Jessica DaVall

My last tattoo is a butterfly — delicate, bold, and unafraid to change. For me; it’s a symbol of transformation. I spent years trapped in addiction, feeling like I’d never break free. But recovery gave me wings. It taught me how to shed the weight of my past and step into the light of who I was always meant to be. The butterfly reminds me that growth isn’t always graceful, but it’s always possible. It’s a promise to myself: that no matter how dark it gets I wi

It would say, “She survived.” It would whisper of nights that nearly broke her, and mornings she rose anyway. It would shout the names of battles fought in silence, of demons faced without applause. It would say, “Every line is a lesson. Every shade is strength. Every scar is sacred.” It would tell you that this skin is a canvas of resilience — not perfect, but powerful. That she didn’t just escape the fire… She became it.

If I won $25,000, I’d finally be able to put a down payment on something I’ve only ever dreamed of — a home. Not just walls and a roof, but real stability for me and my son. After years of surviving chaos and rebuilding from the ground up, owning a home would mean security, peace, and a future we can grow in. I’ve never had that kind of foundation — but I’ve fought hard for the chance to create it. This wouldn’t just be a house. It would be proof I did i