Sitting in the kitchen as a high school senior, I was tearing up again. Wet cheeks in my hand, I poured out my heart to my mom as she reheated dinner from the night before. I had started the semester hoping to be a social worker, impassioned about the vast injustices I saw in the world, and hoping to be a part of the change I had seen her be in the lives of so many children.

“I am just not sure I am strong enough for this,” I said, disappointed in myself.

“It’s OK honey, there are so many ways to help the world. You just need to find yours. And you will,” she told me calmly.