All I could do was grab onto his two big toes and whisper, “Hold on, don’t go.” I remember it like it just happened. My grandfather in that hospital bed, frail, shaking, staring at the ceiling with fear in his eyes. Nurses and doctors rushed in, pressing on his chest, machines beeping, people screaming out instructions. I froze. What hurt the most wasn’t just losing him it was the way he was treated leading up to that moment. Something as small as asking for juice got an eye roll. A cough got a huff of breath, or people stepping back like he was a disease. He felt like he had to apologize just for being sick. That image is literally burned into me, and it’s the reason I chose healthcare. My background is simple but strong. I’m a young African-American woman from a small town in New York. I didn’t grow up rich, but I didn’t grow up poor either. I grew up in a household built on work ethic, raised by a widowed mother who still works hard to this day. Watching her keep going, no matter how tough life got, showed me what resilience looks like. That resilience is the same strength I lean on now, as I push through school and life to make a future for myself. My passions all tie back to health and wellness. It’s not just about medicine for me, it’s about the whole person. I’ve learned to take care of myself physically and mentally whether that’s through yoga, Pilates, or therapy, it keeps me grounded. They remind me that mental health is just as important as physical health. I also believe in listening to people, because so often patients are ignored when their pain isn’t visible. My grandfather’s experience showed me that, but so did my own. I once faced a health scare where I was denied care by multiple providers, even though I knew something wasn’t right. They didn’t take me seriously until I pushed for answers myself. That moment taught me how broken healthcare can feel for people, and it added to my drive to be the provider who never brushes off a patient’s voice. My aspirations are big. I’m working toward becoming a nurse practitioner. Not the kind of provider who just shows up for a paycheck, but the kind who shows up because patients need me. I want to be the one who listens to the details that don’t show up on a chart the subjective feelings that patients share but are too often dismissed. I want to represent a future in healthcare where empathy and listening aren’t treated as “extra,” but as the foundation of care. The experiences that shaped me are heavy, but they made me who I am today. Growing up in a predominantly white high school, I learned how it feels to stand out and to keep going anyway. During the covid pandemic at just 19 years old, I was traveling across the country from California, Washington, Pennsylvania, New York City, Boston etc working alongside people twice my age, risking my health to help others. That wasn’t easy, but I showed up because I believed in being part of the solution. I don’t just want to succeed. I want to serve, uplift, and leave a legacy that makes my grandfather proud. More than that, I want to make sure humanity is better because I chose to use my life for something meaningful. My story isn’t perfect, but it’s mine, and it’s what keeps me fighting to change what healthcare looks like for the future.

People love to repeat the old saying “health is wealth,” but most only focus on the wealth part and dismiss the health part, as if money alone can hold you together. I learned the truth the hard way because when you lose your health, nothing else matters. I went through a domestic violence situation that left me broken down in ways I never thought I’d experience. I went from being someone who felt like sunshine to feeling like a dark moon every single day. My physical health took the biggest hit. At one doctor’s visit I saw the number on the scale sixty pounds gained in such a short amount of time and I knew something was deeply wrong. At my age, that kind of change wasn’t normal. It was a wake up call that I had to put my health first. So I made a choice. I moved over 2,000 miles away from everything I knew to get out of that situation. I started talking to a professional online, and I committed to taking care of myself again. I took my weight loss seriously, not just for appearances, but for survival. I mixed gym workouts with prescribed medicine and herbal remedies. I started focusing on both my physical and mental wellness, because I realized if your mind isn’t right, then your body won’t follow either. That journey was the first time I really chose myself, and it saved me. Part of choosing myself meant paying close attention to my body. That’s how I caught a mole on the side of my toe that didn’t look right. For someone like me, who already struggles with health anxiety, I knew I couldn’t ignore it. I reached out for help, but I was denied again and again, four different providers told me I was too young or that it wasn’t serious. But I knew my body, and I refused to stay quiet. I paid out of pocket for a tele-dermatology appointment, and for the first time, someone validated me. The doctor said it was concerning and gave me a referral. When I finally got in to see a dermatologist, they agreed it needed to be checked right away and performed an immediate biopsy. That period of waiting was terrifying. I thought about every patient who sits in a room waiting for answers, not knowing if their world is about to collapse. By the grace of God, the biopsy came back negative and it was not melanoma. But that experience forever changed me. Both surviving DV and pushing through a health scare taught me that no one can take your health more seriously than you. It shaped how I see my future. I want to become a nurse practitioner not for the salary, but because I know what it feels like to be dismissed, to be told “you’re fine” when you know you’re not. Too many people are denied care every day because someone with the power to help doesn’t listen. That can’t continue. This scholarship matters because it helps me keep preparing for that future. I want to be the provider who doesn’t walk past patients. I want to be the one who says, “I hear you, I see you, and I’m going to help.” Because at the end of the day, health really is wealth and everyone deserves both.

