My decision to return to school for my master's in counseling psychology came after the realization that I wanted to do something more with my life than what I am currently doing. In my current work as a Physical Therapist Assistant, I am bound by institutional, governmental, and organizational policies. Instead of feeling bound, I want to be creative, expressive, imaginative, collaborative, and dynamic. As a 36-year-old, I am more aware of how my gifts have been uniquely developed through life experiences and I want to be a healer, a re-builder, and a restorer of souls and relationships. Dr. Cornell West, a Harvard Divinity professor, couldn’t have summed up my thoughts better about how I decided to pursue a counseling degree. He recognized that we are who we are because somebody loved us and we are where we are because somebody tended to us. As I entered my mid-30s, I began to experience relational tension with my children and spouse, which led me directly back to the formative stories of my childhood. The love of friends and counselors who compassionately listened to my stories covered multitudes of shame. Their love tended to my soul and left with me a hunger to offer the same care to others. I am choosing to attend The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology because I identify strongly with their mission and relational focus. The school’s mission is to train people to be competent in the study of text, soul, and culture to serve God and neighbor through transforming relationships. The school invites thoughtful dialogue and reflection through the practices of theology, psychology, and spirituality. On a personal level, I can see how the integration of body, soul, spirit, and mind will occur within the community of people that surround me throughout my studies and beyond. My body will need fun, playfulness, water to hydrate, and good sleep at night to keep me healthy and grounded. My soul needs a connection with others, a purpose, and a calling in this world. Spiritually, I will remain grateful in song and prayer for where I have been and where I am going. Finally, my mind will learn to critically reflect on culture, context, and systems so that I can skillfully engage my world. As a 36-year-old wife and mother, the cost of returning to school is great but this scholarship would help me to mitigate these losses. The costs affect my family’s finances, our time together, our weekly and yearly rhythms, my community involvement, and my relationships. Financially, I will have to work extra days to cover the costs of flights to my school at the beginning of each trimester and have had to pause all contributions towards both my retirement savings and my kids’ future education funds. All available income will be directed towards my school tuition. This scholarship would allow me to cover the costs of travel to my school and would help pay for school tuition. In turn, I would be able to focus more time on my family and my studies, relieving the constant worry about how I would pay for school without sacrificing so much. Although the cost of my chosen vocation is great, I want to seek out the joy in this vocation as well. I want to use the gifts that have been developed in me and find joy in knowing that my life’s work has prepared me for this time that I am entering. I am excited to pursue my master’s in counseling psychology this fall and to finally be doing the work I feel called to do.

In Tell Me Who You Are, Winona Guo and Priya Vulchi creatively weave together stories of everyday people who boldly and honestly tell who they are in the context of race and culture. Through the storytelling of 150 different people from various races, cultures, and ethnicities, Guo and Vulchi bridge the gap between heart and mind; the stories spark curiosity, intrigue, dismay, anger, compassion, empathy, and hope. In this country’s time of great racial division, this book challenges viewpoints, reveals others’ differing ways of life, and propels us toward change. By sharing a brilliant compilation of short stories from people of very different cultures, Tell Me Who You Are gives voice to people who might otherwise be misunderstood or unheard. Juaneena from Arkansas described the fear she felt as a black sixteen-year-old traveling through a part of her state that was home to the KKK for a school softball championship. In addition, Rhonda, an Alaskan Native living in Vermont, reveals how books and vocabulary words chosen by her daughter’s school reduce the hundreds of Native cultures to a single image. Lauren, on the other hand, recognized the conflict between being privileged and being unable to exercise her privilege because of a physical disability. Through the stories of people who have historically been under-represented and unheard, Tell Me Who You Are propels us towards change, reminding us of our responsibility to each other. Nick, a Native American from South Dakota, reminds readers that we all have a shared history in this country. He urges readers to remember that all ground walked on in this country was first inhabited by Indigenous people and that we have a collective responsibility to deal with the challenges in the Native American community. Justin from Kansas recognizes that a White person will get further talking to another White person than a Black person would. He urges White readers, the oppressors, to start talking to each other right now instead of leaving the responsibility to the oppressed. If anyone wonders where they should start to heal the racial divide, Tell Me Who You Are offers the perfect starting place. In the words of Alexa, a young Mexican girl from Chicago, we can validate the experiences of others and become a megaphone for a less-heard voice. This book does just that and is worth reading by all people of all ages.

