I’ve been a fan of Wicked for years, not just because of the amazing music or the powerful stage effects, but because the story speaks to my soul. Elphaba’s journey of being misunderstood, judged, and doubted—yet still finding her own voice—is something I deeply connect with. Her strength, resilience, and determination to stand up for what’s right mirror parts of my own story. Elphaba is seen as “different” from the start. People make assumptions about her before they get to know her, and she struggles to find where she belongs. That reminds me of what I went through growing up. After my biological mom left due to addiction and I went through a difficult adoption process, I often felt like people saw me through the lens of my past. At school, I was picked on and labeled. I didn’t always feel like I had a place or like people truly saw who I was becoming. Transferring from a small school to a much larger one gave me the fresh start I desperately needed. It was like stepping into a new world, just like Elphaba did when she arrived at Shiz. At first, it was intimidating. But that change helped me grow stronger, find my voice, and build real confidence. I stopped hiding. I started speaking up. I began believing that being “different” could actually be powerful. The song Defying Gravity became more than just a performance to me—it became a mindset. I realized I didn’t have to live under the weight of other people’s opinions or my past. I could rise above it all, be true to myself, and chase the future I knew I was meant for. I’m also drawn to the way Wicked highlights friendship, forgiveness, and finding your purpose—even in pain. Like Elphaba, I’ve faced heartbreak, family struggles, and deep personal loss. But through all of it, I’ve found strength in my relationship with God, in serving others, and in pursuing my dream of becoming a psychologist for children in need. I love Wicked because it reminds me that being misunderstood doesn’t mean you’re wrong—and that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is keep flying when the world tells you not to.

Dementia is one of those things you don't truly understand until you watch it unfold in someone you love—or see it slowly erase the memories of people who once knew everything about you. Over the past few years, I’ve watched it affect several people in my life, and each time it has left a quiet ache in my heart, teaching me lessons I didn’t expect to learn so young. There’s a lady at my church who is always so vibrant and full of wisdom. I used to love talking to her after service, listening to the stories she’d tell and the advice she’d give. However, I’ve noticed she repeats herself, forgets names, and sometimes doesn’t recognize people she’s known for years. It’s painful to see the confusion in her eyes, especially in a place that once felt so familiar to her. But what amazes me is the grace and patience people show her—they don’t correct her harshly, they simply love her through it. One of my close friends has a grandmother who has completely forgotten who she is. She doesn't remember me either, even though I've spent time with her. I’ve seen how that kind of forgetfulness can hurt—the way it creates this invisible wall between generations, how it makes someone feel like they’ve lost a connection they once cherished. Watching my friend handle that with kindness, even when it breaks her heart, has shown me the true meaning of unconditional love. And then there’s my nana. She’s still with us, still herself in so many ways—but lately, I’ve noticed little things slipping. She forgets conversations we’ve had, misplaces things, or tells the same story twice in one sitting. It’s subtle, but it's there. And while she laughs it off, I can see the worry in her eyes. It scares me to think about the future—about how much more she might forget and how helpless we might feel when the memories start to fade even more. What I’ve learned from all of this is how deeply memory connects us—not just to the past, but to each other. Dementia doesn’t just take away facts or dates—it steals stories, names, inside jokes, and shared moments. But I’ve also learned that love isn’t based on memory. It’s based on presence. It’s in holding a hand, repeating a story for the fifth time with a smile, and being patient even when it’s hard. These experiences have deepened my empathy and strengthened my commitment to work in mental health. As someone studying psychology, I hope to support families dealing with dementia, offering both emotional care and practical tools. I’ve seen how this disease affects individuals and communities—and I want to be part of the solution. Dementia may take memories, but it doesn’t take humanity. And I’ve learned that sometimes, just being there is the most important thing of all.