While this case is widely debated and going on trial for the 17th day, this story goes beyond a murder, and highlights a struggle that millions of women face after pregnancy, which is Postpartum psychosis. According to NHS.uk, Postpartum psychosis is a rare, severe medical emergency affecting 1 to 2 in 1,000 women after childbirth. It causes a sudden break from reality, including hallucinations, delusions, severe mood swings, and extreme confusion, usually starting within the first two weeks after delivery. In the United States, an estimated 3,000 to 8,000 women develop postpartum psychosis each year, with many reports going unreported or misdiagnosed. A mother can play with her kids, complete art projects, and appear completely normal at 2:00 PM, yet be entirely detached from reality by 5:00 PM.

Lindsay and her husband, Patrick.

Clancy’s trial ends in less than two weeks. This case is a no win situation, and it’s obvious that Clancy was failed by the medical system. Postpartum psychosis is now making its way back into the media, and it’s not taken serious enough. If Clancy had gotten the proper help, maybe her kids would’ve survived and this tragedy along with the thousands of other woman who have experienced it, wouldn’t have happened.

In September 2022, she began seeing a psychiatrist at Aster Mental Health. She was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and adjustment disorder with depressed mood. She was recommended behavioral therapy, support groups, meditation, and a rotating sequence of medications. Clancy was prescribed 13 different medications in the span of one year, however she only took a small fraction of the drugs prescribed to her. These pills included were…

• Zoloft (Antidepressant): Only 7 pills taken.

• Ativan (Anti-anxiety): Only 6 pills taken out of a 30-pill bottle.

• Trazodone (Sleep/Antidepressant): Only 7.5 pills taken.

• Buspirone/Buspar (Anti-anxiety): Only 2 pills taken from her first bottle, and 0 pills taken from a second bottle filled a month later.

• Hydroxyzine (Anxiety/Antihistamine): Only 3 pills taken out of 30.

• Benadryl (Over-the-counter sedative): Only 3 pills taken

Sources: https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2026/aug/05/lindsay-clancy-trial-toxicologist-testimony, https://www.newsnationnow.com/crime/lindsay-clancy-prescribed-medications-prosecutors/

Clancy’s lawyers noted that even small amounts of these overlapping, heavily rotated drugs were enough to cause a severe adverse reaction in a patient with her specific, fragile brain chemistry. Her insomnia and suicidal thoughts began to worsen, after the birth of her son Callan in May 2022. Her journals and phone notes show she wished to get well and was obsessed with caring for her kids. However, severe insomnia, "brain fog," and a failing medication regimen collapsed her ability to cope by late December 2022. Lindsay then confessed to her husband Patrick that she was experiencing intrusive thoughts of harming the children. Patrick believed that something so severe could never happen, but less than a month later, it did.

A heartbreaking part was that in January 2023, just weeks before the incident, Clancy checked herself into McLean Hospital (a psychiatric facility) for several days due to worsening suicidal ideation. [1, 2, 3, 4, 5] Doctors at the facility determined she did not show signs of active psychosis or mania. She was discharged back to outpatient care after denying active intent to harm herself. She was also not accepted into outpatient postpartum mental health services. In the USA, there is a huge PPP care gap compared to other western countries. In countries like the UK, women with postpartum psychosis are routinely admitted to specialized Mother-Baby Units where they can receive psychiatric treatment while staying with their infants. In the United States, there are fewer than 10 specialized maternal psychiatry inpatient units nationwide. Postpartum psychosis is also not recognized as an official, independent diagnosis in the American psychiatric manual (DSM-5). Instead, doctors must label it under generic categories like "brief psychotic disorder.” PPP is not one size fits all, and just like Clancy, women constantly are denied real care, not just medicine.

Sources: Barry, Ellen, and Pam Belluck. 2026. “Will ‘Psychiatry’s Bible’ Add a Postpartum Psychosis Diagnosis?” The New York Times, January 20. https://www.nytimes.com/2026/01/20/health/postpartum-psychosis-dsm-diagnosis.html.

Stephenson, Lucy A., Alastair J. D. Macdonald, Gertrude Seneviratne, Freddie Waites, and Susan Pawlby. 2018. “Mother and Baby Units Matter: Improved Outcomes for Both.” BJPsych Open 4 (3): 119–25. https://doi.org/10.1192/bjo.2018.7.

Clancy isn’t the only case where PPP turned fatal, yet it wasn’t really recognized in the media until a woman named Andrea Yates drowned her five children in a bathtub in 2001 while her husband was at work. Prior to the tragedy, Yates had a severe, documented history of postpartum depression, postpartum psychosis, and schizophrenia. A more recent case is when in 2023 a woman from Massachusetts named Ariana Sutton died from suicide nine days after giving birth to twins. We are now living in a time (especially in my state) where women’s reproductive rights are being stripped away, and since the implementation of Texas Senate Bill 8 (SB8) in 2021—which banned abortions after roughly six weeks of gestation—the share of reproductive-aged Texas women experiencing severe mental distress rose from 14.2% to 21.9%. Maternal healthcare is also shrinking, which leads to less routine screenings, proactive mental health interventions, and early detection of PPD or PPP particularly in rural or underserved areas. A study conducted in 2024 by the Journal of Health and Economics, tracked over 160,000 Medicaid enrollees across America found a 9.0% relative increase in clinical PPD diagnoses specifically among low-income women and adolescents living in the 21 states that enacted immediate "trigger laws" or strict abortion bans.

Andrea Yates and her children.

Sources: Baser, Onur, Yuanqing Lu, Facundo Sepulveda, Ariani Alemzadeh, and Amy Endrizal. 2025. “The Effect ofDobbs V. Jackson Women’s Health Organization on Clinical Diagnosis of Postpartum Depression.” Journal of Health Economics and Outcomes Research 12 (1). https://doi.org/10.36469/001c.129633.

Baser, Onur, Facundo Sepulveda, Yuanqing Lu, and Amy Endrizal. 2026. “Socioeconomic Status and Postpartum Depression Risk After the Dobbs V Jackson Women’s Health Organization Decision, Based on State Trigger Laws.” JAMA Network Open 9 (2): e2557337. https://doi.org/10.1001/jamanetworkopen.2025.57337.

What we can learn from this trial is that PPP is a real issue that shouldn’t be turned away. More research and care should be provided to keep mothers and their children safe. Clancy’s story is tragic, but through this case we can find more ways to be aware about PPD and PPP to help families and communities understand the effects of pregnancy on women’s mental health.

The men never knew each other, but they lived around 2 minutes away from each other. Their names were Yaser Abel Said and Jose Corona. Yaser Said lived with his family on the 1000th block of Lakeland drive, his two daughters were named Amina and Sarah Said, along with a son named Islam and a wife named Patricia. Jose Corona also lived on the 1000th block of Shadow Wood lane, with his wife named Maria Santos and his six children. Yaser and Jose shared the same immediate residential blocks, subdivision streets, and local community spaces. They both had children that played at the local parks or walked the nearby trails.

A map showing the proximity of Shadow Wood lane to Lakeland drive.

They were both fathers.

However on the first night of 2008, Yaser lured his two daughters into his taxi cab and shot them dead. Amina received two shots, and Sarah received nine. They were left lifeless at the Omni Mandalay hotel in Dallas, while Yaser fled the scene and remained on the FBI’s most wanted for 12 years. Yaser was discovered in his son’s apartment in Bedford, Texas in 2017, which led the FBI into an investigation after he escaped to Justin TX with his extended family, including Islam. He was then found and captured in 2020. The motive was due to his anger toward his daughter’s decision to date non-Muslim men, but really, it was about control. The killing was dubbed as a “honor killing,” but both of the girls were high school upperclassmen ready to have their own futures, that was ultimately restricted and restrained by Yaser. They rarely could hang out with friends or go to school events, and Yaser cared more about getting his girls married to Muslim men in Egypt than them doing well in school. He had abused them for years, until he planned out their killing. Despite their pain they went through at home, both girls were both top ten percent of their class, respectively, and had ambition to go in the medical field. Yaser wanted his daughters to live in Lewisville, after discovering a love note that Amina had written to her boyfriend, Joseph. He put a gun to her head and hurt her, yet she never backed down. Their teachers and peers were shaken by their passing, and soon the case became nationally known after it was featured on John Walsh’s TV series “America’s most wanted” along with a documentary in 2014 named “The price of honor.”