When I submitted my first graduate school application early this spring, I felt anxious, knowing that I was too exhausted to even think about returning to school yet desperately needing something in my life to change. My once purposeful work of performing Physical Therapy in the local hospital had become mentally demanding and left me with a sense of despair and futility. When my manager asked me during a monthly review to name the high of my week and ways I had been inspired through work, I could not think of a single answer. I knew I was facing burnout when I had lost the ability to be inspired by my patients and had become apathetic towards work. With this realization, I began to prioritize my mental health by taking small but impactful steps to care for myself. When I care for myself well, I have a greater capacity to be compassionate towards others, to feel a sense of purpose, and to persevere through difficult circumstances. According to Psychology Today, the term burnout is described as “a state of emotional, mental, and often physical exhaustion brought on by prolonged or repeated stress.” The prevalence of burnout is far and great. More than half of the younger generations face burnout, including 59% of Millennials 58% of Gen-Z and 54% of Gen-X, according to Psychology Today. My symptoms of burnout served as an alarm to me that I desperately needed to care for my mental health. I cared for my mental health by permitting myself to say “no” to commitments that drained me, instead finding an activity that brings joy, feels life-giving or purposeful. After paying close attention to the activities that either brought me joy or exhaustion, I chose to eliminate a work-related commitment and also took a huge step to end my foster care license. The work commitment mentally exhausted me and I dreaded the planning and advertising of these events. I also recognized how anxious my body felt when I thought about caring for additional foster kids when I already felt exhausted. In saying “no” to both of these commitments, I immediately felt an invisible weight lifted from my shoulders. I felt proud of myself for having the courage to stand up for my needs, despite the fear of disappointing others. Saying “no” to one commitment always opens the door to saying “yes” to something else. While eliminating certain commitments that took energy from me, I was able to say “yes” to commitments that brought me a sense of purpose and joy. I began to volunteer at a local organization and taught ukulele lessons at a church family night. I regained a sense of control over my situation, knowing that I was choosing to be at these activities because I wanted to, not because I felt obligated or was afraid of letting someone down. I chose activities that connected me to others and that strengthened my sense of community. Gradually, I overcame the burnout that I had felt at work. By choosing to eliminate some commitments and say yes to others, I was able to care for my mental health by choosing activities that filled up my tank and gave me a sense of purpose. I was able to persevere through a period of job dissatisfaction and eventually regained the ability to express gratitude, be inspired by those around me, and reimagine the direction of my life.

