When I enlisted in the United States Army in 2008, I thought I was joining to tell stories. I became a Public Affairs Specialist, a military journalist responsible for documenting missions, supporting commanders, and communicating with soldiers, families, and the public. By the time I left the Army in 2016, I had held leadership positions, advised senior leaders, managed communication operations, and witnessed more of human struggle than I ever expected. The Army taught me discipline and resilience, while recognizing that every statistic, every mission, and every crisis is ultimately about people. What stayed with me most were the people behind the headlines. I watched soldiers carry grief they could not name; families navigate deployments, loss, uncertainty, and trauma; and strong people struggle in silence because they did not know how to ask for help. At the time, I did not fully understand what I was seeing. I kept asking the same question: Why do some people survive hardship and grow from it while others become trapped by it? Today, I have completed my undergraduate studies in psychology, have been adopted into a lab focusing on incarcerated women trauma resilience with the University of Arkansas and am preparing to begin a master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. My long-term goal is to become a licensed counselor and researcher focused on trauma, resilience, and recovery. Military service shaped these goals in ways I did not recognize until years later. The Army taught me that resilience grows through relationships, communication, purpose, and community. Those lessons continue to guide the work I hope to do professionally. Growth rarely happens all at once. It happens one class, one semester, and one difficult day at a time. Giving back to my community has always been part of that process. I currently co-own a martial arts school with my husband, where we teach self-defense, confidence, and personal safety. I also remain active in my community through service, mentorship, and education. Alongside my husband, a disabled veteran, we help provide free self-defense seminars for women and other higher-risk populations. Some participants arrive carrying experiences of violence, fear, or trauma. Watching them learn to trust themselves again—sometimes for the first time—is one of the most meaningful forms of service I have found since leaving the Army. Beyond martial arts, I have spent years investing in people who are navigating some of life’s most difficult moments. I have volunteered as a mentor for surviving military children through TAPS grief camps, worked with families carrying the weight of loss, supported community outreach efforts for individuals experiencing homelessness, and helped connect veterans with resources and support. Again and again, I have witnessed the same thing: healing rarely begins with having all the answers. It begins when someone feels seen, heard, and valued. Those experiences reinforced what I first learned in uniform. People are remarkably resilient when they have support, connection, and someone who believes in them. I am reminded that small acts of service can change the course of a person’s life. Service does not end when the uniform comes off; it finds a new mission. Today, my service looks like education, mentorship, advocacy, and preparing for a career dedicated to helping others heal. I am grateful for the opportunities I have been given, and I hope to spend the rest of my life creating those opportunities for someone else. Like many veterans, my path has not been without challenges. Transitioning from military service into higher education required balancing school, raising children, disability-related limitations, and the uncertainty that often accompanies life after service.

My work with women’s empowerment grew out of an observation I could not ignore. After years of training soldiers, teaching Army Combatives, and coaching civilians in self-defense and combat sports, I noticed that many women struggled with challenges that had little to do with physical skill. They learned techniques quickly. They were intelligent, capable, and often highly motivated. Yet when realistic pressure was introduced, many became quiet, froze, or lost access to skills they had performed successfully moments before. I kept seeing the same pattern. Women frequently told me they were afraid of appearing rude, aggressive, dramatic, or confrontational. Some struggled to say “no” with conviction. Others apologized while establishing boundaries. Many could execute a physical technique but had difficulty using their voice. The more I observed, the more I realized that self-defense often began as a communication problem. In many cases, the inability to communicate under stress appeared long before any physical confrontation occurred. As a result, I began redesigning portions of my curriculum. Rather than focusing exclusively on strikes, escapes, and physical responses, I incorporated boundary setting, verbal de-escalation, command presence, and stress-based communication exercises. Students practiced recognizing danger cues, using assertive language, and understanding when communication could prevent violence altogether. We explored the difference between aggression and assertiveness and examined how fear, trauma, and social conditioning influence both. What emerged was a broader understanding of self-defense—one that viewed personal safety as a combination of communication, confidence, situational awareness, and physical capability. That philosophy extended into my work with the University of Arkansas Taekwondo Club. As a coach and mentor, I helped prepare athletes for regional competition while encouraging them to trust their abilities under pressure. In Spring 2026, my all-female team competed and earned the University of Arkansas’s only gold medal at the Midwest Collegiate Taekwondo Conference Regional Championship in Division C Poomsae. While I am proud of the result, I am more proud of the growth that preceded it. Watching women step onto the mat with confidence, perform in front of judges, and succeed at a level they once doubted reinforced my belief that empowerment is built through practice, resilience, and self-trust. Those experiences ultimately shaped my academic interests in psychology and counseling. I became increasingly interested in the relationship between trauma, communication, and resilience. I want to better understand why some individuals lose access to their voice during moments of stress and how that ability can be rebuilt. My goal is to continue developing approaches that help women strengthen not only their capacity to protect themselves physically, but also their ability to communicate boundaries, advocate for their needs, and navigate difficult situations with confidence. The most meaningful changes I witnessed were not women learning to fight. They were women learning to speak, establish boundaries, and trust themselves when it mattered most.

Recovery means a light heart, a warm home, a present mother, and a loving wife. It means breaking chains of brokenness I never asked for and choosing a brighter future anyway. Recovery is knowing that the pull of addiction was never worth the peace it stole from my home. Recovery is using painful stories to build a future that does not have to carry the same burdens. Recovery is speaking truths that may shatter hearts in the moment but ultimately heal relationships and rebuild trust. Recovery is allowing myself to feel the pain that alcohol once smothered and hid. It is learning that healing does not come from escaping difficult emotions but from facing them. Recovery means my daughter feels safe sharing her truth. Recovery means my son has a mother who shows up. Recovery means being present for the people I love and becoming the person they can depend on. Recovery means hope. Recovery means a future. Recovery means resilience. Recovery means family. Recovery means love. Recovery means faith. Above all, recovery means freedom—the freedom to live honestly, love deeply, and create a life that addiction could never give me.