Amina and Sarah Said.

Two years later, on April 26 2010, Jose Corona murdered his wife, Maria Santos, with two chainsaws around 11 A.M. Before the murder, Maria was on a call with her friend, and reported she heard noises outside in the front yard. As she went to take a look, Jose decapitated her, and tore her body into pieces with a chainsaw. He laid the body at the end of their street, and quickly took off in his brown Toyota. A post officer named Jeremiah Gonzales discovered the body and dialed 911, leaving police in utter shock. Corona then stole a car in Bedford at a dealership and drove to Mexico, and was never seen again. Schools nearby were put on lockdown for hours. People aren’t sure if he’s still dead or alive, as he has extended family connections there. He has been on Lewisville’s most wanted for 16 years, and his family still seeks justice. Maria’s daughter, Carla, was the first person to see his body after police arrived, and you can hear her cries in the 911 dispatcher audio.

Maria and Jose Corona.

My mother actually worked with both of these cases as a domestic violence advocate for victims. She saw their photos and had to use psychological evidence to figure out what happened to the victims. She spoke with the families of the victims, and these cases still remain in her head and heart today. We hear about stories like this everyday..but it hurts differently when it’s five minutes away from your home. I watch crime documentaries all the time, and I had no idea my mom was involved in these cases until this year. These weren’t distant stories I heard on the TV, but investigations my mom worked on, involving women from communities I could picture.

Yaser Said in court during his trial in 2022. He was found guilty and was sent to life in prison.

And these stories are just a part of a bigger statistic. In 2026, nothing has changed. Women are still very much at risk for abuse and violence by their partners. According to TCFV.org, 161 Texans were killed in intimate partner homicides in 2024, while 137 people were women and only 24 were men. The homicides occurred across 42 Texas counties. In the rest of the 2010’s that followed after the tragic murders in my community, 1,373 women were killed by male partners from 2010-2019. TCFV’s 2024 data found that 75% of intimate partner homicide victims tried to seek help to end the abuse, but still were killed, just like Amina and Sarah. Meanwhile, Carla and the rest of her family lost both of their parents, and in 2024 104 children lost a parent in Texas due to domestic abuse.

Most of these cases have disappeared from the headlines, but the effects are real because the cycle continues. These aren’t just news stories, but real people. And my mom knew two of them. The streets connected to these cases are still there. People drive down them, go to work, go to school, and live their everyday lives. But behind those ordinary streets are the stories of women whose lives were changed and ruined by violence. My mother’s involvement in these cases showed me that violence against women isn’t distant or abstract, it can exist minutes away, and recognizing that, is part of recognizing a huge issue. Yaser and Jose never knew each other but both families were torn apart in a span of two years. And the neighbors that crossed their streets, were walking near the homes of future criminals.

Amina and Sarah

Sources and further reading: Visit TCVF for statistics by year.

https://tcfv.org/

To put in perspective, 1 out of 10% of women have PMOS. This means only 5 or 6 million women in the United States, and around 174 million women reside in the U.S. That doesn’t make me broken, it makes me unique. My scars and pain have a story to tell. Beauty doesn’t always come from an aesthetic, it can come from the bruises and fear that later turns into self acceptance. I would lay awake at times, wondering, “why me,” but throughout my health discoveries I’ve learned that there is a purpose through my struggles.

I am not a beauty standard, and that’s the point. With PMOS, I rebel it. I create my own self worth. I am not effortless, instead my body is at a constant effort to balance my hormonal symptoms. I look put together at 8 am, and come home oily around 3. I don’t have smooth skin, straight hair, or a fresh scent.

Yet, people don’t see my struggles, they only see what’s on the outside. They don’t know about my health condition, the medication I take, or the symptoms I go through. Instead, they see my pores and my hair pulled back to avoid the sweat. But this isn’t something I apologize for, this is something I’ve learned to own. Society often celebrates girls for being “natural,“ while simultaneously expecting them to remove every unfeminine feature. And before PMOS was officially confirmed in the late 1900s, my traits weren’t seen as a health condition, but as a failure to my femininity. PMOS was viewed as abnormal and peculiar. Even as a teen living in the modern world, I’ve been seen as unfeminine and gross by boys my age, unaware of the condition itself.

So in a way, I not only fight against my own body, but I fight the constant expectations put on women. Like I said before, I’m not beautiful. I won’t catch your eye on the street. And in 2026, I deserve the right to exist as a woman without presenting as feminine 24/7. I deserve to not have an explanation for a flare up to others around me, or why I have hair on my chin. I deserve to be happy with who I am without male doctors saying I need a man and a family to fix my chronic illness. I deserve to exist without judgement. And I don’t. I’m judged consistently with PMOS, by others and myself, along with millions of other girls. They are left wondering why their body isn’t normal, why they keep breaking out, how much calories they need to cut, or what they need to do to feel like a woman. But there are also millions of women that exist, and in 2026, femininity has never been one thing. What has remained is the insecurity, self doubt and hatred, and pressure to be someone you aren’t.

PMOS has taken a lot of confidence from me in my early days, but it never took my courage. I’ve fought against the expectations of womanhood again and again, I’ve created a story out of it. Through the tears and bloodshed, I’ve never let the fear take me. Maybe thin legs and straight hair isn’t all that matters. Because courage is a beauty standard on its own. And that’s knowing what you can’t change, and living a beautiful life with who you are and what you have.

That’s what I want for myself. That’s what I want for every other girl who has felt dehumanized by their insecurities. The world and the remarks of others can beat me down, but the things that I’ve been through, have made me strong enough to withstand it.

Cortisol affects several symptoms throughout the body. During periods of stress, high cortisol forces the liver to constantly release stored glucose into the blood, providing the body energy. The pancreas must produce massive amounts of insulin to clear this unearned glucose. This leads to intense sugar cravings and rapid fat storage.

Cortisol also affects the brain, as chronic psychological or metabolic stress persistently activates the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis, which regulates the body’s stress response, and may interact with the hypothalamic-pituitary-gonadal axis, which regulates reproduction. One important group of neurons involved in reproductive hormone regulation is the KNDy neuronal network. KNDy neurons, which are located in the arcuate nucleus of the hypothalamus, contain kisspeptin, neurokinin B, and dynorphin. Together, these signaling molecules help regulate the pulsatile release of gonadotropin-releasing hormone (GnRH)

KnDY neurons

After GnRH is released by the hypothalamus in pulses, stress and elevated glucocorticoids such as cortisol can alter the frequency of GnRH patterns. Because Cortisol gets into the brain by crossing the blood brain barrier, as the hormone is lipophilic, it easily dissolves straight through these cell membranes and slips directly into the brain tissue. Your pituitary gland delays the release of Luteinizing Hormone (LH) and Follicle-Stimulating Hormone (FSH) into your bloodstream. Without this hormonal signal from your brain, your ovaries cannot mature an egg or trigger ovulation.

Since cortisol effects both the brain and body, women with PMOS should workout in ways that benefit both areas. Here are a list that targets the metabolic and mental aspects of PMOS so women can secure a healthy lifestyle that doesn’t overwork their bodies.

Workouts

-Slow weighted workouts. According to a 2020 study in NIH, Muscle contractions force glucose channels (like GLUT4) to move to the cell surface without needing insulin, clearing sugar from the blood. Heavy and dense workouts spike cortisol, so a slower pace when you are lifting allows you to move and burn calories efficiently without spiking your cortisol levels.