Early one morning three years ago, I came into the kitchen to find a note from my seventeen-year-old foster daughter, indicating her decision to find a new foster family. I was filled with sadness. This was not what I wanted. The evening before, our foster care case worker had sat with our family on the porch, trying to work through the seemingly small incident that ended in a raging outburst and her demanding plea to “find a new family.” At the end of our meetings, the case worker had written down three simple choices: stay with this family, look for respite care, or find a new family. Before leaving for work in the morning, my daughter had boldly circled the last choice in red permanent marker, hanging it on the fridge where I was sure to see it. I felt utterly powerless to convince this girl that we loved her and that we were not going to leave her. As we sat on the porch with my daughter, she cried out through her tears, desperately wishing for her deceased mother to be here. Looking back on this now, I see that her deep anger reflected her grief. The sorrow of losing both of her parents seven years prior was still ever-present and sharply painful. Her attachment difficulties made it nearly impossible for her to trust us and I vastly underestimated her need for self-protection. She was going to leave us before we could leave her. Although my daughter ultimately did choose to stay in our family, I continued to be repeatedly rejected by her. I clung to the hope that God was still working even though I couldn't see it. I finally understood the rejection that Jesus felt when he was betrayed, mocked, and hung to die on the cross by those he loved so deeply. Parenting a child with deep trauma helped me to understand the fatherly love of God, the love that never leaves or gives up on his children no matter how many times they reject Him. When my foster daughter moved to college, my family began a year of healing. For the first time in four years, I had the space and the capacity to build new friendships, to play, to rest, to pursue my interests, and to focus my attention on my younger children who also had significant needs. As we grew a community of people around us, I grieved the years that we had endured and persevered alone. I had let relationships go unattended, believing that no one understood what we were going through, and lacked the mental capacity to invest in others. I underestimated the power of connection. As I reconnected with my husband, my other children, and our church community, I realized the power of relationships to help me persevere and be resilient in the face of difficult circumstances. I have a desire to work with people who have been affected by trauma. Our painful past plays out in our present relationships and I want to help people find healing inside themselves so that they can be the person they were created to be. I saw the devasting effects of mistrust on my daughter's relationships and how it prevented her from receiving care from us. I felt the exhaustion and burnout in my own body, the ways that my nervous system wanted to withdraw from her, and the power of connecting with others to help me find strength. I want to teach people to listen to the wisdom of their bodies, care for their nervous systems, and heal the hurts of the past. Therefore, I have chosen to pursue a Master’s in Counseling Psychology through The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology.

Early one morning three years ago, I came into the kitchen to find a note from my seventeen-year-old foster daughter, indicating her decision to find a new foster family. I was filled with sadness. This was not what I wanted. The evening before, our foster care case worker had sat with our family on the porch, trying to work through the seemingly small incident that ended in a raging outburst and her demanding plea to “find a new family.” At the end of our meetings, the case worker had written down three simple choices: stay with this family, look for respite care, or find a new family. Before leaving for work in the morning, my daughter had boldly circled the last choice in red permanent marker, hanging it on the fridge where I was sure to see it. I felt utterly powerless to convince this girl that we loved her and that we were not going to leave her. As we sat on the porch with my daughter, she cried out through her tears, desperately wishing for her deceased mother to be here. Looking back on this now, I see that her deep anger reflected her grief. The sorrow of losing both of her parents seven years prior was still ever-present and sharply painful. Her attachment difficulties made it nearly impossible for her to trust us and I vastly underestimated her need for self-protection. She was going to leave us before we could leave her. Although my daughter ultimately did choose to stay in our family, I continued to be repeatedly rejected by her. I clung to the hope that God was still working even though I couldn't see it. I finally understood the rejection that Jesus felt when he was betrayed, mocked, and hung to die on the cross by those whom he loved so deeply. Parenting a child with deep trauma helped me to understand the fatherly love of God, the love that never leaves or gives up on his children no matter how many times they reject Him. When my foster daughter moved to college, my family began a year of healing. For the first time in four years, I had the space and the capacity to build new friendships, to play, to rest, to pursue my interests, and to focus my attention on my younger children who also had significant needs. As we grew a community of people around us, I grieved the years that we had endured and persevered alone. I had let relationships go unattended, believing that no one understood what we were going through, and lacked the mental capacity to invest in others. I underestimated the power of connection. As I reconnected with my husband, my other children, and our church community, I realized the power of relationships to help me persevere and be resilient in the face of difficult circumstances. I have a desire to work with people who have been affected by trauma. Our painful past plays out in our present relationships and I want to help people find healing inside themselves so that they can be the person God has created them to be. I want to offer support to people who may be feeling overwhelmed, isolated, or alone. We parents sometimes need to be reparented so that we can show love in ways that we never received as a child and I hope to do that through a career as a Counselor. Therefore, I have chosen to pursue a Master’s in Counseling Psychology through The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology.