Throughout my life, I have been drawn to understanding how people survive adversity, recover from trauma, and rebuild a sense of safety and purpose. As a military veteran, first-generation college graduate, martial arts instructor, and mother, I have seen how stress, violence, loss, and hardship shape the way people view themselves and interact with the world. One of the most influential experiences in my life has been teaching women self-defense and combat sports. Many women arrive believing they are weak, incapable, or permanently defined by what has happened to them. Some have survived interpersonal violence, abuse, or other traumatic experiences. Over time, I began to notice that trauma affects communication, confidence, decision-making, and even the way people move through space. As an instructor, I watched women gradually change. They learned to establish boundaries, trust themselves, and respond to challenges with greater confidence. What stood out to me was that healing often occurred through experiences that were not exclusively verbal. Physical movement, supportive relationships, structured practice, and successful mastery experiences all seemed to contribute to resilience and recovery. These observations shaped my academic interests in psychology and counseling. During my undergraduate studies, I became particularly interested in resilience, adverse childhood experiences, interpersonal violence, and the protective factors that help individuals adapt following trauma. My research interests focus on understanding how communication, relationships, and embodied experiences influence recovery. I believe that effective mental health care must recognize that trauma affects both the mind and body. My long-term goal is to serve marginalized communities, particularly survivors of violence and individuals whose experiences may not fit traditional models of treatment. I hope to become a licensed mental health professional while contributing to research that expands our understanding of resilience. I am especially interested in developing therapeutic interventions that integrate movement, play, skill development, and traditional counseling approaches. I believe these methods may be particularly valuable for individuals who struggle to express their experiences through words alone. Marginalized communities often face barriers to mental health care, including financial limitations, cultural stigma, lack of representation, and limited access to trauma-informed services. I want my career to focus on reducing those barriers while helping individuals recognize their own strengths and capacity for growth. I am interested in identifying the factors that help people heal, adapt, and thrive. My experiences have strengthened my belief that recovery is possible and that resilience can be cultivated. They have inspired both my activism and my career aspirations. Through counseling, research, and community engagement, I hope to create opportunities for survivors and underserved populations to reclaim their sense of agency, develop meaningful connections, and build lives defined by growth and possibility.

Being a first-generation college student meant repairing broken ideas I had inherited about education, worth, help, and belonging. It meant learning that college was a place where I had to rebuild my understanding of the world and my place in it. My mother was an Indigenous woman, a veteran, and one of the hardest working people I have ever known. She was separated from parts of her culture, but she taught me stability through labor, endurance, and doing what needed to be done. She showed me that working with your hands could build a life. What I had to learn later was that working with your mind, your voice, and your support system does the same. I did not grow up knowing how to navigate college. I did not know what office to call, what resources to ask for, or how to admit when I needed help. As the child of a single mom and migrant-worker turned veteran, and later as a veteran and mother myself, I was used to functioning, adapting, and carrying responsibility. University taught me something different. It taught me how to ask. It taught me how to receive guidance without shame. It taught me that support is not weakness; it is part of how people survive, learn, and grow. Through my education in psychology, I found language for experiences I had carried for years. I found peace. I found healing. I also found a clearer purpose. My studies helped me understand how communication, trauma, resilience, and access to support shape a person’s life. That understanding moved beyond the classroom. I used it in leadership, mentorship, and community service. I helped lead student organizations, supported outreach and engagement, and trained women in free self-defense seminars built around communication, confrontation, awareness, and confidence. That work showed me that education becomes most powerful when it is shared. My dream is to continue building a life of service through psychology, education, and community support. I want to help people who are learning how to survive difficult histories, ask for help, and trust their own ability to grow. I want my children to see that education is not reserved for people who had a perfect path. It belongs to those willing to keep reaching. This scholarship would help me continue that journey with less financial strain and more room to focus on the work ahead. It would support a student who has learned, slowly and honestly, that asking for help can be an act of strength. Being first-generation means I am changing what education means, for my family after me.

I turned 21 in a combat zone. After surviving 15 months of daily operations and incoming fire, my comrades and I felt invincible. But war doesn’t stay in the desert—it lingers in dreams, saturates thought, and echoes in silence. When Sergeant Shiver, the life of our unit, took his own life, it shattered the illusion. I’ve seen this pattern repeat—veterans carrying invisible wounds, silenced by pride or shame, numbing pain with alcohol or avoidance. My husband, a fellow veteran, battled his symptoms for years before seeking help. His struggle, and my own, inspired me to study trauma deeply. I discovered that martial arts—particularly jiu-jitsu and traditional Taekwondo—can create powerful pathways to healing. After intense training, even the most guarded individuals open up. What begins as physical struggle becomes emotional release. As a combat veteran and instructor, I’ve encountered resistance when bringing trauma-informed practices to elite combat sports spaces. But I believe that understanding, not just toughness, must be taught. At the University of Arkansas, I now serve as Membership Chair of the Taekwondo Club, where I’ve proposed outreach programs to offer self-defense training to at-risk youth. My contribution to affordable mental health is by constantly developing a hybrid program that uses martial arts to teach communication, regulation, and controlled conflict. By combining physical discipline with emotional literacy, we can create accessible, community-based interventions for those who need help but won’t ask for it. Healing, like combat, requires structure, courage, and space.

I turned 21-years-old in a combat zone. My comrades and I felt invincible after making it through 15 months of “incoming” from static speakers and 15 hour operations. I quickly learned that war doesn’t stay in the sands of the desert, but resonates in dreams, saturates thought and animates whispers. Sergeant Shiver was a spirited companion and a heavy drinker in Iraq. Ever the life of the party, we were not prepared to hear that Shiver had taken his own. This is the truth for many of my friends, and something that I spent exhaustive time studying, following the war. The inability to speak or process trauma is a burden to many, not just veterans. Alcohol and toxic coping habits are often hidden until self-destruction. I watched my husband, a survivor of the initial logistical efforts in Iraq following September 11, manage his symptoms for almost a century before being convinced to seek help. As a combat veteran, he felt he could not share his experience. The indicators as to the private struggles these experiences leave has never been lost on me. Facing my own demons in mock battles, I found that there is a calm in martial arts for the hopeless and the angry. Some of the most closed off veterans open up after a particularly heavy, aggressive training session. The shame that comes with unbridled rage and broken relationships often break open between men embracing the “struggle cuddle” as those in the jiu-jitsu call it. Having traveled an alternate path in the world of combat sports, I was privileged to train under traditional Taekwondo Grand Masters and Jiu-Jitsu instructors as well as Combatives, the Army combat training system. Often, I have felt hostility and friction as I’ve introduced the concept of understanding and empathy when confronting high tier combat sports athlete coaches regarding trauma informed practice for high risk populations. My current passion project is working as the Membership Chair officer within the University of Arkansas Taekwondo club. While the University of Arkansas Cardinals’ primary goal is to increase attendance, this year I proposed extending our reach into the local community, to offer self-defense courses to children. I aim to bridge the worlds of combat and healing. I believe the right program can rehabilitate the ability to confront force and violence for the meek and the mighty. I currently organize my curriculum to reflect the needs overlooked by many combat sports gyms. It is my desire to develop a program that combines martial arts with trauma-informed mental health support, focusing on communication, emotional regulation, distance management and de-escalation of force. By creating a space where individuals can reconnect with their strength while learning to process their pain, I hope to help others rediscover their sense of control, purpose, and peace.

