One of the most meaningful times I helped someone in need happened during my experience in the Big Brother Big Sister program. I was paired with a younger student who struggled socially and emotionally. At first, they barely talked, kept their head down, and didn’t trust many people. I could tell they were carrying things they didn’t know how to express. I recognized that feeling because I’ve been there myself — quiet, unsure, and trying to figure out where I fit. So I made it my goal to be someone they could rely on. Every week, we met to talk, play games, or just sit together. Some days they didn’t want to talk at all, and instead of forcing conversation, I stayed patient. I learned that helping someone isn’t always about giving advice. Sometimes it’s about showing up consistently, even when the other person doesn’t know how to open up yet. Over time, they started to trust me. They laughed more, talked more, and slowly came out of their shell. Seeing that change reminded me how powerful small acts of support can be. There was one moment that stands out. They came in one day clearly upset — quiet, withdrawn, and trying not to cry. Instead of asking a bunch of questions, I sat next to them and said, “You don’t have to talk, but I’m here.” After a few minutes, they opened up about feeling overwhelmed at school and at home. I listened, encouraged them, and reminded them that they weren’t alone. That day, I realized how important it is to be a steady presence for someone who feels like everything around them is falling apart. That experience taught me the value of empathy, patience, and showing up for others even when it’s not easy. Helping them also changed me. It made me more confident in my ability to support others, especially younger kids who need someone to believe in them. It taught me that leadership isn’t about being the loudest — it’s about being dependable. It’s about noticing when someone is struggling and stepping in without being asked. It’s about giving people the space to grow at their own pace. This experience also shaped the way I want to serve my community in the future. I want to go into law enforcement, and the lessons I learned — listening, staying calm, and treating people with compassion — are qualities I plan to carry into that career. Helping that student reminded me that people don’t always need someone to fix everything. Sometimes they just need someone who sees them, hears them, and stands beside them. Helping someone in need didn’t just impact their life — it impacted mine. It showed me the kind of person I want to be and the kind of difference I want to make.

Growing up with a single mother shaped me into the person I am today. My mom’s life has never been easy, and watching her survive everything she went through taught me what real strength looks like. She grew up in a low‑income household and experienced hardship in ways most people can’t imagine. As a child, she was beaten, forced to take care of five siblings, and responsible for seven horses. Even her church, a place that should have been safe, shamed her instead. When her father tried to leave that environment and was poisoned, she realized she had to save herself. At seventeen, she ran away, homeless and alone, and soon became pregnant with my older sister. Her struggles didn’t end there. My mom has battled cancer four times and continues to face new diagnoses. Yet she never complains, never asks for help, and never slows down. She carries everything on her own shoulders because that’s the only way she’s ever known how to survive. Living with her in a low‑income household showed me the reality of financial hardship. Even though she didn’t make much, the system told her she “made too much,” forcing her to pay maximum rent. That left almost nothing for food, clothes, or anything extra. Holidays meant overtime shifts just so we could have presents. Growing up in that environment taught me resilience, independence, and empathy. My mom’s strength shaped my own. She taught me to keep going even when life feels impossible, to work hard without expecting anything handed to me, and to care deeply for others because you never know what someone is carrying. She is the strongest person I know, and everything I am today comes from her example of courage, sacrifice, and unbreakable resilience