One year after my husband and I had received our sixteen-year-old foster daughter into our home through the Unaccompanied Refugee Minor program, I found myself in the kind presence of a counselor as I wrestled through deep feelings of isolation, rejection, and disappointment. I had persevered through a year of language barriers and cultural differences but sought support when the relational conflicts between me and my daughter began to build. My connection attempts were repeatedly rejected and I struggled with her tough, self-protective exterior that said “I don’t need anyone but me.” Her trauma debris collided with my own childhood story and I didn’t have great capacity to handle big emotions or challenging behaviors. I decided that someone needed to heal and it was going to start with me. I felt so much shame for the ways I reacted to my daughters out of anger, hurt, and overwhelm. I remembered the ways I had neglected to pay attention to my eight-year-old daughter and the ways I had tried to control my foster daughter out of my fears. The counselor and other supportive women taught me how to be vulnerable in recognizing and stating my fears so that I could begin to reconnect with my foster daughter and repair the damage I was causing. The first time I humbled myself enough to admit where I was wrong to my daughter, I felt a surge of transformative power…the power of letting go. She immediately dropped her defenses and switched from stony, defiant silence to a sad, but desperate-for-love little girl, literally climbing into my lap at times. I felt exhilarated, relieved, and hopeful with the gradual repair of our relationship and the work we did towards rebuilding trust. Through the incredible kindness and attunement of my counselor, I had permission to be curious about my own story and began to grieve the “emotional orphan” inside of me. As I learned to offer myself kindness, I eventually grew in capacity to care for my children and was able to respond to big, challenging behaviors with love instead of fear. With the help of a Counselor, I slowly received the care and attunement that I needed for myself to grieve the “orphan” girl inside of me. As I reflect on my life, I can start to see where God has used my heartache to shape me into a person with many gifts. I can read people well and offer wise insight into difficult situations. I have a heart for marginalized people and am good at building relationships with people very different from myself. Although my earlier stories have shaped me to be who I am, the more recent stories of my life have guided me toward a career in the Mental Health field. Just as becoming a foster parent opened my eyes to the suffering of an orphaned child, so my work in a hospital built compassion for people with physical impairments, the loss of my brother gave me a heart for the grieving, and the parenting of my children has birthed a passion to help other parents love well. As an acute care Physical Therapist Assistant, I work with acutely ill people and my compassion for those suffering physical losses has grown tremendously. I developed the skills to restore physical function at these pivotal points of their lives when their bodies are broken, identities have been seemingly lost, and families' lives have been upheaved. I have had the privilege of witnessing people persevere through the loss of their physical function to heal and reimagine what their lives can be. The grief from losing my brother to cancer has also significantly influenced my pursuit of a degree in the mental health field. Five years ago, my older brother died of cancer when he was just 33 years old, and his death initiated a spiral of mental health concerns in my family, including alcoholism, anxiety, depression, paranoia, violence, isolation, and sensory dysregulation. I, myself, felt the months of numbing grief, struggled to be a parent to my children, and could not focus at work. We as a family struggled. Throughout the year after my brother’s death, I sought out support from friends and healthcare professionals that had worked with my brother. I sought to answer the questions that spun in my head and faced daily triggers while at work in the hospital. I felt my heart race and my breathing become shallow when reading medical charts of patients that were nearing the end of life and desperately tried to intervene to give these patients a more peaceful ending than my brother had experienced. I developed a keen sense of when someone was within days of death and compassionately listened to their desire to “let go” or “go home.” I wanted to be with others who were grieving and not turn away from those who were bereaved. Now, five years out from my brother’s death, I am still learning how to grieve and how to be with others who are grieving. I am a Co-Facilitator at Michael’s Place, a local non-profit that supports bereaved members of the community. As I listen to the stories and the pain expressed by the adults in the grief support group, I am moved by their vulnerability, honesty, and depth of raw emotion. I remember vividly what it was like for me in the early weeks and months after my brother’s death, but also have a heart full of gratitude to know that it is possible to move through death to find hope and joy again. The numbness I once felt has morphed into aliveness and a desire to be a compassionate witness to others who are also in the darkness of grief. Finally, my passion for the mental health field has grown as I watch my youngest daughter struggle with anxiety and sensory dysregulation. From the time of seven years old, she experienced a series of events that appear to have been traumatic in her little