My experience with mental health began before I understood what it was and how my compounded traumas had me devolving in every aspect of my life. In my nine years in the military, I struggled to recover from one trauma before being hit with another. My misguided trust and lack of experience regarding alcohol led to multiple rapes during a party at one of the military barracks shortly before my first deployment. Then, following my return from a 15-month deployment to Iraq, I had another Soldier invade my home and had to fight him off of me while pregnant with my second son. The next month, I had to take emergency leave to say goodbye to my mother as she passed from a hereditary neurological disorder. Being a single mother during these hardest moments, I had no choice but to shoulder my burdens and continue. It did not help that the military mentality revolved around resiliency and the constant push to do more. The mantra "I will always place the mission first" was the first line in the warrior ethos and resonated in Army regulations, structure and lifestyle. It wasn't until I came to my breaking point after yet another incident of a man violating my space in a bar in Korea that I realized that I was not okay. The lack of judicial punishment of my perpetrators continued to be centered around military bureaucracy and I could not stand it anymore. The influence of my traumas had led to seclusion, alcoholism, and irrational angry outbursts with my family. I fought with my superiors to finally put my behavioral health first. I was honest with my psychologists and psychiatrists for the first time about how bad things were, terrified of the consequences. For the first time, I pursued separation from the military, knowing that I needed time, energy and focus on rehabilitation to confront the varying types of things that I had been through and would not get that support on active duty. After my medical retirement, I dove into reading material on psychological behaviors, meditation practices, yoga, martial arts and holistic therapy to truly address the issues that had been plaguing my personal life while I excelled in my military duties. It took many years before I truly saw growth in my life. My former beliefs were that those struggling with mental health were weak. I had looked at my diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Major Depression Disorder as a sign that I could not cut it as a Soldier. Now, I look at mental health as a constant evolution in understanding the self and rehabilitating spiritual and mental needs that were long neglected. My relationships are now richer as a result. I have found that with my new mentality, it is much easier to empathize with others as they navigate reforming their understanding of themselves. It has been key in my testimony to others as to why my chosen field is essential for those who are struggling in that capacity. I am currently pursuing my Psychology Bachelor Degree to build my knowledge to reflect on the latest psychological research. I have also been privileged to learn from world-champion martial artists, bushmen and yogis. Their holistic techniques helped me to battle the irrational outbursts and unbalanced behaviors that I would use to stifle my pain. In the future, I look forward to continuing to share these practices and my education as part of my martial arts training curriculum for rehabilitative services for trauma survivors.

My journey of commitment to community service and pursuit of excellence took a profound and emotional turn, shaped by the volunteering and work experiences I encountered during my military service. Amid my military tenure, I manifested a spirit of excellence in my role as a public affairs specialist, garnering recognition with a combat promotion while deployed in Iraq. Amidst the challenges of deployment, I devoted five hours each week to organizing karaoke nights and providing salsa dance instruction before our weekly salsa gatherings—a heartfelt effort to uplift the morale and welfare of my fellow service members. In the aftermath of my deployment, where I grappled with profound loss, I channeled my experiences into mentoring youth as a Grief Counselor for the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors. The emotional weight of those moments fueled my dedication to making a difference in the lives of others. For my ongoing and diverse volunteer efforts across multiple installations, I was honored with the Meritorious Outstanding Volunteer Service Medal. These experiences are not just professional achievements; they are emotional milestones that have shaped my commitment to excellence and service in profound ways. I believe that true excellence resonates when you give back to your community. Situated more than an hour away from urban centers, our rural community lacks access to government programs that our counterparts would have the benefit of. I began assisting a food pantry at a small church dedicated to providing sustenance to over a hundred local families approximately a year after moving to our quaint town. Each Thursday morning, a truck laden with donated food arrives, necessitating the elderly members of the church to unload, categorize, and stack pallets in preparation for distribution the following day. During school holidays, as well as summer and spring breaks, I find fulfillment in dedicating substantial hours alongside fellow church members to unload and organize cans, stacked boxes, and frozen foods. This collaborative effort plays a crucial role in supporting our community, which finds itself amid a food desert, situated more than a half-hour's drive to any grocer. I also find great joy in contributing to the local library, a modest trailer that serves as a collection point for food donations at its entrance. Upon conversing with the librarian, I discovered that the library had discontinued weekend operations due to a shortage of volunteers. Following a few weeks of training on weekdays, I experienced immense satisfaction when entrusted with the library key. This responsibility enabled me to extend access to the community beyond the constraints of weekdays. The standard closing hours from Monday to Wednesday were before 2:00 p.m. and Thursday and Friday closures at 5:00 or 6:00 p.m. These hours posed challenges for locals commuting to the nearest city for work, depriving them of a vital educational and recreational resource. By opening the library on weekends, I facilitated access to books, movies, and internet services, as well as printing and fax capabilities. Excellence, to me, transcends beyond a mere goal; it's a profound state of mind. Our family has embraced a motto drawn from our experiences in mixed martial arts: "The way you do anything is the way you do everything." This philosophy has become the guiding light in my volunteering endeavors, intricately woven into the fabric of my commitment while juggling full-time college enrollment and overseeing a household of eight. It's not just a principle; it's a visceral, emotional commitment that fuels my every action.