Growing up with a single mother shaped me in ways I’m still learning to understand. My mom has always been different — strong in a way that doesn’t come from confidence or comfort, but from surviving things most people never could. She grew up in a low‑income household and experienced the hard way what it meant to struggle. Her childhood was filled with responsibilities no child should have to carry. She was beaten, forced to take care of five of her siblings, and even had to look after seven horses on top of that. The church she grew up in wasn’t a place of safety either. They shamed her, judged her, and made her feel small. Her father tried to leave that environment, and they poisoned him. That was the moment she realized she had to save herself. So at seventeen, she ran away. She was homeless, alone, and trying to survive. Not long after, she became pregnant with my older sister. My mom’s life never got easier, but she never stopped fighting. She has had cancer four times — and she keeps getting diagnosed with it again. Most people would break under that kind of weight, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t complain, she doesn’t ask for help, and she doesn’t slow down. She does everything by herself because that’s the only way she’s ever known how to live. Watching her go through all of that while raising us in a low‑income household taught me what real strength looks like, she also had 3 kids to take care of. Not the loud kind. Not the show‑off kind. The kind that wakes up every day and keeps going even when life keeps hitting you. Because of the way the system works, my mom was told she “made too much” to qualify for help, so she had to pay the maximum rent. But the truth was she didn’t make enough to live comfortably. After rent, there was barely money left for food, clothes, or anything extra. Holidays meant she had to work overtime just to afford presents. There were times when the fridge was almost empty, and she still found a way to make sure we ate. She never let us see how stressed she was, but as I got older, I understood everything she was carrying. Growing up with her taught me resilience, independence, and empathy. I learned how to stay strong without becoming hard. I learned how to push through challenges without giving up. And I learned how to care for people deeply, because I saw what it looks like when someone gives everything they have for the people they love. My mom shaped me into someone who doesn’t quit, someone who works for what they want, and someone who understands that strength isn’t about being perfect — it’s about surviving what was meant to break you. She is the strongest person I know, and everything I am today is because of the example she set.

What makes me a “You Got It Girl” is the combination of resilience, self‑discipline, and quiet strength that I’ve built through every challenge I’ve faced. I didn’t grow up with much, and I didn’t always have the newest things or the best opportunities, but I learned early how to work hard, stay focused, and keep pushing even when life felt unfair. Those qualities show up in everything I do—whether it’s in school, sports, or the goals I’m building toward. I believe the YGIG Scholarship will help me continue that journey by giving me the support I need to grow as both an athlete and a future college student. Sports have always been a big part of my life. I played soccer when I was younger, then competed in track and field from 5th through 8th grade, and later played basketball. Each sport taught me something different—soccer taught me teamwork, track taught me discipline and mental toughness, and basketball taught me leadership and confidence. Even though I didn’t always have the best gear or the nicest equipment, I showed up, worked hard, and pushed myself to improve. Those experiences shaped me into someone who doesn’t quit, even when things get tough. One of the biggest challenges I faced was during flag football, when I tore a muscle in my bicep during a game. The pain was manageable, but I asked to switch out because I didn’t feel right. My coach took me out for the rest of the game, and afterward he told me something that changed my life: “If you receive something, never give it away unless you have to.” At first, I didn’t understand, but later I realized he was teaching me about comitment, responsibility, and not giving up on something just because it gets uncomfortable. That moment became a turning point for me. Instead of seeing setbacks as failures, I started seeing them as opportunities to grow stronger. That mindset has stayed with me ever since. Someone I admire deeply is my mom. She raised me in a low‑income household and worked extremely hard to keep us afloat. Even though she didn’t make a lot, the housing system told her she “made too much,” so she had to pay the maximum rent. That meant there wasn’t much money left for food, clothes, or anything extra. She worked overtime just to afford presents on holidays. Watching her struggle—but never quit—taught me what real strength looks like. She inspires me to chase my goals, stay grounded, and build a better future for myself. The YGIG Scholarship would support my journey in ways that truly matter. It would help me afford gear, training, and school expenses that my family can’t always cover. It would give me the chance to compete, grow, and represent something bigger than myself. Being backed by a program that believes in strong, hardworking young women would mean everything to me. It would remind me that even though I didn’t grow up with much, I still have the drive and potential to go far. In college, I plan to continue being involved in sports while working toward my goal of becoming a police officer. I’m not attending on an athletic scholarship—I’ll be walking on or participating in whatever capacity I can—but being a student‑athlete means showing up with discipline, heart, and consistency. It means balancing school, training, and personal growth. It means proving to myself that I belong in every room I walk into. If there’s one thing I want you to know, it’s that I’m not someone who gives up. I’m someone who keeps going, keeps learning, and keeps building toward something bigger. I’m a “You Got It Girl” because I’ve lived through challenges that could’ve broken me, but instead they made me stronger. And with this scholarship, I’ll continue becoming the best version of myself—on the field, in the classroom, and in my community.

