Arnetha V. Bishop Memorial Scholarship

I’ve always loved horror movies. Scream, The Shining, Halloween, The Craft—they never really scared me because I knew they weren’t realistic. No matter how terrifying they seemed on the screen, I could always turn off the TV and return to my normal life. But during high school, life threw me into a nightmare that I couldn’t switch off. It began when my brother passed away during my 7th-grade year. Soon after, I lost both of my grandparents, then my auntie. Suddenly, I wasn’t just watching horror unfold—I was living it. Now, that nightmare has served as the fuel to my fire for the past 6 years. Horror movies taught me that even in a nightmare, there are ways to survive and grow. The nightmare of grief forced me to face hard truths, and in doing so, I gained valuable life lessons. Losing my loved ones taught me that life is fragile, and every moment counts. I realized I had to take control of my time and find healthy ways to cope. One of the most important characteristics of people who survive in horror films is the will to survive. I had that will. I began to fill my life with activities that gave me purpose and connection. I took on the role of student ambassador at my school, leading efforts to ensure the school environment was welcoming for all students. I became captain of my volleyball team and a dance teacher in my church's dance ministry. Through these activities, I began to reclaim my life from the nightmare, finding strength in the very places I once felt trapped. Another thing I learned was the importance of human connection. In horror films, there is usually safety in numbers. Splitting up or isolating almost always ends badly. Yet, this was my first inclination when I found myself in my nightmare. Initially, I turned inward to myself, instead of outward to my community, and it only made things feel darker than they already were. Eventually, I realized that I needed others. I joined a dance company, which allowed me to express my feelings in ways words couldn’t. I took up sports—volleyball, basketball, track, and karate—which pushed me to stay active and connect with others. I explored new interests to better understand myself. In doing so, I found that even in this nightmare, I could make progress. I learned to navigate the pain, using my time to build myself back up instead of letting the grief consume me. Throughout my life journey, I realized that many of the battles I was facing were taking place overwhelmingly in my mind. This eventually led me to discover psychology, a field that resonated with my search for understanding the hidden science behind the conscious and unconscious mind. Psychology helped me to understand how my thoughts, emotions, and actions were all interrelated. The Mental Health Crisis is a serious global issue that is often overlooked, especially in the black community. Growing up in the diverse city of Seattle, I’ve had the opportunity to connect with people from a variety of backgrounds, each with unique challenges and perspectives on mental health. This exposure has shaped my understanding of the barriers people face when seeking help and accessing resources. My investigative mindset and desire to understand on a deeper level have driven me toward psychology, where I can work to address these barriers head-on. I know firsthand how life difficulties, such as grief and loss, can affect someone’s functioning in life. I believe that these experiences equipped me with the most determination to aid and lead with empathy for others.

A 42-year perspective and a professional calling that started on the front lines define my journey in mental health. My dedication to this subject is already ingrained in my day-to-day job, even though I am now an undergraduate majoring in Applied Psychology and Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA). As a Black woman working as a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT), I have personally witnessed the revolutionary potential of behavioral science and the urgent need for more representative leadership at the analytical level. I have a "boots-on-the-ground" awareness of the difficulties marginalized families have thanks to my work as an RBT. I have successfully negotiated the challenges of delivering care in areas with little resources and high levels of stigma. These encounters have had a significant impact on my conviction that mental health care need to be both clinically sound and culturally competent. Every time I fight for a client's dignity or assist a family in realizing that asking for aid is an act of great strength, I put my activism into practice. As a Registered Behavior Technician, I witness the direct effects of ABA therapy on kids and their families on a daily basis, but I also see the holes in the system where cultural awareness is lacking. I will be able to create programs that are genuinely inclusive and successful for the many populations I work with by transitioning from a technical position to a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst. My objective is to become a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst (BCBA) instead of an RBT. As the expert creating the interventions, I want to make sure they are customized to the lived experiences of BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ people. Practitioners that can bridge the gap between clinical evidence and cultural complexity are in high demand in the field of ABA. By obtaining my BCBA, I am putting myself in a position to be a leader who makes sure that people who have traditionally been ignored by the healthcare system can access, relate to, and benefit from evidence-based care. I have a level of maturity and focus on this point in my life that enables me to fully commit to my professional goals. I have the exceptional chance to give my all to both my studies and the community I serve as a non-traditional student who is not immediately responsible for raising children. I am creating a legacy of service rather than just getting a degree. An essential first step on this path is the Arnetha V. Bishop Memorial Scholarship. With this prize, I wouldn't have to worry about money and could concentrate on finishing my degree and getting closer to my BCBA certification. You are investing in a future where elite mental health leadership represents the variety and resiliency of the communities it serves by funding my education.