-Walk around 30 minutes a day. This brightens your mood while moving your body. Walking pulls the sugar out of your bloodstream into your leg muscles, preventing insulin resistance.

-Try to stay in zone two while participating in a daily workout. This keeps you at a moderate pace while maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Aim for 5 days of consistent activity while taking 2 to 3 rest days depending on your body type. Biking, swimming, and light running are all great cardio options.

Brain exercises

-Physiological Sighing (Breathwork): Take two quick inhales through your nose (one deep inhale, followed immediately by a sharp top-off inhale), then a long, slow exhale through your mouth. Repeat this just 3 to 5 times. This removes the brain stress response and slows down heart rate.

-Maintain a sleep schedule. According to The Dr Kumar Discovery, adults who get around 8 hours of sleep prevents a 35%-45% decrease in cortisol levels. Getting enough sleep helps you function better throughout the day and keeps you energized.

Ultimately, managing PMOS does not mean trying to keep cortisol as low as possible. Cortisol is a normal and necessary hormone, and temporary increases during exercise are a part of the body’s natural response to physical activity. The goal is balance, as incorporating both a mental and a physical exercise can keep you in a better and brighter mood, which can help fight fatigue and reduce stress.

Further reading

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/30780898/

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC8402932/

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S1568163723002453

https://academic.oup.com/endo/article/160/10/2230/5526761

Kisspeptin is a key regulatory peptide hormone that controls the reproductive axis. It is produced in the hypothalamus, a small region in the brain. It sends essential initial signals that tell the rest of the body it is time to develop sexually and regulate fertility cycles. Kisspeptin binds directly with GnRH neurons in the hypothalamus (Gonadotropin-Releasing Hormone), and in response the pituitary releases LH and FSH into the bloodstream. They later move down to the ovaries where estrogen, progesterone, testosterone, and egg development are controlled and produced. In a women’s early cycle, this is done at a slow rate, around once every 90 to 120 minutes depending on the patient. During this time, the FSH (Follicle-Stimulating Hormone) is released from the pituitary gland into the bloodstream, stimulating growth to thousands of tiny, fluid-filled sacs called follicles in a woman’s ovaries. Inside each follicle is an undeveloped, immature egg. The growing follicles start producing and pumping estrogen into a woman’s bloodstream. Estrogen is the hormone that thickens a woman’s uterine lining (preparing it for a potential pregnancy), and boosts your mental energy and mood during the first half of your cycle.

However in women with PMOS, even during the first few days of a period, the Gonadotropin-Releasing Hormone is already firing rapidly. Normally, a woman’s hormonal pulse generator slows down during sleep, slowing its frequency to give the body rest and allow for tissue repair. Clinical sleep studies show that women with PCOS maintain an abnormally high-frequency GnRH and LH (Luteinizing Hormone) pulse rate even while sleeping, meaning the brain-to-ovary overstimulation happens around the clock.

In a healthy cycle, after an egg is successfully ovulated, the empty follicle turns into a temporary gland that floods the bloodstream with progesterone. Progesterone’s primary job in the brain is to act like a heavy foot on the brake pedal, forcing the GnRH hormone to calm down.

Because the rapid GnRH hormone prevents women with PCOS from ovulating, less progesterone is made. Without that progesterone brake, the hypothalamus keeps firing the GnRH hormone hyper-speed indefinitely. This creates a perpetual loop: the rapid speed prevents ovulation, the lack of ovulation prevents progesterone, and the lack of progesterone keeps the speed rapid. Altered LH/FSH dynamics can contribute to abnormal follicle development. As a result, the fluid-filled sacs (follicles) in a woman’s ovaries growth signal are delayed in order to mature an egg. They are unable to grow or be released, creating a cyst pattern seen on a PMOS ultrasound.

The immediate effect of hyperactive GnRH hormone pulses is that the pituitary gland dumps an overwhelming amount of Luteinizing Hormone (LH) into the blood. When this increased LH stimulation reaches the ovaries, it acts on specialized cells called theca cells, which are involved with androgen production. This leads to hypoandrogenism- primarily testosterone, a primary symptom in women with PMOS. It then manifests as severe physical symptoms. It triggers the sebaceous glands to overproduce oil, leading to painful cystic acne along the jawline and chest, while altering hair follicles, causing coarse, dark hair growth on the face, chin, and stomach, while simultaneously causing hair thinning on the scalp.

Furthermore, high testosterone levels interfere with metabolic function by inducing cellular insulin resistance. In response, this forces your pancreas to pump out even more insulin to manage blood sugar, which locks the body into a cycle of stubborn weight gain (especially around the abdomen) and intense sugar cravings.

Doctors can prescribe oral micronized progesterone (like Prometrium) to be taken for 10 to 14 days at the end of the month. This directly targets the brain, forcing the GnRH hormone metronome to drop from its frantic 60-minute pace back to a healthy 120-minute pace. Medications like Metformin or targeted supplements like Inositol (specifically a 40:1 Myo-to-Chiro blend) which reduces hepatic glucose production. Finally, incorporating regular aerobic exercise can be beneficial for PMOS.

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9232905/

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC8475200/

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S2451965020300399

https://www.fertstert.org/article/S0015-0282(03)00763-5/fulltext

Everytime I ask people around me advice for the homework assignments, they always find a way to bring up class rank or numerical GPA. I tell them mine and their eyes look concerned.

I’m not a bad student, my grades are mainly good except for the C I had in algebra 1 due to a learning disability. I’m taking five AP classes my junior year to get asked why I only took one my sophomore year. This year was the first year I had all A’s in one semester, which is the bare minimum for most students at my school. Even though I work twice as hard, the numbers just don’t add up.

And I used to beat myself up for this constantly.

My brain works differently from most people, my B in English doesn’t take away the fact that I’ve published two books. My EC’s make up for my imperfect grades. As I’ve gotten more comfortable with asking for help and building my confidence, I’ve realized that I’m more than just a number on my paper. When the standard isn’t doing well anymore, but exceptional, it’s easy to see all the things you do wrong than right. I’ve had friends stress over one B, where a B is the average grade I make. Instead of comparing myself to them, I’ve asked them for advice. I’ve had people mock me for wanting to try harder, which is a reflection on how much pressure it’s given nowadays to be a perfect teen.

But you don’t have to have everything figured out in high school. High school isn’t a resume, it’s four years of growth. Out of all the things that you learn, the most important thing is that being imperfect doesn’t mean you are falling behind. Not everyone starts out knowing how to figure everything out, and that’s ok.

The elementary school still carries the echoes of our footprints as we entered kindergarten, the bedroom I slept in wondering about the future, will soon be in cardboard boxes, and the house we live in changes as we do.

As I grow older, I’ve realized I’ve left pieces of myself wherever I’ve wandered and traveled. We often think we’re the ones collecting memories of places, but perhaps places collect memories of us. They witness our joys, heartbreaks, and moments we sometimes wish we could never replay. And as we change and grow, you can never go home the same way.

Nostalgia is a horrible yet peaceful feeling. It’s everywhere I go whenever I see how much my old school or my baby clothes still intact. I’ve changed so much that I can never go back. Imagine that. The writing signed by my babysitter that I haven’t seen in 11 years, the letters from my teachers I’ll never meet again, stay young forever in a capsule of moving time. I walk the streets of my home everyday, and the kids that used to play have moved away, and the adults that watered the plants now have wrinkles on their face. I never go home the same way, because there’s change in me and everything around me.

I am nothing but a memory, and the places I have resided in are the proof of my existence. If these buildings I used to walk through carried me through my adolescence, are now a museum of my words and dreams.

Where I go next is unknown. But I hope where I began never changes as I continue to progress. The change that I’ve lived through isn’t tragedy, it’s beauty. Because there’s snippets of who I used to be in every corner of my older hometown, and the love I gave that transfers from the ocean to the mountains I climbed. And if I return I’ll never go home the same, it will be a new place somewhere that I can’t even dream.

