When I became a mother in 2023, my entire world shifted. Suddenly, the choices I made about my mental, emotional, and physical health weren’t just about me—they were about the little girl I was now responsible for guiding and protecting. My daughter’s arrival was the most joyous moment of my life, but it came on the heels of a personal health scare that forced me to confront some hard truths. Shortly before her birth, my doctor told me I was pre-diabetic. Hearing the diagnosis was sobering, but not entirely surprising. My family’s medical history reads like a warning label: diabetes, hypertension, and, most frighteningly, breast cancer. My mother fought her way through breast cancer and survived. I watched her endure years of treatments, fatigue, and uncertainty, and I saw how trauma like that leaves a mark long after the disease is gone. I can only imagine the weight of such a battle with a young child in tow. That fear became a catalyst—it made me realize that I wanted to do everything within my power to avoid those challenges, not just for myself, but for my daughter. So, I made my health a priority in a way I never had before. I started by working with my doctor and a nutritionist to overhaul my diet, learning to see food as fuel rather than comfort. I forced myself to move more, even when my energy was low or my schedule was packed. There were days when I slipped—days when stress or exhaustion won out—but I kept coming back to the idea that progress is better than perfection. I started to understand that self-care isn’t only about bubble baths and “me time.” Sometimes it’s about making hard choices, setting boundaries, and choosing rest when the world says to keep going. The mental and emotional side of my journey was just as challenging. After my daughter was born, I struggled with postpartum emotions that often felt overwhelming. There were days when even getting out of bed seemed impossible, let alone being the mother, student, and professional I wanted to be. That’s when I reached out for help. My support system—my family, my friends, and especially my counselor—helped me find my way through the fog. Counseling became a cornerstone of my self-care. It taught me the value of asking for help, the importance of checking in with myself, and the necessity of grace when I stumble. What I’ve learned is that health is holistic. It’s not just about managing calories or keeping up with doctor’s visits. It’s about listening to my body when it’s stressed or exhausted, honoring my mental health, and making wellness a family value. I want my daughter to see a mom who takes her health seriously, who isn’t afraid to rest or say no, who teaches her that loving yourself is the foundation for loving others. As I juggle motherhood, a career, and school, I keep these lessons close. My commitment to prioritizing my health is not just for me—it’s for my daughter and our future together. I want her to grow up seeing that self-care is strength, not weakness, and that being healthy means showing up for yourself, even when it’s hard. Those are the lessons that will shape both our lives for years to come.

Some mornings, I wake up before the sun rises, the world still quiet, and watch my daughter sleep next to me. It’s in these early hours that I remember my childhood—the uncertainty, the frequent moves, the whispered conversations about bills, and the way my mother would wrap me and my two brothers in her arms and promise we’d get through it together. She was a single mother, balancing work, school, and raising the three of us on her own. She never let us see her break, even when I’m sure she wanted to. Instead, she showed us what resilience looked like: she thrived despite the challenges she faced. Growing up, there were days when I saw my mom making impossible choices—whether to pay the electric bill or the rent, whether to buy groceries or new shoes for school. I remember watching her stretch every resource and still manage to show up for us, cheering at our school events or helping with homework late into the night. She taught us that adversity doesn’t define you—how you respond to it does. She made sure we understood we were more than our circumstances. That lesson has stayed with me, shaping who I am and how I approach every challenge. Now, as a single mother myself, I find myself in her shoes. I work hard to give my daughter the security and stability I never had. I want her to grow up believing the world is open to her, that she can dream big and reach even higher. However, the truth is that the challenges don’t disappear. There are days when I worry about rent, when I stretch a grocery budget farther than it should go, when I wonder if I can keep balancing work, parenting, and education. Every time I start to doubt myself, I remember my mother’s strength. I want to be that for my daughter—a steady presence, proof that women can overcome, and build something better for the next generation. That’s why I returned to school. I want to break the cycle of instability for my daughter, to be able to offer her a life where she doesn’t have to worry about basic needs or where she’ll sleep at night. Education is my way forward—an investment not just in myself, but in her future. I’m determined to show her that dreams are worth pursuing, even when the road is hard. That’s a promise I made to her the day she was born, and it’s one I intend to keep. This scholarship would allow me to focus on my studies without the constant anxiety of choosing between tuition and the essentials my daughter needs. It would ease the financial burden that weighs on so many single mothers like me, making it possible for me to stay enrolled, attend classes, and finish my degree. With this support, I could show my daughter what it looks like to persevere—to set a goal and see it through, no matter the obstacles. I want her to know that whatever life throws at her, she has the strength to face it, just as my mother taught me. Ultimately, I aspire to be the role model my mother was for me. I want my daughter to see that resilience, determination, and love can change lives. By giving me this opportunity, you’re not just investing in my education—you’re investing in her future, and the cycle of hope and possibility that every family deserves. Thank you for considering my application and for helping me keep my promise to build a better life for both of us.