As the daughter of two United States Army veterans, I had a sense of discipline instilled in my life early. While it was only in my early childhood years that I experienced the active duty life, observing my parents' work ethic provided me with a living example of responsibility. My father, a retired Sergeant First Class, and my mother, a former Sergeant, were examples of hard work and dedication in both of their pursued careers. Unfortunately, my parents separated by the time I was five and my mother proved to be a cornerstone in my life as a result. Her sense of work ethic became a guiding principle. I will always remember the great care and hard work she put into our home. We would spend hours trying to manage the acre of property ourselves. Having an overwhelming rattlesnake population in the urban area, we would spend days during the summer clearing the hedges bordering our property. In one summer we built the screened-in porch and steps to the entrance of our home. My mother worked ceaselessly on overnight shifts to ensure that I had access to whatever I needed, primarily emphasizing good grades and continuing my education. My mother's commitment to my education remained unwavering. Recognizing her struggle to keep up with my schoolwork resulted from a childhood as a migrant worker, I came to understand that she had invested her limited resources as a single mother to ensure I had the opportunity to learn. One notable instance was her decision to purchase a set of Encyclopedia Britannica books from a traveling salesman—a valuable resource in the absence of widespread computer use. This investment opened a world of possibilities and understanding, allowing me to explore diverse knowledge between library visits. She later acquired an internet connection, computer, and printer as technology advanced to facilitate my research paper submissions in high school. Tragically, she passed away while I was at the young age of 22, a consequence, in part, of her strenuous work history. Her sacrifices afforded me the chance to pursue an education that she never had. I believe that if she had enjoyed the privilege of education, she might still be with us today. The loss of my mother to life's hardships propels my determination to become a first-generation college graduate. Her resilience without formal education serves as a testament to the importance of pursuing knowledge. Having my mother's influence led me to a life of service myself. I joined the Army at the age of 19 and medically retired before the age of 30. While my dedication and perseverance fast-tracked my military career to the point that I retired as a Staff Sergeant, my time in service also left me with physical and mental barriers. I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Major Depression Disorder along with various other body limitations following a 15-month tour to Iraq. It has been a combination of these influences of my mother and my own time in service that has shaped my career aspirations. Following my medical retirement, I delved into alternative healing methods while pursuing formal education in Exercise Science. My career aspirations now revolve around utilizing my experiences with martial arts, yoga, and bushcraft, coupled with a Bachelor's Degree in Exercise Science, to offer rehabilitation opportunities for trauma survivors. I envision a holistic approach, integrating mindfulness practices with self-defense teachings under simulated stress, to reshape the minds of survivors. Having witnessed and experienced recovery on a significant scale, I am committed to extending these transformative practices to others in need.

In the face of an impending supernatural threat, my approach to forming a formidable squad draws inspiration from the world of Dungeons and Dragons, strategically categorizing each member based on their roles. This method allows me to address potential weaknesses in the mind, body, and spirit, ensuring a comprehensive and effective response. My initial choice for the squad is Dustin, the mind and artificer extraordinaire. With his quick wit, technological prowess, and adept communication skills, Dustin brings a valuable set of attributes to the team. This is particularly crucial when confronted with a monstrous adversary capable of rapid movement, as witnessed in previous Stranger Things encounters. Furthermore, Dustin's familiarity with Dungeons and Dragons adds a layer of unique analytical capability, offering a strategic edge in understanding and combating supernatural creatures. Eddie Munson, the bard and Dungeon Master, becomes my second selection, embodying the spirit of the group. Eddie's role as a bard enables him to inspire his companions during conflicts, boosting morale and serving as a rallying force in the heat of battle. His proven bravery, demonstrated in the harrowing moments within the Upside Down, solidifies his position as a vital morale booster. Additionally, Eddie's knowledge of monsters and world-building enhances the squad's analytical prowess, aiding in the identification of weaknesses within the supernatural entities they may encounter. The third and final member of the squad is Eleven, the sorcerer, designated as the body of the group. Responsible for inflicting damage, Eleven's unique combination of psychic and physical capabilities ensures a well-rounded offensive strategy. This dynamic skill set not only contributes to the protection of the team but also serves as a potent force for offensive maneuvers. With Eleven's powers in play, the squad is equipped to handle a diverse range of threats, making her an indispensable asset. In the realm of monster confrontation, a well-rounded team is paramount. The chosen trio—Dustin, Eddie Munson, and Eleven—offers a tactical advantage through their collective insights into monsters and diverse field advantages. Their combined strengths create a synergy that addresses potential vulnerabilities and ensures a comprehensive strategy for tackling any supernatural menace that may arise. As a cohesive unit, they stand poised to confront and triumph over the challenges that the unknown may present.

Being a teenager in the late 90s afforded me a unique vantage point to witness the burgeoning anime community. Selecting a single anime that has graced my screen repeatedly proved to be a challenging task, given my numerous ventures into the enchanted forest of Princess Mononoke, traversing Kagome's well to the realm of Inuyasha, and delving into the complex moralities of Death Note alongside Shinigami Ryuk and Light. Yet, when pressed to identify my ultimate series, I delved into the tapestry of my memories and unearthed a cherished gem – a show that monopolized my weekday afternoons during an era devoid of Netflix, Hulu, Crunchy Roll, or any streaming services to satiate my anime cravings. That gem is none other than Dragon Ball Z. My initiation into Goku's life coincided with Toonami's coverage of the Androids Saga, seamlessly transitioning into the Majin Buu Saga. Initially, it was the ostentatious displays of physical prowess that ensnared my attention. Witnessing battles between beings of profound strength resonated with me on a visceral level, unlike any standard cartoons. Indeed, Dragon Ball Z became the catalyst for my burgeoning passion for martial arts, as I witnessed these formidable combatants engage in struggles to either safeguard or conquer Earth. It marked my first encounter with villains meeting an unequivocal defeat, a departure from the cyclic confrontations seen in series like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Team Rocket. Only years later did I have the opportunity to fully immerse myself in the wonders of the Dragon Ball Z series. As I did, I discovered a newfound appreciation for its nuanced portrayal of villains. These demigod-like figures, capable of wanton destruction, instilled a sense of overwhelming despair, defeating multiple martial artists before the timely intervention of Goku or Gohan saved Earth from impending doom. The catharsis of relief that washed over me after each saga, with the victor ensuring the planet's safety, heightened the emotional resonance of the experience. Moreover, Dragon Ball Z's allure lies not only in its epic battles but also in its portrayal of character growth. The budding romance between Krillin and Android 18, along with Vegeta's redemption arc, underscored the series' capacity to explore forgiveness and redemption, adding layers of depth to the characters and amplifying the emotional impact of their journeys. In essence, Dragon Ball Z transcends mere entertainment, embedding itself in my soul as a timeless narrative that continues to captivate me with its blend of action, morality, and character evolution.

