I’ve worked in mental health since 2012, when I started as a tech sitting with suicidal patients. I’ve seen what rock bottom looks like from both sides of the hospital bed. Back then, I thought I understood the full weight of mental illness. But I hadn’t yet faced it in my own life the way I would later, as a mother, partner, and patient. I didn't realize that this job would push me to pursue a career as a Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner. After leaving an abusive relationship, I began experiencing anxiety that was impossible to ignore. Even after the immediate danger was gone, I still didn’t feel safe. I was constantly on edge, scanning for threats that weren’t there. I couldn’t relax, couldn’t sleep well, and second-guessed even the most routine decisions. It didn’t feel like survival mode had turned off. It just followed me into the next chapter of my life. Postpartum depression came next. I thought that because I loved my baby, I couldn’t possibly be depressed. But I cried almost every day. Some days I felt nothing at all. I stopped recognizing myself. I felt ashamed to admit that I was struggling because from the outside, everything looked fine. I had a healthy baby and a home. I knew what the symptoms were. I had sat with patients going through it. But I still didn't ask for help. It was my husband who noticed the signs in me and called my OB to get me help. That experience taught me how deep the silence around maternal mental health can go, and how dangerous that silence can be. Later, I was diagnosed with ADHD. The signs had always been there, but I had written them off as character flaws. I lost things constantly, jumped from one project to another, and never felt fully caught up. I blamed myself for being scattered, inconsistent, and overwhelmed. Again, despite my healthcar experience, it was my husband who gently pointed it out that I started to connect the dots. Getting the diagnosis brought clarity, not shame. It helped me understand how much effort I had been putting into just appearing functional. I stopped fighting my brain and started learning how to work with it. These experiences have completely reshaped my goals. I used to think being successful meant keeping everything together all the time. Now, I see success as building a life that respects my limits and honors my health. That’s why I’m studying to become a Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner. I want to support patients in the same way I needed support. I want to be the kind of provider who doesn’t dismiss what can’t be seen on a lab result. Someone who knows that showing up in pain doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it just looks like a mom quietly falling apart on the couch My relationships have changed as well. I’ve had to learn to choose people who make me feel safe. After surviving emotional abuse, I started paying closer attention to how I felt in other people’s presence. I’m quicker to notice red flags. I protect my peace more fiercely. At the same time, I’ve formed deeper connections with the people who see and accept me fully. People who don’t flinch when I talk about the hard stuff. Most of all, my understanding of the world has shifted. I don’t assume anymore. I know that someone can be smiling and still be in pain. I’ve learned to move through the world with more empathy and less judgment. Mental health is not just part of my career. It’s part of my story. And that truth shapes every part of how I show up for my patients, my friends, and my family every day.

Graduate school is intense. Graduate school while managing anxiety and ADHD, raising children, and trying to stay grounded is a whole different level. I'm currently working toward my Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner degree at Russell Sage College, and I’ve managed to maintain a 4.0 GPA. That number feels good, but it doesn’t show how hard I’ve had to work to keep my mental health in check behind the scenes. I was diagnosed with ADHD between my two children. I had just had my second baby when my husband made the offhand, “I know you have ADHD, but I need help keeping up around the house.” I looked at him and said, “I don’t have ADHD.” He looked back at me just as confused. My primary care doctor gave me the usual questionnaire, but I asked to be referred to a neuropsychiatrist and went through a three-hour evaluation. I was diagnosed: ADHD with poor executive function. ADHD affects how I focus and organize my time. I don’t struggle because I don’t care or because I’m lazy. It’s because my brain moves quickly in some areas and shuts down in others. I can forget things I heard two minutes ago, and I can hyperfocus on one thing while ignoring everything else that needs attention. On top of that, anxiety tells me I’m falling behind, even when I’m doing well. It’s a frustrating combination that can leave me feeling stuck before I’ve even started. Over time, I’ve built a system that helps. I rely on structure. I listen to podcasts and music when I have to do mundane tasks. I go for walks almost every day, even if it’s just around the block with my kids. Being outside helps me reset and slow my thoughts down. It gives me space to breathe and think. Without that time to decompress, I can feel like I’m drowning in constant pressure. Something I believe is important to add is that I take my medication consistently. It isn’t a shortcut or a crutch. It’s one of the most important tools I use to function at my best. Medication helps me filter distractions, manage emotional swings, and stay steady when life feels chaotic. Taking my meds is one of the ways I show up for myself and for the people who depend on me. For some reason, taking medication for anxiety was easy, but I struggled to allow myself to medicate my ADHD. Ultimately, when I started grad school I decided that I needed to give myself the best chance to succeed. The medications have been lifechanging. I’ve also learned how to ask for help. I swallowed my pride and allowed my doctor to fill out the learning disability paperwork to allow me to have extra time and supports to help me succeed. My kids are a huge reason why I keep showing up and doing the work. I want them to see that taking care of your mental health is part of being strong. I want them to understand that doing hard things is possible, even with challenges. Living with ADHD and anxiety has shaped the way I learn, the way I parent, and the kind of nurse practitioner I want to become. I know what it feels like to struggle silently. I also know how powerful it is to be heard, supported, and understood. That’s exactly what I hope to offer others in my future practice.

When my best friend had her first baby, I found myself completely drawn to her experience. Watching her go through pregnancy and childbirth made me realize how powerful and vulnerable those moments are. I thought I wanted to become a midwife and be the kind of person who could provide support, guidance, and reassurance during one of life’s most intense transitions. That’s what first brought me to healthcare. I started working as a tech in the emergency department at nineteen, thinking it would give me experience while I figured out my next step. But very quickly, I realized I had found where I belonged. The fast pace, the unpredictable nature of each day, and the opportunity to care for people in their most critical moments gave me a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt before. I worked alongside nurses who brought calm and confidence to situations that would overwhelm most people. I knew then that I wanted to be one of them. I earned my associate degree in nursing in 2017 andcompleted my BSN in 2023 while I was 8 months pregnant with my second and raising my 2 year old. The following year I was accepted into the Psychiatric-Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program at Russell Sage College, where I currently have a 4.0 GPA. Over the years, I’ve worked as an ER nurse in a variety of settings—urban hospitals, rural departments, and as a travel nurse. Each environment has shown me something new about what it means to be a nurse, but they’ve all made one thing clear: our system is not meeting the mental health needs of our communities. Over and over, I saw patients come through the emergency room not because of physical injuries, but because they were overwhelmed, anxious, depressed, or in crisis. I realized I didn’t want to wait until things got that bad to help. That’s what led me to psychiatry. I want to be the kind of provider who listens, who stays, and who builds relationships with patients over time. Now, as a mother of two toddlers, my commitment to mental health care is even stronger. Parenthood has taught me how deeply important emotional support is, especially for families. I understand what it feels like to juggle everything, to run on empty, and to still try to be there for everyone else. I want to offer care that is grounded in real-life experience, compassion, and practical support. Balancing work, graduate school, and motherhood is not easy, but it has shaped me into someone who can multitask, prioritize, and push forward with purpose. This scholarship would ease the financial strain of pursuing my advanced degree and allow me to continue growing into the nurse I aspire to be for my patients, for my children, and for the community I hope to serve.

wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until adulthood, but looking back, the signs were always there. In high school, I skipped a lot of class. I stayed up late, procrastinated, and constantly felt behind, but I still managed to keep my grades up just enough to pass. Teachers thought I was just careless or not trying hard enough, but the truth was that I was struggling in ways I couldn’t explain. I didn’t have the words for what was happening. I just thought something was wrong with me. It wasn’t until I decided to apply to graduate school that I finally pursued an evaluation. I was nervous to start a rigorous program without knowing how to manage my brain, and I wanted to give myself the best possible chance at success. Getting diagnosed and starting ADHD medication changed everything. For the first time in my life, I could sit down and study without feeling overwhelmed or distracted. I could finish what I started. I could plan and follow through. It was like I had finally been handed the missing piece of the puzzle. Since starting my PMHNP program, I’ve gotten straight A’s. Not because it’s easy, but because I finally have the support and understanding I needed all along. I know how to create systems that work for me now. I’m learning how to balance family, full-time work, and graduate studies without constantly burning out. It’s still hard, but I’m no longer fighting my own brain the way I used to. My motivation for pursuing higher education is directly tied to my own experiences with ADHD and mental health. I’m studying to become a Psychiatric-Mental Health Nurse Practitioner because I want to be the kind of provider who sees the full person—not just the symptoms or the diagnosis. I know what it feels like to be misunderstood or brushed off, and I want to offer care that is thoughtful, compassionate, and empowering. I also want to help others with ADHD, especially those who are undiagnosed or misdiagnosed, find ways to thrive without shame. I believe I’m a strong candidate for this scholarship because I’ve turned my challenges into purpose. Living with ADHD hasn’t been easy, but it has made me more adaptable, creative, and determined. I’ve worked hard to get to this point, and I’m committed to using my education to make a difference in the lives of others. With this degree, I’ll be able to reach people in crisis, build trust, and help them navigate challenges that I understand on a personal level. This scholarship would help ease the financial burden of graduate school, allowing me to stay focused on my studies and my long-term goals.

Substance abuse has shaped nearly every part of my life. My father was an addict. He never tried to hide it from me. In fact, his honesty is probably the reason I’ve never gone down that road myself. He told me what it cost him. He told me what it took. And I listened. While most kids were experimenting, I was watching addiction tear people apart, and I stayed away from almost everything because of that. Later, I fell in love with someone who had just gotten out of rehab. At the time, I believed in second chances. I believed in his recovery. But the relationship quickly became emotionally abusive. He tried to control what I wore, who I talked to, and even whether or not I stayed in nursing school. He hated that there were men in my classes. I left him during my freshman year. It took everything I had to walk away, but I knew I had to choose a future that wasn’t based in fear and control. Years later, he died by suicide. I’ll never stop carrying that. I’ve also buried more friends than I can count from overdose. People I loved. People who made me laugh until I cried. People who were trying so hard to feel better in a world that never gave them space to. I’ve seen addiction take over and leave nothing behind but heartbreak. As a nurse, I’ve worked in emergency departments all over New York. I’ve held the hands of people who overdosed and made it back. I’ve cared for those who didn’t. I’ve seen the judgment in the way they’re treated, the eye rolls, the “frequent flyer” labels. And I’ve seen people come back to the hospital, again and again, without ever getting real help. I don’t see them as numbers. I see them as someone’s kid, someone’s partner, someone who might still have a shot if we stop treating them like lost causes. These experiences have shaped not just my beliefs, but my entire career path. I’m in school now to become a Psychiatric-Mental Health Nurse Practitioner. I want to be the provider who doesn’t flinch, who doesn’t judge, and who doesn’t give up. I want to work in crisis settings, in communities where support is hard to find, and offer real help to people who are still fighting. I believe recovery is possible. I believe people are more than the worst thing they’ve done. And I believe we need more providers who have lived through the reality of addiction, even if it wasn’t their own. This is personal to me. It always will be. That’s why I’m doing this work.

Graduating with my master’s degree in nursing is not just a personal milestone for me. It represents the fulfillment of a plan that I started building when I was 19 years old and just beginning to find my way in healthcare. It represents my commitment to changing how we care for people in crisis, especially those with psychiatric needs who are so often ignored or mistreated in fast-paced medical settings. And it represents a new chapter for me as a mother, a survivor, and a future mental health provider who believes deeply in showing up for people who feel invisible. When I was younger, I never imagined I would have a career in healthcare at all. In high school, I was the type of student teachers often gave up on. I skipped class regularly to work. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and felt like the only way to stay afloat was to keep my head down and survive each day. I had no college plans. The only reason I graduated was because my mom promised I could get my nose pierced if I walked across the stage. I took the deal and crossed that stage, but I still had no direction. That changed shortly after graduation. My best friend got pregnant and was kicked out of her house. She came to live with us, and I ended up in the delivery room with her, helping her through labor and witnessing the birth of my niece. That moment lit a spark in me that I didn’t expect. I saw how powerful, present, and calm the nurses were. I saw how they made her feel safe and cared for. And I left that hospital wondering if maybe I could do something like that too. I started researching how to become a midwife and realized that nursing was the first step. A few weeks later, I mentioned the idea of nursing school at a party. A girl I had just met overheard me. She was a tech in the float pool at a local hospital and told me, “You don’t want to be a nurse. It’s the worst job in the world. I’ll get you hired so you can see for yourself.” That night, I applied for a hospital job on my phone. A few weeks later, I was hired as a PCA in the float pool at a level-one trauma center. That job changed everything. I floated to every kind of unit—ICU, oncology, med-surg—but it was the emergency department where I found my place. I loved the pace, the intensity, and the teamwork. I became an emergency department nurse at 25 and have spent the last seven years working in emergency care across New York State. But the more time I spent in emergency rooms, the more I saw a pattern that deeply bothered me. Psychiatric patients were often treated as less important. They were left waiting for hours or even days, sometimes restrained, often misunderstood, and frequently discharged without a real plan. Their medications were missed. Their basic needs were overlooked. And worst of all, many of them came back again and again, trapped in a cycle without support. It made me realize that I didn’t just want to work in healthcare—I wanted to change it. At the same time, I was dealing with my own mental health struggles. During my freshman year of nursing school, I was in an emotionally abusive relationship. My partner tried to convince me to leave school because there were men in my classes. He worked hard to isolate me, control me, and break down my confidence. I left him that year, and it was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made. But walking away gave me my future back. Years later, after becoming a nurse and a mother, I went through postpartum depression. I had always been a high-functioning person, the kind who showed up to work and kept it together on the outside. But inside, I felt completely numb and disconnected. I struggled quietly for a long time before finally asking for help. Therapy helped me find my footing again, and it made me realize just how many people around me were going through the same thing in silence. All of this led me to where I am now. I’m currently pursuing my Master of Science in Nursing to become a Psychiatric-Mental Health Nurse Practitioner. My goal is to return to the emergency department, but not just as a nurse. I want to come back as a provider who is trained specifically in mental health. I want to be the person who sits with patients in crisis and helps create real solutions—not just temporary fixes. I want to work in underserved communities where psychiatric care is hard to access or not offered at all. I want to support people through the kinds of experiences I’ve lived myself. I want to treat mental health the same way we treat trauma, heart attacks, and strokes—with urgency, dignity, and follow-up. At home, I’m a wife and a mother of two young children. My husband stays home with our kids so I can work full time and pursue my degree. That makes me the sole income earner in our home, and the financial pressure of graduate school is something I feel every day. Receiving this scholarship would help ease that burden. It would allow me to stay on track with my education, reduce the number of hours I need to work, and make sure I don’t have to choose between being present for my family and finishing my degree. This scholarship would not only support me as a student, but also the community I plan to serve. I’ve seen the system fail people in pain, and I want to be part of building something better. I’ve been the nurse stuck trying to comfort a patient who needs more than the system is designed to give. I’ve also been the patient who needed someone to believe her. Graduating with this degree means I’ll be able to step into a role where I can make change from the inside. It means I can create space for patients who are used to being rushed, judged, or ignored. And it means I can show up fully—not just as a nurse, but as someone who truly understands how much courage it takes to ask for help. My future is rooted in service, in healing, and in listening. This scholarship would bring me one step closer to all of that. Thank you.

I didn’t grow up planning to work in healthcare. In high school, I was more focused on making ends meet than on my future. I skipped class to work, had no plans to go to college, and only graduated because my mom promised I could get my nose pierced if I walked the stage. At the time, I thought that was enough. Everything changed when my best friend got pregnant and was kicked out of her home. She came to live with us, and I ended up in the delivery room when she gave birth to my niece. Being there, coaching her through labor, watching the nurses care for her with calm and confidence—that was the moment something clicked. I went home and started researching how to become a midwife, and that’s when I learned I’d need to start by becoming a nurse. I applied to work at a hospital on a whim after a conversation at a party, and I was hired as a PCA in the float pool at a level-one trauma center. That job changed everything. I floated to every unit—ICU, oncology, med-surg—but I found my home in the emergency department. I became an ED nurse at 25 and have spent the last seven years in emergency care across New York. But throughout those years, I saw one group of patients consistently fall through the cracks: psychiatric patients. I saw them restrained, ignored, and written off. I also experienced my own challenges with mental health, including postpartum depression and the long-term effects of surviving an abusive relationship. I left that relationship during my freshman year of nursing school, and it was one of the hardest and most important choices I’ve ever made. Those experiences are what led me to pursue my current degree. I’m now in graduate school to become a Psychiatric-Mental Health Nurse Practitioner. My goal is to return to the emergency department, not just as a nurse, but as a provider who sees patients in crisis with compassion, listens without judgment, and offers actual support instead of quick fixes. As a woman in healthcare, I carry a deep understanding of what it feels like to be dismissed, underestimated, and unheard. I also know how powerful it is to be truly seen. I hope to be a voice for patients who feel invisible and a reminder that strength doesn’t always look like silence or resilience. Sometimes it looks like asking for help, telling the truth, or choosing to start again. I want to use my degree to make sure no one feels like they have to fight for care they deserve. I’ve lived that fight, and I’m ready to be part of changing it.

he lyric that hit me the hardest from Olivia Rodrigo’s GUTS album is from “teenage dream”: “When am I gonna stop being wise beyond my years and just start being okay?” That line captures exactly how I felt growing up. I wasn’t a carefree teenager. I was working, skipping class, and just trying to survive in an environment that didn’t feel safe or supportive. From a young age, I had to figure things out for myself. People told me I was “mature for my age,” but they didn’t understand that it wasn’t a compliment—it was survival. I was carrying more than I should have. I didn’t have the space to be messy or to figure things out slowly. I was just trying to get through the day without falling behind. I felt like I had to grow up fast, and even when I did, it still wasn’t enough. I didn’t have time to figure out who I was. I had responsibilities, bills, and emotional weight that most of my classmates couldn’t relate to. That lyric hits the heart of it. There’s a difference between being mature and being okay. I had the wisdom and awareness that comes from navigating hard things early, but I didn’t have peace. I didn’t feel seen, and I definitely didn’t feel “okay.” I was just getting by, pretending I had it all under control while constantly wondering if it would all fall apart. My teenage years were filled with pressure to act older, do better, and be stronger than I actually felt. And now, as an adult, I look back and wish I had been given more room to just be a kid. To make mistakes without shame. To struggle without being told to “toughen up.” To cry without being seen as dramatic. That lyric speaks for so many of us who didn’t get that chance. What I’ve learned is that being wise beyond your years isn’t always something to celebrate. Sometimes it just means you went through things you shouldn’t have had to. That line from Olivia’s song reminded me that it’s okay to still be healing from what we missed. And it’s okay to want more than just survival. Now, as a mom and a future psychiatric nurse practitioner, I carry that awareness into how I raise my own kids and how I plan to show up for my patients. I want them to have space to grow at their own pace, without pressure to perform strength just to be taken seriously. I want to be the person who helps others not just be “wise beyond their years,” but also feel okay.