Growing up, I used to think my mother was a superhero—just not always the kind I wanted. As the youngest of three, I watched my mother, Orlena McQueen, juggle the impossible: raising us alone, running classrooms as an early learning educator and director, and somehow finding time to continue her own education. For forty years, she poured herself into teaching, and every day, she brought that same passion home. But our lives weren’t easy. For five years, we didn’t have a home to call our own. It was hard to keep our family together—my brothers had to stay at their father’s family home, while my mother and I were often separated from them. The pain of being apart from my brothers weighed on all of us, but my mother kept going. She’d wake up before dawn, work late into the evening, and somehow manage to help us with our homework or listen to our worries. She told us we were her motivation; she wanted us to have more than she did, and that gave her the strength to keep striving even when life was at its hardest. When my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1998, I was only five years old. I didn’t really understand what was happening at the time—I just knew my mother was sick, and everything around me felt uncertain. Looking back, I realize how much she fought through her disease, not just for herself, but to be here for me and my brothers. Even on her hardest days, she kept moving forward, refusing to let cancer define her or take her away from us. Somehow, she survived, and she came out stronger—if that was even possible. It wasn’t all heroic moments. As the youngest, I sometimes felt invisible. My mother was always working or studying, and I barely saw her. I spent years angry—at her absence, at our situation, at the unfairness of it all. It’s easy to judge when you’re a child and don’t see the full picture. Now, as a single mother myself, I get it. I understand the exhaustion that comes from working all day and caring for a child all night. I feel the ache of sacrifice—the missed birthdays, the skipped meals, the constant worry that what I do is never enough. I look at my own daughter and realize I’m walking the same path my mother did, and suddenly, all that anger has turned into empathy. My mother’s strength shaped me. She showed me what it means to keep going, even when you’re overwhelmed or afraid. She taught me that sacrifice isn’t weakness—it’s love in its rawest form. I work harder for my daughter because I know what it cost my mother to give us a chance, and I’m grateful every day for the example she set. I may not have understood her choices growing up, but now, I see her clearly—a fighter, a survivor, and the strongest woman I know. And because of her, I know I can be strong too.