Growing up as a latchkey kid was a defining chapter in my life. In the backdrop of my single mother's relentless hustle as an overnight factory worker, I embraced the responsibility of self-care at the age of 12. This included keeping up with my schoolwork, having realized that my mother's education extended to barely receiving her high school diploma as a child migrant worker. My journey took an unexpected turn when I became a young mother at 18, driven by my deep love for children. However, my husband lacked the ambition for our family's stable future. Faced with limited opportunities for higher education and few sustainable employment opportunities in our local community, my dreams seemed out of reach. In a twist of fate, a recruitment officer for the United States Army appeared as an answer to my prayers. The promise of healthcare, sustainable wages, retirement benefits, and educational funds was an irresistible opportunity. I embraced military service as a Public Affairs Specialist, a role that resonated with my passion for writing, photography, and social engagement. Within a year of enlistment, I found myself in Iraq, a transformative experience that opened my eyes to the world of martial arts. Specifically, military tactics Combatives became my anchor, integrating striking, Judo throws, and ground fighting Jiu-jitsu. This skill would later play a pivotal role in saving my life during a particularly violent altercation with an intoxicated service member. Since then, I've been a steadfast advocate for self-defense education. During my nine years in service, volunteerism became a cornerstone of my identity. In Iraq, I organized karaoke nights and salsa lessons, providing much-needed recreation for service members who, at that time, were limited to distant phone calls and letters home. In North Carolina, as part of the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors, I mentored youth, serving as a grief counselor. I distributed meals in multiple pantries, including the rural area where I currently reside. My constant desire to enhance my community awarded me the Military Outstanding Volunteer Service Medal. Contributing to my now local community continues to bring me immense joy, particularly at the modest trailer that serves as our local library. Discovering that weekend operations were discontinued due to a shortage of volunteers, I took it upon myself to rectify the situation. After weeks of training on weekdays, I felt a profound sense of satisfaction when entrusted with the library key. This responsibility allowed me to extend access to the community beyond the constraints of weekdays. Now medically retired from the military, my vision for making a meaningful impact on the world is deeply rooted in my past experiences. Serving as a Soldier in Iraq ignited my passion for martial arts, and I've come to realize how its physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual dimensions are integral to life. Drawing from my education in Exercise Science, I aspire to establish a non-profit program aimed at providing housing for trauma survivors. This initiative would offer short- or long-term training cycles centered around building confidence through martial arts, primal survival tactics, strength and conditioning, as well as meditative practices. In reflecting on my journey, the threads of passion, resilience, and a commitment to service weave through the tapestry of my life. Each challenge met has been an opportunity embraced, a chance to grow, adapt, and give back to the community that has shaped me. As I look ahead, I see not only the hurdles I've overcome but the potential to create lasting change through the fusion of my experiences, education, and unwavering dedication to making a positive impact on the world.

God has not always been the guiding light on my life's journey. Reflecting on the past, it is evident that the most challenging times were a consequence of veering away from the righteous path. At the age of 18, I became a young mother and, burdened by societal judgment as an unwed mother, I distanced myself from organized religion. This departure led to a rapid descent into chaos. In a pursuit to secure the well-being of my son, I made the difficult choice to join the military, despite the internal conflict arising from my moral aversion to taking another's life. Faced with limited options and the absence of support from my husband, I rationalized that the sacrifice was necessary. Adopting the coping mechanisms prevalent in the military environment, I embraced drinking and partying to alleviate the stress and anxieties within my unit. This lifestyle, however, exposed me to harmful situations with unscrupulous individuals, leading to repeated instances of exploitation. Consequently, I retreated into self-isolation and turned to various substances in an attempt to numb the pain. During this dark period, I harbored resentment toward God, blaming Him for the adversities I faced. It had been years since I had engaged in prayer, yet I held Him responsible for my circumstances. A transformative reconnection occurred through a devout Muslim whom I encountered in yoga and jiu-jitsu classes. Witnessing his unwavering devotion and spiritual practices reminded me of the solace found in prayer and faith. As I incorporated meditation into my yogic routine, I finally had the opportunity to contemplate the evolution of my life. This introspection marked the beginning of re-establishing my connection with God, bringing a sense of relief. I discovered solace and answers to my prayers for peace through my renewed faith. Convinced that God led me to martial arts as a means to assist others in overcoming trauma, I believe my hardships have equipped me to bear witness to His guidance in my journey back from the harrowing experiences I endured. It is my faith that empowers me to overcome nightmares and motivates me to offer rehabilitative services to others. Through God's guidance, I aspire to use my struggles as a testimony, demonstrating how faith can lead individuals out of the darkness into a brighter, purposeful future. I aspire to leverage my formal education to forge a career centered around healing and serving as a living testament to the redemptive power of God's grace.

My educational journey commenced with the influence of my mother, who, as a former migrant worker, faced her own set of challenges. Despite her capabilities, her limited ability to contribute to my education became a source of frustration. The realization of how her childhood influenced her formal education struck me when I asked her to write a letter excusing my absence from school. Though the letter was simple, it was riddled with capitalization, punctuation, and spelling errors, causing me embarrassment. Recognizing her struggle to keep up with my schoolwork, I understood that, while she couldn't assist me directly, she invested her limited resources as a single mother to ensure I had the opportunity to learn. One notable instance was her decision to purchase a set of Encyclopedia Britannica books from a traveling salesman—a valuable resource in the absence of widespread computer use. This investment opened a world of possibilities and understanding, allowing me to explore diverse knowledge between library visits. As technology advanced, my mother's commitment to my education remained unwavering. She acquired an internet connection, computer, and printer to facilitate my research paper submissions in high school. Tragically, she passed away at the age of 22, a consequence, in part, of her strenuous work history. Her sacrifices afforded me the chance to pursue an education that she never had. I believe that if she had enjoyed the privilege of education, she might still be with us today. The loss of my mother to life's hardships propels my determination to become a first-generation college graduate. Her resilience without formal education serves as a testament to the importance of pursuing knowledge. Currently, I am working towards a Bachelor's Degree in Exercise Science, aiming to deepen my understanding of the latest fitness standards. This choice stems from my desire to expand my knowledge in martial arts, primal survival tactics, strength and conditioning, and meditative practices. My ultimate goal is to leverage this knowledge to provide martial arts rehabilitative services to my rural community. In preparation for my college journey, I have diligently researched methods to ensure success. Attending the Study Skills for Life Course equipped me with tools to identify and address study weaknesses. Additionally, I have turned to online resources, such as YouTube, following creators like StudyQuill, to learn effective processes that enhance data retention, particularly for challenging subjects. My commitment to self-improvement reflects my dedication to overcoming the challenges of being a first-generation college student

Situated more than an hour away from urban centers, our rural community lacks extensive government programs. My commitment to community service took a distinctive turn from the volunteering experiences I had during my military tenure. The initial opportunity presented itself when I began assisting a food pantry at a small church dedicated to providing sustenance to over a hundred local families. Each Thursday morning, a truck laden with donated food arrives, necessitating the elderly members of the church to unload, categorize, and stack pallets in preparation for distribution the following day. During holidays, as well as summer and spring breaks, I find fulfillment in dedicating substantial hours alongside fellow church members to organize cans, stack boxes, and manage frozen foods. This collaborative effort plays a crucial role in supporting our community, which finds itself amid a food desert. I also find great joy in contributing to the local library, a modest trailer that also serves as a collection point for food donations at its entrance. Upon conversing with the librarian, I discovered that the library had discontinued weekend operations due to a shortage of volunteers. Following a few weeks of training on weekdays, I experienced immense satisfaction when entrusted with the library key. This responsibility enabled me to extend access to the community beyond the constraints of weekdays. The standard closing hours from Monday to Wednesday were before 2:00 p.m., and Thursday and Friday closures at 5:00 or 6:00 p.m. posed challenges for locals commuting to the nearest city, depriving them of a vital educational resource. By opening the library on weekends, I facilitated access to books, movies, and internet services, as well as printing and fax capabilities. My future vision to make a meaningful impact on the world is deeply rooted in my past experiences. While serving as a Soldier in Iraq, my passion for martial arts emerged, and little did I realize how its physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual dimensions would become integral to my life. Settling into my homestead in the heart of this tight-knit community over two years ago, my husband and I embarked on building an off-grid sustainable home to establish a martial arts teaching space. Drawing from my education in Exercise Science, I aspire to implement a non-profit program aimed at providing housing for trauma survivors. This initiative would offer short- or long-term training cycles centered around building confidence through martial arts, primal survival tactics, strength and conditioning, as well as meditative practices.

Mental health became a neglected aspect of my life, unbeknownst to me, for an extended period, causing rifts within my family. I was a ticking time bomb, set to detonate at the slightest disturbance. It took my husband's advocacy, as I hesitated to speak up for myself, to recognize the symptoms that were tearing us apart. Having spent more than nine years in the military, I endured taunts and derogatory labels like "sick call ranger" or "malingerer," aimed at those perceived as physically or mentally vulnerable. Balancing the demands of my hyper-focused military career with addressing my mental well-being seemed impossible. The military was not just a job; it was the lifeline ensuring healthcare, stable housing, and food for my three children – a responsibility I could not take lightly as a mother. Being a Mother and a Soldier was not a symbiotic relationship, with each role in the contest with the other. This turmoil was an accelerant to the mental anguish raging within. The turning point occurred during a deployment in South Korea when another soldier assaulted me and then my husband. This incident, layered atop multiple experiences of sexual harassment and assault during my military service, brought to light the profound impact on my mental health. I hadn't connected my struggles with depression, weight fluctuation, and contempt with the military leadership's inadequate responses to these many traumatic experiences. I requested a rapid redeployment to escape the unit where my perpetrator remained. It was then that I actively pursued mental health counseling and separation from the service. Despite facing numerous obstacles, including persistent anxiety and irritation, I persevered in advocating for my well-being. The rehabilitation journey commenced with medications that, instead of providing relief, intensified my lethargy and anxiety. Expressing my desire to discontinue these medications led to resistance from psychologists and psychiatrists who insisted on more time and adjustments. I underwent various experimental therapies with limited progress, feeling trapped in a cycle of pill prescriptions. Discovering yoga, meditation, and a return to martial arts during inpatient therapy marked a turning point. Incorporating these practices into my routine positively impacted my mood, offering an alternative to the reliance on medications. Although triggers persisted, I sensed a path forward beyond pharmaceutical interventions. However, my desire for autonomy in my treatment plan was met with resistance. Refusing the prescribed medication was construed as non-compliance, potentially affecting my ongoing separation process. This experience solidified my belief that the rehabilitation system had strayed from its healing mission, succumbing to an over-reliance on medication. Following my medical retirement, I delved into alternative healing methods while pursuing formal education in Exercise Science. My career aspirations now revolve around utilizing my experiences with martial arts, yoga, and bushcraft, coupled with a Bachelor's Degree in Exercise Science, to offer rehabilitation opportunities for trauma survivors. I envision a holistic approach, integrating mindfulness practices with self-defense teachings under simulated stress, to reshape the minds of survivors. Having witnessed and experienced recovery on a significant scale, I am committed to extending these transformative practices to others in need.

My journey to understanding the universe began in a state of disorientation and despair. In the winter of 2016, I was facing an existential crisis. After more than nine years of military service, I started the process of being medically retired, for a combination of behavioral and physical disabilities. I realized in that moment, that I had turned from an energetic, starry-eyed youth to a pessimistic, anxiety-riddled shell of my former self. During this period, I found myself incapable of confronting my reality, let alone the world with its machinations. Hypersensitivity and limbic responses kept my attention in a constant state of panic, anxiety, elation, or apathy. Instead of having a sense of understanding the world, and its people, neural impulses and primal irrationalities interacted with the universe, leading me to feel swallowed up. Alcohol, medication and synaptic overload consumed me. It was in this state that light started to shine. Sensing a need for command over myself, I reignited my passion for understanding the body. It led me to my past, to the time in the military where I started learning US Army Combatives, a combination of Judo, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and striking arts designed for the warfighter, during my deployment to Iraq. Despite the turmoil, it was still one of my fondest memories. A large sparring buddy would simply lay on top of me and make me drill a series of movements simulating breaking the arm of an aggressor. He had stated that if I could move his weight, then I was doing it right. I did everything wrong, missing the essential pieces, weight distribution, positioning and momentum, the key components of Jiu-Jitsu. Later in my career, I continued my Jiu-Jitsu study in South Korea while picking up knowledge regarding weight training, cardio and body mechanics studying with the International Sports Sciences Association. I had delivered my third child before the hardship tour and had forty pounds of weight to lose to be within the Army weight standard based on my age and height. Testing my expanding knowledge and utilizing the distance from my family to find optimal sleep, hydration, nutrition and health practices that led to twenty pounds lost within a month, using my body as the tester of my theories. However, it would not be until my separation from the military, when I dove into Budokon, a martial arts practice that included breathwork, grappling, striking, and yogic practice, that I would come to a greater understanding of the body. I could not understand how tears would leak from my eyes as we threw playful, light punches when I had prior experience handling more pressure. This stimulation of trauma from years of abuse and a series of assaults, reignited dispersion and discoordination while beginning the practice. Through perseverance, understanding slowly trickled in, with recommended readings and studies from other practitioners. I came to learn that any limitation in a person's life came from a lack of comprehension of some piece of the universe. Handling issues with my body, I learned how to adjust my alignment, structure and momentum to make it strong. In dealing with my mind, I was directed to research consisting of breathwork, mediation, psychology and other rehabilitation methods. In addressing others, I learned more about communication strategies to understand and empathize when conflict arises. The universe is so vast, that it would be a fallacy to claim any specific study would accurately portray the intricate connections between something as small as microbiology to something as large as cosmology. The material universe shifts into unseen levels. Questions of whether thought is a result of pulsing neural connections or if thought is the unseeing self have weighed on the minds of philosophers and scientists alike. The nature of our universe is ever-changing, but I have found one constant. Survival. Everything that exists continues to strive to thrive and survive. Death and decay lend energy and nutrients to the next producers, keeping energy surviving after the body is long gone. Postulates and possibilities continue to progress as man makes machine and machine in turn makes parts for man. Even space itself has been said to expand. It is this experience and insights like these that have led me to my pursuit for a degree in Exercise Science. I desire to continue my understanding of the body and its capabilities. In the summer of 2016, in a conversation with a psychologist, they told me that there was no cure for post-traumatic stress disorder and that I would be battling the reactions of hypersensitivity for the rest of my life. I refused to accept this defeatist attitude. I believe Jiu-Jitsu, the "gentle art," and its philosophical application to all aspects of life, has the capability of rehabilitating people from trauma. It is with knowledge in neuroscience, physiology, sociology, genetics and nutrition, that I intend to prove it. With my degree, I will demonstrate that by approaching carefully curated, simulated high-stress survival conditions, there is the capability of rewiring and recovering from trauma, evidenced in the neuroplasticity of the brain and the resilience of the human spirit. The goal is to ultimately culminate my findings in a case study to examine the effects of jiu-jitsu and mindful meditation on individuals who are identified as having PTSD, anxiety and/or depression. I agree and understand that there are biological encodings within the body system that are geared towards survival that has come to be ill-suited for modern life. However, I believe that jiu-jitsu practice is an ideal, low-risk benefit to those whose body systems have become their enemy.