I decided to go into healthcare after watching my grandfather pass away in front of me. This was a man I looked at as one of the strongest people I knew, a veteran, someone I respected. And to watch him get so weak and frail, and then on top of that, watch how the healthcare staff treated him, it changed me. They walked right by him, ignored his small needs, like asking for juice or coughing, like he wasn’t even a person anymore. That broke me. I thought I would’ve spoken up, but in that moment I froze. From then on, I promised myself I’d never let someone be treated like that again. To me, it doesn’t matter what someone’s background is, their race, their gender, or their age. People deserve to be cared for like humans. That’s the part healthcare is missing right now: empathy. You can’t teach empathy in a textbook. You either have it or you don’t. And I know I have it. I feel things deeply. I can sense when people are hurting. That’s why I know I belong in this field, because I’m not in it for a paycheck. I’m in it to actually help. Right now I’m enrolled in school, finishing my radiology program, and already getting ready for my BSN. I’m set to graduate next year and then push forward. Even though money is tight and I’m juggling everything on my own, I’ve still kept a 4.0 GPA. Of course it's not easy, but I am dedicated to my goal and I am not letting go! I feel it is my calling, humanity needs me. My career goal is to become a nurse practitioner, focused on gerontology (acute care). I want to be the provider that really listens. Too many times patients say something’s wrong and it gets brushed off. A provider will look at them and say they seem fine, but they don’t listen to what the patient is actually saying. That’s the difference between objective and subjective. I want to be the one who takes what people tell me seriously and catches things before it’s too late. I see it all the time young people being diagnosed with things like cancer at ages way earlier than you’d expect, and a lot of it could’ve been prevented if someone just paid attention and listened. That’s the type of provider I want to be. When people come to me, I want them to feel like they’re finally being heard, that they’re not being judged, that they’re not being pushed aside. If someone wants to be referred for a colonoscopy, how dare I to decline their request because they're 25 and not 55? Especially when the symptoms are present! Healthcare right now is in decline. I see it with my own eyes in clinicals. People are burnt out, patients are just numbers, and it feels like nobody cares anymore and that’s not how it should be. If I can make even a small change, one patient at a time, that matters. Helping people isn’t just what I want to do it’s who I am. That day with my grandfather lit something in me that hasn’t gone out. This scholarship would help me keep pushing through school, even when it gets hard, so I can become the provider I promised myself I’d be.

People often think of “environmental impact” as climate change, recycling, or going green. But the most neglected environment is the one we carry every single day, our HEALTH. And let me be clear: without our wellness, we are absolutely nothing. We can’t think, we can’t build, we can’t lead. Health isn’t a luxury. It’s the foundation of human life. And that’s the environment I’m here to protect. I’m currently finishing my degree in Diagnostic Radiology. That’s the eyes of medicine we are the ones who see what others can’t. No one can visually see the inside of their own body, but through imaging, we give people answers. We catch strokes, tumors, and trauma before they become irreversible. And I’m not stopping there. After this, I’m pursuing my BSN in Nursing. Because while radiology shows you what’s wrong, nursing holds your hand through it. It’s the backbone of the system. I want to be both: the one who sees the truth, and the one who stays beside you as you face it. This dual path isn’t about ambition it’s more about impact. One provider, trained in both fields, can change the outcomes for ten patients in a day. Maybe even more. And that may not sound like a revolution to some people, but to the families of those patients? That’s everything. This scholarship says it wants to support Black and Brown leaders by removing economic barriers. That’s powerful. Because as a Black woman walking into clinicals, classes, and hospitals, I’m often not seen for who I really am. Not a future nurse. Not a trained medical professional. Just another “student.” But people who look like me we deserve to be seen, and we deserve to lead. And here’s the truth: anyone can be trained to perform a skill. But you cannot train someone to care. That has to be embedded in you. That compassion, that empathy, that deep down sense of “this patient matters” it can’t be taught in a PowerPoint. And too often, I’ve seen that care missing. People ignored because of how they look. Dismissed because they don’t speak the same language or have the right insurance. It breaks me. But more importantly, it drives me. We live in a world full of negativity. The media, society, even some in the healthcare