Personal Statement On Emotional Distress

My Father, Micah Nodine, is a nasty and cruel man. Someone that everyone loved. I loved him once. I was considered a “daddy’s girl.” He was my idol. Someone who comforted me while I drank my “special milk” on a Sunday evening. Someone who, when life was turned upside down and I was miles apart from, I could still call and he would be right there. When my father divorced my mother, I was three. It never really hit me until I grew older. The lies and heartaches began. He made huge mistakes—mistakes that affected me. Mistakes that I thought no man who called me his “daughter,” would ever do. He was someone who lied to make it seem like he was a better person. While at the same time, he was living a totally different life.

First, I’d like to discuss a topic that I had referenced in my Personal Statement about personal hardships and hardships of those close to me. As the instructions imply, challenging experiences not only show us who we really are in the moment but they also influence the person we will become. The story of my life would be far from a tragedy, but these defining moments carry weight and showcase how I handle stress both in myself and in others. When I turned 5 years old, my parents had a divorce. I have always grown up with two homes and moved my stuff from house to house every week. For my five year old self, I didn’t really understand the divorce well enough for it to burden me. Yet, at a young age, it introduced me to therapy to see how the divorce was affecting me. The elementary school that I attended had a counselor who worked there and I had one hour session with her weekly. After a while, it taught me the importance of being open and honest. It also lead me (or lead my parents since I’m only six at this point) to pursue other avenues of stress relief, suggested by the therapist, like Judo. I hadn’t really mentioned Judo in my Primary application because it is not very directly related to the medical field and I also stopped at the age of 17. However, it has been a significant part of my life and Judo taught me many things in the 11 years I spent trying to develop my martial art. It developed my sense of belonging by introducing me to my judo coach, who is now my

I have chosen to enter the field of Mental Health Counseling at this particular time in my life because I would like to learn the skills needed to help people with their life and mental health issues. While attending the University of Saint Joseph during my undergraduate years I took various courses that have led me to making my decision. The courses I took focused on business, biology, social work, and psychology. After graduation I decided to take a year off and gain work experience in customer service and health care. I wanted to experience working with the people in my community. I was hired as a pharmacy technician at a Walgreens in Vernon. Working as a pharmacy technician has been a very rewarding experience for me and I learned a lot about people and their unique needs. I also learned about patient care and how to be pacient and understanding under stressful situations.

My passion and determination to undertake study within the mental health sector dwells from the insight I have been privileged to gain in my current role as a link care coordinator, working with people who suffer from a range of ailments within the mental health spectrum; from learning disabilities, Alzheimer’s, Dementia, OCD, Autism to name but a few.

I vividly remember that chilly night in March as I walked out of Fifer, the building my father now calls home, for the first time. I had goosebumps, but they were not from the cold I felt hit my skin. Instead, they were from the sickness in my stomach. As I got in the car, I began to cry and had to stop myself from running back inside. My entire world had turned upside-down. How could I go home without my father? How could I leave him in a nursing home, a place where he was too young and mentally fit to be confined? I had to fight the feeling that he didn’t belong. I had to remind myself of why he chose to be there, and I hated it.

I have worked incredibly hard to obtain skills from various organisations to better understand mental health. I decided I needed to acquire additional work experience to give my application some weight. I am tenacious by nature and therefore despite being somewhat academically inferior to my rivals, I make up for in passion, determination and professionalism. I can assure you my grade does not define my ability to work with vulnerable people, families and colleagues and I would really like the opportunity to demonstrate this at interview. I am keen to explore the depths of applying psychology to health and the behaviour-change processes involved with working with young people in particular.

She could tell me a five page essay on her mother and then find a switch in her mind to talk about how she’s carried her own stick her whole life and how it’s only made her into the woman she is today. I’ve never seen her break about anything except when she talks about her mother. There was a time I’ve seen her at her weakest and strongest. A time I’ve never seen such a vulnerable array of feelings that captured who she was. Three years ago, her father had told her that she was going to meet her mother for the first time since she’s left and I vividly remember everything that happened. She had called me and her trembling voice quivered over the phone as she ranted on about her mother and what she had to wear and what to say. I remember the texts and the woman that came to pick her up. She was everything all at once, like being haunted by a nightmare and seeing that nightmare in real life. But to make matters even worse, it turned out that that wasn’t her mother. It was her aunt. Her mother wasn’t ready. “I don’t think she’ll ever be ready.” she had muttered this to me barely managing to hold back her tears over the miniscule FaceTime call and I honestly believe that I was in more pain and rage than she was. She first shared this with me in fifth grade. I remember just wanting to find her mother for her and in my naive state of mind, I thought I could do it for the longest time. But she accepted it and I had to as