My personal experience with finances has been shaped by growing up in a low‑income household where money was always tight. I didn’t grow up getting new things or the latest trends like other kids. When something popular came out, I usually had to wait a year or two until the price dropped before I could even think about having it. Back‑to‑school shopping meant getting the bare minimum, and most of my clothes came from places like Ross or Burlington. Even though there’s nothing wrong with that, as a kid it made me feel different. It taught me early that money wasn’t something we had a lot of, and every dollar had to be stretched. My mom worked extremely hard, but even then, we struggled. We lived in low‑income housing, but the system told her she “made too much,” so she had to pay the maximum rent. The truth was she didn’t make enough to live comfortably — she just made enough to not qualify for help. That put us in a difficult position. After paying rent, there wasn’t much left for anything else. Sometimes there wasn’t much food in the house. When holidays or birthdays came around, my mom had to work overtime just to afford presents. I saw how tired she was, how stressed she became, and how much she sacrificed just to keep us afloat. Where we lived wasn’t the nicest place either. There were health hazards, unsafe conditions, and things I didn’t want people to see. When someone offered me a ride home, I tried to avoid it because I didn’t want them to know where I lived. That embarrassment taught me something important: money affects more than what you can buy. It affects your confidence, your environment, and how you feel about yourself. Even though I didn’t grow up with formal financial education, life taught me lessons about budgeting, patience, and priorities. I learned how to separate wants from needs, how to take care of what I had, and how to appreciate things that other people might take for granted. These experiences made me more responsible and more aware of how important financial stability is. As I get older, I want to build a different future for myself. I want to learn about budgeting, saving, credit, and investing so I can avoid the struggles my mom faced. Financial education will help me make smarter decisions, stay out of debt, and create stability for myself and my future family. My goal is to go to college and become a police officer, and understanding money will help me support myself through school and beyond. Most importantly, I want to use what I learn to help others. Growing up with financial hardship taught me empathy. In law enforcement, I’ll meet people who are struggling just like my family did. Understanding what that feels like will help me serve my community with compassion instead of judgment. My experiences with money weren’t easy, but they shaped me into someone who values hard work, responsibility, and growth. With financial education, I plan to build a future where I don’t just survive — I succeed.

One of the most impactful people in my life has been my flag football coach. He wasn’t just a coach to me—he was someone who pushed me to grow, even when I didn’t realize I needed it. He held me to a high standard because he believed I was capable of more. Whether it was pointing out better options after a good pass or holding me accountable when a play didn’t go right, he taught me responsibility and leadership. The moment that changed me the most was when I asked to switch out of a game because my arm was hurting. Later I learned I had torn a muscle, but at the time the pain was manageable. He took me out for the rest of the game and told me something I’ll never forget: “If you receive something, never give it away unless you have to.” That lesson opened my eyes. It taught me commitment, resilience, and the importance of not giving up just because something becomes uncomfortable. From him, I adopted habits and qualities that I know will help me make a positive impact in my community through law enforcement. The first is accountability. My coach taught me to take responsibility for my actions, even when things aren’t fully my fault. In law enforcement, accountability builds trust with the community and shows people that you stand by your decisions and learn from them. I also learned discipline and consistency. Saying yes to new experiences, getting a job, and pushing myself out of my comfort zone helped me grow into someone who doesn’t back down from challenges. Law enforcement requires someone who can stay focused, stay calm, and stay committed even when situations get stressful. Another quality I gained is empathy. Even though my coach was tough, he always made sure I knew he believed in me. He congratulated me after every game, win or lose. That balance of firmness and support is something I want to bring into law enforcement. People need officers who can enforce rules while still understanding the human side of every situation. Finally, I learned resilience. I used to be extremely shy, but pushing myself to open up in high school taught me how to communicate, how to stay confident, and how to keep going even when things feel overwhelming. In law enforcement, resilience is essential—not just for yourself, but for the people you serve. My coach helped shape the person I am today. The habits he taught me—accountability, discipline, empathy, and resilience—are the same qualities I plan to carry into my future career. I want to make a difference by being the kind of officer who leads with integrity, communicates with respect, and shows my community that I’m here to protect and support them.

