Sports have shaped my life in ways that go far beyond competition. They have taught me discipline, resilience, leadership, and the importance of lifting up others along the way. As a college softball player at Williams Baptist University, I have worked incredibly hard to earn my place on the field, but I have also dedicated myself to giving back to the communities that supported me. Jimmie “DC” Sullivan’s legacy of commitment to youth sports and community involvement reflects the values I try to carry with me every day—as an athlete, a volunteer, and a mentor. Growing up, softball became a source of strength, confidence, and identity for me, especially as I navigated difficult medical challenges like being born with gastroschisis and later being diagnosed with Type One diabetes. The sport gave me an outlet and a team that felt like a second family. Because of the impact softball had on me, I’ve always felt a responsibility to give that same experience to younger athletes. That is why I have volunteered my time coaching and refereeing various peewee softball and basketball events. Whether I was teaching kids how to hold a bat correctly, helping them understand the rules, or encouraging them after a missed play, I learned just how powerful mentorship can be. Working with youth reminds me that sports are not just about skill—they’re about building confidence, teaching teamwork, and helping kids discover what they are capable of. Coaching peewee teams allowed me to create a positive environment for young athletes to grow and enjoy the game. Umpiring and refereeing taught me fairness, patience, and how important it is to model composure for the players watching. These experiences reinforced my belief that being involved in sports is one of the most meaningful ways to support a community. As I continue my softball career in college, I plan to carry forward the lessons I’ve learned and the values that have guided me. I want to be a leader on my team—someone my teammates can rely on, someone who brings energy and encouragement, and someone who plays with integrity. Beyond my own team, I hope to stay involved with youth sports, whether through coaching, volunteering at camps, or returning to local leagues to help the next generation grow. Kids deserve mentors who believe in them, especially those who may be navigating challenges like I once did. Ultimately, I hope to make a difference not only through sports but also through my long-term goal of becoming a doctor. My experiences as both an athlete and a volunteer have taught me compassion, patience, and the importance of building others up—qualities I plan to bring into my future career. This scholarship would support my education and help me continue giving back through athletics and community service. I want to honor Jimmie “DC” Sullivan’s legacy by using sports as a way to inspire, support, and uplift the next generation—one young athlete at a time.

Creating meaningful health improvements through small, consistent changes is a mission that resonates deeply with me—not only as a student pursuing a future in healthcare, but as someone who has lived through the challenges of managing a chronic illness. Dr. Steve Aldana’s belief that everyday habits can transform lives mirrors the way I’ve learned to approach my own health. As someone diagnosed with Type One diabetes at age twelve and born with gastroschisis, I have spent my entire life understanding how much impact small decisions can have on long-term wellness. From managing blood sugar levels to maintaining routines that support both my physical and mental health, I’ve experienced firsthand how minor, steady adjustments create pathways toward stability, strength, and hope. My goal is to become a doctor—a path inspired by the countless medical professionals who helped me survive and grow, as well as by my desire to provide others the same support I once needed. I believe that healthcare is not just about treating illness, but about empowering individuals with knowledge, strategies, and encouragement that help them build lasting wellbeing. Like Dr. Aldana, I believe in the power of compassion, education, and evidence-based guidance. I have seen how essential it is for patients to feel understood, believed, and supported, especially when dealing with chronic conditions or long-term health challenges. As a college student studying to enter the medical field, I already strive to embody the values Steve championed—integrity, empathy, and a commitment to sustainable wellness. In my daily life, I practice these values through my own health management, my involvement in athletics, and my dedication to learning. Softball has taught me discipline, patience, and the importance of small habits—hydrating properly, fueling my body, regulating my glucose before practice, and showing up every day even when I don’t feel perfect. These are the same principles that carry into community health: consistency, understanding, and resilience. In my future career, I plan to continue Dr. Aldana’s mission by promoting health strategies that are accessible, realistic, and compassionate. I want to help families understand that wellness is not about sudden perfection but about daily choices that add up over time. Whether I’m working with children who have chronic conditions, advising patients on lifestyle changes, or supporting individuals experiencing mental health struggles, I want to be a provider who helps people take achievable steps toward healthier lives. I want to guide others the way I have learned to guide myself—through encouragement, patience, and practical strategies rooted in science and kindness. This scholarship would support my education as I work toward becoming the kind of physician who honors Dr. Aldana’s legacy: someone who sees the whole person, empowers communities, and believes that even the smallest changes can create powerful transformations. My mission is to carry his spirit forward by helping others build healthier, more hopeful lives—one step, one habit, and one compassionate moment at a time.

