Redefining Resillence: My Journey to Leadership by Autumn

Redefining Resillence: My Journey to Leadership by Autumn - December 2024 Scholarship Essay

“You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take,” my dad urged, his words hanging in the air as he and my mom left the former freshman me drowning in a vast sea of thoughts. March 13, 2020, the day of my unicorn-themed thirteenth birthday party, abruptly faded into an inescapable nightmare. Notifications echoed throughout the venue telling of a “two-week break” from school due to COVID-19. The weeks grew moldy with the aging times, morphing into months before my eyes. I watched as my eighth grade experience became a virtual reality: replays on Snapchat of my friends goofing around in class, hanging out, doing all the things that eighth graders did. Now, those were high school moments, and I couldn’t afford to miss out.
Ninth grade, my inhibitions got the best of me. Disconnected from my peers, and not understanding my capabilities as a leader within my community, my biggest fear was rejection. My sophomore year, I finally mustered the courage to join Student Council, only to discover that I’d missed the deadline by two days. I’d spent so much time dwelling on the endless possibilities of what could go wrong, that my eyes remained closed to the sights of what could be. I needed to run for junior class president.
Hopeful, I took the leap, met with the uncertainty of our club advisor, Ms. Kirby. I’d never met her before, but what I would come to notice were her political views written on her sleeve, and a tight knit relationship with my running mate to accessorize. After one missed meeting, her first claim was that I wasn’t an active member. My first “No”, but not the last. Thursdays at three o’clock when meetings were typically held, I was on a bus outside city-limits defending our volleyball title. Where others did the same, they faced no rebuttal. The weight of her bias crushed me, leaving me to ponder - was I being overlooked because of my race, my ambition, or both? If I didn’t advocate for myself, the opportunity would pass me by, but I risked being labeled as “aggressive” or “difficult”. Steadfast, yet kind, I looked to other adults for help where I felt my voice was powerless. They saw my dedication, even when I began to doubt myself. I continued campaigning, respectful, punctual, and vocal, determined to show Ms. Kirby who I was. I realize now that the only opinion of me that should’ve mattered was my own.

Election day arrived, and I scanned the ballot:

“Freshman Class President: Zamani Green”
“Sophomore Class President: Kyla Lawson”
“Junior Class President: Contested”
“Senior Class President: Connor Hamilton”

“Contested" - the nine-letter word stung like a wasp, sharp and unexpected. The only student present at the next meeting, I asked Mrs. Benny, the other club advisor, of this possible mistake. Completely blindsided, she declared “You are our junior president. Ms. Kirby was supposed to post the results.” Confusion and frustration ensued within me. What made her so ill-willed toward me?
Weeks following, Ms. Kirby confided in the sophomore council, mentioning, “If I’m still here, the junior class officers won’t get to run again,” My fellow class members and I consistently showed up to every meeting, remaining respectful and leading discussions where we were oftentimes the only class present to participate. Our common theme: we were Black without connections.
Despite these challenges, my journey as president was a transformative one. I evoked necessary changes to my school environment, formed friendships to last a lifetime, and stepped out of my comfort zone like I never had before. While I’m unsure that any of my efforts would have wooed Ms. Kirby, I’m thankful for the resilience that I gained from experiencing her. Running for student council meant more than a title; it was about rewriting my own story regardless of the antagonists that would try, yet always, fail to deter my happy ending.