Empowering Affected Students from the Tri-State Mining District Scholarship

While I have not experienced a natural disaster in the traditional sense, my childhood was deeply shaped by something just as devastating: the effects of addiction within my home and the forced displacement from my country due to crisis. These are not physical disasters like floods or pollution, but they are man-made disasters of another kind—emotional, social, and economic—and their impact has been just as real. I was born in Venezuela, a country rich in culture but marked by years of political and economic instability. My father battled alcoholism, which created an unstable environment at home. Though there was no physical abuse, the emotional toll of living with an unpredictable and emotionally distant parent left deep scars. As I got older, the situation in my country worsened—shortages, insecurity, and the collapse of essential services forced my family to leave everything behind in search of a future. Immigrating to the United States felt like surviving a second kind of disaster—one where we lost not only our home, but our identity, our roots, and our sense of safety. We arrived with no roadmap, no stability, and no guarantees. I didn’t speak English well. I didn’t know how to navigate school or community systems. But I knew one thing: I wanted to rebuild. I started over by clinging to what had saved me as a child—education. School had always been my refuge, the one place that offered consistency and hope. And so, I poured everything I had into my studies. I worked hard. I asked for help. I studied while working part-time, while translating for my family, while adapting to an entirely new culture. It wasn’t easy, but it gave me something my past had often denied me: a sense of control over my future. Now, I am pursuing a degree in Elementary Education through Western Governors University (WGU). My goal is to become a teacher—one who not only delivers lessons, but builds safe, inclusive spaces where children feel supported, no matter what chaos they may be facing at home or in the world around them. To overcome the obstacles of my past, I’ve turned my pain into purpose. I help other immigrant families fill out forms they don’t understand. I translate in my church. I volunteer in community events to make others feel a little less alone. My goal is not just to succeed for myself, but to lift others with me. Winning this scholarship would mean more than financial relief. It would be a validation that man-made struggles—whether born from addiction, poverty, or displacement—are real, and that the work of overcoming them deserves recognition. It would help me complete my education so I can go on to serve the children who, like me, grew up in uncertainty but still dared to dream. Natural and man-made disasters don’t always come with sirens. Sometimes, they come in the form of silence, of neglect, of having to leave behind everything you knew to survive. But surviving is not the end of the story. Rebuilding is. Thank you for reading my story and for supporting students like me who are turning survival into service.

I wasn’t blessed with the best family; if you’ve ever heard the phrase “drawing the short end of the stick,” I’d say I got both halves. The disaster I grew up in wasn’t caused by nature, it was man-made. It came from broken systems, poverty, generational trauma, and a lack of support. My father went to prison when I was just three years old, leaving my mom alone with three kids and no way to provide for us. At the time, she wasn’t even allowed to work because of how controlling he had been. We ended up in a domestic abuse shelter, hoping for safety and a chance to rebuild. Eventually, we reconnected with extended family in Texas and tried to start a new life, but nothing came easy. My mom started working at a gas station, sometimes pulling double shifts just to put food on the table. Even with her doing everything she could, we were still barely getting by. From a young age, I had to step up: by the time I was five, I was already helping raise my little brother, cooking meals, and handling responsibilities most kids don’t face until much later. We didn’t have much, but I kept pushing forward, trying to be the strong one when no one else could. Despite everything, I threw myself into school. I loved learning and knew education would be my way out. I worked hard, kept my grades high, and especially excelled in science. I had a strong grasp of biology from the start, scoring in the “blue” category on the STARR exam, meaning I exceeded expectations. Chemistry didn’t come as naturally to me, but I didn’t let that stop me, I worked twice as hard, determined to understand and improve. I always enjoyed hands-on learning, especially lab days, and that’s when I knew I wanted to pursue a STEM major in college. But even when it seemed like things were getting better, life threw another curveball. A month before graduating high school, I was kicked out of my home. With nowhere to go, I ended up in a stay-in transitional housing program, carrying nothing but a few totes and a backpack. It was one of the lowest moments of my life. Still, I refused to give up. I worked all summer, saving as much money as I could to afford college. I moved into my dorm and managed everything on my own: food, rent, classes, and work, all while keeping my grades up. I’ve faced more obstacles than I can count, but I’ve defeated adversity at every turn. I didn’t let a rocky childhood or unstable home define me. I became independent, resilient, and focused. I didn’t just survive, I succeeded! I’m now a STEM major in college, studying to go into pharmaceuticals, and still carrying that same determination to build a better life not just for myself, but for others. Natural and man-made disasters don’t always look like fires or floods. Sometimes they look like poverty, loss, and lack of support. But I’ve learned how to stay standing, no matter what tries to knock me down; and that’s exactly the strength I’ll bring with me into my education, my career, and my future.