When I think about the people who have changed my life, my mind constantly goes back to a humid August day four years ago, standing awkwardly in my freshman orientation group, surrounded by strangers who I knew nothing about.
Then Faith Alsip walked in late, laughing before she even said hello, and with energy that filled the room in a way that made everyone look up. Within minutes, she was talking to those same strangers like they were already friends.
By the end of that same day, I was one of them.
I didn’t know it then, but that vibrant energy and bubbly laugh would become a constant in my life.
Over the past four years, that first conversation turned into late-night talks, countless memories, vulnerable moments and a friendship that shaped who I became in college.
I have stood side-by-side not only while she puts smiles on young children in the classroom, and brings her energy to new students as an ambassador, but also as she became a dog mom and celebrated milestones.
Her energy never seemed forced; it was simply who she was.
It’s now senior year, often described as the best year of college students’ lives, and it’s already tested Faith in unimaginable ways. Just weeks before her birthday, Christmas and final exams, Faith lost her mother after a cancer diagnosis that changed everything almost over night. While most students would step away, Faith continued showing up. Whether it was class, student teaching, work or for the people who depended on her, she was still there.
“I like being busy,” Faith said. “I tried to keep myself accountable because I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to stop or fall behind.”
Staying active became her way of protecting her mental health while navigating grief.
Faith, a member of Kappa Delta Pi, student ambassador, and a student in Stevenson’s School of Education, said teaching helped give her purpose during an overwhelming time.
“I try to let my students know that ‘Miss A’ is on their side,” she said. “Learning how to be a better teacher kept me going.”
Her experience reflects what research shows about grief among college students. According to studies from the American College Health Association, students experiencing loss often maintain academic routines as a coping mechanism, using structure and responsibility to regain a sense of control rather than withdrawing completely.
“Everyone expected me to be in shambles,” Faith said. “But I was at peace. Life doesn’t stop, and my mom would want me to keep going.”
Still, she explained that grief is often invisible.
“It’s always there; when I wake up or when I’m alone with my thoughts. People don’t realize how constant it is.”
As college students and even professors, sometimes we fail to acknowledge that you never know what the person sitting next to you, or in front of you is carrying.
We assume that showing up means you’re capable of doing so, but someone showed up so that they didn’t fall apart.
Knowing Faith has changed how I understand strength. That strength is visible to others, too.
Beth Kobett, dean of Stevenson’s School of Education, described Faith as someone who has a curious personality that draws others in like a magnet.
“She faces challenges with bravery,” Kobett said. “Her ability to be present with people is unbelievable. She’s impacting people every day and doesn’t even realize it.”
To know her is to know a strong, committed, and unbelievably warm-hearted person. Through some of my own darkest times, she was right there without hesitation, reminding me that resilience doesn’t always look dramatic or loud. Sometimes it looks like attending class, leading a lesson, or laughing with friends even when life feels impossible.
She is my constant reminder to keep moving when life gets hard, and to always be a light in someone’s darkness.
When I think back to that first day of orientation, I no longer just remember meeting a bubbly first year student. I remember the beginning of a friendship that taught me something deeper — strength is not the absence of grief, it is choosing to keep showing up anyway.