Mental health has never been an abstract topic for me, it’s been a lived experience. Living with ADHD and anxiety has shaped how I learn, how I connect, and how I serve. My early years in college were difficult. I struggled with focus, organization, and self-doubt. For a long time, I felt like my mind worked against me. I withdrew from school twice, convinced that higher education wasn’t built for someone like me. But through therapy, medication, and faith, I began to understand my challenges, not as flaws, but as parts of who I am that needed structure, compassion, and support. When I returned to complete my Master of Social Work, I did it with the right supports in place—academic coaching, therapy, and a community that believed in my potential. This made all the difference. I thrived. My MSW became a turning point in my life, showing me that when people with mental health conditions are supported instead of stigmatized, they can excel. That experience reshaped not only how I saw myself but also how I approach the field of mental health. Today, as a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, my mission is to expand access to trauma-informed, culturally competent care for marginalized populations. My studies and professional work focus on bridging gaps in mental health access, particularly for individuals who experience systemic barriers such as language deprivation, disability, or racial bias. I currently work with Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing teens, helping them develop employment and life skills. Many of these young people have faced trauma, isolation, or misdiagnosis simply because their mental health providers lacked cultural and linguistic training. Those experiences reinforce my commitment to building systems that meet people where they are. My research explores how language access, neurodiversity, and identity intersect to shape mental health outcomes. I aim to create practical frameworks for service providers that emphasize communication access, community engagement, and early intervention. I believe in a holistic approach that takes into account not only the person's diagnosis but also their experiences and surroundings. Having lived with anxiety and ADHD, I bring both empathy and lived perspective to my work. I understand what it means to feel overwhelmed, unseen, or misunderstood. That insight helps me connect with clients who are often hesitant to seek help. I tell them what I wish someone had told me years ago: “You are not broken. You just need the right tools and support to thrive.” My long-term goal is to develop community-based programs that normalize mental health conversations within Black and BIPOC families. I want to train educators, social workers, and mental health professionals to recognize neurodiversity as a strength, not a deficiency. By fostering compassion and understanding, I believe we can break generational cycles of silence and stigma. Financially, pursuing my doctorate has been challenging. As a first-generation graduate student, I manage tuition, research costs, and living expenses in Washington, D.C., while balancing part-time work and student loans. This scholarship would ease that financial burden and allow me to devote more energy to my dissertation and to mentoring students who are walking similar paths. Arnetha V. Bishop's legacy embodies my commitment to advocacy, accessibility, and care for those often overlooked by traditional systems. My journey has taught me that recovery and purpose can coexist. Through my education and my work, I want to continue her mission to make mental health care not just available but equitable, compassionate, and grounded in community.

My beliefs, career, and activism have been profoundly shaped by a car accident I survived while working toward my undergraduate degree, a moment that changed not only my body but the course of my life. After the accident, I had to relearn how to walk, all while trying to stay in school. It was one of the most vulnerable times I’d ever experienced. Seeking therapy felt necessary, yet I struggled to find a provider who looked like me or understood my worldview as a Black woman of faith navigating trauma, fear, and uncertainty. That experience taught me how courageous it is for someone to reach out for help and how everyone deserves the right to see someone they can identify with in the role of mental health provider, someone who can hold space for the context and complexities of what it can mean to be BIPOC in the United States. This conviction has fueled my nearly two-decade career as a licensed professional counselor, where I serve healthcare professionals and high-functioning adults, many of whom are people of color silently carrying anxiety, depression, and the burden of appearing strong. Beyond my practice, I’ve dedicated myself to removing barriers to mental health care. I’ve offered pro bono therapy to individuals who have no insurance or who’ve lost their jobs, and for the past five years, I’ve been a provider for The Loveland Foundation, offering therapy to women of color who couldn’t otherwise afford it. One woman I introduced to the Loveland Foundation told me that receiving a grant covering twelve sessions changed her life; she had lost her insurance midway through therapy, was going through a divorce while raising several children, and felt hopeless about continuing treatment. She said the ability to stay with the same therapist helped her heal during the darkest time of her life. Stories like hers are my "why" and motivate me to always look for resources and creative ways to bridge barriers to care, which disproportionately impact BIPOC communities. I also lead workshops in churches and community conferences on topics such as grief, stress management, and building healthy relationships, empowering people to navigate life’s challenges with resilience and hope. After my talks, men, women, young people, and couples often approach me to share how they once saw therapy as weakness or a character flaw and had never seen a provider who looked like them. Their courage and honesty inspire me to keep going. At 54, I am returning to school to earn my doctorate in Clinical Psychology, focusing on neuropsychology, so I can expand my ability to serve marginalized communities. I believe integrating neuropsychology into my practice will help individuals better understand how brain health connects to emotional well-being and equip them with practical tools for healing and growth. My faith calls me to treat everyone with dignity and respect, to hold space for their humanity, and to help them rebuild lives they can truly live in. With advanced training, I am determined to break down barriers, reduce stigma, and ensure that no one feels unseen, misunderstood, or alone. This is not simply my profession; it is a calling from God. I am committed to transforming mental health services so that every person, especially those in marginalized communities, can access care that honors their culture, story, and hope for the future.

My name is Tai Resendiz, and I am a first-generation graduate student pursuing a degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. As a Latinx and transgender male, my journey has been shaped by my identity and the challenges that come with it. These experiences have fueled my passion for social justice, advocacy, and holistic mental health care. My goal is to serve marginalized and underprivileged clients, providing them with the support and resources they need to thrive. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the disparities in mental health care within marginalized communities. The stigma surrounding mental health, coupled with systemic barriers, often prevents individuals from seeking the help they need. This reality has deeply influenced my beliefs and career aspirations. I am committed to breaking down these barriers and creating a more inclusive and equitable mental health care system. My personal experiences with mental health have been a driving force behind my activism and career goals. As someone who has navigated the complexities of mental health challenges, I understand the importance of having access to compassionate and culturally competent care. My journey has taught me the value of resilience and the power of community support. These lessons have shaped my approach to counseling, emphasizing empathy, understanding, and empowerment. In my practice, I plan to make a positive impact within marginalized communities by providing accessible and culturally sensitive mental health services. I believe that understanding the unique experiences and challenges faced by these communities is crucial for effective treatment. By incorporating cultural competence into my practice, I aim to build trust and rapport with my clients, creating a safe space where they feel seen and heard. One of the ways I plan to serve marginalized and underprivileged clients is by offering sliding scale fees and pro bono services. Financial barriers should not prevent individuals from accessing the care they need. By making my services affordable, I hope to reach those who might otherwise be unable to seek help. Advocacy is another key component of my approach. I believe that systemic change is necessary to address the root causes of mental health disparities. Through my work, I aim to raise awareness about the importance of mental health and advocate for policies that promote equity and access to care. This includes pushing for increased funding for mental health services, supporting initiatives that address social determinants of health, and working to reduce stigma through education and outreach. My experience with mental health has also influenced my belief in the importance of holistic care. Mental health is deeply interconnected with physical, emotional, and social well-being. In my practice, I will take a holistic approach, addressing not only the symptoms of mental health issues but also the underlying factors that contribute to them. This includes considering the impact of trauma, discrimination, and socioeconomic factors on my clients’ mental health. Ultimately, my goal is to empower my clients to take control of their mental health and lead fulfilling lives. I believe that everyone deserves access to quality mental health care, regardless of their background or circumstances. By providing compassionate, culturally competent, and accessible services, I hope to make a meaningful difference in the lives of those I serve. In conclusion, my journey as a Latinx and transgender male has profoundly shaped my beliefs, activism, and career aspirations. I am dedicated to serving marginalized and underprivileged clients, breaking down barriers to care, and advocating for systemic change. Through my work, I aim to create a more inclusive and equitable mental health care system, where everyone has the opportunity to thrive.

