When Everything Changed by Kaitlyn

When Everything Changed by Kaitlyn - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

I watched my dad shave my sister's head in our bathroom. Madison had chosen this, decided to take control before the chemo could, but watching her hair fall into the sink made something shift inside me. I couldn't name it then. I just noticed that my focus changed. I started seeing the small moments, the ones we take for granted because we're too busy rushing past them. Like the sound of someone laughing in another room or my dog barking too early in the morning, so he can be walked. All the things life offers quietly while we're too distracted to notice.

During her treatment, I visited the hospital often. Sitting on the bed for a rousing game of Uno or talking about nothing important: TikTok trends, the ridiculous teachers in school, and how our other sisters got in trouble. I just wanted her to know that normal life was still waiting for her, that she hadn't been left behind. I was grateful that I could experience those moments, and sad that her experiences were confined to one hospital room.

I have spent so much energy worrying about things that didn't matter. Whether I'd said the wrong thing in class. If people noticed when I messed up. I realized I was letting fear determine my thoughts and actions. She taught me that health and life aren't guaranteed, and I'd been acting like they were. That realization gave me a new kind of strength: the ability to stop holding back and start focusing on what I could actually do with the time I had.

I started volunteering because I'd seen what it meant when people showed up for my family. Through Pony Up Mentors, I lunch buddy with new students who haven't found their people yet. I know what it's like to feel alone even in a crowded room, and sometimes just having someone choose to sit with you makes the difference. With PALs, I visit the same elementary and middle school students every week. They tell me things they don't tell other adults because they know I'll listen without lecturing. One girl told me she'd been hurting herself. I had to report it, but I also knew that I'd been safe enough for her to trust. That mattered.

Teaching gymnastics to preschoolers has shown me something else. Some of these kids light up when they see me because I look like them. Representation matters when you see the joy in a four-year-old's eyes as they realize their teacher looks like them. It's a beautiful reminder of how vital connection and shared identity are. I'm giving them something I didn't always have: the feeling that they belong in any space.

I started volunteering because people had shown up for my family. Now it was my turn. I thought helping people meant having answers. But sitting with Madison in that hospital taught me something simpler. Most people don't need you to fix anything. They just need your presence. I am aiming to be more present.

Madison is doing well now. She's back at school, complaining about homework and making plans with friends. I don't take any of it for granted. Her fight taught me that life is both more fragile and more resilient than I understood. It also taught me how anyone can tap into their internal strength when they need to.

I move through the world differently now. I don't waste as much time trying to be perfect. I show up instead. I take opportunities seriously because I've watched someone fight just to get them back. Madison had to battle for the chance at a normal life. I have that chance already. The way I honor what she went through is by not squandering what I have. I give my time to people who need it. I pay attention to what matters. That moment in the bathroom changed something fundamental in me, and I'm still learning what it means. But I know I'm becoming someone who doesn't take life lightly, and that feels right.