And I can’t wait.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned that the media doesn’t just glamorize teenage life, but makes ordinary adolescence feel like failure. Unlike what’s seen on TV, many teens don’t have a huge group of friends, sometimes struggle to pass class, live with illnesses and disabilities, or simply are trying to make it through the school week. Not every teen has a certain aesthetic, goes to parties, or goes out every weekend. But what is seen on social media or on your favorite television series, can make many feel like they aren’t doing something right.

I’m 17, and I have a very simple life. I only have a few close friends, I don’t make perfect grades, and my life is far from a series. I spend most of my time outdoors and writing from the comfort of my own home. I’ve spent most of my time with myself than my friends, and I’ve learned that protecting my peace is more important than hanging out with a huge group. If my teen years taught me anything, it would be that living an imperfect life can be beautiful in its own way.

High school isn’t a dream, and I’m honestly ready for what college has in store for me. I feel like sometimes my way of living isn’t what I was expecting for myself, but there’s beauty in the things that are considered “boring.” Because no matter if you have 20 friends or just four, or have had six dates or zero this year, everyone is on their own path, and you don’t have to compare your daily routines to what you see on your screen.

The greatest harm isn’t that these stories are unrealistic. It’s that they convince ordinary teens that an ordinary life isn’t enough. Perhaps adolescence was never supposed to be polished or cinematic. It’s quiet, uncomfortable, and unfinished. And that’s the magic behind it. They may not be the best years of my life, but I’ve learned a lot from them from the days I spend with just me. Sometimes the days that we think don’t matter at all, can be some of the most valuable ones.

I used to scroll for years throughout my early teenage years trying to find my “aesthetic”, testing out styles I found on a Pinterest board and then throwing them out when I found a name that was more appealing. It was as if everything I did had to match what I was wearing or from the title I was handed, from the books I read, the music I listened to, even the things I ate. I tried hard to put my personality and soul into a single word, but it didn’t work out. But I wouldn’t consider that failure. I’d consider that reality.

I am not an aesthetic. I am not a perfectly edited photo, a Pinterest board, or a certain version of myself created for the internet to admire. I am a human being. Someone who breaks out, has bad hair days, wears whatever feels comfortable, and doesn’t stick to one interest or hobby. I am not a type, a label, or a design, yet so many teenage girls are pressured to fit into one singular identity.

From the “Clean girl” to the “Tuscan mom” to the “Downtown girl”, it’s as if social media tells us to choose a title and make it fit us for the rest of our lives, and to live in their own world that creates it. The problem with aesthetics is that they only show the surface. They don’t show the mornings when someone struggles to get out of bed, the insecurities they hide in their routines, or the silent battles they fight daily. Instead we are left with clear skin, hairless bodies, and fabric that just hugs the skin in such a way that makes your clothes look jealous. But the screen isn’t what is shown in a 24 hour time period, just a short minute.

I grew up with PMOS, which is as if my whole body is against me. It’s not pretty to show on camera, to zoom in on skin care routines, or something that others would save on their mood board. And as I looked at other girls with skin that didn’t look like mine, I didn’t feel feminine like what was marketed towards me. I was too scared to read my poetry, to take photos with other people, or to reveal these struggles to friends. I wanted to be like those girls I saw on my phone for a very long time, and spent all my time and energy trying to fix something that was out of my own control. I believed that becoming someone else would make me enough.

Once I grew a bit more mature, I stopped pretending. I opened up about my struggles, found skincare that worked for me even if it wasn’t shown online, and stopped caring about what’s trending. A brand doesn’t transform yourself, and a label doesn’t reflect the way you laugh or interact with others.

I am not an aesthetic. I chose to be authentic.

I may not have everything figured out, I may have moments where I am a mess, but that’s the beauty in life that aesthetics fail. And that’s imperfection. I view that as a privilege. I don’t have to worry about showing my best self to everyone I meet, I’m free. And this is how girlhood should be. We spend so much time wishing to be someone else we see, that we forget how to exist and express ourselves with what we are and what we have.

Everyone that has walked through the school halls, the city streets, or a crowded room, carries a story and a soul that would never fit into an aesthetic. Because we all have messy moments, broken hearts, and days where we feel like crap, but that doesn’t take our worth away. Aesthetic culture asks us to become something people can look at. Being human asks us to become someone people can understand and relate to.

That being said, I’m not an aesthetic. I am a story. I’m constantly changing, and my title still hasn’t been written. But I’m enjoying the beauty that life constantly has to offer, that isn’t seen on my screen.

Even though a formula means you can solve an equation, you can’t use a formula to understand what goes on in the world outside of your home. We are taught that knowing things, is what sets us up for success.

But sometimes, knowing can fail.

You can know failure is normal, but it feels different when you experience it. You can be taught that people change, but it doesn’t make losing someone you loved any easier. We are told that mistakes always happen, but mistakes are easier to make than to forgive yourself. Information can prepare you, but the things we encounter and experience transform us.

I wasn’t taught how to get through my first heartbreak, to get through a chronic illness, or to learn the way girls act behind your back. I knew that all this would happen in some shape or form, but it seemed like everyday was a lesson in itself. People struggle with insecurity, self doubt, and anxiety, but not a single self help book could help me understand how to get through it. I’ve learned far more valuable things than when I walk into those school halls, which is how to be a more empathetic and happier person overtime, not just to others, but to myself. School can teach you how to solve a math problem, but it can’t teach you how to solve the inner thoughts that hurt you. That takes much more work than studying for a test.

That being said, if learning how to heal my own inner thoughts required empathy rather than an answer key, then perhaps understanding the rest of the world requires the same exact thing. Which leads to this question, how much of the world do we truly understand if we only observe it from the outside?

A textbook can tell us that millions of people experience poverty, war, disease, and displacement. It can give us statistics, but those statistics can’t fully explain what it means to rebuild a life after a disaster, abuse, or leaving a family behind. You can know that inequality exists, but there’s people that struggle trapped through the definition. Knowing is different than understanding. You can know that war exists, but understanding is to hear both sides of the story. Every single human being is carrying a lesson that they will never teach, but learn from themselves. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the ability to listen from the echoes of the souls behind the headlines and photographs. We know what respect is, but when it comes to a person that lives with a completely different outlook, some people will never show it.

Understanding is what allows us to move beyond observation. It asks us to look closer, dig deeper, and remember that every person that we encounter carries a story and a struggle that we may never see. Maybe the purpose of learning about the world isn’t to simply know more facts about places we’ve never been to, but to recognize that there’s a message and meaning behind the souls that live there. Because schools can grade papers and worksheets, but they can’t grade on how each student sees humanity. There’s more to what is on our desks. In fact, it’s everything that isn’t in front of us.

I’m a teen girl with PMOS (Polyendocrine Metabolic Ovarian Syndrome) and one thing that I didn’t know until this summer was how it can affect your odor. I always thought that a little body odor especially when you’re sweating is normal since I live in the south, but when you have PMOS, higher androgens stimulate apocrine sweat glands, leading to stronger or more pungent body odor. I was never told this in biology class or even by my own doctors, so here are the things that I learned through my own experiences on what works for me on finally managing a key symptom.

1. Antibacterial Body wash

   I just got this in the mail a few weeks ago, and it works great. I workout and sweat a lot, and it kills the bacteria that causes the sweat. It can also reduce inflammation and acne on the body that are driven by androgens. However, I only use this after a day of exercise, as it can be drying on the skin with daily use. I layer it with whatever body wash I’m using, and then exfoliate (which I just started doing this summer thanks to social media) to get all the dirt off. You can find Antibacterial body wash in different forms and brands, but I’m using Dove.

2. Carpe deodorant.

   The reason I chose this deodorant in particular in this article is because it is the only deodorant that works for me at the moment to control my sweat and odor. I use it in the morning and at night and it stops the scent from odor almost completely. There are many different scents to choose from and I also use their wipes as well. I sometimes layer it with a cheaper deodorant from Dollar Tree on days where I’m really going to sweat. I take ADHD meds which increase my sweat so choosing a deodorant that works in particular for me has been a long journey.