From Marcus Aurelius’ *Meditations*, Book II, Paragraph 1 (translation by Gregory Hays): “When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly. They are like this because they can’t tell good from evil. But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own—not of the same blood or birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine. And so none of them can hurt me. No one can implicate me in ugliness. Nor can I feel angry at my relative, or hate him. We were born to work together like feet, hands, and eyes, like the two rows of teeth, upper and lower. To obstruct each other is unnatural. To feel anger at someone, to turn your back on him: these are obstructions.” --- “We Were Born to Work Together”: Marcus Aurelius’ Radical Empathy and My Vision of Civic Engagement If you want to know the measure of your character, try working at a soup kitchen on a freezing Saturday morning. I learned this the hard way in my sophomore year of high school, serving coffee to men who muttered, snapped, and sometimes threw the cup right back at me. I was shocked by my own frustration—a kind of boiling, helpless anger that made me want to turn away. That night, I stumbled across a passage in Marcus Aurelius’ *Meditations* that rewired my understanding of what it means to live well among others. In that ancient emperor’s voice, I heard something startlingly modern: a call to radical empathy, grounded not in sentimentality, but in the hard, daily work of recognizing our shared humanity. My thesis is simple: Marcus Aurelius’ vision is that to live well is not to escape conflict and disappointment, but to embrace the inescapable flaws of others as a daily training ground for virtue—and that this vision can shape how we build stronger, more compassionate communities today. Let’s look closely at Aurelius’ words. He begins where most of us end—by bracing himself for disappointment: “The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly.” This is not the voice of an idealist, but that of a realist who expects the worst and is determined not to be defeated by it. Yet, he refuses to meet these faults with anger or disdain. Instead, he reminds himself that wrongdoers “have a nature related to my own…possessing a share of the divine.” Here, Aurelius plants the seed for a radical reorientation: the faults of others are not personal affronts, but evidence of our shared, flawed humanity. This is a long way from the vapid self-help advice that tells us to “ignore the haters” or “cut out negativity.” Aurelius asks us to stand in the thick of disappointment, to feel the sting—and then to transform it into understanding. What is Marcus really after? I believe the heart of this passage is the idea that anger and alienation are not just private emotions, but social toxins. “We were born to work together like feet, hands, and eyes,” he writes, invoking the image of a body in which each part relies on the others. To “obstruct each other is unnatural.” The implication is clear: when we turn away in anger, we not only diminish ourselves, but harm the whole. This is no accident of language. In Stoic thought, the health of the individual and the health of the community are inseparable; virtue is not a private possession, but a public good (Long, 2002). To hate, to withdraw, to obstruct—these are not just failures of manners, but failures of citizenship. My own experience with service work forced me to confront the reality of this philosophy. I arrived at the soup kitchen eager to “make a difference,” armed with good intentions and a smile. But I was unprepared for the ways in which people’s pain could make them hard to help. There was a man named Carl who would curse at anyone who came near, and a woman named Janine who, after I offered her an extra cookie, screamed that I was trying to poison her. Each encounter left me feeling more helpless. My instinct was to shut down, to stop caring, to avoid the “problem people.” But that’s precisely the temptation Aurelius warns against. He insists that “none of them can hurt me. No one can implicate me in ugliness.” In other words: my dignity and purpose are not determined by how others treat me, but by how I choose to respond. The Stoic challenge, then, is not to avoid difficult people, but to use those encounters as training for virtue. Aurelius is explicit: “To feel anger at someone, to turn your back on him: these are obstructions.” He sees every bitter word, every surly look, as an opportunity to practice patience, compassion, and self-mastery. This is not about being a doormat. The Stoics were no strangers to injustice; Aurelius himself was emperor during times of war and plague. Rather, it’s about recognizing that the only true harm is the harm we do to our own character by reacting with hatred or indifference (Hadot, 1998). This insight has profound implications for civic life. In an age defined by polarization and outrage—where social media rewards us for dunking on our opponents and retreating into echo chambers—Aurelius’ advice feels almost subversive. He tells us that “to obstruct each other is unnatural,” that our differences are not threats, but the raw material for cooperation. Think about how this could shape a classroom, a workplace, a nation. If we accepted that everyone we meet will disappoint us in some way—and that this is not a reason to give up on them, but a call to patience—what might change? Would we be more willing to listen, to forgive, to try