Before I ever understood the complexity of healthcare, I understood the power of care, compassion, and motherhood. As a little girl, I remember sitting beside my mother while she worked toward becoming a nurse, surrounded by nursing textbooks spread across the room. Out of all the books she owned, I was always most drawn to the labor and delivery, OB-GYN, and maternal health textbooks. I would flip through pages filled with pregnancies, delivery rooms, newborn babies, and mothers holding their children for the very first time. While other children may have been intimidated by medical books, I was fascinated by them. Even at a young age, I was an incredibly empathetic and caring person, and something about maternal healthcare resonated with me deeply. I could see the emotion behind those moments. I could see how life-changing birth, motherhood, and compassionate care were for women and families. Long before I fully understood medicine, I knew I wanted a life centered around helping others. As I grew older, that childhood fascination developed into a deeper understanding of what healthcare truly means. Through caring for my grandmother, I learned that healthcare is not only about treatment, but also dignity, patience, emotional support, and advocacy. Helping care for someone you love changes your perspective on compassion. It taught me how important it is for people to feel seen, supported, and valued during vulnerable moments in their lives. My experiences throughout college further strengthened my passion for service and community-centered care. I had opportunities to mentor children and work alongside incarcerated women, experiences that opened my eyes to the realities many people face when they lack adequate support systems, healthcare access, and emotional care. Those experiences taught me that healthcare extends far beyond hospitals and clinics. It is deeply connected to mental health, family stability, education, and community support. Becoming a mother myself further solidified my passion for becoming both a nurse and a doula. Today, I work as a doula and postpartum support provider, and this work has completely transformed my understanding of maternal health. Supporting women during pregnancy and postpartum has shown me how deeply a mother’s well-being impacts the health of her child, family, and future generations. I firmly believe that the way a mother is cared for when she enters motherhood can shape the emotional and physical foundation of an entire family. When mothers are supported, educated, and cared for properly, they are often better able to care for themselves and their children. As a Black and Native woman entering healthcare, I have also witnessed disparities within maternal health and the ways many women feel unheard, dismissed, or unsupported during pregnancy and postpartum recovery. These experiences have strengthened my commitment to becoming part of the change. My goal is not only to become a nurse, but also to become an advocate for women and families who deserve compassionate, culturally aware, and respectful care. Currently, I am pursuing nursing while continuing to build my postpartum support business so I can make an even greater impact through both clinical care and community support. I hope to work in labor and delivery, mother-baby care, or women’s health, where I can combine medical knowledge with emotional advocacy and holistic support. The mission of the Jeune-Mondestin Scholarship deeply resonates with me because making a difference through health means more than treating illness. It means supporting people during some of the most transformative and vulnerable moments of their lives. Through nursing and maternal health advocacy, I hope to create healthier, safer, and more supported futures for mothers, babies, and generations to come.

It was a warm summer afternoon in fourth grade when my best friend and I decided we were entrepreneurs. Armed with empty spaghetti sauce jars, questionable backyard dirt, and wild strawberries we had picked ourselves, we created what we confidently called “strawberry plants.” We loaded them into a little red wagon and went door to door, asking neighbors if they wanted to buy one. Looking back, those plants likely had little chance of surviving, but we believed we were building something meaningful. That early sense of entrepreneurship stayed with me. Like Jore Lund, who began milking goats at five and built a business by seven, I found joy not just in creating something, but in offering something to others. As I grew older, my motivation shifted. Entrepreneurship was no longer just about building, it became about impact. The defining shift came with my journey into motherhood. During my postpartum experience, I became aware of gaps in care, especially for minority women. I saw how many mothers lacked access to support, education, and advocacy during one of the most vulnerable times in their lives. That experience changed my perspective. I no longer wanted to simply create something, I wanted to help change outcomes. In response, I founded Mama in Need, a community-centered initiative supporting mothers and families through donations, education, and direct care. Much of my work is unpaid, rooted in the belief that support should not depend on income. Through this work, I have advocated my way into operating rooms to support clients alongside their partners, and I have served refugee families, ensuring they receive compassionate care during vulnerable moments. I am also a member of the National Black Nurses Association in Oregon and serve on a program board within the Global Doula Project, where I advocate for equitable maternal care. My commitment to service extends beyond my business. During college, I supported incarcerated women at Coffee Creek Correctional Facility by advocating for pregnant and postpartum individuals in need of doula care. I also mentored middle school students in underserved communities in Portland. At my core, I am rooted in caregiving. I recently helped care for my grandmother at the end of her life in hospice, ensuring she was supported with dignity. Separately, becoming a mother during the COVID-19 pandemic strengthened my resilience and deepened my understanding of how essential support systems are. Each experience created a chain reaction, shaping my path toward nursing and maternal health advocacy. From a childhood wagon of strawberry plants to building a community for mothers, I remain committed to making the world around me better.