Mental illness is often described as invisible, but for many people—including myself—it shapes everyday life in ways that are deeply real. When I was diagnosed with Type One diabetes at age twelve, I quickly learned that managing a chronic illness is not just a physical challenge. It is an emotional and mental one as well. The constant monitoring, the unpredictable blood sugar swings, the fear of complications, and the pressure to manage everything perfectly created a kind of stress I didn’t know how to express at that age. Over time, these pressures grew into something bigger: anxiety, depression, and a sense of isolation that I didn’t know how to talk about. Living with Type One diabetes means living in a state of constant awareness—of numbers, symptoms, routines, risks. For many people, daily life involves spontaneity. For me, every decision carries weight. This responsibility, combined with the fear of something going wrong, eventually took a toll on my mental health. I became anxious about school, sports, and even simple social situations because I worried about managing my condition in front of others. I felt overwhelmed during moments when my blood sugar dropped suddenly or when I couldn’t get it under control. I began to feel like I was fighting a battle that no one else could truly understand. Depression came with its own challenges. There were periods where I felt drained, hopeless, or frustrated by how unfair everything felt. Even though I kept pushing forward—doing well in school, excelling in softball, showing the world a strong and determined version of myself—the mental weight I carried was heavy. The hardest part was accepting that struggling did not mean I was weak. It simply meant that I was human. Over the years, mental illness has shaped me, but not in the ways people might expect. It has made me more empathetic. It has taught me to recognize the quiet struggles that others may be facing. It has strengthened my determination to pursue a future in medicine so I can support patients not only physically, but emotionally. My own experiences have shown me how important it is to treat the whole person—not just the diagnosis. Mental illness has also taught me resilience. There are days when managing my diabetes and my mental health feels overwhelming, but I continue moving forward. I seek support, I communicate more openly, and I’ve learned coping strategies that help me maintain balance. I am proud of how far I’ve come, even though the journey is ongoing. This scholarship would help support my education as I work toward becoming a doctor—a goal shaped in many ways by my own health experiences. But it would also honor the strength of individuals like Elizabeth Schalk and so many others who fight battles that are often unseen. Mental illness has affected my life deeply, but it has also shaped my compassion, my purpose, and my desire to help others facing similar struggles.

Being a first-generation college student means stepping into a world my family has never navigated, carrying both the pride of their hopes and the weight of figuring everything out on my own. It means pursuing opportunities that were not available to those before me and building a future that reflects not only my dreams, but the sacrifices, love, and support that helped me get here. To me, being first-generation is an honor. It is proof that progress is possible, that challenges can be transformed into motivation, and that I am capable of creating a new path for myself and for those who may follow in my footsteps. My journey to higher education has been shaped by obstacles that have tested my resilience. I was born with gastroschisis, a condition that required immediate medical care, and much of my early life was shaped by doctor visits and treatments. Later, at age twelve, I was diagnosed with Type One diabetes, a chronic condition that demands constant attention and discipline. Managing my health while taking on academic challenges, athletics, and college preparation required strength beyond my years. Yet these challenges never discouraged me—they fueled me. They taught me responsibility, perseverance, and the importance of advocating for myself. Navigating the college process as a first-generation student came with its own difficulties. Without family experience to guide me, I had to learn everything—from understanding financial aid to choosing courses—on my own. I leaned heavily on teachers, counselors, and my own determination to figure out every step. Being recruited for softball while balancing my academics made the process even more complex, but it also became one of my greatest accomplishments. Today, I attend Williams Baptist University on an athletic scholarship, something I worked countless hours to achieve. Softball opened the door to higher education for me, but my purpose extends beyond the field. My dream is to become a doctor. After everything I’ve been through medically, I feel called to give back to the field that helped save my life. I want to support families during difficult diagnoses, help children living with chronic conditions, and bring compassion shaped by firsthand experience into the medical world. Becoming a doctor is not just a goal—it is the way I hope to turn my challenges into something meaningful for others. This scholarship would make a significant difference in my journey. As a first-generation student, financial pressure is one of the biggest obstacles I face. Support like this would allow me to focus on my studies, my training, and my long-term goals without constant worry about costs. It would not only ease the burden—it would affirm that students like me, who start without a roadmap but refuse to give up, are worthy of investment. Being first-generation means striving forward with courage and hope. With your support, I will continue building a future that honors where I come from and embraces where I am determined to go.