3. Anti oil shampoo

   I have very frizzy hair and an oily scalp. I could wash my hair ten times and it would still be a bit oily. I remember at the end of my sophomore year of high school, the AC went out and I went home embarrassed on how sweaty I was. I then discovered Anti oil shampoo, and that changed the game. My oil on my scalp has decreased significantly, and even though my hair odor is prevalent, I go in with dry shampoo in the morning. I use this maybe three times a week, if you use this every day it can be over drying.

4. Clinical-strength Antiperspirant.

   If you can’t afford Carpe, as their deodorant can be a tad expensive, make sure to have a Clinical-strength Antiperspirant to manage sweat. Aluminum chloride based products are also used for heavy sweating in hot weather.

5. EOS body mist

   I feel like this brand is commonly used on social media marketing, but their body mists are really good for their cheaper price. They are a bit lighter, but they last so much better on my clothes and hair compared to a Bath and Body Works spray. The one I’m currently using is Jasmine Peach, which smells like a floral bouquet.

I hope this helps anyone experiencing these symptoms! I wish everyone the best and always remember you are never alone!

Love,

Ava Osborne.

To give a quick overview, The Book Thief is a historical fiction book set in Nazi Germany during WW2, published in 2005. It follows a young German girl named Liesel Meminger, as she is sent to live with foster parents as her Mother was communist and was worried she’d put her children at risk. On the train ride there, her brother dies, and she steals a book from her brother’s grave without knowing how to read..a gravediggers handbook. Her Foster dad Hans decides to teach her how to read and write after he saw her struggling to read the book, which later became her source of identity and escape in a world full of war and terror, causing her to become a book thief when they started getting banned.

And it was the best book I ever read.

An image of the poster that my teacher had in her room.

What made the book so interesting was that it was narrated by death, as he knew both the beginning and the end of each character’s journey. Death’s tone was very omniscient yet heartfelt, as you could feel connected to each character. He was surrounded by suffering but overtime he became interested in the small acts of kindness humans had shown in horrifying times. In the beginning of the book, you are told how the book ends, but the storyline is so powerful and heartbreaking, it’s as if you were never told what would happen. As I flipped to the last page of the story, my heart shattered. The lines that were said still exist in my mind to this day, despite their short length.

“I am haunted by humans.”

And while death is the one telling Liesel’s story, Liesel herself is the one who discovers the power of words. In the novel, she steals around 14 books, including one of her own. She went from not being able to read at all, to finding her own voice through the page. In the book she also develops a friendship with a Jewish man named Max, who hides in their basement. Max ended up writing a book called “The Word Shaker” for Liesel, which was a comedic reflection of what the world around them looked like through their eyes. It revealed that words themselves aren’t good or evil, but it is the person behind them that gives them power. This was an example that showed me that stories can connect people even when they are separated by fear and danger..a story can become a bridge between two people, even when the world is trying to divide them.

An image of Liesel in the basement where Max resided.

Another powerful example that showed me the beauty of words, was in the book Liesel read to people during air raids. When her neighbors were terrified inside the bomb shelters, Liesel read aloud from her books, temporarily distracting them from the noises above them and gave them comfort from below. Earlier in the book, Liesel is someone who takes stories from others by stealing books, but during the bombings she becomes someone who gives stories to others. It suggests that stories do not erase suffering, but they can help people endure it.

In the book, Liesel also falls in love with a boy named Rudy, who represents childhood, loyalty, and innocence during a time when children were surrounded by cruelty and propaganda. Rudy didn’t define Liesel by her past or her struggles, but as his friend. Despite the war around them, they played outside during the sun and snow, and even though Liesel and Rudy weren’t famous historical figures, Death remembered them for their kindness, humor, and loyalty. This book showed me that sometimes the most important stories are about ordinary people who make life brighter for those around them.

Liesel and Rudy in the Flim.

Because death narrates this story, the book almost is about saving people from being forgotten. You could ask, “What happens to ordinary people whose stories are never told?” That connects directly why writers matter. This book made me want to share my stories, and made me want to write something that made an impact on other people just like this book did. Because even though I’m ordinary, so were the characters in this book, and I still constantly think about them as I create a new document or headline. In my debut novel, “The ocean didn’t drown me this time,” I mentioned this book as my protagonist’s favorite book, and made her want to share her thoughts into poetry. I tell everyone I know who likes to read to read this book, because even though it may seem intimidating, once you finish it your heart will be shattered yet fulfilled.

Even after five years since I opened that book, I’m constantly reminded that what I do still matters, because to quote The Book Thief, “I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.” Even though I hate some of the words that I write, there’s still meaning in each sentence and in every paragraph. Because you don’t have to be famous or well known to make a good impact, you just need to create your own voice.

Liesel in the Flim, stealing books from a book banning ceremony.

I started receiving my symptoms as a child in elementary school, and even after 90 years the issue was still unheard of by most doctors. My labs were “normal”, and I was told I was just going through puberty early. But in my heart I knew something was wrong, and it took until I was on the floor in pain due to a painful cyst until my family realized there was something deeper. I had no idea about PMOS until I did some deep research on YouTube, where I saw other women much older than me describe the same symptoms that I had. I felt less alone and reassured, but as I did my time scrolling, I fell into a rabbit hole of “tricks” on how to heal myself inside and out.

Everything works differently for other people, but one thing is clear: PMOS doesn’t make you unhygienic.

I spent years constantly worrying about my skin, my facial hair, my odor, wondering why I was breaking out so bad or why I still smelled even with deodorant and body spray. Women with PMOS have to work ten times as hard just to not have their symptoms show, and it’s something that needs to be addressed more often. I wasn’t taught this in biology, I wasn’t told this by my doctor, and it took a stranger on the internet to make me feel seen. As I’ve understood myself more, here are the things I’ve learned that every woman with PMOS should know.

Myth one: PMOS is just a period problem

Fact: PMOS is a hormonal and metabolic condition that affects many parts of the body. Women and girls who have it can also experience changes with skin, weight, growth, mood, energy, and metabolism. Missing periods are just a singular symptom. There is more to the syndrome than an irregular cycle.

Myth two: PMOS only happens to adults.

Fact: When I first heard about PMOS, I was 15, and all my symptoms matched. It’s only mainly mentioned when it comes to fertility and reproduction, and most women that I saw on screen who had it were in their 20’s. But as I got more comfortable sharing my story, I met girls my age with similar experiences and discomfort they had felt that were hidden under makeup and a student ID.

Myth three: You have to be skinny to have PMOS.

Fact: Any woman no matter the weight can get PMOS. I’m a lean person respectively, and I have struggled with facial hair and cystic acne. A lot of my symptoms however were ignored because I was at or below the BMI scale, and did enough exercise to manage my health. This made me feel lost and confused. However PMOS does cause insulin resistance, which causes the body to store energy differently and can be associated with weight changes. Higher insulin levels also contribute to increased androgen production, which can lead to symptoms like acne, increased hair growth, and other hormonal changes.

Myth four: You have to cut out everything sugary.

Fact: This is 100% not true. If you find yourself scrolling on instagram wondering about your PMOS symptoms, your FYP will be flooded with dietitians telling you to eat natural 24/7. I was told to cut out sugar, and so I did. It was awful. I felt guilty for eating any sugary, which is just as unhealthy as having a hormonal disorder. And it only made things worse. My running stamina dropped, I lost my period, and it caused me to find a better relationship with food that took almost a year. It turns out that my main issue was dairy, and after being dairy free for two years, my symptoms have been the best they’ve ever been.

Myth five: You need a ten step skincare/body care routine.

