Lippey Family Scholarship

One of the greatest challenges I have faced was learning how to succeed within an environment and under conditions that were not built for the way my mind naturally works. Though some people try to convince you it’s a superpower, growing up with ADHD and dyscalculia in a low-income household felt like I was fighting two battles at once. On one hand, I had to manage the constant mental restlessness, difficulty focusing, and pressure of learning differently from other students. On the other, I had to grow up in a family struggling just to stay afloat financially. When my father left, the instability in our home only deepened. Suddenly, everything in my life felt uncertain, and I quickly realized that if I wanted a different future, I would have to build it myself. All my life, ADHD made me feel like I was always one step behind. I knew I was capable, but like an injured athlete, capability becomes meaningless if basic actions are hindered. I could not rely on talent alone, and had to learn discipline. Being financially instability and merely surviving, I’ve rarely had insurance, let alone a doctor. I can't remember the last time I had a doctor's appointment. So medication quickly became obsolete. Instead, over time I built systems to manage my life in ways that worked for me: strict alarms, detailed planning, consistent sleep schedules, fitness, an absurdly healthy diet, and routines that provide stability when life becomes chaotic. What once felt like a limitation slowly became something that strengthened me. ADHD forced me to become intentional. It taught me that success is not about doing things the easiest way, but about finding a way forward regardless of circumstances and refusing to stop. At the same time, financial hardship pushed me to mature faster than many people my age. My family survives on very limited income, and I have had to work near full-time while pursuing my education in order to pay for gas, insurance, tuition, bills, and other expenses. Balancing work and school has not been easy, but it has greatly sharpened my sense of responsibility and taught me how to manage time, think strategically, and value every opportunity I am given. More importantly, it has shown me that hardship can either make a person bitter or make them stronger. I chose to let it strengthen me. That growth shaped my goals in a major way. Currently, I am saving to attend a four-year university, with NYU as my dream school, because I want to build a career in business analysis and finance within the entertainment industry. I hope to one day contribute to companies such as Nintendo, Disney, or other media-driven organizations where strong strategy and financial leadership bring joy to people’s lives amidst their hardships. I am determined to succeed because I understand what it feels like to need hope within hardship. I want to be part of building organizations that provide this joy, even if only for a brief moment. Most of all, my challenges have made me want to help others who feel limited by their circumstances. I know what it feels like to struggle silently while pushing beyond exhaustion. Because of that, I want my education and future career to create opportunities not just for myself, but for people who need something to believe in. ADHD, dyscalculia, and extreme financial hardship tested me. However, they also shaped me into a disciplined, ambitious, and resilient person. What once felt like my greatest obstacles have now become the foundation of my growth.

When I was in the fourth grade, the world started to feel like a radio tuned to static. My thoughts were a fog, my focus was fragmented, and eventually, my body began to betray me. I started experiencing uncontrollable tics and physical shaking during class. In a school system that often lacks the patience for neurodivergent Black students, my ADHD and anxiety were not seen as a cry for help. They were seen as a distraction. For years, the challenge wasn't just my learning difference; it was the isolation of being an "outsider" in a classroom that didn't have a desk for someone who couldn't sit still. This academic struggle was compounded by a home life defined by survival. I grew up in a household with roaches and mice, where the absence of a father and the constant threat of unpaid bills made the "standard" college path feel like a fantasy. By the time I reached high school, my mental health had deteriorated into a deep depression. I was often too nauseous from anxiety to eat. I felt like a failure because I couldn't conform to a system that felt like a "1984" style cage, herding us toward low wages and silent suffering. However, the turning point in my personal growth happened in the most unlikely place: the high school nurse’s office. My nurse was the first person to look past my shaking hands and see a scholar. She fed me when I was starving and gave me ginger candies to soothe my stomach. While she calmed the physical symptoms of my anxiety, she put a fire in my belly. She told me to keep fighting for higher education even when I felt I couldn't even take care of myself. She taught me that my learning difference was not a limit on my intelligence, but a different way of experiencing a world that was already in chaos. That challenge led to a radical transformation. I stopped viewing my ADHD and tics as weaknesses and started seeing them as a source of hyper-awareness. I realized that my struggle to fit into the "normal" academic mold gave me a unique perspective on systemic neglect. My growth came from accepting that I didn't need to be "cured" to be successful; I needed to be supported. I began to advocate for myself, leaning on the communal investment of my mother and friends who gave their last dollars to keep me in school. Today, I am a hard worker because I have had to fight for every inch of my education. I am pursuing a BS/MPH in Public Health and Anthropology to ensure that the next generation of students with learning differences has a sanctuary instead of a courtroom. I want to build systems that believe students when they say they are struggling. My personal growth is defined by the fact that I am no longer just a student shaking in the back of the class. I am a future leader who knows that resilience isn't just about surviving the storm, but about learning to lead others through it. I am ready to use my education to build a world that finally loves us back.