Path Two: Learning Through Access Addison Grace Floyd The first time literature truly changed me, I was sitting alone in my dorm room at Howard University rereading a poem I had almost overlooked, unaware that it would quietly reshape how I understood myself, my education, and the world I move through. In my African American Literature course, I encountered We Wear the Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar. At first, I read it quickly, the way I had been trained to read for school—searching for meaning I could summarize rather than meaning I could sit with. But when I returned to it later, something changed. The poem slowed me down. It asked me to listen differently. What I once understood as metaphor began to feel like structure. The “mask” was no longer just imagery—it reflected the quiet performance required to navigate spaces where being fully seen is not always safe or welcomed. It became, for me, a way of naming something I had lived but never fully articulated. That realization deepened when I connected Dunbar’s work to W.E.B. Du Bois’s concept of Double Consciousness—the constant awareness of oneself through both internal identity and external perception. I also began to see echoes of weathering, the gradual emotional toll of enduring repeated social strain. What began as literature became theory, and what became theory became recognition. For the first time, I understood that I was not only interpreting a poem—I was encountering language for lived experience I had never been taught to name. As a young Black woman, I have often felt the pressure to adjust myself depending on space—to soften tone, measure emotion, and carefully decide how much of myself is safe to show. I had never called it a “mask” before Dunbar, but I had practiced its logic. That recognition was both unsettling and clarifying. It showed me that education, when fully accessed, does not simply inform—it reveals. That shift changed my academic path. It is why I created “Spill The Tea,” a space for young African American girls to engage in open, structured dialogue about identity, emotion, and lived experience. I wanted to create what I once needed: a space where honesty is not reduced, and where expression is not policed. This is also why I resonate deeply with the legacy of Tia Lukeya Woods. Tia believed education extends beyond classrooms and borders, shaped by curiosity and lived engagement with the world. I understand learning in the same way—not as accumulation, but as expansion through access to ideas, people, and perspective. Yet access is not always guaranteed. Financial barriers often determine how deeply a student can engage with their own education. This scholarship represents more than support; it represents continuity—the ability to read more deeply, think more broadly, and pursue learning without constraint. In rereading Dunbar, I learned that literature can name experience. In studying Du Bois, I learned that experience can be theorized. But in living my education, I have learned that access determines how fully those revelations can grow. This scholarship would allow me to continue that growth—to become the kind of reflective, curious, and globally minded scholar that Tia’s legacy calls us to be.

My name is Addison Grace Floyd, and I attend the illustrious Howard University, where I study Sociology and African American Studies. For many, saying “I go to Howard” is an introduction meant to impress. For me, it is a declaration of survival, purpose, and faith. I did not choose Howard for prestige—I chose it for freedom. I was raised in Wake Forest, North Carolina, a small town where expectations for Black girls were painfully small. In my predominantly white high school, I was never asked about my college dreams—only judged by stereotypes shaped by a society that rarely imagines Black girls as scholars. Still, I became the first Black student in my school’s history to be inducted into the National Honor Society. I learned early how to become the exception when the world refuses to see your potential. That same drive now guides me as a teaching assistant and as the founder of a discussion group for young Black girls, where vulnerability, intellect, and truth are not rare—they are the norm. I came to Howard seeking a place where those spaces already existed. Howard, with its blue skies and deeper blue legacy, accepted only 30 percent of applicants—and still, it accepted me. For the first time, I entered classrooms where my Blackness was not questioned but celebrated. Howard did not just educate me—it permitted me to be everything I was always meant to be. 💙