“Is it difficult to be granted a wish to spend a lifetime as a happy person surrounded by the people we hold dear to our heart, mom?” I asked. She gave me a response as if I was a child who still believe in the same old happy ever after tales that is often portrayed in the media, “Of course, if that is what your heart desire. Everything is possible.” At the time I was child, who though didn't believe in tall tales anymore, believed in the spoken words of my guardian and took them to heart. As I venture through life, I came upon the struggles and labors that both my parent kept quiet about. I would hear their frustration but I would only see a smile on their face. I couldn’t handle the closure anymore so I watched them closely

It had been two month since I decided to live with my dad after his divorce. Actually, I’d never want them to break apart. I loved both much. But, I didn’t know what on their mind. Parents sometimes were complicated just like childish. I inhaled deep breathe for many times and I really didn’t know for how many, and once again I saw my dad kept an eye one me. But I didn’t care, not really care. I hated this situation so much. I missed my mom.

Anticipation arose in the back seats of a cramped car in a foreign country, when I finally had the circumstance to converse with a man who I eagerly wished to meet, though I never really had contact with. Naive to the cultural beliefs in the world, I ignorantly neglect my worries of the reasons as to why my father would have abandoned me at a young age, I just felt happiness to finally see the person who should be crucial to the mental and emotional development of a child. Then, in a language I do not fully comprehend, I clearly understood the meanings of the words he spoke, about his decisions, about me. He left and never attempted contact because I’m a girl, and girls do not obtain greatness in his culture. He left my mother as a young immigrant

As I looked at my father’s sandy hair, it suddenly looked very dull. Struggling to breathe, I clutched his clammy hand and thought of ways to help him. “Do you want some water?” I asked uneasily. He took shallow breaths and finally opened his eyes towards me. Thinking a moment and trying not to speak, he simply nodded. I hated seeing him so helpless. It was officially over, here I was now as the supposed child caring for the adult. I thought things were supposed to be the other way around. Getting up to get his drink, I felt as though I was standing in a hazy dream. Patiently, I handed him the glass as my heart dropped into my stomach. What would I do without him? It would not be long and I would have to face this uncertainty

The hot ,humid air swirled through the house . You could see the people having their own festivities outside on the street & children playing on the “dirty playground” as my little brother called it . It was the seventh month of 2013 , that's when it happened it . The perfect world and the many hopeful possibilities that I had created in my head had crumbled around me .The floor had been snatched from under me and the walls had fallen in or so that's how it felt . “ I am not her father “ , reading that text made me realize the man that I had come to know , love and cherish as a father was no longer my father. How could this be I was just like him , the only difference was that I am lighter . I was in awe I felt so betrayed reading the text between both my mother and “father” stating that I was not his biological child , and I know he wasn't lying. It had been proven by

18 year old Aruni Patil was a beautiful, young woman with long black hair, clear caramel skin, a slim physique, hazelnut eyes that twinkled and a smile that could brighten even the grumpiest spinster’s day. It’s amazing what 10 years of constant unhappiness can do to a person. The girl I was once was is not remotely close to the woman I am now. I was ready, ready to finally live my life as an adult until the day my father died. Following my father’s death, my mother needed someone to obsess

But things are different now — life has a sense of urgency. My mother is dying of lung cancer, a stage four diagnosis. My sister has suffered three devastating miscarriages and we haven’t spoken in months, maybe even a year. I haven’t spoken to my father since late summer, and I can’t seem to shake my resentment for his decade-long absence in my 20s when I needed him, just as I do now.

I was sitting on my bed reading my homework assignment. As I turned the pages I could hear the crisp paper flip over after each page turned. I set the book down on the soft comforter. and looked in the mirror. I thought about how everyone said I looked just like my dad. The freckles that overlined my face. The dark brown eyes with thick black eyelashes. I thought of his image in my head. The only thing that remained different were my eyes were filled with sadness. If there was one thing I would always remember about my dad was that his eyes were always filled with happiness, excitement, or sympathy. I felt my face slightly redding. My eyes welled up with tears. I felt a big lump in my throat that I attempted to swallow. I felt the tear drip down my face. The tear fell close to my mouth and I could taste the salt from it that followed. I wiped my tears quickly, and stared at the picture of my dad. Then I told myself that if he were here he would want me to help mom, and take care of her. I thought of how I saw my mom crying for weeks after my dad passed away from getting shot from his job. My dad was a police officer and always protected us. It’s been almost a year since and my mom had never been the same. I could feel myself getting more angry.