Fact: You only need to use what works for you. It’s easy to be fooled when there’s influencers telling you that you need a morning and night routine that costs $300. It’s unrealistic and unreasonable. There are products on the market that work just as well as something you’d find at Sephora, and sometimes less is more. (My next entry will explain which products I use.) Using too many products at once can also clog pores, unbalance ur PH, and cause irritation. It can be challenging to figure out what to use depending on your symptoms, but it can be easy to want more than what you need.

Myth six: PMOS means you’re broken.

Fact: I explained this in the beginning, but this is something I carry with me and worry about constantly. I fear that people will look at me in the eye and call me unattractive and gross, without knowing what goes on internally. I’m trying my best, and so are you. It’s always important to give yourself grace and love. You aren’t gross, you aren’t broken, you’re beautiful. We spend so much time worrying about how others perceive us, that we forget that others struggle too. When I look at older photographs of me seeing my symptoms come alive, I no longer feel shame, but an immense sense of pride and relief that I found the reason why all this was happening.

Because we all deserve love, even in our darkest times. You got this, I’m proud of you.

Love,

Ava Osborne.

I started seeing symptoms of PMOS whenever I was seven years old, after experiencing cystic acne before I even got my period. I remember hiding my face in the pillows in the dermatologist office, afraid of judgement. I was too scared to even look at my doctor in the eyes, as I didn’t want her to think I was ugly. I consider this to be the first time I was painfully insecure, and this feeling would haunt me even as I write this ten years later. I was given benzoyl peroxide, which completely dried my face out, and I’d hide in the bathroom stalls in tears at my elementary school, feeling alienated and ashamed. I was eight when I got my blood tested, and had to be dragged to the hospital in fear. I hated needles, I still do, and even after all that pain and discomfort, they noted that I had a high level of androgens (a male hormone) but nothing was wrong with me. But as I stood in the mirror, picking at my pimples and staring at my hairy legs, I didn’t feel normal, I felt like a monster. I started developing severe anxiety around that age, and had an extremely hard time making friends without bringing myself down. I was told to stop being negative, and to just let it go, but it felt like every year, my symptoms just kept getting worse.

When I entered middle school, I started getting unhealthy thoughts that correlated to my diagnosis. I felt like I was being punished, and that I was too ugly to make friends. I was already struggling with four learning disabilities at the time, and my day to day routine looked like having a hard time lacing my shoes in PE, to feeling like an alien in the mirror. Everyone else had perfect skin, non frizzy hair, and had already got into makeup. I made some really bad friendships during that time due to my low self confidence, and became a person far from myself. After a few years, my symptoms started clearing up, and I began to go out like a normal 14 year old. But that didn’t stop the negative thoughts that I had occurring in my daily conversations, and a lot of my peers began to think I was a “pick me,” for my actions and thoughts.

I moved schools to start a new life, a fresh start, and that was the happiest I had ever been. My skin was clear, and I finally had a good relationship with my body. I became a good runner, and most importantly, a good friend. That was the spring of 2024, and that wave of happiness only lasted for five months. Because during that summer, my worst nightmare happened: a cystic flareup that left me hurt, scared, and deeply insecure. All of those thoughts that finally went away came back, and I woke up every day in pain. My skin was covered in red, it hurt to touch, and I began getting facial hair. I had really thought I was getting better, but I was fooled. I went back to the place where I first felt insecure, and they prescribed me another medication, adapalene, and told me to cut sugar completely. It was hard not to spend a single day without crying, and I began restricting my food intake because I was so upset. I could go hours on end without eating, and I became too afraid to even eat candy. I lost my period for a year, along with my social skills. I was too scared to look at someone in the eye, I didn’t pick up cues, and I went to school exhausted, causing my grades to flunk. This was ninth grade, the easiest year of high school, and I was already failing algebra. I wasn’t stupid, just constantly fighting a battle with my mental health.

After a year, I cut dairy instead of sugar, and my acne cleared with time. But I was still left with facial hair, and an unpleasant odor. The battle never ended. I got an infection from a hair remover the second semester of ninth grade and was too afraid to shave after that. My hair got healthier though, but I was still mentally scarred by my dark thoughts. I didn’t think I’d make it, but I did. And I met my best friend who helped me with every step of the way without judgement, allowing me to no longer feel alone. I got my diagnosis in the summer of 2025, after a painful cyst on my side that caused me to roll on the floor in pain.

I was 15. I’m 17 now. And I still don’t have everything figured out. I blamed myself for months for my odor when the AC went out at my school and I didn’t have the stuff to prepare myself with, and I carry this bottle of shame wherever I go when I see a kid just like me without this condition. It’s not jealousy, it’s just hurt. But I don’t think I’d be who I am without PMOS, because it made me a writer, a more empathetic human, and a fighter.

Everyone is struggling with something, and in a digital age where everyone looks perfect, it’s easy to pick yourself apart. I’m nowhere near an aesthetic person, my soul is flooded with insecurity and regret and anger, but through the turmoil I realized my resilience. I know my worth now, and I want everyone to know that they deserve love too. The journey isn’t easy, and I wished I sometimes never experienced it, but it gave me a story, which is something I want to share in this series to help other girls who are struggling with this.

Because you are never alone, no matter your symptoms or your story. PMOS is challenging, but it’s not your fault. This isn’t the end of your journey.

We’ll get through this together.

Love, Ava Osborne.

I write less than half of them.

As my fingers fly against my keyboard and I create a new doc, I run out of storage, time, or patience with myself. Most of my pieces are deleted, thrown away, or forgotten, as I don’t believe they’re worthy enough to post online. I’m my own worst critic, yet my mind is a muse for the paper that’s in front of me.

I’ve spent most of my years as a teen holding my pen. Which always makes me wonder how many I have left. It takes the average person around two years to finish writing a book, which is already 730 days. The stories I reminisce about in my head will live as long as I do, which is something I constantly remember.

As I open up my phone and scroll, I see other people constantly writing, constantly working, always creating. I wish I had that mindset, as my phone has stolen most of my ideas from me. A chapter taken for another three hours on Instagram, a passion has become a chore, as my imagination can’t keep up with my hands that type and click.

I have two books in mind, a true crime book and a novel in verse, but I can barely get myself to write either of them. I have all these dreams about becoming an author, but I haven’t really become one. I know that there’s beauty in hard work, but the words that come from my head just don’t sound like I want them to. Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote that “anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” When you have infinite choices (or infinite story ideas), you experience a form of creative paralysis. And this is what causes me to forget about my word count, and instead I resort to my screen.

People have told me that I’m just a teen, and that I have so much time left, but that’s unknown. I wonder about all the media I can consume, all the pages I could’ve filled, or all the opportunities I could make. But I’m still waiting for my success to come. For that novel to be in stores. For a new article to be published. I know I’m not a machine, but I don’t have forever. I want to make an impact, I want to always create, I just need to begin again. Because I have an infinite mind in a finite body, and it’s not a tragedy, it’s just reality.

I didn’t have the same experience as the average ten year old, as I was constantly in and out of the endocrinologist, occupational therapy, and other offices that tried to help me with the result of being born four months premature. I started developing cystic acne at the age of eight, and I remember hiding my face in the pillows at dermatologist offices or with makeup used for people five years older than I. I had a hard time making friends, and I didn’t really understand what was wrong with me except that my life was going to be hard, and that my nervous system was constantly in fight or flight since birth.

And then in 2020, Covid hit. I felt alone and isolated, and the only thing I resorted to was books. I loved reading. I learned to read at the age of two, and I was reading at a high school level at the time. My skin was getting worse, and so was my mental health. I was constantly upset, and those thoughts had a lasting effect on my mind and body. I was given a journal during that time to write down my thoughts by my mom, and even though I had dyspraxia and struggled to hold my pen straight, I wrote down everything I could until my hands shook. I transitioned to my iPad a few months later, and started writing poetry to pass the time. It was my only outlet to get past the one thing that controlled me- my anxiety.