body, including surgery to remove a tumor, the death of an uncle, the constant dysregulation in her home after her foster sister arrived, and a global pandemic that shut her school down. As a result of these events, my daughter developed a sensitivity to stress, anxiety that impacts her ability to engage with others, a fear of contamination, and sensory overload. Over the last couple of years, I have been stretched to consider every alternative to help her. As she sat crumpled on the floor of the doctor’s office writhing in fear, the doctor berated me for being “too soft” with her and told me that I needed to set greater consequences when she “acted out.” I have felt misunderstood, mislabeled, and often helpless to provide the support she needs. I want to be a professional that views both parents and children compassionately, striving to offer alternative and non-traditional solutions, starting with the care of the parents themselves. After my initial counseling experience during the overwhelming months of foster care, I began group story work with the Allender Center at The Seattle School of Psychology and Theology. During the story workshops, I felt excited about listening and responding to others’ stories of harm. As each of my group members read their stories of childhood harm out loud, I could see the patterns and themes that had been present in my own stories and was able to respond with the same care that had been previously offered to me. I participated in two different group workshops and at the end of both workshops, the members of the group each affirmed my gift of being able to offer deep insight into their stories of harm with great kindness. My group leader affirmed my ability to read others well and encouraged me to continue practicing these skills. My pursuit to become a Counselor has been most affirmed by people who I have been vulnerable enough to share parts of my story with. After an eight-week story workshop during which we shared and responded to childhood stories of harm, I listened as the six other women in the group each shared how I had impacted them. Surprised and hesitant, I was uncertain if I was willing to trust what these women saw in me. Although I didn’t decide at that moment to become a Counselor, I did recognize that I found life when engaging in others' stories and hearts. I have continued to explore and grieve parts of my own story that have made me who I am today. I have been seen in the deepest parts of myself and have been received with kindness and without judgment, allowing for the shame of my past to dissolve. I want to return to others what was given to me– the incredible gift of attunement, care, and truth, transforming others through the power of relationships. Therefore, by close examination of life-giving and joyful moments in various life experiences or professional work, I have chosen to pursue the Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology. I hope to gain a greater awareness of who God has shaped me to be and learn to skillfully engage another person’s story, heart and soul.

One year after my husband and I had received our sixteen-year-old foster daughter into our home, I found myself in the kind presence of a Counselor as I wrestled through deep feelings of isolation, rejection, and disappointment. I had persevered through a year of language barriers and cultural differences but sought support when the relational conflicts between me and my foster daughter began to build. Someone needed to heal and I decided it would start with me. With the help of a Counselor, I slowly received the care and attunement that I needed for myself to grieve the “orphan” girl inside of me. Since that time, I have continued to explore and grieve parts of my own story that have made me who I am today. I have been seen in the deepest parts of myself and have been received with kindness and without judgment, allowing for the shame of my past to dissolve. I want to return to others what was given to me– the incredible gift of attunement, care, and truth, transforming others through the power of relationships. Therefore, I am pursuing a Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology so that I may gain a greater awareness of who God has shaped me to be and learn to skillfully engage another person’s story, heart and soul. As I reflect on my life, I can start to see where God has used my heartache to shape me into a person with many gifts. I can read people well and offer wise insight into difficult situations. I have a heart for marginalized people and am good at building relationships with people very different from myself. While working with people facing physical impairments or deteriorated health in a hospital setting, I found my greatest sense of purpose by restoring hope for those that have experienced a physical loss. Most recently, my experience as a Grief Group Facilitator has confirmed my desire to help others work through and heal from traumatic or painful experiences. My pursuit to become a Counselor has been most affirmed by people who I have been vulnerable enough to share parts of my story with. After an eight-week story workshop, I listened as the six other women in the group each shared how I had impacted them. Surprised and hesitant, I was uncertain if I was willing to trust what these women saw in me. Although I didn’t decide at that moment to become a Counselor, I did recognize that I found life when engaging in others' stories and hearts. Therefore, by close examination of life-giving and joyful moments in various life experiences or professional work, I have chosen to pursue the Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology.