Compass Scholarship

I was never the student who couldn’t get it—I was the student nobody bothered to understand. I knew I was smart, but my brain moved faster than the classroom allowed. Growing up with unmedicated ADHD didn’t just make things “challenging”—it made me a target for labels. While I was busy processing new concepts at lightning speed, teachers were busy marking me as a disruption. I wasn’t seen for my potential; I was seen as a problem to be managed. Labels are hard to shake. Even after I received the right medication and found my footing, the ghost of my old reputation followed me. There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from doing everything right—turning in the work, staying focused, meeting expectations—only to realize people are still waiting for you to fail. That experience could have broken my interest in school. Instead, it built my backbone. I didn’t just “develop resilience”—I fought for my seat at the table. I learned how to advocate for myself when no one else would, and I built a level of discipline that was forged through frustration and persistence. My goals are not just professional—they are purposeful. I am pursuing a career in education because I refuse to let another student be dismissed the way I was. I want to be the teacher who sees past the fidgeting and the assumptions, and recognizes the intelligence underneath. I want to be the one person in the room who does not give up on the “difficult” student—because I was that student. Attending a faith-based college has strengthened this calling. It has shifted my perspective from “Why did this happen to me?” to “How can I use this to serve others?” My faith has taught me that my past is not a list of setbacks—it is preparation. It has given me the compassion to lead and the courage to advocate for those who are still being misunderstood. I am no longer defined by a diagnosis or a teacher’s outdated perception of me. I am defined by my growth, my discipline, and my purpose. I am not just earning a degree—I am preparing to break a cycle. I am becoming the advocate I once needed.

When I was eight years old, I lost a tooth— and then I lost my father. My father was captured by immigration agents during the raid of a party he was attending and was deported overnight. Months later, in the dead of night, my house was surrounded and stormed by SWAT agents who kicked in our front door and detained everyone over fifteen years old. My mother cried and begged on her hands and knees not to be taken, because she was the only person my siblings and I had left. One officer took pity on my mother that night when he found items that were grounds for deportation. Instead of taking them in, he ripped them up and hid them behind our fireplace. My interest in immigration defense was born that day. Three days later, we moved. The terrorization of normal, working families across the US by ICE agents has captured my complete attention. I have never been more angry, but motivated. It's not just personal anymore. There are millions of families like mine who fear not only deportation, but now death at the hands of the government and ICE agents. My education in law will put me directly in the middle of that fight, where I belong—defending families who deserve safety and stability. In 2020, the entire world stopped. The streets lay empty, animals retreated, and the usual noise was replaced with the passing of wind. I stood beside my window with CNN sounding off in the background, watching this post-apocalyptic scene unfold outside. I feared the future—not just my own future, but the future of the world. Never had I felt so scared and powerless. I was sitting on my windowsill watching from afar, while others were on the frontlines putting their lives in danger for the sake of helping others. I had never been particularly studious or academically inclined. I even made it a point to say that I was not going to college because it seemed like a “tremendous waste of time and money.” Seeing the red and white lights of emergency vehicles rush by that year inspired something in me. I knew I wanted to be among the people on the frontlines, making the world a little less frightening. In 2023, two years after graduating high school, I wandered into Chicago's Lakeview area after seeing an Indeed listing for a daycare floater position. After growing up with six siblings, I thought, “I've been taking care of kids my whole life. This can't be any different.” I needed the money, and they hired me immediately. Before I knew it, I had found my calling in life. The temporary job that paid my car note quickly became something more. I discovered how much I loved helping shape the next generation. I often found myself staying past my shifts, not because I needed the money, but because I genuinely loved the work. It was stressful at times, but it no longer felt like a job. It felt like purpose. The experience has also made me a better mother to my infant daughter. My interests span far and wide, but the common denominator is my objective to make a ferocious difference in the world around me. Education has already made me more aware, more in tune, and more empathetic. With a college education, I will have the tools to turn that awareness into action. I plan to use my education to advocate for families like mine—families who deserve safety, stability, and a voice.