system teach us to hide our pain and put on a strong face. But let me tell you something: even the strongest person becomes vulnerable in a hospital bed. It doesn’t matter if you’re a CEO, a soldier, or a superstar. When you’re sick and scared, everything else fades. That’s when real leadership shows up not in power suits, but in scrubs, holding your hand. In the next five years, I plan to use both of my degrees to create safe, loving, and effective spaces for patients locally and globally. To educate, advocate, and speak up when I see something wrong. To remind healthcare workers that hospitality doesn’t just belong in hotels it belongs in hospitals. Because how you treat someone when they’re afraid matters. I’m also mentoring students, volunteering in cancer centers, and feeding the homeless because service grounds me. It reminds me that no matter what I achieve, my roots are in community. That’s what this is about. That’s why I fight so hard. That’s why I care. My presence in healthcare is a protest, a purpose, and a promise. I will change lives. I already am and I could not be more happy

I’m currently finishing my accelerated Radiation Therapy program while simultaneously finishing my prerequisites for nursing. Some days, I get sleep most days, I don’t. But when you’re determined, nothing matters except the end goal. I’m managing both programs while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. I’ve already been accepted into the top nursing school in Texas, UTHealth Houston. I’m on track to graduate and walk directly into the life I’ve worked so hard for no breaks, no shortcuts, no vacations. Just sacrifice.. But sacrifice has a cost. I’m not working right now. I don’t have financial help from family. I’m paying for school out of my savings, and that account is dropping fast. I’ve applied for every grant and aid option I qualify for but there’s still a gap. I don’t come from generational wealth. I don’t have a safety net. I have ambition, passion, and purpose, and I feel with god by my side that is just what I need to carry me by. My dream is to merge both radiation therapy and nursing so I can treat cancer patients from both the medical and emotional sides. I want to work at MD Anderson Cancer Center which is Texas’s top oncology institute and become the nurse that patients don’t have to fear. I want to be that face of compassion, especially for patients who look like me. This path became personal after I watched my grandfather, a decorated Army Command Sergeant Major, slowly fade while battling leukemia. Despite his service and legacy, the care he received didn’t match his dignity. I’ve seen with my own eyes how healthcare treats people differently when they’re sick, especially when they’re people of color. It is so shocking to watch people who went to school for years, embedded patient care and dignity within them still shadow behind their true colors and it's honestly disgusting. My grandfather wasn’t just a number, but he was treated like one. That made me realize that nursing isn’t just clinical, it’s human! During a travel CNA assignment on a psych unit in Washington State, I met a teenage African-American girl hospitalized after a suicide attempt. The staff treated her like a burden. They were short, dismissive, and cold. I did what they did not, I sat with her, I talked with her. I reminded her she mattered because she does! And after being discharged she told me, “I wish more people were like you.” That moment changed me and still does.. Nurses can’t afford to lack empathy. It does not cost to be kind. You can teach a person how to insert an IV, but you can’t teach them how to care. That has to be built in. Either you care or you don't and people who look like me do not have that voice of advocacy who genuinely care and see them. That’s why I take this so seriously. It is so hard and others do not see our side and never will unfortunately. This isn’t a trend. It’s not about a Stanley tumbler or a Bogg bag or aesthetic scrubs. I’m young but so determined, I see the social media jokes and trend that "nurses" encounter. The disrespect and lack of knowledge onto our field. But this field isn’t a joke. It’s someone’s mom, dad, child, or sibling laying in that hospital bed. Advocacy is the most powerful tool we have, and most patients don’t even know they’re allowed to speak up. I WANT to be their voice especially for those who look like me and feel invisible. The adversity I’ve faced isn’t just financial. It’s emotional. People don’t always understand what this means to me. They think I’m overworking or doing too much. They don’t get that for someone like me, this is the only option. It is my calling, my purpose, I have to succeed there’s no Plan B! I’ve been misunderstood, doubted, and overlooked. But I’ve kept going. Receiving this scholarship wouldn’t just ease my financial burden. It would help me carry on the legacy of Margaret A. Briller someone who looks like me, someone who poured her life into others and never asked for recognition just integrity. That’s what I want to do: serve, uplift, and leave a mark on nursing that’s rooted in compassion, strength, and integrity.

Cancer didn’t just affect my family, it shattered us. It didn’t knock on the door, it broke it down and stayed far too long. It stole the people who meant everything to me, piece by piece, breath by breath. My grandfather, the man who raised me like I was his own, died from leukemia. I watched him go from strong and proud to weak and unrecognizable. One day he was walking, the next he was whispering goodbyes between labored breaths. That was the first time I truly understood what helpless felt like. Then came my aunt. Her smile was the loudest in the room, but cancer silenced it. My great-grandmother passed too, and though I was young, I remember the mourning more than her face. And then, my father. Writing that still doesn’t feel real. He died fighting a battle his body couldn’t win, and I never got the chance to say goodbye properly. I remember the moment he coded. I was holding onto his feet, begging him to hold on. It was the only part of him I could reach. My heart was breaking in real time, and all I could do was whisper things I don’t even remember saying. The thought of that moment still makes my chest tighten and my heart flutter. I can’t even speak the full story out loud without choking up. That memory plays in my head more than I ever admit, and I carry it with me every single day. But somewhere inside that pain, I found something else my purpose. I chose to become a radiation therapist not just because I want to work in healthcare, but because I have to. It’s personal. I’ve been the one crying in cold hospital rooms. I’ve sat in silence while machines beeped and doctors spoke in coded language we were too scared to translate. I know what it’s like to wish someone would look up and just acknowledge how scared we were. That’s why I wear my badge with pride. I’m currently studying in a Radiologic Technology program, and I plan to specialize in Radiation Therapy. For me, this is more than a degree. It’s a promise. I want to be the person who doesn’t look away. I want to be the one who notices when the patient is holding back tears, when the family feels like they’re in the dark, when the weight of it all becomes too much. I don’t want to just treat illness, I want to hold space for every emotion that comes with it. I want to honor my patients the way I wish mine had been honored. I know I can’t bring my family back. But I can make sure that someone else’s father, grandfather, or aunt is treated with the care and dignity they deserve. I can be the hand to hold when the world gets heavy. I can be the voice that says, I see you, I’m here, and you’re not alone. This scholarship would mean the world to me. I am paying for school on my own while working and managing clinicals. I don’t have a financial safety net. I have determination, but that doesn’t pay tuition. Every dollar helps me stay in school and stay focused on the mission I’ve chosen. A mission born out of loss, but carried forward in love. Cancer took so much from me, but it also gave me something I can’t ignore—a calling. And I plan to answer it every single day, for the rest of my life.

I chose to pursue a degree in healthcare because I’ve seen firsthand how powerful it can be to have someone truly care for you when you’re at your most vulnerable. My grandfather, who meant the world to me, passed away from leukemia. Watching him go through cancer treatment changed me forever. I saw how critical imaging and radiation therapy were to his care, but more importantly, I saw how much it meant to have healthcare workers around him who treated him with dignity, not just as a diagnosis. That experience lit a fire in me. I knew I wanted to be part of that world—not just to help treat patients, but to be a source of comfort and support when people need it most. Radiology became the perfect fit. It’s a field that blends advanced technology with human connection. Behind every scan is a person hoping for answers, for peace of mind, for a chance at healing. I want to be the kind of professional who delivers those answers with compassion, accuracy, and empathy. I’m currently enrolled in a Radiologic Technology program and plan to specialize in CT and Radiation Therapy. This is more than a job path for me—it’s a mission rooted in personal experience and a deep desire to help others feel seen and supported. As a woman in healthcare, I understand the power of representation and presence. We are often the emotional anchors in a medical setting, the ones who bridge the gap between clinical treatment and human connection. But I also recognize the challenges that come with being a woman in a demanding and technical field. I’m committed to breaking stereotypes, standing strong in my knowledge and skills, and showing that women can lead with both intellect and heart. I also believe in reaching back as I rise. I want to mentor other young women, especially Black women like myself, who may not always see themselves reflected in the healthcare space. Representation matters. It empowers the next generation to dream bigger, push harder, and know that they belong. I plan to use my future success as a platform to encourage more women to enter radiology and other specialized healthcare fields. In a world where patients are often treated like numbers, I want to be the reminder that care can still be personal. I want to be the calm voice in a stressful room, the steady hands guiding a critical scan, and the quiet strength that patients feel even when they’re afraid. I hope to make my mark not just through the images I take, but through the lives I touch. Choosing healthcare wasn’t just a decision—it was a calling. And as a woman in this field, I plan to lead with empathy, excellence, and unshakable purpose.