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t believe in God at all. I was hurting too much, and all I could see was pain. I didn’t understand why a loving God would allow me to feel so alone, so abandoned, and so lost. But looking back now, I realize that it was through that very brokenness that I found the Lord—and my life has never been the same. I hit my lowest point in middle school. My biological mom left because of her addiction, and her absence left a deep hole in my heart. At the same time, I was going through the process of being adopted by my stepmom. While I was so grateful to have someone step into that role for me, emotionally, I was torn between love, loss, confusion, and identity. I felt like I was caught in the middle of a life I didn’t choose. On top of that, school wasn’t a safe space either. I was picked on, judged, and constantly felt like I didn’t belong. Every day felt like a battle, and I often questioned, Why me? I didn’t understand how God could exist while I was going through so much pain. I felt forgotten. So for a long time, I didn’t believe it. I turned inward, carrying the weight of everything by myself. I thought that’s what strong people did—they survived in silence. But the truth is, I wasn’t strong. I was exhausted, angry, and drowning emotionally. Everything started to shift when I transferred to a new, much larger high school. I went from a class of 60 to a class of over 500. At first, it was overwhelming—I was the new girl, nervous and unsure. But slowly, something began to change. I had a fresh start, a clean slate, and room to grow. My character started to develop in ways it never had before. I was no longer stuck in the shadow of my past. For the first time in a long time, I started noticing the good around me—my stepmom who chose to love me as her own, my teachers who believed in me, and new friends who saw me for who I really was. I started counting my blessings instead of my losses. Still, my faith hadn’t fully formed yet. That came later, during another hard moment: the breakup with my first love. It may sound small to some, but for me, that heartbreak broke something open inside me. I had built so much of my identity on that relationship, and when it ended, I felt completely lost all over again. But this time, instead of sinking into that darkness, I turned somewhere I hadn’t before—I turned to God. I started going to church regularly, not because someone forced me, but because I needed it. I needed peace, direction, hope—something bigger than me to hold on to. I threw myself into worship. I went to church every time the doors were open. I joined long, hours-long Bible studies and began reading Scripture like it was food for my soul. For the first time, I truly felt God’s presence—not as some distant force, but as a Father who loved me deeply, even when I didn’t love myself. God began to heal things in me I didn’t even know were broken. He helped me forgive, helped me soften my heart, and helped me find strength in surrender. I no longer needed to carry everything on my own. I realized that my past wasn’t a punishment—it was preparation. It was shaping me for the person I was becoming, for the mission He was calling me to fulfill. My relationship with the Lord is now the most important relationship in my life. It’s not perfect—there are still days when I doubt, struggle, and fall short—but it’s real. It’s everlasting. God walked me through every dark season, even when I didn’t see Him. And now, I walk with Him, every day, not out of fear or obligation, but out of love. That transformation has shaped not just who I am, but what I want to do with my life. My dream is to become a licensed child psychologist. I plan to earn my bachelor’s degree in Psychology with a minor in Child Development at Louisiana Tech University, and then pursue my doctorate. I want to work with children who are hurting the way I once was—those who are growing up in broken homes, foster care, or environments where mental health is ignored. I want to help them process their trauma, find their voice, and most importantly, discover that they are not alone. I don’t just want to be a counselor. I want to be a safe space. I want to integrate compassion, science, and even faith where it’s welcome, to support children holistically—mind, body, and spirit. I believe God has placed this mission on my heart for a reason. He took my pain and turned it into passion. Now, I want to spend my life helping others heal. Volunteering has always been a big part of this journey too. Through Crown Club, Junior Auxiliary, my church, and school, I’ve completed over 100 volunteer hours. I’ve helped with clothing drives, mentored younger kids, organized charity events, and served in community outreach. Volunteering has shown me that small acts of love can make a big impact. It’s where I first saw how helping people can change their story—and that’s exactly what I want to do professionally. But dreams like this take time, energy, and financial support. That’s why this scholarship means so much to me. College and graduate school are expensive, and while I’m committed to doing everything I can to make it through, I know I can’t do it alone. This scholarship would ease the financial burden and allow me to focus more on my studies, internships, and service work. It would also be a huge encouragement—a reminder that others believe in my calling, just as I do. Looking ahead, I see a life filled with purpose. I want to work in schools and foster programs. I want to help develop mental health programs that are accessible to families in low-income communities. I even dream of opening my own clinic one day, where children can receive therapy, mentorship, and support without the fear of judgment or financial pressure. I want to be the kind of person who not only helps others heal—but helps them thrive. I used to feel unworthy of love, of happiness, of success. But God reminded me that I am chosen, loved, and capable. And now, everything I do is rooted in that truth. I’m not working toward these goals just to prove something—I’m working toward them because I’ve been given a second chance, and I want to help others find theirs too. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship. Your support would not just be helping me pay for school—it would be investing in a future filled with healing, hope, and heart. And I promise, I will spend my life making sure that investment multiplies in the lives of others.