Throughout high school, I’ve had many teachers and adults who supported me, but the person who changed the way I approach my life the most wasn’t someone in a classroom. It was my flag football coach. At first, I didn’t realize how much of an impact he would have on me. He wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things or let me slide by. He pushed me harder than anyone else, and sometimes it felt like he was being unfair. But over time, I realized he saw something in me that I didn’t fully see in myself yet. My coach was always tough on me because he believed I could do better. Even when I threw a good pass, he would point out another option I could’ve taken. If a teammate dropped the ball, he still held me accountable for the play. At the time, it was frustrating. I felt like I couldn’t win with him. But what he was really teaching me was responsibility — not just for the things I did right, but for the things I could improve. He wanted me to think ahead, make smarter decisions, and understand that leadership means owning the outcome, even when it isn’t perfect. There’s one moment that changed everything for me. During a game, my arm started hurting badly. I didn’t know it then, but later that week I found out I had torn a muscle in my bicep. The pain was manageable, but it was enough that I asked to switch out. Instead of giving me a short break, he took me out for the rest of the game. I didn’t understand why at first. I felt embarrassed and disappointed in myself. But after the game, he came up to me and told me something I’ll never forget: “If you receive something, never give it away unless you have to.” At first, I didn’t get it. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. He wasn’t talking about the game anymore. He was talking about opportunities, responsibilities, and the things we work hard for. If you’re given a chance — a position, a role, a moment — you don’t just hand it over because things get uncomfortable. You fight for it. You stay committed. You push through the hard parts unless you truly can’t continue. That lesson opened my eyes in a way nothing else had. From that moment on, I approached everything differently. I stopped backing down when things got tough. I stopped doubting myself so quickly. I started taking ownership of my choices, my effort, and my growth. My coach may have been hard on me, but he also congratulated me after every game, win or lose. He made sure I knew he believed in me. And because of him, I learned to believe in myself too.

When I look back at my childhood, the biggest hardship I ever faced wasn’t something dramatic or sudden. It was something that followed me for years: my shyness. I was always the quiet kid—the one who stayed in the back of the line, sat alone when we picked seats, and hoped teachers wouldn’t call on me. I didn’t want people to notice me, because being seen meant being judged. I kept to myself, and most of my friends were only the kids from my neighborhood. At school, I barely talked unless someone talked to me first. This wasn’t just a phase; it started all the way back in daycare. I cried almost every day because I didn’t want to be away from my mom, and I was so sensitive that even small things made me upset. Being shy wasn’t just a personality trait—it controlled my whole life. My sister was the complete opposite. She was loud, outgoing, and always surrounded by friends. She answered questions in class, made jokes with teachers, and walked around like she knew everyone. I always admired that about her. She helped me a lot when we were younger. If I had no one to sit with, she let me join her and her friends. But when she moved to a different room in daycare, I was stuck alone again. The same thing happened in elementary school. I walked to the bus alone, sat alone at lunch, and kept my head down. Before middle school, I told myself I wanted to change. I wanted to be more like my sister—someone who talked to people, made friends, and wasn’t scared of being seen. And for a little while, I actually did it. Sixth grade felt like a fresh start. I talked more, made friends, and felt like I was finally becoming the person I wanted to be. But then COVID happened. Everything shut down, and all the progress I made disappeared. When we came back, I felt like a stranger again. Seventh grade was hard, but eighth grade was even worse. I had no friends, didn’t talk to my teachers, and didn’t even want to hang out with the people in my neighborhood anymore. I felt like I had gone backwards. The real change didn’t happen until ninth grade. I made a decision that year: I was going to say yes to everything. New opportunities, new people, new experiences—I wasn’t going to let fear control me anymore. I pushed myself to talk more, join things, and actually participate. I even got a job, which forced me to talk to customers and coworkers every day. At first, it was uncomfortable, but over time it helped me build confidence and improve my speaking skills. I learned how to communicate, how to handle situations, and how to be more open. Overcoming my shyness wasn’t something that happened overnight. It took years of struggling, losing progress, and starting over. But ninth grade taught me that I’m capable of growing if I’m willing to push myself. I learned that being seen isn’t something to fear—it’s something to embrace. And now, I’m proud of the person I’m becoming.