Softball has made an immeasurable impact on my life, shaping me into the person, student, and athlete I am today. It has taught me discipline, resilience, leadership, and the importance of believing in myself even when circumstances are difficult. From the first time I stepped onto the field, softball became more than just a sport—it became a source of purpose and direction. It was the place where I learned how to work toward something bigger than myself and where I discovered the power of dedication and perseverance. The journey to where I am now was not easy. Earning the opportunity to play college softball on an athletic scholarship at Williams Baptist University took years of commitment, sacrifice, and countless hours of practice. I pushed myself through early morning workouts, late-night hitting sessions, long travel tournaments, and moments of frustration that tested my determination. But every challenge only strengthened my drive. I knew that if I kept putting in the work, I could create a future for myself through this sport—and I did. Softball gave me a pathway to higher education and opened doors that once seemed out of reach. Now, as a college athlete, softball continues to inspire me daily. My current career involves balancing a demanding academic load with an intense athletic schedule, something that requires organization, mental toughness, and a genuine love for the game. Being a collegiate player means giving your best every day, even when your body aches or when personal struggles make it harder to focus. It means playing not just for yourself, but for your teammates, your coaches, and everyone who believed in your potential. I carry that responsibility with pride. On the field, I strive to be the teammate who lifts others up, who leads with positivity, and who works tirelessly to get better. I want to be someone my coaches can rely on, someone my teammates look to for encouragement, and someone who represents the best parts of the sport—commitment, passion, and love for the game. I know that the attitude a player brings to the field can change everything, and I try to be the kind of athlete who energizes and inspires others, just as Bre Hoy did in her time at WLC. My goals in softball reach beyond my college years. I want to continue growing as a player, pushing myself to new levels of skill and leadership. I want to be the athlete who younger girls look up to, especially those who dream of playing in college but doubt whether they’re good enough. I hope to give back to the sport someday, whether through coaching, mentoring, or leading youth teams. Softball has given me confidence, community, and purpose—and I want to share that with the next generation. Above all, softball has taught me how powerful passion can be. Like Bre, I hope to be remembered not just for the plays I make, but for the energy, heart, and positivity I bring to every field I step on.