My name is Addison-Grace Floyd, and I am a student at the illustrious Howard University, majoring in Sociology with a minor in African American Studies. I was raised in a family that loves the Lord deeply. In our home, faith was never just something we spoke—it was something we stood on, especially when the world tried to tell us to fear, to quit, or to believe less of ourselves. Even my very entrance into this world is a testimony of that faith. When my mother was pregnant with me, doctors believed what was in her womb was not a baby, but a ball of cancer cells. They urged her to end the pregnancy. But Scripture says, “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you were born, I set you apart” (Jeremiah 1:5). My mother chose to believe God instead of fear. She prayed over me, spoke my name into existence, and declared life where others saw nothing. Through her unwavering faith, what the world believed to be sickness became her first child. That same faith has carried me ever since. Growing up in a single-parent household in Wake Forest, North Carolina, I watched my mother walk through hardship with prayer instead of panic. So when it came time for me to choose a college, I followed the same path—through prayer and fasting. During a youth conference in worship, a deep and radiant blue kept filling my spirit. I believed it was pointing me toward UNC Chapel Hill. When I was denied, my heart was broken. I had trusted God so deeply, only to face disappointment. But in that silence, a gentle voice asked me, “Where is My peace?” And my heart was drawn back to a dream I had carried since middle school—Howard University. Every thought of Howard brought peace instead of pressure. God had been speaking all along. Howard’s colors are blue, the very color He had placed in my spirit. God made a way. I was accepted into one of the most prestigious HBCUs in the nation—a university that admits only about 30% of applicants—and I received an academic scholarship. Even so, the financial burden remained heavy. My father chose not to support me if I attended school out of state, but just as my mother once trusted God with my life, I trusted Him with my future. I chose faith. I chose peace. I chose Howard. Today, I serve as a teacher’s assistant, walking alongside students who need more than instruction—they need someone who believes in them. I pour into them the same hope that was poured into me, reminding them that their lives, their voices, and their dreams matter. This scholarship would not simply support my education—it would affirm my calling. Like Jim Maxwell, I believe young people deserve to be nurtured in spirit, mind, and purpose. With this opportunity, I will continue to grow at Howard, continue to serve, and continue to walk in the faith that brought me here. Faith brought me into this world. Faith carried me through rejection and uncertainty. Faith opened the doors of Howard University. And with this scholarship, that same faith will carry me forward—to lead, to serve, and to leave behind a legacy worthy of the miracle that I am.

My name is Addison Grace Floyd, and I am a Sociology major with a minor in African American Studies at Howard University. I was raised in Wake Forest, North Carolina, in a single-parent household by a praying mother who taught me early that survival is not accidental — it is spiritual. Long before I ever stepped foot on a college campus, I learned that faith and discipline must walk hand in hand. Coming to Howard felt like stepping into a sacred place. For the first time, I was surrounded by Black excellence in its full, unfiltered beauty — students who carried history in their bones and destiny in their eyes. The campus felt like a home I had always been searching for. But as quickly as that joy arrived, reality followed. Tuition deadlines do not pause for dreams. They come with the same weight whether you are wealthy or raised by a single mother doing her best to keep the lights on. There were nights when fear sat beside me like an unwanted guest. I worried that the doors Howard had opened might soon close — not because I lacked the ability, but because I lacked the money. Still, I prayed. I worked. And help came, just enough to keep me standing. An outside scholarship covered half my tuition, and once again I was reminded that provision follows purpose. When I learned about Kalia D. Davis, I felt a quiet recognition in my spirit. Her story did not feel foreign — it felt familiar. Like me, she balanced ambition with service, excellence with humility. She ran with purpose, studied with intention, and showed up for her community. I, too, have spent my life in spaces of service — especially in the church, where I learned that leadership means lifting others, not standing above them. Whether in the pews or the classroom, I was taught that we are called not only to succeed, but to pour back into those around us. Kalia served her campus through the Black Student Union. I serve mine by advocating for my community, by speaking up for Black girls who are often unseen, and by using my education to challenge systems that were never built for us. We are both women shaped by discipline, faith, and a deep desire to leave something better behind. Like Kalia, I am driven not just by what I want, but by who I represent — my mother, my brother, my ancestors, and the generations that will follow. Every late night of studying, every scholarship application, every prayer whispered over my finances is part of a much larger promise: that I will not waste the opportunities I have been given. This scholarship would do more than help me pay tuition — it would allow me to continue building a legacy of service, leadership, and purpose. It would give me the stability to keep growing at Howard, to keep learning, and to keep becoming the woman I am called to be. Kalia’s life reminds us that legacy is not measured in how long we live, but in how deeply we impact others. I hope to honor her memory by walking in that same spirit of ambition, kindness, and excellence, and by using my education to uplift those who come after me. Thank you for allowing me to share my story and for keeping Kalia’s light alive through this scholarship.

Ever since I was a little girl sitting at my grandmother’s kitchen table, I have believed that stories hold a power that nothing else can match. My grandmother’s voice carried the lessons, dreams, and struggles of generations before me—reminding me that as an African American girl, I come from a line of resilience, strength, and hope. Yet I also learned early on that in this world, too often, girls who look like me are expected to keep quiet or settle for less than they deserve. That truth has shaped every plan I have for my future. I plan to study Sociology at Howard University because I want to understand the systems that hold my community back, and more importantly, how we can rebuild those systems so they work for us. It is not enough for me to sit back and watch change happen; I want to be a force that makes it happen. My dream is to work in the nonprofit sector as a leader who designs programs that directly uplift young African American girls. I see myself founding a community center that offers mentorship, mental health resources, academic support, leadership training, and creative outlets where girls can express themselves and feel seen. I want to create a safe space where they can talk about their dreams, fears, and struggles—without judgment or limits. I know how much difference that kind of support would have made for me. As a young Black girl, I often felt unheard in classrooms and underestimated in spaces where my ideas were powerful but dismissed. I want to ensure the next generation never doubts that their voices matter. However, making this vision a reality comes with real financial challenges. As a first-generation college student, I carry the responsibility of figuring out tuition, books, housing, and daily expenses largely on my own. This scholarship would remove a huge weight from my shoulders and allow me to fully focus on my education, leadership opportunities, and community service without the constant worry of how to make ends meet. This scholarship is so much more than money to me—it is a belief in my mission. It means I can show up for my community today and prepare for the work I plan to do tomorrow. It is an investment not just in my education but in every young African American girl I will mentor, inspire, and empower through the spaces I will build. One day, I hope to sit across from a young Black girl at her own kitchen table and tell her, “Your voice is strong. Your dreams are valid. And you are never alone.” Thank you for believing in my story, my goals, and my community. With your support, I will turn this vision into reality—so that the stories of African American girls are no longer silenced but celebrated, one powerful voice at a time.

