University of Arizona

At my first studio, Centre Stage in Scottsdale, Arizona, I was confident. I trusted myself. I loved to perform. I wasn't afraid to take up space. But as I transitioned into more serious ballet training around the age of 10, that confidence slowly started to fade. It wasn't where I started — it was the environment I stepped into next. I found myself surrounded by constant correction, comparison, and an unspoken expectation to stay quiet — to be seen, not heard. I was taught to push through, to not question authority, and to "save the tears for your pillow." And because this all happened while I was still growing up, I didn't realize it at the time — but I was slowly losing my voice. Advocating for yourself wasn't encouraged; it almost felt like it wasn't allowed.

College forced me into situations where I couldn't stay silent. I faced challenges that didn't feel fair, moments where I felt overlooked, and experiences that didn't align with what I knew was right. And for the first time, I had to make a choice: stay quiet like I always had, or finally speak up. Learning to advocate for myself was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Having conversations with directors, standing my ground, and trusting my instincts — it felt uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and honestly, terrifying at times. There were moments where I questioned everything. Was college the right choice? Should I have gone a different path? But no matter how hard it was, I always come back to this: college was worth it because it taught me how to use my voice.

It showed me that I didn't have to shrink myself to belong. It reminded me that respect goes both ways. And it helped me realize that the life I thought I wanted — the traditional ballet company path — wasn't actually the life meant for me. I didn't want "normal." I wanted impact. I wanted freedom. I wanted to create something of my own. That realization is what led me to graduate early and step into a path that felt more aligned with who I truly am. And now, everything I do — from dancing to mentoring — is rooted in that lesson. You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to speak up. And you are allowed to choose a path that feels right for you — even if it looks different than what you once imagined.

That shift changed everything. I made the decision to graduate early — not because it was easy, but because for the first time, I trusted myself enough to choose a path that actually felt right for me.

I finished my degree magna cum laude, and in a full-circle moment, I ended my college experience performing at graduation. But what mattered most wasn't the title, or the performance, or how it all looked from the outside. It was who I became in the process. I was no longer the girl who stayed quiet, who questioned her worth, or who felt like she had to shrink to fit into someone else's expectations.

I became someone who could advocate for herself. Someone who could trust her voice. Someone who knew that her path didn't have to look like anyone else's to be right. And that is something no title could ever measure.