"Begin each day by telling yourself: Today I shall meet interference, ingratitude, insolence, disloyalty, ill-will, and selfishness—all of them due to the offender's ignorance of what is good or evil. But for my part, I have long perceived the nature of good and its nobility, the nature of evil and its meanness, and also the nature of the culprit himself, who is my brother… For we are made for cooperation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of upper and lower teeth. To work in opposition to one another is therefore contrary to nature; and resentment or anger against another is the equivalent of opposing oneself." In this passage from Meditations, Marcus Aurelius argues that moral clarity—an internal discipline shaped through reflective self-governance—creates the foundation for compassion toward others, even when confronted with their worst behavior. The deeper meaning of the paragraph is that emotional reactions to others’ faults reveal more about our own failure to live in accordance with nature than about their wrongdoing. By urging the reader to anticipate human flaws and respond with unwavering steadiness, Marcus presents resilience not as passive endurance but as an ethical act rooted in harmony with humanity’s shared purpose. Marcus Aurelius begins the paragraph with a seemingly pessimistic command: “Begin each day by telling yourself: Today I shall meet interference, ingratitude….” At first glance, this statement could be mistaken for cynicism or emotional detachment. But a close reading reveals something different. Marcus is not encouraging suspicion, but preparation; not bitterness, but clarity. He believes that when one actively anticipates the inevitability of human flaws, one is liberated from the shock, disappointment, and ego-driven emotions that typically follow interpersonal conflict. The real insight here is that peace is not achieved by controlling the world but by mastering one's expectations of it. Marcus suggests that misjudging the moral landscape around us is one of the greatest barriers to cultivating wisdom. If we assume the world will behave according to our wishes, we will meet it with resentment; if we assume it will behave according to its nature, we will meet it with understanding. His description of the offenders—“all of them due to the offender’s ignorance of what is good or evil”—is not an insult but a moral diagnosis. Marcus views wrongdoing as a symptom of misperception rather than malice. This distinction is ethically significant: it reframes the wrongdoer not as an enemy but as an untrained participant in the moral world. Ignorance here is not a lack of intelligence but a misalignment between perception and virtue. The deeper implication is that anger toward another person is irrational because it fails to acknowledge the true cause of their actions. If someone harms you out of ignorance, responding with anger is equivalent to yelling at a blind person for stepping on your foot. The Stoic perspective forces the reader to confront the uncomfortable truth that anger often arises not because of someone else's actions, but because of our belief that they should know better. Marcus argues that this belief itself is flawed. The central pivot of the paragraph comes when he contrasts the ignorant offender with his own cultivated awareness: “But for my part, I have long perceived the nature of good and its nobility, the nature of evil and its meanness.” Here, Marcus establishes an ethical hierarchy grounded in internal discipline. He does not claim superiority over others; instead, he asserts responsibility. If he has trained his moral perception, then he must act according to that training. In other words, to know the good but respond with anger is worse than to act from ignorance. This insight reveals the core of his argument: ethical understanding increases, rather than decreases, our obligation to act with compassion. Marcus then shifts from explanation to metaphor: “For we are made for cooperation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of upper and lower teeth.” These bodily analogies are not decorative; they clarify his deeper philosophical stance about human nature. Every body part performs its function not in isolation but through coordination with the whole. Feet walk together, hands grasp together, eyelids protect the eyes by meeting, and teeth work in opposing rows but toward a shared purpose. The implicit argument is that diversity of roles is not contradiction, and friction is not opposition. Human beings, like body parts, sometimes move in different ways, sometimes create pressure against one another, yet ultimately contribute to the same structure. Marcus uses the body to illustrate that individuality does not negate interdependence; it defines it. The metaphor also intensifies his earlier message about moral clarity. If humans are naturally aligned toward cooperation, then acting with resentment or anger is not only emotionally harmful—it is a violation of one’s own nature. “To work in opposition to one another is therefore contrary to nature,” he argues, meaning that disharmony among people is equivalent to a body fighting against itself. The action is not only destructive but irrational. Marcus reframes interpersonal conflict as a self-inflicted wound: to hate another human is to tear at one’s own moral fabric. Thus, the central moral insight emerges—anger is not a justified response to wrongdoing but a failure to understand one’s place within the broader human community. Marcus concludes the paragraph with an even stronger claim: “Resentment or anger against another is the equivalent of opposing oneself.” This final line encapsulates the Stoic worldview that virtue and harmony with nature are