When I was a little girl, I believed staying quiet would keep me safe. If I sat still — feet flat, hands folded, voice soft — maybe someone would notice how hard I was trying to belong. But too often, they didn’t. Teachers’ eyes skimmed past my raised hand. The world labeled girls like me too loud before we spoke, too grown before we were ready, too much trouble before we caused any. These are the stereotypes that cling to African American girls every single day. And if no one helps us push back, we start to believe them too. I refused to stay invisible. When the world wouldn’t listen, I decided to create spaces where it had no choice but to hear us. I started Spill The Tea so young Black girls could gather, speak freely, and be fully themselves — laughing too loud, asking the questions they’re too scared to ask anywhere else, feeling safe to tell the truth. Sitting in those circles showed me that real change starts when we tell our own stories and refuse to be boxed in by anyone else’s version of who we are. When I joined the National Honor Society, I promised myself my service would matter beyond a line on my résumé. That promise led me to create Book Buddies. I knew books had once saved me — they were where I first saw possibilities bigger than my surroundings. I wanted younger students to feel that freedom too. Sitting beside them, sounding out new words, I see what I missed at their age: someone saying, Your words matter. Your story matters. Keep going. These moments shaped my educational goal: this fall, I will study Sociology at Howard University. Howard is more than a university — it’s proof that Black excellence can’t be erased, no matter how hard the world tries. I want to understand the systems that silence voices like mine — and learn how to break them apart and build something fairer and stronger in their place. My professional goal is to lead a nonprofit that doesn’t just patch wounds but stops them from forming. I want to fight the root causes of injustice, so the next generation of Black girls never feels they have to shrink themselves to survive. My commitment to civic service is not just something I talk about — it’s the way I live. Every circle I create, every student I mentor, every stereotype I refuse to accept is part of my promise to help more young voices rise and be heard. I know college will test me — financially, mentally, emotionally. But my purpose is louder than my fear. This scholarship won’t just ease the burden — it will help me keep my promise to every girl still sitting quietly in the back of the classroom, hoping someone will finally see her hand raised. The world tried not to see me. But I’m here. And I’m ready to make sure no girl like me ever wonders if she belongs.

From a young age, I understood what it felt like to be present but unseen. I remember sitting in a classroom as a teacher praised another student for being “so well-spoken” while brushing past my raised hand for the third time that day. I had the answers. I had something to say. But I also had a face and a voice that, too often, the world doesn’t listen to when it looks like mine. That moment didn’t just sting—it awakened a calling in me. I realized that my voice, and the voices of girls like me, mattered—and needed intentional spaces where they could be heard, celebrated, and uplifted. That single experience became the spark behind my purpose. Today, I am pursuing a degree in Sociology at Howard University with the goal of examining and challenging the systems that silence African American communities. I’m not just interested in studying inequality—I am committed to transforming it. My long-term goal is to lead a nonprofit organization focused on empowering Black youth through mentorship, mental health support, and faith-based guidance. I envision developing national programs that provide safe, affirming environments where young people can grow emotionally, spiritually, and academically. This passion led me to create an organized discussion group specifically for African American girls. We meet regularly to hold guided conversations around faith, identity, sisterhood, and emotional wellness. The group has grown steadily, currently supporting over a dozen participants, and it serves as a space where vulnerability is met with love and truth. This initiative fills the very gap I once felt as a young girl—proof that healing begins in community. In addition to my work as a youth leader, I’ve served as a teacher assistant at Wake Preparatory Academy for several years, supporting classroom instruction and, in addition, coordinating a reading program to help improve students’ literacy and confidence. I worked closely with elementary and middle school students, helping with classroom instruction, emotional development, and daily encouragement. Seeing their eyes light up when they grasp a new idea or feel seen reminded me that children thrive when they are supported by adults who truly believe in them. That experience confirmed my deep love for working with youth and solidified my commitment to ensuring that no child—especially one of color—feels invisible. Graduating Cum Laude was not just a personal milestone—it was a reflection of the same values that guide every part of my journey: perseverance, purpose, and a deep-rooted faith. It affirmed that I am capable of rising above challenges and staying committed to the work I believe in. With the support of this scholarship, I will continue walking boldly in my calling—to lead, serve, and build spaces where young Black girls feel seen, supported, and empowered to thrive. Their stories, like mine, deserve to be nurtured, honored, and heard—and I am determined to be a part of that transformation.

I identify as a "relationship architect," a term that encapsulates my distinctive ability to uncover shared experiences and foster connections that promote vulnerability and understanding among individuals. This talent was discovered in founding "Spill the Tea," an initiative that nurtured and empowered young African American girls. In this carefully structured environment, we engage in guided discussions- which encourage us to articulate our authentic selves, break down barriers, and cultivate deep mutual understanding. Growing up as an African American girl, I have personally grappled with the complexities of societal perceptions, particularly the hyper-sexualization of black girls. The media often exploits our bodies, transforming entertainment into a mechanism that perpetuates damaging stereotypes. Images and narratives in popular culture frequently reduce us to caricatures, undermining our multifaceted identities. This troubling phenomenon not only distorts how we are viewed by society but also profoundly affects how we internalize these representations, often leading to a diminished sense of self-worth. My commitment to challenging and dismantling these harmful stereotypes is personal and profound. I am passionate about revealing the inherent beauty, strength, and rich heritage that define our identities as African American women. My mission is to redefine the negative labels often imposed on us—transforming terms like "aggressive," "loud," and "difficult" into symbols of resilience, courage, and empowerment. It is vital that we assert our identities are not confined to society’s narrow lens, but instead reflect the depth of our history and the promise of our futures. To further this mission, I am pursuing a degree in sociology. This academic path allows me to explore the complexities of social structures and their impact on marginalized communities. Sociology provides critical insights into the dynamics of power, privilege, and oppression, equipping me with the knowledge needed to advocate for social change. I believe that understanding these frameworks is essential for effectively addressing the systemic issues that perpetuate inequality. Ultimately, my goal is to create a world that honors African American women for who we truly are—daughters, sisters, and leaders. I envision a society were we are empowered to define our identities and shape our destinies on our terms. By fostering spaces that encourage authentic dialogue and mutual understanding, I hope to contribute to a broader cultural shift that celebrates our richness and diversity. Through "Spill the Tea" and my future endeavors, I aspire to inspire others to embrace their identities and advocate for a more inclusive and equitable future, one that recognizes and uplifts the invaluable contributions of African American women to society. I want to rewrite the narratives that have long been imposed upon us, transforming perceptions and building a legacy of strength and empowerment.

I call myself a "relationship architect," someone skilled at finding common ground that fosters connection and vulnerability. This realization became clear when I founded "Spill the Tea," a discussion group specifically for young African American girls. In this safe space, we engage in guided conversations that allow us to express our true selves, break down barriers, and build understanding among one another. As an African American girl and proud member of the Lumbee Tribe, I have witnessed firsthand how society distorts our image, particularly through the hypersexualization of Black girls. The media often exploits our bodies, transforming entertainment into a tool that reinforces harmful stereotypes. It’s troubling to see how these distorted views shape public perceptions, especially among those outside our communities who may accept these false narratives as truth. This misrepresentation not only affects how others see us but also how we see ourselves. I am deeply committed to dismantling these damaging stereotypes and revealing the beauty, strength, and heritage that lie beneath them. My passion for helping those in need within my community drives me to create environments where young women can thrive, feel valued, and find their voices. By fostering open dialogue and nurturing relationships, I aim to empower participants to embrace their identities and challenge societal expectations. I want to help change the negative labels often attached to us—turning words like "aggressive" and "loud" into symbols of resilience, courage, empowerment, beauty, and intelligent. We should not be defined by society’s narrow lens but by the richness of our radiant histories and the potential of our futures. My work emphasizes the intersectionality of our experiences, celebrating both my African American and Indigenous heritage. Through educational initiatives and community programs, I strive to create a world that honors African American and Indigenous women for who we truly are: daughters, sisters, and leaders, free to define our identities and destinies. Together, we can build a supportive network that uplifts everyone, fostering a profound sense of belonging and empowerment within our community. In this journey, I hope to inspire future generations to embrace their authentic selves and advocate for the respect and representation they deserve in every community they walk into. Our voices hold immense power, and by amplifying them, we can create a narrative that truly reflects our beauty, strength, and resilience. This mission is not just about us; it’s about paving the way for a more inclusive and understanding society.