As I begin my journey at Louisiana Tech University, majoring in Psychology with a minor in Child Development, I carry with me a deep sense of purpose. My goal is not just to graduate with a college degree, but to build a career that allows me to serve children and families facing emotional, mental, and environmental challenges. I plan to earn my doctorate in psychology and become a licensed child psychologist, specializing in trauma, behavioral development, and early intervention for children in foster care, low-income communities, and underfunded school systems. My greatest aspiration is to bring hope and healing to those who often go unseen. The path I’ve chosen wasn’t built from convenience—it was born from experience. My biological mother left during my middle school years due to addiction. Her absence shattered the stability I knew and left me grappling with abandonment, emotional pain, and confusion. I spent years trying to understand what happened, wondering why I wasn’t enough to keep her there. As a young girl, I didn’t have the tools to process those feelings or the words to describe what I was going through. I internalized everything, which took a toll on my mental health. But even in the hardest moments, I never gave up. Instead, I began to recognize the incredible power of emotional support and mental health care—something I believe every child should have access to. That personal history fuels every decision I make now. I want to become the person I needed when I was younger. I want to work in the environments where children are most vulnerable—foster programs, underfunded schools, and family support centers—and provide them with the care, tools, and understanding that can completely change the course of their lives. Mental health is not just an academic pursuit for me—it’s a calling. I want to help children understand that their experiences don’t define them and that healing is always possible, even when the world feels broken. In high school, I began laying the groundwork for this path by pouring myself into service. I’ve completed over 100 volunteer hours through organizations like Crown Club, Junior Auxiliary, my church, and various school events. These opportunities were more than just extracurriculars—they were where I discovered my ability to lead, connect, and give. With Crown Club, I participated in clothing and supply drives, mentored children, and supported charity events aimed at local families. Through Junior Auxiliary, I engaged in programs that allowed me to help organize community events, provide essentials to kids in need, and work directly with underserved populations. My church gave me further opportunities to serve through youth events, mission projects, and community outreach. Even at school, I participated in events like campus cleanups, awareness walks, and support groups. Each of these experiences helped me see firsthand how much need exists—and how powerful it is when someone shows up to help. One of the most transformative decisions I made during high school was transferring from a very small school to a much larger one. I went from a class of 60 students to a class of over 500. At my old school, everyone knew my background, my struggles, and unfortunately, some judged me for it. The environment became toxic and suffocating, with constant drama and pressure. I realized I needed a fresh start for the sake of my mental health, even though the idea of being the “new kid” in a big school terrified me. But I chose growth over fear. I made my mental and emotional well-being a priority—and in doing so, I found my confidence, my voice, and my resilience. That experience helped me overcome my social anxiety. I learned how to speak up, form new relationships, and advocate for myself. It gave me the courage to walk into new spaces, start conversations, and be unafraid to be seen. It’s also why I feel so ready for college—not just academically, but emotionally and socially. I’ve already proven to myself that I can adapt, lead, and thrive even when the situation is unfamiliar or overwhelming. I now know how to advocate for my needs, manage my mental health, and use my experiences to relate to others with compassion. My career aspirations are rooted in three main goals: Become a licensed child psychologist: After earning my undergraduate degree, I plan to enter a graduate and then doctoral program in psychology. I want to specialize in trauma, behavioral therapy, and childhood development, focusing on how to best support children who have experienced instability, neglect, or emotional hardship. Work in foster care, schools, and underserved communities: I want to partner with organizations and agencies that serve children in vulnerable situations. My dream is to help reshape how mental health is approached in systems that often overlook it. I hope to implement school-based mental health programs, provide one-on-one counseling, and advocate for policies that support emotional development and trauma-informed care. Advocate for accessible mental health resources: Long-term, I hope to open or contribute to clinics that offer affordable or free counseling services for families who cannot otherwise afford it. I want to help break the cycle of trauma by offering support early, and making sure no child is left without the help they need simply because of financial barriers. Receiving this scholarship would be a tremendous help in making all of this possible. Financial limitations are a real concern for me and my family. Pursuing a doctorate requires years of school, dedication, and significant expenses. With support from this scholarship, I would be able to focus more fully on my education, field work, and community involvement, rather than the constant stress of how to pay for it. This scholarship would give me the opportunity to continue building the future I’ve worked so hard for—not just for myself, but for the many children I hope to serve. In many ways, I feel like my life has prepared me for this work. I know what it’s like to feel lost, overlooked, or broken. I also know what it’s like to rebuild, to grow, and to fight for a better future. Those experiences are not setbacks—they are the foundation of my strength. They are the reason I will be a compassionate, dedicated, and impactful psychologist. I don’t want to just “make it.” I want to make a difference. I want to leave every space better than I found it and every child stronger than they thought they could be. I want my career to reflect the values I’ve lived: resilience, empathy, service, and hope. And I believe, without a doubt, that I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve—not because they come easily, but because I’ve earned them through perseverance, service, and a deep commitment to making the world better, one child at a time. Thank you for considering my application and for investing in students like me—students who are determined to turn their pain into purpose, and their purpose into lifelong service.

