hardcover textbook as I struggle to find the words. What was the question again? What do I like to do? “Me gusta… me gusta bailar, no, baila, no. Me, me gusta.. bailo?” Her face contorts, she walks to my desk, raising the textbook. “Repita!” I can’t remember how to start, what did I even say? “Me… yo no sé.” I see the book coming – SMACK. My head spins, I can’t stop the tears. “Repita!” I just cry harder, I can’t speak. “Repita!” More tears, everyone’s watching, I can’t move my mouth, I can’t even move my tongue, why doesn’t someone do something? SMACK. I can’t see, I can’t breathe, please God – SMACK.* Stop thinking about that! Just breathe in, breathe out. You’re just sitting in the shower breathing, it’s all ok, you’re ok. I breathe in; how long am I supposed to count for?

Do I count for breathing in or breathing out? Or both? Oh God, please help me, don’t let her hurt me! I need to get out, I need to get somewhere safe. If I stay here she’ll find me, she’ll make me cry in front of everyone, she’ll make me stay after everyone leaves like before, no one will be watching, no one can keep me safe. I need to get somewhere safe…

1:15pm

In bed. Breathe in, and out. Breathe in, and out. I’m safe here. It’s warm, no one can hurt me if I’m in bed. My chest hurts; am I having a heart attack? No, no I can’t be, that’s ridiculous. Just calm down. I don’t know how to be calm. All I can do is panic; they’re just going to hurt me again. Where are those pills for panic episodes? It says take one…but I feel like my world is ending and I won’t feel like this if I’m asleep. I’ll just take two. I wonder how many it would take for me to never feel like this again…

5:30pm

In bed. It’s so much darker than it was before. What time is it? 5:30pm. I just want to stay here forever…I haven’t done anything I was supposed to do. Nothing. Mom is going to be so mad; I’m just a useless lump at home that costs money and I’m too scared to even open my laptop and try to find a job. I don’t want her to yell; I hate that. I don’t want to screw up, I don’t want to be a failure. But if I stay in bed, I’ll be safe. I can’t get hurt if I’m in bed, under warm blankets.

6:15pm

Living room. I hate that I have to get out of bed to get food. I don’t want to eat; I can’t even finish this orange. My stomach hurts so much, I feel like I’m going to be sick. It sucks that I’m starving at the same time. Wait, that’s the garage door. Mom’s home. Crap, I haven’t done anything. She’s going to ask, she’s going to get mad, she’s going to yell. She’s coming up the stairs.”Hi sweetheart. How was your day?’ I can’t breathe, my vision blurs. I can’t do it, I can’t answer, she’s going to think I’m such a failure. “Sweetie, are you ok?” It’s coming, she’s going to yell because I fail to do anything right.

I can’t even check my email because all it shows is a number saying I’m a good-for-nothing failure. No one can help me, no one understands. I can’t even taking a damn shower without bursting into tears and streaking back to bed.

She’s using her sharp voice now: “Sweetie, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” I can’t do it. She’s going to yell, when she finds out I didn’t do anything; she’s going to call me out just like he did. In front of everyone watching, making sure I know just how little I’m worth; just let me have the illusion that I’m worth something for God’s sake! I know I’m a pathetic failure but let me pretend I’m someone worthwhile! Don’t yell at me, don’t – *He’s asking me a question about the homework.

I have no clue, I spent last night studying for last class’ test. “I didn’t do the reading.” He looks at me, unsurprised. “Well then, you aren’t prepared for class. Shouldn’t you leave so you don’t keep your classmates behind with your negligence?” I just sit and stare; I don’t know what to say. Am I even supposed to say anything? He looks at me and says, “I think any student who fails to complete the required homework shouldn’t be allowed to take a class where others’ work hard to learn; do you agree with that?”

I keep staring. Do I agree with that?

Of course not! Everyone said before he walked into class that none of us had done the reading; why is he singling me out? “You haven’t shown any inclination to put any effort into this class at all. I think that someone like you who only cares about finding a husband in college should drop my class. I only teach students who have something worthwhile to offer to the world, and you clearly need to learn a few lessons from them.”

My jaw drops, the tears well up. “Professor, I just- “What? I don’t need to hear your pathetic excuses! If you had done the work you might have had the chance to earn a B in my class; not many girls are willing to take a class this challenging and I think we can all see why from your poor example.” I start crying as I look around at my classmates; they’re all looking back at me silently. No one’s going to stand up to him, no one’s going to report him, not even the one other girl in the class. “I’m – I’m sorry…” “You’re disrupting this class. If you’re going to be this emotional you should drop this class and see a therapist. Although based on the effort you obviously put into the necessary work, you should drop this class anyway.”

I have to escape the yelling, I can’t sit here and be a target for all of this.

No one will help me, no one will believe me, just like with her… no one will ever help me. I can’t breathe, I’m literally choking as my tears fall in my mouth. He gets up and opens the door. I can’t go near him without knowing…there it is, he left his textbook on the table. He’s not holding it. If I run he won’t have time to hurt me. I get my backpack and run. I can’t ever see him again.

He’s right. I’m just a failure and it doesn’t matter how hard I try; I’ll never stop being a failure.* I start crying and shaking; I’m not safe. I can’t feel my legs, I can’t get somewhere safe. Mom is going to yell, she’s coming closer. God please help me, please dear God help me, I can’t have her yell at me, I can’t handle this, please God! She knows I didn’t get anything done today, she knows I’m a failure, she’s coming closer just to yell at me even louder, God protect me please! Mom comes over and sits next to me.

I’m shaking, I’m crying, I want to be strong but I just can’t, I can’t handle her disappointment. I’m in trouble, I need to be in bed, I’m not safe, I’m never safe where they can find me. She envelops me in a warm hug. “It’s ok sweetheart, it’s going to be ok.” I shake even more. “I love you.” I crack. Those words mean I’m not alone. They mean that those people can never hurt me again.

They mean that I’m finally safe.