The reason that I am passionate about being a first-generation Mexican-American college graduate stems from the influence and example that my mother set before me. As a child, my mother grew up as a migrant worker. She would tell me about the cow who was her friend until one day she came home for dinner for beef but no Betsy. Her tales were filled with family love through hardship and her hands reflected the truth of her work. She built by hand our enclosed screen porch, providing me with skills that I would never have learned in my small, southern-town school. Yet, with all of her capabilities, her limitations in contributing to my education were the only frustration that she held. The first time that I understood how my mother's childhood influenced her formal education came when I had her write a letter to excuse my absence from school. She had started to work overnight shifts and I had taken the initiative and begged to be allowed to care for myself, taking on the responsibility of attending to my morning needs before catching the bus in front of my home. It was the first time I had seen an excuse note as I put it in my folder to give to the administration office. While the letter was simple, it was filled with capitalization, punctuation and spelling errors that I felt embarrassed to take to school. Loving my mother as I did, and not wanting anyone to think ill of her, from then on I took the time to write out my absentee letters and correspondences before receiving her signature. Around that time I realized that she had quickly begun to be outpaced by my schoolwork. She had taught me how to read before kindergarten and I started to read collegiate classic novels as I entered high school, hoping to prepare for an education that my mother's background never gave her the opportunity for. While she could not help me personally, she invested her limited resources as a single mother into ensuring I could learn what she had not. She was one of the few who saw the value in a collection of Encyclopedia Britannica books when a traveling salesman knocked on our door. Before the common use and ownership of computers, this opened up a world of possibilities and understanding as I would sit and read random pieces of knowledge when I ran out of library books until our next escapade to the library more than half an hour away from our home. When computer usage and printing capabilities became an issue for research papers in high school, my mother invested in the internet, computer and printer to ensure that I could edit and submit my assignments. My mother passed away at a young age, leaving me behind at the young age of 22. I believe that part of her health degeneration was in part due to working long, laborious hours in a factory to provide me the opportunity to receive and focus on the education she never had the privilege to experience. I believe that had she had the privilege of education, she may still be here today. Having lost a mother to life's toil drives me. My passion to ensure that I continue to strive forward and graduate as a first-generation, Mexican-American college graduate is thanks to my mother. She was a woman who showed me how resilient I can be without an education but encouraged me to pursue it knowing how it can open up doors to things I never imagined.

I became a mother a few months following my high school graduation. As a young mother, I found myself in a situation where my former husband was adamant that he would not work in an unfulfilling job. Ultimately, I was facing a bleak future where higher education was out of reach, the local job opportunities provided little chance of sustainable employment and my spouse lacked the drive to supply a stable future for our children. As a result, I enlisted in the United States Army to provide safety and security for my child, being conscious that the price could be my life. In truth, later I felt that the price was my relationship with my children in trade for medical benefits and education that would provide for them once I exited my service. During my time in service, I fell in love with the martial arts practiced in locations around the world. Whether it was military tactic Combatives in Iraq or ground fighting Jiu-jitsu in South Korea, I loved absorbing and educating the self-defense practices that have founded a sense of safety, confidence and discipline within my home. It saved my life in one particularly violent altercation with an intoxicated service member and I have been an advocate for self-defense education ever since. I am now medically retired from the military following one tour in Iraq, a hardship tour to Korea and multiple training exercises that kept me from being able to truly bond with my children. I am currently mother to a combined household of six with my oldest having turned 18 and my youngest son being born this past July. In holding my youngest, I have never been more sure that my future lies in acquiring the knowledge to provide security, physically and financially, for him and his siblings. I believe the future evolution of our martial arts facilities combined with my expanding education regarding exercise science will help provide him and his siblings this security. There has been an ongoing drug issue in the area and I plan to provide martial arts, primal survival tactics, strength, conditioning, and meditative practices from our training facility to combat it. I am currently pursuing my Bachelor Degree in Exercise Science to ensure that I am versed in the most up-to-date studies regarding athletic training and provide the best guidance to those who train underneath my guidance. This will help ensure that my children continue growing in a health-focused environment, in the home as well as in their community.