again? Would we see political opponents not as enemies, but as fellow citizens who, like us, are groping through their own ignorance and pain? I have seen glimpses of this philosophy in action. The most effective service organizations I’ve worked with—whether tutoring at-risk youth or building houses for Habitat for Humanity—do not divide the world into “helpers” and “the helped.” Instead, they create spaces where everyone is both flawed and capable, where the point is not to “fix” people, but to walk alongside them. This is the Stoic ideal in practice: recognizing that our destinies are intertwined, and that we were “born to work together.” Of course, none of this is easy. Aurelius is honest about the difficulty. He wakes up each morning and reminds himself, not just once, but again and again, that he will face ingratitude and arrogance. He does not expect to be thanked or understood. This is the spiritual discipline of the Stoic: to rehearse, to anticipate, to prepare the mind for hardship so that we are not taken by surprise. “They are like this because they can’t tell good from evil,” he writes—not to excuse bad behavior, but to place it in context. People act badly because they are confused, not because they are monsters. This distinction is crucial. If we can see the confusion behind the cruelty, we might respond not with rage, but with the kind of steady patience that can, over time, make real change possible (Gerson, 2015). I return to my experience at the soup kitchen. By the end of that year, I had learned to greet Carl’s curses with a simple “good morning.” I had learned not to take Janine’s suspicions personally. I failed often—I am not a Stoic sage. But I began to see service not as a way to “save” others, but as a practice in humility and solidarity. The work was not to change them, but to change myself—so that, brick by brick, we might build something better together. In closing, Marcus Aurelius’ passage is not just a meditation on individual virtue, but a blueprint for civic engagement. He teaches us that the work of living together—of bearing with each other’s faults, of refusing to turn away—is the work that makes society possible. This is as true now as it was in ancient Rome. If we can adopt his discipline of radical empathy, we might find that the people who frustrate us most are our greatest teachers. In their flaws, we find the raw material for patience. In their anger, the invitation to forgiveness. In every difficult encounter, the chance to become, not just better individuals, but better citizens. References: - Aurelius, M. (2003). Meditations(G. Hays, Trans.). Modern Library. - Gerson, L. P. (2015). Stoic Philosophy and the Good Life. Cambridge University Press. - Hadot, P. (1998). The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius (M. Chase, Trans.). Harvard University Press. - Long, A. A. (2002). Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. Oxford University Press.

When I was fourteen, my best friend stopped coming to school. Rumors flew—some said she was “crazy,” others whispered about her family. What nobody talked about was how hard it was to get her help. Therapists were expensive, her parents didn’t have insurance, and the nearest clinic was three bus rides away. Watching her struggle, powerless to reach the right support, shaped how I see mental health care. If I could give the world a single gift, it would be a truly universal mental health platform—one that’s free, stigma-free, and accessible from any phone or computer. Imagine a space where anyone, no matter their zip code or bank balance, could connect with licensed counselors, peer groups, and proven self-care tools, all in their own language. I would partner with nonprofits, universities, and tech companies to build a network of virtual therapists and volunteers, powered by AI to triage urgent cases and connect people to the right resources. Funding would come from a mix of grants and a “pay what you can” model, so no one is turned away. My hope is that this platform would make asking for help as normal as sending a text. No one should suffer in silence because they can’t afford therapy or live too far from care. I know what it’s like to watch someone you love slip through the cracks. My contribution would be building the safety net I wish had existed for my friend—and for anyone who needs it.

When The first time I handed a warm meal to someone who hadn’t eaten in days, I realized faith is more than what you believe—it’s what you do. My name is Ajmacia Markland McQueen, and the church has been the backdrop of my entire life. I’ve grown up in its pews, sung in its choirs, and listened to sermons that taught me compassion, resilience, and the importance of serving others. For as long as I can remember, the rhythms of church life have shaped who I am, but it’s the lessons I’ve carried outside those walls that have truly defined my sense of purpose. I can picture my childhood self, nervously clutching a stack of plates at our church’s community breakfast, watching my mother greet each guest with a hug and a smile. Those early mornings taught me that service isn’t about recognition or reward—it’s about showing up for people, no matter what. Over the years, I became more involved: organizing food drives, volunteering at our soup kitchen, and helping with holiday outreach programs. With every act of service, I saw how small gestures could add up to something much bigger. My faith isn’t