inseparable. Anger becomes self-opposition because it denies the fundamental truth that human beings share a common purpose. Here Marcus moves from ethical reflection to existential instruction. He suggests that the key to human flourishing is the reconciliation of internal perception with external reality. When the two are aligned—when we acknowledge that others will act imperfectly and that our duty is to respond virtuously—we achieve tranquility. A deeper reading also uncovers an additional philosophical thread running beneath the surface: Marcus is crafting a methodology for emotional resilience grounded in self-awareness. He knows that the events of the day cannot be controlled, but the interpretation of those events can be chosen. His instruction to “begin each day” with this reflection is a ritual of mental preparation, similar to a physician washing hands before tending to patients. It is a preventive practice, not a reaction. Marcus treats the mind as something that requires daily calibration, and his advice frames resilience as a proactive discipline. This reading is especially relevant to the modern student, whose educational journey depends heavily on the ability to interpret texts, ideas, and human behavior with depth and nuance. Marcus’s emphasis on clarifying one’s perceptions parallels the practice of close reading itself. Both require patience, interpretation, and the willingness to push beyond surface reactions. Just as he encourages dissecting human actions to reveal underlying causes, close reading asks us to dissect language to reveal underlying meaning. Both practices cultivate intellectual maturity by dissolving assumptions and prompting deeper engagement. Ultimately, the underlying meaning of the paragraph is a call to moral steadiness. Marcus Aurelius teaches that compassion is not an emotional impulse but the natural product of disciplined understanding. He believes that clarity about the nature of good, evil, and human imperfection transforms the way we relate to the world. Instead of reacting emotionally to others’ flaws, we learn to act deliberately, grounded in a recognition of shared humanity. For Marcus, wisdom is not an abstract concept; it is a lived stance toward the difficulties and misunderstandings of everyday life. And in that stance, emotional resilience becomes not resistance to hardship but alignment with the truth of human nature.

My plans for the future are rooted in a lifelong connection to the medical world—one shaped by both the challenges I have faced and the gratitude I feel toward the healthcare professionals who helped me navigate them. I was born with gastroschisis, a condition that required immediate medical intervention, and later, at age twelve, I was diagnosed with Type One diabetes. These experiences introduced me to hospitals, specialists, and treatment plans long before most children ever step into a doctor’s office. While these obstacles could have made me feel discouraged, they instead became the foundation of my purpose: to become a doctor who helps others the way so many helped me. My ultimate goal is to attend medical school and build a career where I can support individuals and families during some of the hardest moments of their lives. Because I know firsthand what it feels like to depend on medical professionals, I want to bring empathy, understanding, and personal insight into my future practice. I want patients—especially young people with chronic conditions—to feel seen, supported, and empowered. My journey has given me not only motivation, but a perspective that will help me connect with patients on a level that goes beyond textbooks and training. To reach that goal, I am committed to excelling in my undergraduate studies, gaining experience through clinical opportunities, and preparing myself for the academic and emotional rigor of medical school. As the first person in my family to attend college, every step I take is both exciting and challenging. While my family supports me with love and encouragement, the financial demands of higher education are significant. Balancing the cost of tuition, textbooks, and living expenses—along with managing a chronic condition—adds an additional layer of stress to an already demanding path. This scholarship would make a meaningful difference in my ability to continue pursuing my goals without being weighed down by financial strain. It would allow me to focus more fully on my studies, my training, and my responsibilities both as a student and as someone managing Type One diabetes. Instead of worrying about how to afford the next semester or cutting back on essential supplies, I could dedicate my energy to academic success, research opportunities, and hands-on learning experiences that will prepare me for medical school. Beyond the financial support, receiving this scholarship would serve as a powerful reminder that the obstacles I have faced do not define or limit me—they strengthen me. It would affirm that my journey, from enduring medical challenges at a young age to becoming a first-generation college student, holds value. It would also reinforce my belief that resilience, determination, and a desire to help others can turn hardship into purpose. My future plans extend far beyond earning a degree. I want to make a lasting impact on others, especially patients who feel overwhelmed by their diagnoses or uncertain about their health journey. This scholarship will help me move closer to that dream, enabling me to transform the challenges I have faced into a career dedicated to healing, compassion, and service. With your support, I will continue working toward becoming the doctor I once needed—someone who listens, understands, and believes in the strength of every patient’s story.