My experience with mental health began before I understood what it was and how my compounded traumas had me devolving in every aspect of my life. In my nine years in the military, I struggled to recover from one trauma before being hit with another. My misguided trust and lack of experience regarding alcohol led to multiple rapes during a party at one of the military barracks shortly before my first deployment. Then, following my return from a 15-month deployment to Iraq, I had another Soldier invade my home and had to fight him off of me while pregnant with my second son. The next month, I had to take emergency leave to say goodbye to my mother as she passed from a hereditary neurological disorder. Being a single mother during these hardest moments, I had no choice but to shoulder my burdens and continue. It did not help that the military mentality revolved around resiliency and the constant push to do more. The mantra "I will always place the mission first" was the first line in the warrior ethos and resonated in Army regulations, structure and lifestyle. It wasn't until I came to my breaking point after yet another incident of a man violating my space in a bar in Korea that I realized that I was not okay. The lack of judicial punishment of my perpetrators continued to be centered around military bureaucracy and I could not stand it anymore. The influence of my traumas had led to seclusion, alcoholism, and irrational angry outbursts with my family. I fought with my superiors to finally put my behavioral health first. I was honest with my psychologists and psychiatrists for the first time about how bad things were, terrified of the consequences. For the first time, I pursued separation from the military, knowing that I needed time, energy and focus on rehabilitation to confront the varying types of things that I had been through and would not get that support on active duty. After my medical retirement, I dove into reading material on psychological behaviors, meditation practices, yoga, martial arts and holistic therapy to truly address the issues that had been plaguing my personal life while I excelled in my military duties. It took many years before I truly saw growth in my life. My former beliefs were that those struggling with mental health were weak. I had looked at my diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Major Depression Disorder as a sign that I could not cut it as a Soldier. Now, I look at mental health as a constant evolution in understanding the self and rehabilitating spiritual and mental needs that were long neglected. My relationships are now richer as a result. I have found that with my new mentality, it is much easier to empathize with others as they navigate reforming their understanding of themselves. It has been key in my testimony to others as to why my chosen field is essential for those who are struggling in that capacity. I am currently pursuing my Exercise Science Bachelor Degree to build my knowledge to reflect on the latest fitness standards. I have also been privileged to learn from world-champion martial artists, bushmen and yogis. Their holistic techniques helped me to battle the irrational outbursts and unbalanced behaviors that I would use to stifle my pain. In the future, I look forward to continuing to share these practices and my education as part of my martial arts training curriculum for rehabilitative services for trauma survivors.

I have always felt the need to serve. I spent nine years in the United States Army. Each time I changed duty assignments, or deployed, there were always people in need that I found that I could help. In 2007 to 2008, while deployed to Iraq, I offered basic salsa and bachata lessons once a week before salsa nights and ran karaoke nights for four hours to increase morale. I served as the Vice President for the Better Opportunity for Single Soldiers program, planning and managing recreation for bachelors on Fort Gordon. I started hiking clubs in Daegu, Korea and Baltimore, Maryland with peers at my unit and martial arts gym. I still participate in the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors as a grief counselor and mentor, volunteer unloading food for the local food pantry each week and spend my Saturdays at our local library, enabling our community to access services on the weekend. During my volunteering of varying types, the most important lesson that I have learned is that man is inherently good, but not everyone has had the opportunity to act so. I have seen the desperate and downtrodden and learned to combat the anger and sadness of their life circumstances with wellness, love, patience, guidance, encouragement, and kindness. However, I have also learned to be prepared if the desperation turns violent. There is a Chinese proverb that says, “It is better to be a warrior in a garden, than a gardener in war.” I was truly lucky I had the right training when I was in the wrong places in life with desperate people. When I started training Combatives in the military, I never expected to use self-defense in my home country, against someone I called a friend. Looking back now, I was able to save my life, and that of another because of those Combative skills. This experience fuels my desire to offer my services to others to learn self-defense, specifically opening up non-profit ventures for survivors of assault. My experience in meditation, yoga and volunteering taught me to help and appreciate people regardless of the hardships that they face. My martial arts and real-world combative experience have taught me to be prepared for adversity and that preparation builds resiliency. These experiences solidified my life’s ambitions to use my knowledge of self-defense, health, wellness and survival tactics to make others just as prepared and resilient. I need this scholarship financially to continue school. I am a mother of a household with five children and often, their needs are put before my own. While we live simply on a homestead, investing more in our ability to make our food than in recreational purchases, the larger expenses often go uncovered. Soon, it may come to a point where I am unable to attend as our only vehicle is beginning to show signs that we need to replace the transmission due to the two-hour commute back and forth from the mountains to attend college each day. Also, having been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Major Depression Disorder from my time in the military, scholarships help to decrease my stress so that behavioral triggers are lightened from financial stress combined with already handling more interpersonal stimulation than my rural lifestyle. My scholarships alleviate those burdens so that I may focus on my educational growth and show my children that if I can make it through college with these barriers, they can too.

A mother is not supposed to live longer than her child and I never felt grief so strong at the moment that I lost mine. When father died at the age of 19, when my mother died at the age of 21 and when I lost comrades-in-arms to suicide following my service in the military, I was always able to move forward. During my fall semester of 2022, however, when I held my husbands' hand in a hospital bed and heard no heartbeat for the child that I had so longed for, my world crumbled. For the first time, I felt the crushing weight of grief that kept me in bed for days. I was a bitter wreck of anger at God and the injustice I felt at losing the child I had so desired for. I felt that I had been robbed of motherhood, marching in the sands of Iraq so that my three children could live in a safe home and afford the opportunities that I never had with my single mother so many years ago. Following my service, I had to rehabilitate my body and it took more than a year of focus on nutrition and chiropractic intervention before I was able to conceive again. The difficulties getting pregnant again and the loss of my child's life felt like a curse and God's revenge for taking part in such a destructive force of war, regardless of my motivations. I was angry, depressed and hostile. I could not bring myself to attend my fall classes for almost a week. As much as my usual tenacious spirit wanted me to keep going, I would get as far as getting up, looking blankly in my closet to find what I would wear and resolving that the bed was the only option. My bitterness seeped into my relationship with my husband. I felt betrayal in the form of my husband's ability to go through his daily taskings with a calm demeanor. He cared for our almost teenage children, handling their requests during this short period. He prayed adamantly during this time and I would sit in childish obstinance, refusing to reach out to a God that would put more loss and pain into my life. I wish that I could say that my refocus on what mattered most in my life came from my own strength. Instead, it was my husband's strength and belief in God and not mine that reoriented my fight back to what mattered most. He said it best when, in a peak of grief, I inquired how he could act as if our son's life was nothing to be grieved. His reply shook my core. "If this experience has taught me anything, it is to value the children we have." I had three children that I had been blessed with and in grieving the son I lost, I was not there for them. I had not been thankful for the ability to care for so many when others struggle to have one. It still took days before I roused myself to continue my studies and there were times when I was too emotionally overwhelmed to confront some of the more arduous assignments. Sometimes I still find myself brought to tears randomly as I feel another child stir within me. God has blessed me with another, following our loss like the rainbow following a storm. It reminds me to be thankful for the gifts in my life and the hardships to appreciate them. This experience has revitalized and cemented my belief in resiliency. I have long advocated for martial arts and its ability to build grit, enhance community and heal trauma. It has solidified and enhanced my focus to obtain my degree and contribute to my community. I desire to house trauma survivors for short- or long-term training cycles focused on confidence building through martial arts, primal survival tactics, strength, conditioning, and meditative practices.