When I think about the dreams I’m chasing—becoming a psychologist, earning my doctorate, and changing the lives of children through mental health care—I don’t see them as goals meant just for me. I see them as promises I’ve made to the world, rooted in service, compassion, and the deep desire to give back to others, just as I’ve been given chances to heal and grow. My dream of working with children in foster care, schools, and underserved communities comes from personal experience. I faced emotional hardship early in life—my biological mother left due to addiction during my middle school years, and it deeply affected my mental health. That pain, while difficult, helped me discover my purpose. I learned the value of emotional support and how life-changing it is to have someone simply listen and care. That’s who I want to be for others. But purpose alone isn’t enough—it requires action. That’s why I’ve made community service a core part of my life. Through my involvement in Crown Club, Junior Auxiliary, church events, and countless school-led volunteer projects, I’ve dedicated over 100 hours to lifting others up. With Crown Club, I’ve participated in everything from mentoring kids to helping with charity drives and local service days. Junior Auxiliary has given me even more opportunities to connect with families in need, organize community events, and support children in crisis. At church, I’ve helped run youth events, assisted with outreach programs, and worked side by side with other volunteers to make sure everyone feels seen and supported. And through school, I’ve contributed to fundraisers, clean-up efforts, and other service projects that have helped our local community thrive. Every time I volunteer, I feel more connected to my future. These moments have taught me leadership, empathy, responsibility, and how to be a light for others—even when they’re struggling in ways I may never fully understand. Volunteering hasn’t just been something I’ve done to check a box—it’s been a way of life that’s shaped the kind of psychologist and person I want to be. I believe I’m worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because I’ve already shown that I’ll work for them—not just for myself, but for the countless children I’ll serve in the future. I know that earning my degree won’t be easy, and becoming a licensed psychologist will take time, energy, and sacrifice. But I’ve already committed myself to this mission through every hour I’ve spent giving back. Receiving this scholarship would help me stay focused on what matters most: using my education to create a ripple effect of healing, support, and change. I’m not chasing a dream for status or success—I’m chasing it because I know I can make a real difference. I’ve lived through pain, I’ve learned how to serve, and now I’m ready to lead—with heart, with purpose, and with the same kindness I’ve spent years giving to others.

In high school, I made one of the hardest but most important decisions of my life: I chose to leave the small school I had attended for years and transfer to a much larger one. To some, it might have seemed like just a change of scenery—but for me, it was a life-altering step toward prioritizing my mental and emotional health.I grew up facing challenges that deeply shaped me. My biological mother struggled with addiction and left during my middle school years, leaving behind emotional wounds that took time to even begin understanding. At the small school I attended—where my graduating class had only 60 students—there was no space to breathe or grow. Everyone knew everything about everyone. The constant drama and lingering judgment became suffocating. I felt like I was trapped in a cycle of negativity, unable to move past my upbringing or speak up for myself. Transferring to a much larger school—with over 500 students in my graduating class—was terrifying at first. I didn’t know anyone. I was walking into a place where I could easily feel lost in the crowd. But instead of letting fear control me, I saw the opportunity to rewrite my story. I chose to put my mental health first and take a chance on a new environment that could support my growth. And it did. Slowly, I started stepping out of my shell. I learned that meeting new people isn't as scary as I thought—it’s actually exciting. I used to struggle with social anxiety and feared judgment from others. But through this transition, I’ve learned how to speak up for myself. I can now walk into a room and start a conversation without the fear that once held me back. I’ve outgrown the version of myself that was scared to be seen and heard. This experience taught me that prioritizing your mental health isn’t selfish—it’s necessary. It taught me how to recognize toxic environments, trust my intuition, and believe in my ability to adapt. These are lessons I’ll carry with me not just into college, but into my future career. As I begin my journey at Louisiana Tech University, majoring in Psychology with a minor in Child Development, I’m more confident than ever in the path I’ve chosen. I plan to become a child psychologist so I can help children navigate the same emotional challenges I once faced. My goal is to be a voice of support for kids dealing with trauma, instability, or anxiety—because I know what it’s like to be in their shoes. Moving schools wasn’t just about escaping the past—it was about discovering who I really am and who I have the power to become. That decision changed the course of my life. It gave me strength, confidence, and a deep commitment to helping others find their own voice. And that’s exactly what I plan to do—one child, one conversation, and one fresh start at a time.