something I tuck away for Sunday mornings; it’s the driving force behind every decision I make. It shapes the way I approach my work, my relationships, and, most recently, the way I care for my toddler. Becoming a mother has given me a deeper understanding of what it means to nurture, protect, and love unconditionally—values I first learned in church, and ones I now try to extend to everyone I meet. The patience, empathy, and strength that I draw on as a mother are the same qualities I bring to my service in the community. Church involvement taught me that true service means meeting people where they are, especially those who are struggling. Volunteering with our church’s food pantry, I’ve seen the relief on faces when someone realizes they won’t go to bed hungry that night. I’ve organized clothing drives for families in crisis and helped connect people to shelter during the coldest months. These experiences have shown me that the teachings of the Bible—feeding the hungry, caring for the vulnerable—come alive through action. Empathy isn’t just a feeling; it’s the ability to sit with someone in their pain, to listen without judgment, and to offer hope. My work with people battling housing insecurity and addiction has taught me that everyone has a story, and sometimes all they need is someone willing to hear it. I’ve tried to be that person—a steady presence, a supportive voice, and a leader who rallies others to serve. Through the church, I’ve learned how to organize volunteers, set up support groups, and be a source of encouragement for individuals struggling to break the cycle of addiction. My commitment to service is why I am continuing my education in Clinical Social Work. I want to gain the tools and knowledge to help my community more effectively, to be an advocate for those who are often overlooked, and to bring the same sense of hope and healing I’ve experienced in church to people wherever they are. With your support, I can turn years of community service into a lifelong mission, reaching even more people who need a hand, a meal, or simply someone who cares. The lessons I’ve learned through my church have shaped my heart, my hands, and my future. I want nothing more than to continue serving—to use my faith, my education, and my experiences to help others find the strength and support they need to build a better life.

Early childhood development is a critical period when the foundation for cognitive, social, emotional, and physical growth is established. Trauma during this phase can have profound and long-lasting consequences. Traumatic experiences in early childhood, such as abuse, neglect, witnessing violence, or enduring chronic instability, can disrupt the developing brain and nervous system, leading to issues such as difficulty with emotional regulation, learning disabilities, behavioral problems, and increased susceptibility to mental health disorders like anxiety and depression. As an individual with a background in early education and community work, I have witnessed firsthand the impact of early childhood trauma on learning and behavior. My experience in healthcare over the past decade has further highlighted the connection between early adverse experiences and long-term health outcomes. With an associate's degree in psychology and my ongoing pursuit of a bachelor's degree in social work, I am well-positioned to address the repercussions of early trauma through evidence-based interventions and advocacy. My approach to mitigating the effects of early childhood development trauma is multi-faceted. In my chosen career field of social work, I plan to apply my knowledge and experience to provide support to children and families affected by trauma. This includes working with educational institutions to implement trauma-informed teaching practices that recognize and respond to the needs of children with traumatic backgrounds, creating a safe and supportive learning environment. Furthermore, I will leverage my community work experience to build partnerships with local organizations, facilitating access to mental health services and resources for children and families. By fostering a network of support, I aim to help children build resilience and develop healthy coping mechanisms. In healthcare settings, my role will involve advocating for trauma-informed care practices that recognize the far-reaching effects of early trauma on physical and mental health. I will work towards integrating mental health screenings into routine pediatric care, ensuring that signs of trauma are identified early and addressed promptly. On a personal note, my commitment to this cause is fueled by my own experiences with children in my extended family who have faced early adversity. Witnessing their struggles and their journey towards healing has deepened my understanding of the importance of early intervention and motivated me to dedicate my career to helping others facing similar challenges. In conclusion, the consequences of early childhood development trauma are significant and can shape an individual's life trajectory. Through my career in social work, combined with my educational background and healthcare experience, I intend to contribute to the prevention and mitigation of these consequences. By promoting trauma-informed practices in education, healthcare, and community settings, I am committed to making a positive difference in the lives of children and fostering a more resilient future generation.