I wasn’t what you’d call a “good kid” in high school. I skipped class to work, got into trouble often, and had no interest in college. At one point, I almost dropped out entirely, but my mom bribed me with a nose piercing if I graduated. That tiny promise got me across the finish line. Everything changed a few months later when my best friend became pregnant and was kicked out of her house. She came to live with us, and I ended up in the delivery room coaching her through labor. Watching her give birth to my niece, Layla, sparked something in me. For the first time, I felt drawn to healthcare. I started researching midwifery and learned I needed to become a nurse first. Not long after that, I casually mentioned nursing at a party. A hospital tech overheard and told me, “You don’t want to be a nurse. It’s the worst job in the world. I’ll get you a job and you’ll see.” So at 3 a.m., half out of spite, I applied to work at the hospital. A few weeks later, I was hired as a PCA in the float pool of a level-one trauma center. That job changed my life. I floated to every kind of unit in the hospital—oncology, surgery, critical care—but it was the emergency department that hooked me. I found my place in the controlled chaos and quick decision-making. At 25, I became an emergency room nurse and fell in love with the work. But over time, I began to notice something that bothered me deeply: the way psychiatric patients were treated. In the ED, where heart attacks and trauma cases demand attention, mental health patients were often sidelined. They were misunderstood, over-medicated, and frequently restrained. I saw the same faces come back again and again, stuck in a system that failed to help them move forward. That’s when I knew I wanted to pursue a psychiatric nursing degree. My goal is to become a Psychiatric-Mental Health Nurse Practitioner and return to the emergency setting—not just to patch people up, but to offer real care and intervention to those in crisis. I want to be the provider who sees the whole person, not just the diagnosis. As a nurse, and especially as a future psychiatric provider, I hope to bring change to my community. I want to help break the cycle of crisis and readmission by offering support that’s rooted in compassion and understanding. I’ve spent the last seven years working in emergency care across New York State, and I’ve seen firsthand how many people fall through the cracks. I want to be the person who helps catch them. Nursing didn’t just give me a career. It gave me direction, purpose, and the chance to make a difference. I’m committed to using that purpose to serve my community and create a more compassionate, responsive system for those struggling with mental health.

I wasn’t what you’d call a “good kid” in high school. I got into trouble often, skipped class to work, and had zero plans to go to college. At one point, I even considered dropping out—but my mom bribed me with a nose piercing if I graduated. That tiny promise pushed me across the finish line. A few months later, my best friend became pregnant. When her mother kicked her out, she came to live with us. I was there in the delivery room, coaching her through labor as she brought my niece, Layla, into the world. That experience changed everything. For the first time, I felt genuinely drawn to healthcare. I started researching how to become a midwife and found out you had to become a registered nurse first. Around that same time, I was at a party talking about maybe going to nursing school. A drunk 20-something overheard me and said, “You don’t want to be a nurse. It’s the worst job in the world. I’m a tech at the hospital—I’ll get you a job and you’ll see.” Challenge accepted. At 3 a.m., I applied on my phone, and a few weeks later, I was hired as a PCA in the float pool of a level-one trauma center. That job was the best accidental decision of my life. I floated to every kind of unit in the 800-bed hospital. To my surprise, it wasn't Labor and Delivery, but the Emergency Department that called to me. I found my place among the organized chaos and the misfit adrenaline junkies who thrive in it. At 25, I became an ED RN. I loved nearly everything about the job, except how psychiatric patients were treated. With providers focused on heart attacks and trauma, patients in crisis were often ignored. Their home meds went overlooked, they were restrained more than they were supported, and the system failed them over and over. That’s when I made a 10-year plan: become a psychiatric provider, and return to the ER-not as an RN, but as the one responsible for helping patients in crisis with dignity and compassion. It’s been a long road. I’ve grown far from the rebellious teenager who stumbled into this path. I’m now a wife, a mother of two, and a BSN-prepared nurse with seven years of experience. I’ve worked in emergency departments across New York State and have helped to save countless lives. Today, I’m enrolled in a PMHNP program, set to graduate just one month before my 10-year anniversary of becoming a nurse. The journey wasn’t traditional, and it certainly wasn’t easy, but every step, even the missteps, brought me closer to my calling. Nursing isn't just my career, it is my calling and I am excited to take the next step. I found out about this scholarship through the Bold.org website.