I lost someone I loved in 2021 and that took a toll on my mental health severely. The only thing that helped me get through the day was writing, and I wrote pages and pages of poetry until my mind was clear. When I entered sixth grade, I had written two unpublished poetry books, and had a dream to publish my first book. I got bullied a bit in my first years of middle school, as I was navigating grief, undiagnosed PMOS, and the challenges of socializing due to COVID and a bad friend group all at once. I had to relearn what it was like to be a human without my emotions spilling out in my voice, so that’s why I went to the page. My grades weren’t great, and I got called inattentive by my teachers, but I kept going.

In 2022, I wrote a poem about my experiences with grief. It was called “Mine.” I was thirteen when I wrote it, and my English teacher saw my potential and got it published for me. It was one of the first times I felt acknowledged by a teacher, or an adult in that matter. I felt like some of my dreams were coming true.

I started reading more and more, and that’s when I got the inspiration to write my first book. It was a novel in verse about a girl named Indie who was afraid of the ocean after the death of her brother, and she learned how to swim again. It was titled “The ocean didn’t drown me this time.”

The hardcover copy of my book

After four months of writing, and I ended up getting an editor in 2024. Around that time, my PMOS was worsening. I was developing cysts that were so bad that I couldn’t even move my face. My best friend was away, and my mental health took a turn for the worse. When it got published on Christmas Day that same year, I felt like I had finally reached some of my dreams. I started getting reviews on how much my book impacted them from around the world, including a fan making jewelry for me from Pakistan. It’s crazy how much words can connect and change people.

I took a break from writing to help stay in the present and find happiness outside. But as I grow older, I’m starting to see the beauty of my struggles, even though I am constantly in my head. I just published my second book, “The foundation of the teenage mind,” which is a collection of poetry on what it’s like being a teen girl navigating life and adulthood in 2026. My life is starting to get good, and I may never be famous, but I’m happy.

Through my words, I want to advocate and make a difference in people’s lives. Because there are people who have been through hell and are still surviving and fighting, and everything I write is a reminder of the beauty we still have left. I want to persevere literature and continue to write even if it means no one turns a page. Because there is still so much light and good in this world, and I want to be a part of it.

And if my younger self could see me now, she’d be proud. I made it. Not as an author, but as a human being. I pushed through every expectation that was set on me, and I’m still trying to break more barriers. My story isn’t over yet. I want to create and continue growing as a writer and human being so no one, no matter if they are disabled, misunderstood, insecure, or just lost, feels alone.

It’s been hard to grasp, to wrap it around my head. Because my face has changed, my body and mind, but my soul still hasn’t wired into adulthood yet. I still feel like a child when I’m entering adulthood, like there are some pieces left that I still need to experience before I grow up and work a nine to five.

I didn’t start really making true friends until I turned 15. I started hanging out with more people at 16. I went to the waterpark with my friend this week for the first time in my life. It feels like a delayed start, as I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’m terrified to get my license, and I’ve never been to a party like I’ve seen in the movies.

I’m grateful for what I have, but I really wish I could’ve had this life sooner.

It feels like I’ve grown up too fast, yet I’m growing up too slow. I started experiencing acne at the age of seven and I spent most school days, vacations, and holidays with painful skin up until I turned 16. Some part of me felt alienated and ashamed, and I spent everyday wishing I could just grow up without that physical pain. I’m now seeing the world with a new pair of eyes, those that aren’t shedding tears in the mirror or comparing myself to others consistently.

I know it’s normal to feel nostalgia as a teen, but I feel like I’m constantly yearning for what could be. I’ve said before that I hope I never grow up, but I want to, just not yet. I want to be successful, help people in my profession, and maybe write a few more books. But I just want to pause everything.

You can’t be 16 forever, but I’d want to savor another month of that before I grow older. I’ve seen what it’s like to be in constant sorrow and to feel like your head is in the clouds, and I’m terrified to finally come down. I want to stay up here in this house of mine, this town of mine, for a little more.

Because I’m not going to get any younger, and I have to accept that. And it’s been hard. I used to dream about growing up and traveling the world as a child, but I wish I told her to play with her barbie’s instead. I wish my childhood toys weren’t put away, and that I wish fear hadn’t prevented me from seeing the world as I had hoped. I have approximately 31557600 seconds of being a teen left, and they are fading as I type.

But I will cherish everything I am and everything I’ve become, because my teenage years have taught me to never lose hope of happiness, and to smile and mean it is the biggest blessing I’ve ever received.

I spent six years at physical therapy just to hold my pencil correctly, and after those six years, that’s when my teacher threw away my writing at the age of nine and told me that I couldn’t turn in my assignment until she was able to read it. In tears, I struggled to write my essay correctly and clearly, and due to this teacher, I almost failed the third grade. This was otherwise known as my grand awakening, that something was off. I got tested for dyslexia, but I was reading at a high school level. I couldn’t look at people in the eye, nor tie my shoes until I turned 12. I was at a second grade math level when I was in fourth grade, and no one through elementary school to the end of my middle school year ever helped me understand what I was doing wrong. Instead, I got called stupid, or inattentive. The only comfort I had was through writing, as I had already written three books by the end of my eighth grade year and was getting ready to publish my first. But still, to the rest of the world, I was incapable, and most of my teachers were unimpressed. I was later diagnosed with dyspraxia (which affects your motor skills and processing), ADHD, dyscalculia (which affects my ability to do math), and dysgraphia. I always knew school was going to be a challenge, but I wasn’t expecting it to be that difficult as someone who learned to read at age two.

One thing that having a learning disability, is that it gives you this special ability to be resilient if you really want to break a barrier. My freshman year of high school, I almost failed algebra 1, as I had no further skill set. My teacher began to think I wasn’t paying attention enough, and she’d question what was wrong with me. At that point, I had enough of people telling me I couldn’t, and studied for 4 hours a day and brought my math grade up 13 points. To most, it looked like the average B, but to me, it was a testament of my ethic. I barely passed my AP exam, and my first transcript was mainly B’s. I was constantly comparing myself to my friend’s grades, and I felt like I wasn’t going to ever achieve anything. I go to a very competitive high school, where we have kids getting into Ivies every single year. I was worried that to most, I was a failure, and that I needed to change my worth ethic even more.

What most people don’t see about kids with learning disabilities, is that they work twice, or maybe as three times as harder just to succeed like everyone else. By the first semester of my sophomore year, I didn’t fail a single AP test, and became the best in my class at the at it. I competed in academic competitions, and became the second person in my school’s history to ever qualify for region for my event. I placed in the top 15, which was on a graduate level program. I regained my strength, as I was a former varsity runner with issues with my motor skills, and ran a 10k. I started to make more money from my debut novel, and became one of the youngest authors in my area at the age of 16.

But when math came around, I was petrified. I took my first test in tears, and shockingly, I ended up with a 96. I thought it was just my luck, but I took my second test, and got a 92. I didn’t fail a single geometry test that whole year, and my head was in the clouds. My grade was even best in the class at one point, and that’s when my teacher told me something no math teacher has ever even thought about saying.

“Ava, you’re good at math. You just needed someone to be patient with you.”

My GPA went from a 3.5 to a 4.1 in one year. I’m going to be a junior in high school and will be enrolled as a full time college student. The classes are going to be hard, but I’m no longer scared to struggle. I still have trouble with a lot of things, such as driving a car and a faster processing speed. But I can at least say that I’m no longer dumb, just someone who was confused. I just published my second book, and am working on my third one. I’m learning how to run again, and I want to be the first state champion to ever win a history competition at my school.

To anyone who has a learning disability, you were never the problem. The school system has a tendency to underestimate and under educate their students, but with perseverance and dedication, you have the ability to create a new foundation for yourself, and that one contains success.

If anyone takes anything from me, it will never be my ability to stop trying. Because everyday, I’m learning how to be a smarter and better version of myself, even if it means I’ll have to struggle. But through pain and the constant stress, there is so much beauty when you see the results. My future will constantly have ups and downs, but my mind will never give up on my dreams.