My mother, a steadfast beacon of love, guidance, and resilience, has profoundly influenced the tapestry of my life. As Ajmacia Markland-McQueen, I trace the roots of my character to the fertile soil of our Baptist background, where faith and fellowship intertwine to shape a community's heart. Growing up, my mother was not just a parent; she was a living embodiment of the values we cherished: devotion to God, commitment to the church, and an unwavering desire to serve others. During the tumultuous times of the pandemic, when the world seemed draped in uncertainty, my mother's strength shone like a lighthouse amidst stormy seas. Together, we worked hand in hand with our church to become a haven for those in need, especially for low-income families who bore the brunt of the crisis. This period wasn't just about providing resources; it was a testament to the power of collective compassion. My mother's tireless efforts to marshal support and her innate ability to inspire volunteerism taught me that service to others is the most profound expression of our faith. The values of God, church, and community, so deeply rooted in our Baptist beliefs, have become the foundation upon which I raise my daughter. My mother's influence is evident in the way I nurture her spirit, encourage her kindness, and foster her sense of belonging. I strive to instill in her the same principles that were passed down to me: the importance of faith as a compass, the church as a community of support, and the joy found in selfless service. As my mother guided me through life's challenges and celebrations, she instilled a sense of purpose that transcends personal ambition. She taught me that our lives are richer when we extend our hands to lift others. Her example of unwavering faith, even in the face of adversity, has imbued me with an inner strength that I hope to pass on to my daughter. The lessons learned from my mother's actions, her kindness, and her faithfulness are the gifts I cherish most, and they continue to shape the person I am and aspire to be. Reflecting on my mother's impact, I see a clear vision of the legacy I wish to leave for my daughter. It is a legacy built on the pillars of faith, community, and service—a legacy that my mother began, and one that I am honored to continue. Her unwavering support and the values she has instilled in me resonate in the way I approach life, parenthood, and my responsibilities to those around me. In essence, my mother's influence is the guiding light in the story of Ajmacia Markland-McQueen. It is a narrative of love, faith, and community—one that I carry forward with pride and purpose, as I nurture the next generation with the same unwavering devotion that my mother showed me. Her impact is not just a chapter in my life; it is the very essence of who I am and everything I hope to be as a father, a community member, and a faithful servant of God.

Ajmacia Markland-McQueen's Journey to Becoming a Clinical Mental Health Worker Embarking on a career as a clinical mental health worker was not merely a professional choice for me, Ajmacia Markland-McQueen, but rather a calling that resonates deeply with my own life's narrative. My personal odyssey has been marked by a series of formidable challenges, including overcoming abuse, enduring neglect, and grappling with self-esteem issues. These adversities have been pivotal in shaping my resolve to pursue this path, for they have instilled in me a profound empathy for individuals facing similar struggles. The transformative power of therapy played a central role in my own healing process. It was through this journey that I discovered invaluable tools that not only aided in my recovery but also became instrumental in my desire to extend that same support to others. My experiences have fueled a deep-seated passion for helping those in my personal circle and the broader community. I have found immense fulfillment in actively engaging in community work, where I have the opportunity to make a tangible difference in the lives of those around me. My foray into the healthcare sector, working with cancer patients, has proven to be an enriching extension of my commitment to empathy-driven support. In this role, I have had the privilege of providing compassionate assistance to individuals as they navigate the tumultuous waters of life and health changes. This work has reinforced my belief that my chosen career path is not just about professional growth but is interwoven with my very essence and life purpose. In my counseling practice, I encounter individuals from various walks of life, each grappling with their own unique set of challenges, be it addiction, family conflicts, or self-esteem issues. These interactions have further cemented my resolve to use my education as a means to hone my abilities. My goal is to continuously strengthen my skills, allowing me to broaden the scope of my work and deepen the impact of my passion. Looking toward the future, I am committed to expanding my expertise in the field of mental health. I aspire to be a beacon of hope and a source of unwavering support for those who are fighting their own battles, much like I once did. Through ongoing education and practice, I aim to elevate my proficiency in counseling, thereby enhancing my capacity to empower individuals on their journey to recovery and self-discovery. This career path, for me, represents more than a job—it is a synthesis of my past experiences, personal growth, and the desire to contribute positively to society. It is about channeling the lessons learned from my hardships into a source of strength for both myself and those I serve. As a clinical mental health worker, I am not only fulfilling a role; I am fulfilling a part of myself. The path I have chosen is one of compassionate service, and it is here that I find my true fulfillment and the essence of my life's work.