Some people find their calling through books or lectures—I found mine through pain. In middle school, my biological mother left due to addiction, and her absence turned my world upside down. That experience not only left deep emotional wounds, but it also introduced me to the silent struggle so many children face when mental health support isn’t available. I didn’t have the tools or the words to express what I was feeling, and for a long time, I felt alone in my grief and confusion. That’s when I realized how life-changing it could be if even one person stepped in to listen, to help, and to guide. Now, as I begin my freshman year at Louisiana Tech University majoring in Psychology with a minor in Child Development, I know without a doubt that I am exactly where I’m meant to be. I plan to pursue my doctorate in psychology so I can become a licensed child psychologist, working directly with children and families in foster care systems, schools, and underserved communities. My goal is to be the safe space and steady hand that I once needed—to offer healing and hope to those who feel invisible. Mental health is not just a degree for me; it’s a mission. I’ve witnessed how untreated trauma can affect a child’s ability to learn, connect, and grow. I’ve also seen the power of empathy, guidance, and early intervention. That’s why I want to dedicate my career to creating access to those resources—especially for children in low-income families or unstable environments. Every child deserves the chance to be emotionally healthy and seen for who they are beyond their pain. Over the years, I’ve committed myself to giving back through service. With over 100 volunteer hours through my school, Crown Club, church, and community outreach, I’ve worked with children and families in many different capacities. Each interaction has reminded me that sometimes the smallest gestures—listening, encouraging, simply showing up—can make the biggest impact. In the future, I hope to work not only as a therapist, but also as an advocate for systemic change. I want to help bridge the gap between mental health services and the communities that need them most. Whether it’s partnering with schools to provide mental health education or working alongside foster care agencies to offer trauma-informed care, I plan to be deeply involved in both one-on-one healing and broader advocacy. Receiving this scholarship would bring me closer to that dream. It would ease the financial pressures of higher education, allowing me to fully dedicate myself to my studies, research, and hands-on training. More importantly, it would support my journey toward becoming a voice for the voiceless and a source of healing for the hurting. I’m pursuing a degree in the mental health field because I believe in second chances, in healing, and in the power of a listening ear. My past has shaped me, but it does not define me—it motivates me. With the right education and support, I know I can turn my experiences into action and make a lasting difference in the lives of others.

I was in middle school when my biological mother walked out of my life because of addiction. In an instant, everything I understood about love, family, and safety was shaken. That moment didn’t just change my home—it changed my heart. My mental health plummeted, and I struggled with feelings of abandonment, confusion, and loneliness. But through that pain, I found my purpose. Today, I’m preparing to begin my journey at Louisiana Tech University as a Psychology major with a minor in Child Development. My ultimate goal is to earn my doctorate and become a psychologist specializing in helping children—especially those who are navigating trauma, unstable homes, or life in the foster care system. I know firsthand what it’s like to feel lost at a young age, and I want to be the steady, compassionate presence that I once needed. Mental health isn’t just something I study—it’s something I live and deeply value. My experience has made me especially sensitive to the emotional struggles that children go through, often in silence. That’s why I’ve dedicated myself to being a helping hand wherever I can. I’ve volunteered over 100 hours through school programs, Crown Club, my church, and other community outreach efforts. Whether I was mentoring younger students, helping organize community events, or simply being someone to talk to, I saw how much of a difference even small acts of kindness could make in a child’s life. My dream is to work in environments where support is too often missing—foster care programs, underfunded schools, and low-income neighborhoods. These are places where children are hurting, but don’t always have someone who listens, understands, or believes in them. I want to fill that gap. I want to sit across from a child who’s been told they’re “too much” or “not enough” and let them know they are worthy of love and healing.Receiving this scholarship would not only lighten the financial burden of pursuing an advanced degree, but also bring me one step closer to being that advocate and mental health resource that so many children need. It would allow me to focus fully on my education and training, knowing that the support I’m receiving now will ripple into the lives of many others down the road. I’m committed to creating a future where mental health care is accessible, especially for children whose lives have been marked by trauma and instability. My past may have been shaped by loss, but my future is driven by purpose. I want to be the person who helps kids like me find hope again—because I believe every child deserves to heal, grow, and thrive. Thank you for considering me for this scholarship. With your support, I will continue turning my pain into purpose—and making a lasting, positive impact in the world of mental health.