For me, going to college is far more than an educational milestone—it represents possibility, progress, and the chance to rewrite the narrative for myself and for my family. As the first person in my family to attend college, I carry with me not only my own dreams but also the hopes of those who came before me. My parents worked hard to give me opportunities they never had, and earning a degree is my way of honoring their sacrifices while carving out a future that reflects my passions and purpose. College is my doorway into a world where I can transform my experiences, challenges, and resilience into something meaningful for others. My decision to pursue a career in medicine is rooted deeply in my own medical journey. I was born with gastroschisis, a condition that required immediate intervention and exposed me to the world of healthcare before I even knew what the word meant. Growing up, hospital visits, checkups, and medical conversations were a normal part of my life. At age twelve, I was diagnosed with Type One diabetes, a chronic condition that demanded maturity, discipline, and responsibility far earlier than most children ever experience. These events could have made me feel limited, but instead they shaped me into someone who understands the importance of compassionate, knowledgeable medical care. Because I spent so much of my early life relying on doctors, nurses, and specialists, I developed a deep respect for the people who dedicate their lives to healing others. I saw the difference it made when a provider took the time to explain, to listen, or simply to reassure. Their care didn’t just improve my physical health—it inspired me. I want to be that person for someone else. I want to support families during their hardest moments, guide children who are dealing with chronic conditions, and use my own experience to connect authentically with patients who feel overwhelmed or afraid. Going to college is the first major step toward that goal. It gives me access to the scientific foundation, hands-on experiences, and mentorship I need to become the kind of doctor who treats patients as people first. But beyond academics, college allows me to grow into a stronger, more independent version of myself. Managing Type One diabetes while balancing school, athletics, and daily responsibilities has taught me resilience, time management, and self-advocacy. These skills will be essential in the demanding world of medicine. More than anything, college represents hope—hope for a future where I can give back to the same medical community that once saved my life, hope for my family to see what is possible, and hope for every young person who has ever felt defined by their challenges rather than strengthened by them. What I am trying to accomplish is not just a degree, but a life dedicated to helping others. I want my journey, shaped by adversity and determination, to become a source of healing and support for those who need it most.

Resilience, to me, is the quiet but determined decision to keep showing up—even when the circumstances demand more from you than from anyone around you. It is not defined by perfection or ease, but by the commitment to continue moving forward with purpose. As a college student living with Type One diabetes while competing in softball, resilience is something I practice daily. It is woven into my routines, my mindset, and my willingness to face challenges that are both visible and invisible. Managing a chronic condition in college requires a constant awareness that most people never have to think about. Every meal, practice, game, and late-night study session becomes a balancing act between my responsibilities and my health. While my teammates lace up their cleats and mentally prepare for the game ahead, I am also calculating blood sugar levels, adjusting insulin, and preparing for any unpredictable swings that could affect my performance or safety. But rather than viewing this as a barrier, I see it as a unique strength. Living with diabetes has taught me discipline, adaptability, and the importance of listening to my body—qualities that enhance not only my athletic performance but also my academic and personal life. College softball demands long hours, physical endurance, and emotional resilience. There are moments when exhaustion sets in, when practices run late, or when travel schedules collide with class deadlines. Adding a chronic condition to the mix can easily feel overwhelming. Yet, each time I navigate these challenges, I prove to myself that resilience is not about avoiding hardships—it is about meeting them head-on and refusing to be defined by them. My diabetes does not limit my goals; instead, it fuels my determination to succeed in spite of obstacles. I hope my story shows others that strength does not always look like bold, dramatic moments. Sometimes it is found in the small, consistent choices: checking my glucose before a game, advocating for accommodations when necessary, or pushing through a tough workout after a night of fluctuating numbers. These moments create a version of resilience that is steady, intentional, and quietly powerful. Ultimately, resilience means embracing who I am—athlete, student, and person living with Type One diabetes—and using every part of my journey to inspire others facing their own challenges. My condition may shape my path, but it will never limit my destination.