The Advice I’d Give My Younger Self by Kayden

The Advice I’d Give My Younger Self by Kayden - July 2025 Scholarship Essay

“You’re doing more than surviving.”

That’s the one thing I would go back and tell my younger self, not because he wouldn’t believe it, but because he wouldn’t even think to ask.

I still remember one evening when I was thirteen. It was already dark when I got home from school. My mom was curled up on the couch, pale from another round of chemo, and my dad was too sick from a Crohn’s flare-up to move. The fridge was nearly empty, my little sister had homework she didn’t understand, and I hadn’t even started mine. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, not sure where to begin. I felt like the walls were closing in, and yet, I moved. I made something to eat. I sat down with my sister and helped her through fractions. I didn’t cry until after they went to bed.

At the time, I didn’t call it strength. I didn’t even call it hard. I just did what needed to be done.

That’s the thing about growing up in a home shaped by illness: there’s no time to stop and think about how you’re doing. You just learn to keep the pieces together. My parents, in their quiet battles with cancer and Crohn’s, taught me what resilience looked like. But in taking care of them and my sister, I learned what mine felt like: quiet, consistent, and deeply rooted in love.

So if I could go back, I wouldn’t tell myself to be strong. I’d tell him he already is. And that what he’s learning in those chaotic, exhausting moments is the very thing that will one day guide his entire future.

It took me years to realize that the kind of strength I grew up with, steady, selfless, invisible to most, is exactly what drives me now. I didn’t become interested in healthcare because of some dramatic moment. I became interested because I’ve spent my life watching how much it matters. Every trip to the ER, every prescription picked up, every small act of care; it all shaped me. It taught me to value time, to move with purpose, and to see service not as a burden, but as a form of leadership.

When I interned at the DACC Dental Clinic, I had one of those full-circle moments. I watched a patient walk out of the room with a new smile, one that changed their entire posture. It reminded me of that younger version of myself, tired, uncertain, but still showing up. That day, I knew I wanted to help others feel whole again, not just physically, but emotionally.

Since then, I’ve founded BridgeCare NM, a student-led nonprofit working to expand access to healthcare in New Mexico by connecting innovation in dentistry and biomedical engineering with community outreach. I want to open a nonprofit orthodontic clinic in the future, rooted in trust, where smiles are restored not just through medical expertise, but through empathy and presence.

And the truth is, I don’t always feel like I know what I’m doing. I’m still that kid some days, figuring it out, moving forward, sometimes holding back tears. But now I understand that doubt isn’t weakness; it’s part of the process. I’ve learned to move through it anyway, remembering all the quiet ways I’ve already proven I can.

So to my younger self, the boy holding dinner in one hand and homework in the other, I’d say this: You’re doing more than surviving. You’re building something that will outlast the hardest days. One day, that strength you carry without even realizing it will carry others, too.

And you’ll finally understand: you were never just holding things together. You were becoming someone who makes other people feel like they don’t have to fall apart.