Growing up, I always felt like I had to fight twice as hard to be seen. I didn’t come from a perfect situation, and I learned early that the world doesn’t hand out opportunities—you create them. That’s what makes me different. I move with intention. I carry myself with integrity even when no one’s watching because I know someone always is, even if I never find out who. I’ve never had the loudest voice in the room, but I’ve always led by example. Whether it’s staying after class to help a struggling student, volunteering with kids, or balancing school while working full-time, I believe showing up consistently with kindness and authenticity leaves a bigger impact than any speech. That’s how I’ve always operated, not for applause, but because it’s who I am. There was a moment that changed everything for me. I was volunteering at a local youth center, helping kids with homework and activities. One little girl followed me around every day, barely saying a word. Months later, her mom came in and told me, “She talks about you like you’re a superhero. She wants to be like you when she grows up.” I didn’t even know she was watching me like that. That moment taught me something huge—your presence, your energy, your effort, it all speaks louder than words when you think no one’s paying attention. I leverage my uniqueness by staying real. I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m just trying to be consistent, kind, and intentional in a world that doesn’t always value that. In my field, especially in healthcare, that matters. Patients feel energy. Kids feel it. Strangers feel it. And you never know who’s watching you try, and deciding not to give up because you didn’t. I hope that every time I show up, I plant a seed in someone who’s watching from the sidelines. I want someone to look at me and think, “If she can do it, so can I.” Not because I had it easy, but because I didn’t, and I still made it work. I’m here to be an example of what resilience looks like. What grace looks like. What it means to be quietly powerful in a world full of noise. Being different isn’t just about standing out. It’s about standing firm in who you are, even when nobody sees the effort. Because someone always does. And that impact, even if it’s silent, is what I’m here to leave behind.

One of my greatest achievements to date was being accepted into my college’s Radiologic Technology program. For some, it may seem like just another academic milestone but for me, it meant everything. I didn’t have a perfect background or an easy path. I’ve worked full-time, dealt with family pressure, and still managed to chase my dreams with tunnel vision. Getting into this program wasn’t just about meeting requirements, it was about proving to myself that I’m capable of rising above circumstances designed to break me. That achievement represents more than academic success, it reflects my work ethic, my discipline, and my mindset. I had to make sacrifices that most people never see. I studied during breaks at work. I missed out on events and sleep. I pushed through days when I felt completely burned out. And yet, I never stopped. That perseverance taught me that my strength doesn’t come from things going smoothly, it comes from how I show up when things are hard. Most importantly, this achievement carries emotional weight. My drive to pursue radiology and ultimately specialize in CT and radiation therapy comes from a personal place. I lost my grandfather, my number one supporter, to leukemia. Watching him go through that process changed me. It hurt, deeply. But it also opened my heart and mind to a new calling. I saw firsthand how crucial imaging and cancer treatment were in his journey. I also saw how deeply patients need empathy, not just care. Since that day, I’ve been committed to becoming someone who can bring both clinical excellence and compassion. I want to be the person who brings comfort to a patient during a terrifying scan. I want to be a steady hand and a kind presence for someone who feels like their world is collapsing. To me, working in this field isn’t just a career it’s a responsibility and a privilege. Volunteering and community work have also shaped my path. I’ve spent time mentoring and working with children, helping guide and encourage them to dream bigger. That work helped me realize the importance of showing up for people in their most vulnerable moments. Whether it’s a child struggling with confidence or an adult facing cancer, my mission is the same: to serve with honor, integrity, and heart. This journey has also taught me to stop minimizing my wins. For a long time, I was so used to survival mode that I forgot to celebrate how far I’ve come. But I’ve learned that every step counts. Every late night, every moment I chose to stay focused instead of giving up that’s all part of my story. And I’m proud of it. In the future, I plan to become board-certified in CT and go on to complete a Radiation Therapy program. I want to build a career in oncology imaging, eventually working in hospital cancer centers where I can make a meaningful impact on patients and their families. I hope to take what I’ve lived through and turn it into something bigger than myself—something that brings light and strength to others. Long-term, I also want to advocate for more inclusive, empathetic care in the medical field especially for Black and Brown communities that are often overlooked or mistreated. I want to use my voice and my experience to make sure patients feel seen, respected, and cared for beyond the diagnosis. Looking back, my greatest achievement wasn’t just being accepted into the program it was finding my purpose through pain, and choosing to turn that pain into passion. I’ve grown into someone who knows her worth, leads with love, and refuses to let setbacks define her. And I’m only getting started.