The text was small and green, squeezed near the bottom of the page. He had written in Chinese, 我今天想要活着是因为我的植物长得很好 (“I wanted to live today because my plant is thriving”), and the words brought tears to my eyes. This client had been seeing me for the past several months, and his most recent depressive episode had hit so hard that our last few sessions were spent exploring the meaning of existence. He had been consistent with his DBT diary cards, and I felt we were moving in the right direction. Then, one day, he sent me a fresh page of his diary with a reason to live noted for the first time. He highlighted it in the same bright green that colored the pitcher plant that gave him the will to press on another day. Clients like him inspired me to continue my daily work as a therapist from 2020 to 2023, and now as a doctoral researcher and psychologist trainee working with high-risk adolescents at the University of Hawaii. After graduating from Columbia University in 2020 with my Master's degree, I moved to Seattle, where I provided licensed weekly individual and group therapy sessions to immigrant adolescents in both community and school settings. As a first-generation college student and a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, I deeply empathize—both professionally and personally—with Asian and immigrant youth struggling with mental health issues. Being married to a same-sex partner within a conservative East Asian culture, I've faced significant acculturative distress, not only as an immigrant but also in navigating the unique challenges of my identity. However, these personal struggles have become a true asset, strengthening my ability as a helping professional. During my three years of working with vulnerable adolescent populations in both school and community settings from 2020 to 2023, I observed firsthand both the successes and challenges of psychological treatment in a multicultural context. Building on my four years of undergraduate study in psychology at Michigan State University from 2013 to 2017, my continued graduate education and fieldwork have deepened my understanding of individual complexity. This experience has convinced me that only rigorous, evidence-based research can develop and empower treatments that truly improve individuals' lives and inform systems—such as policy-making and bridging research-to-real-world gaps—to reduce psychological suffering not just in individual sessions, but on a broader scale. For this reason, I entered the University of Hawaii’s doctoral program in Clinical Psychology in 2023. Under Dr. Brad Nakamura's supervision, I completed a first-authored publication, and two technical reports, and presented at 15 regional and national conferences during my first year of doctoral research. Spring of 2024, I also provided suicide intervention and screening for youth at local schools in Maui following the wildfire that took hundreds of lives. My research work addresses a critical gap in youth mental health: despite the effectiveness of Evidence-Based Practices (EBP) like CBT for depression, these treatments are not widely used in clinical settings. This highlights the need for a better understanding of parents' and consumers' perspectives—an area that remains empirically understudied and obscure in many respects. My background as a first-generation LGBTQIA+ immigrant from East Asia, coupled with the stark reality that only 4% of psychologists in the U.S. are Asian American, has profoundly shaped my commitment to this field. With 44% of Asian Americans experiencing severe mental distress, my work is driven by the urgent need for culturally competent, evidence-based interventions. Though my individual power may be limited, I believe that through research, advocacy, and empowering the underrepresented, I can amplify the voices of many, bringing meaningful change to the underrepresented communities I serve.

"Therapy is for rich white people." These are the words that were embossed in the core of my memory up until eight years ago, and I'm well into my 40s. More disheartening than that idea was the idea of how difficult it would be to find a therapist who looked like me. That idea, however, was anchored in the coldest, most disappointing truth. I wanted a Black male therapist who knew how to approach LGBTQ+ issues. After nine months of searching, I found a brown therapist. That's when I looked up the statistic: Only 5.1% of all therapists and counselors are Black. Of that 5.1%, only 1% is male. And only 2% of all psychiatrists are Black. I grew up in the South and was the target of much racial discrimination, so much so that I thought it was a way of life and that my need for spaces to be safe enough to work out my life's issues were far and few between. The thing about a need is just because it goes unmet doesn't mean that it disappears. Unhealthy habits surface and emotional regulation becomes a far cry. I know this because of both research and experience. I remember my first therapy session. I proudly committed, "I don't really trust this guy. So I'm not gonna show much outside of certainty. I'll play cool." Five minutes in, I was a sobbing mess. But I left that session affirmed, a little more connected, and with more uncomfortable questions than I knew what to do with. I quickly found out what people meant by "doing the work." The impact on my life after a few months was monumental. And while I realized the importance of mental health, being in therapy was not why I decided to work in mental health. It was Ava DuVernay's "When They See Us." I could only get through the first half of the first episode before hot tears heavy with anger clawed their way down my cheeks. It made me think about the plight of Black men and black individuals, and on my own accord, I started a podcast addressing those things. Then I came across and article about intergenerational trauma and the epigenetics associated with maladaptive behavior and how my great, great-great-grandmother's trauma still affects me. That's when it hit me that therapy isn't for rich white people. It was more easily accessible by rich white people. Who, then, is servicing my community? I gathered my anger, flipped it into active passion, and enrolled in an MS program for Clinical Mental Health Counseling to not only add to the solution but also create nuanced resources that administer specifically to the Black community. I have a strong background in the arts and entertainment so naturally, my ideas to make a positive impact all float around that area. As an example, barbershops and beauty shops. Black men and women find these spaces where they can talk about their issues, clown on one another, support one another, and sometimes get deep. How cool would it be to have a reality show where a licensed therapist traveled all around the country to different barbershops and beauty salons and talked mental health while uptown fades and sister locs are being done? The need is great for language and tools and while I cannot be *the* solution, I can most certainly be a part of the solution and hopefully inspire others to do the same.