Peyton Heart Project Scholarship in Memory of Peyton James

When I was fourteen, I thought mental health was something you learned about in a textbook and moved on from. That changed the day a fourth grader asked me why his brain “wouldn’t be quiet.” I was volunteering at a local elementary school through NeuroClub, the neuroscience organization I founded at Dripping Springs High School in Texas. Sitting on the classroom floor, trying to explain anxiety in a way a child could understand, I realized mental health is not abstract. It is immediate, personal, and often misunderstood. My name is Bella Rose, and I am a senior at Dripping Springs High School. This fall, I plan to attend a four-year university where I will study neuroscience on a pre-med track. My long-term goal is to become a physician who bridges research and patient care, particularly in adolescent mental health. Throughout high school, I have explored this field through independent research, community outreach, and writing my blog, Mind and Medicine, where I translate complex neurological concepts into accessible stories. During these years, I learned that mental health exists at the intersection of biology and environment. In my research on screen time and anxiety, I examined how overstimulation affects emotional regulation and attention in developing brains. Data points became real stories about students navigating constant notifications and social pressure. At the same time, during my internship at El Buen Samaritano, I saw how access to care is shaped by language barriers, financial constraints, and stigma. A diagnosis means little if someone cannot afford treatment or feels ashamed to seek it. I also learned that stigma often hides in subtle ways. I have heard therapy reduced to a joke and stress dismissed as weakness. Yet I have watched entire rooms shift when someone speaks honestly. When a student shared her experience with panic attacks during a NeuroClub discussion, others quietly admitted they felt the same. Silence reinforces stigma. Conversation disrupts it. In the years to come, I will apply these lessons intentionally. In college, I plan to engage in research on mood and development while continuing outreach efforts that make neuroscience practical for families and students. I want to create spaces where mental health is discussed with both scientific rigor and empathy. As a future physician, I will prioritize listening as much as diagnosing, ensuring that patients feel understood rather than judged. High school taught me that mental health is not a side issue. It shapes how we learn, connect, and define ourselves. By grounding conversations in science and approaching them with compassion, we can replace stigma with literacy. That is the perspective I will carry with me into every classroom, lab, and clinic I enter.

Responding to question 1: My name is Quinn Foley, and I am a senior at Dripping Springs High School. I am attending the University of Texas at Austin next fall to major in Health and Society on a pre-med track. I intend to become a doctor of trauma medicine, specializing in helping wounded veterans. My passion for this field stems from a traumatic accident my father was in while serving in the United States Marine Corps at the age of 17. His sacrifice and resilience have inspired me to dedicate my life to providing life-saving care for those who serve. In 2023, I lost my beautiful friend Karly to suicide following the silent war in her mind waged by depression. From the outside, Karly never showed any signs of depression; she presented herself with her reserved yet vibrant personality that you wouldn’t see unless you got to know her and the stunning smile that she flashed when you went to What-a-burger late at night and laughed over onion rings. Karly was so full of life and deserved to have access to help so she could be here today. Her passing drove me to the understanding of recognizing the signs of mental health crises and being ready to support those battling in silence. Learning about Karly’s passing left me in shock; my head shook back and forth, I was inconsolable to the news: She was gone. However, it was through learning from my grief that struggles with depression aren’t always visible and that those who are struggling hide it so they aren’t a burden to others, from my feelings, I learned the importance of open conversations as a judgment-free way to express whatever someone is feeling. After Karly’s passing, I taught myself how to identify mental health challenges, leading to a greater understanding of mental health as a whole. From my growth, I realized I could be the person that Karly didn’t have and the person that someone else could depend on. Struggles with depression can be invisible to the unknowing person, and I strive to create an environment to eradicate this invisible barrier that blocks us from protecting the people we love. I am determined to break the stigma surrounding mental health; others should know their struggles aren’t a burden. From this journey of learning about mental health, I now understand and stress the necessity of open conversations, communicating actively, and building up a reliable environment for those who need me the most. Through my studies at the University of Texas at Austin next year, I am determined to use my exposure in my major of Health and Society to make change and advocate for mental health awareness. I will advocate for those who cannot advocate for themselves; I will check in on my peers and seek volunteer opportunities to better spread the message “YOU ARE NOT ALONE.” It is my uttermost goal to ensure that no one is alone in their struggles. In the wake of Karly’s passing, her memory has driven me to support others. I cannot change the past, but I am inspired to change the future. One where Karly’s memory is at the core of all that I do. Openly discussing mental health will lead to ensuring everyone receives the help they deserve. Karly’s passing was tragic, but her memory will always stick with me and help me listen to others, advocate, and be a friend to all.