The book is now titled “The foundation of the teenage mind,” and it tackles insecurity, political polarization, grief and loss, and acceptance through the eyes of a teenager living in 2026. A ton of my poetry that I added in the book is also here on Substack, which is why I created a separate publication. I hope to continue growing and improving my work as an author through this platform.

Being a teen author has been a journey, and I’m so happy to share my work with the world!

Here is the link for the book: https://www.amazon.com/foundation-teenage-mind-collection-poetry-ebook/dp/B0H4V1JKRN?ref_=ast_author_mpb

Chikatilo was born in Ukraine in 1936. His early childhood was defined by the aftermath of the devastating, man-made Soviet famine, the Holodomor, which lasted from 1932-1933 and ended the lives of 3.5 to 5 million people, along with the horrors of World War II. He grew up hearing terrifying family stories—including a claim that his older brother had been kidnapped and cannibalized during the famine. He also experienced childhood trauma, where his mother Anna constantly instilled severe psychological terror in Andrei. His father, Roman, was conscripted into the Red Army in 1941 when Andrei was just five years old. He was wounded in combat and captured by the German army, spending the rest of the war as a prisoner of war (POW). When Roman returned to Ukraine after WW2, he was treated with immense suspicion and disgrace. The family was heavily marginalized by the community, creating Andrei’s sense of isolation and social alienation.

As Chikatilo grew older, he seemed to have a normal life. In 1963, he entered an arranged marriage and eventually had two children. To the outside world, he appeared to be a conventional, quiet family man. He earned a degree and began working as a schoolteacher. However, his behavioral deviations quickly emerged, and he was repeatedly forced to resign from various schools following allegations of inappropriate behavior toward students.

He began his killings in 1978, preying on young victims whom he met at rail stations and bus depots around Rostov-na-Donu and other cities to which he traveled in his various jobs. His first victim was a 9-year-old girl named Yelena Zakotnova. The local Militia was under intense pressure to solve the high-profile crime quickly. Instead of conducting a thorough investigation that might have led them to Chikatilo, they arrested a 25-year-old local laborer named Aleksandr Kravchenko, who had a prior criminal record. Investigators coerced Kravchenko and pressured his family until they secured a confession. He was then executed for the crime in 1983, under the place of Chikatilo.

Believing he was untouchable after someone else was blamed for his first crime, Chikatilo’s violence escalated. He began traveling extensively along the Soviet rail network, utilizing train stations and nearby wooded areas as his primary hunting grounds. Soviet police forces failed to share information, meaning local departments viewed these deaths as unrelated local homicides. He killed at least 7 people in 1982 and 4 to 8 victims throughout 1983.

By early 1984, the sheer number of bodies found near train stations in the Rostov region forced the central government to take action, launching one of the largest undercover operations in Soviet history. In September, Chikatilo was stopped at a bus station by an alert undercover officer who noticed him acting suspiciously around commuters. A search of his briefcase revealed highly suspicious items. Chikatilo was detained, and in his briefcase, police found a knife, a rope, and lubricant.

They ran forensic tests on Chikatilo’s blood, which incorrectly indicated his blood type did not match. Chikatilo’s actual blood was Type A, while the samples recovered from the victims belonged to Type AB. However, roughly 80% of the population are “secretors,” meaning their blood type antigens naturally secrete into their saliva and sweat, while about 20% are “non-secretors.” Because of this, the tests did not express his True Type A antigens. Instead, it was tested as Type AB due to a rare biological phenomenon, specific bacterial contamination of the crime scene sample—which made his bodily fluid type appear entirely different from his blood. This incredibly rare statistical crossover (often estimated at less than 1% of people) is what fooled the 1984 forensic test and allowed him to walk free.

Chikatilo went on to commit 21 additional murders before his final arrest in November 1990. Because of his job as a traveling logistics clerk, he utilized the country’s public transportation network to find victims and evade local police. The specific locations of his crimes generally fell into three categories.

Rostov-on-Don: The capital of the region, where he frequently targeted victims near main transit stations.

Shakhty: A mining town where he lived for a time and committed his earliest offenses.

Novocherkassk: Another nearby city where he frequently hunted.

When traditional police work stalled, the investigation turned to a highly unconventional method for the Soviet legal system: forensic psychiatry. In 1984, investigator Issa Kostoyev commissioned Dr. Alexander Bukhanovsky to analyze the crime scene data. Bukhanovsky constructed a comprehensive psychological and behavioral profile of the killer without ever knowing his identity. The profile accurately deduced that the killer was a middle-aged man, likely married with children, who suffered from severe sexual dysfunction and used extreme violence as a psychological compensation mechanism. This discovery was groundbreaking at the time, as it was created without any hand to hand forensic evidence. Along with the psychological evidence, forensic pathologists got back to work, as they took casts of the marks found on the victims to determine dental irregularities, such as missing teeth or specific spacing. Investigators also preserved footprints found in the mud near rural riverbanks and woodlands where the bodies were discovered. They also checked for fingerprints on personal items left near the scenes.

However, there was an institutional failure: the police didn’t listen to it yet. Because Chikatilo was caught and released in September 1984 due to that flawed blood test, the Militia threw out the profile’s insights. They assumed their “science” (the blood test) proved the killer was someone else, so Bukhanovsky’s study sat on a shelf for years while Chikatilo kept killing.

In November 1990, Chikatilo was finally arrested by a new lead investigator, Issa Kostoyev. The police kept him in a cell, but they had a massive problem: under Soviet law, they could only hold him for a limited time without a confession, and Chikatilo was refusing to speak. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, they remembered the study Bukhanovsky wrote years prior. They called the psychiatrist into the interrogation room. Instead of interrogating Chikatilo like a criminal, Bukhanovsky sat down and simply read his 1984 behavioral profile out loud to him, explaining the killer’s inner trauma, isolation, and urges.

Bukhanovsky often spoke about how Chikatilo was a deeply diseased human being whose actions were driven by a specific, clinical pathology, and that he maintained two separate identities, one as a father and husband, and a life of violent compulsions.

An image of Bukhanovsky. (Sourced from IMBD)

After the fall of the Soviet Union, the trial began on April 14, 1992, in the city of Rostov-on-Don. Because the USSR no longer existed, Chikatilo was tried under the laws of the newly formed Russian Federation. The courtroom was packed with the victims’ furious relatives. To prevent the crowd from lynching Chikatilo, the state constructed a heavy iron-barred cage in the middle of the courtroom. The prosecution presented an overwhelming case, utilizing Chikatilo’s detailed confessions, the records from his crime scene reenactments, along with the forensic evidence matching his travel logs to the dates of the disappearances. During the trial, Chikatilo realized the evidence against him was exact, so he shifted his strategy to disruption. He routinely acted erratic, shouted at the judge, claimed to be a pregnant woman, sang songs, and exposed himself to the courtroom.

Chikatilo during the trial, held in a cage. (Sourced from Wikipedia.)

His defense team argued that he was completely insane and could not be held legally responsible for his actions. However on October 15, 1992, the judge read the final verdict. Based heavily on the psychiatric evaluation, the court ruled Chikatilo legally sane. He was convicted of 52 counts of murder and sentenced to death. He died on February 14, 1994, at the age of 57.

Sources

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holodomor

https://www.nytimes.com/1992/04/04/world/citizen-ch-russia-opens-files-on-serial-killings.html

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Andrei-Romanovich-Chikatilo

https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/1992/10/15/russian-convicted-of-murdering-52/61f6deae-7f2c-4a41-a32a-378f1a1e677e/

https://www.biography.com/crime/andrei-chikatilo

https://cla.umn.edu/chgs/holocaust-genocide-education/resource-guides/holodomor

Bukhanovsky

https://www.themoscowtimes.com/archive/a-killers-confidante-in-a-murderous-town

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Awesome/CitizenX

https://www.theguardian.com/theobserver/1999/aug/08/life1.lifemagazine