Have you ever been in a place where you just knew you belonged? A place that connected you back to your inner child and reminded you of something deeper than logic. A mission that feels rooted in who you are. Something that, no matter how many times you try to walk away from it, continues to find you again. That is what nursing has always been for me. Every time I step into a healthcare setting, I feel complete. My body, mind, and spirit align in a way that is hard to explain but impossible to ignore. There is a calm certainty that this is where I am meant to be. Nursing is not just something I want to do. It is something I feel called to do. As a mother, my responsibilities go beyond my education. My biggest goal is to make my children proud and to show them that even in times of financial hardship, I continue to show up with purpose. I want them to see that struggle does not stop you from becoming who you are meant to be. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to focus more fully on my education while continuing to support my family, easing the constant pressure of balancing financial responsibilities, commuting, and daily life. My professional goal is to improve maternal health outcomes and provide care that is rooted in dignity, respect, and understanding. As a Black and Native American woman, I understand the disparities that exist in healthcare, especially in maternal care. Through my work as a doula, I have supported women during pregnancy and postpartum by providing education, advocacy, and emotional support. There have been times when I have shown up for women without being paid, simply because I believe so deeply in the need for change. My work is not driven by money. It is driven by purpose. That purpose became even more clear when I cared for my grandmother during hospice. I was able to be there for her in a way that was intentional and present, making sure she was comfortable, clean, and cared for with dignity. She never developed bed sores, something that is often common in hospice care. That experience showed me that when care is given with attention, patience, and love, it truly makes a difference. It reinforced what I have always felt in my heart. This is what I am meant to do. Nursing will allow me to expand the work I am already doing. I plan to use my clinical training alongside my experience as a doula to support underserved communities with compassion and cultural awareness. I want to be someone who not only provides care, but also makes people feel seen, heard, and safe. This journey is also personal. It is about becoming the person I once needed and creating representation for others who may not always see themselves reflected in healthcare. It is about honoring my inner child and following the path that has always been meant for me. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my education, it would allow me to continue building a life and career rooted in service, resilience, and impact. I will continue to show up, whether I am paid or not, because this work is a part of who I am.

“I hate Black people,” a classmate said to me while standing with a group of white friends during a moment I will never forget in middle school. I remember feeling confused hearing those words, but at the same time I felt a quiet confidence in who I was becoming. Even at a young age, I knew I was proud of who I was and that one day I would grow into someone who could create change in spaces where people often feel unseen or misunderstood. Growing up in a predominantly white town shaped my understanding of difference and resilience. As I got older, I became more aware of the disparities that minority communities face, especially within healthcare. The more I learned, the more I realized how important it is to have people who are willing to stand in the gap and advocate for others. Today I am a mother, a doula, and a future nurse who is committed to improving maternal health outcomes in my community. Through my work as a doula I support women during pregnancy, birth, and postpartum recovery. These are some of the most vulnerable moments in a person’s life, and I have seen how powerful it can be when someone feels supported, heard, and respected. My goal is to help bridge the gap between families and the healthcare system, especially for minority mothers who too often experience worse outcomes and less support. Every mother deserves to feel safe, respected, and supported when bringing life into the world, and that belief guides the work I do every day. I am also committed to expanding education and advocacy within my community. I serve on the advisory board for the Global Doula Project, where we work to strengthen support networks for doulas and families in underserved communities. I also share information about Black maternal health on social media and provide resources that help mothers learn how to advocate for themselves and their babies. My involvement goes beyond my doula work. I have volunteered and supported programs connected to Coffee Creek Correctional Center and schools that serve minority populations, helping connect women and families with resources and education that can improve maternal and family health. These experiences have reinforced my belief that real change happens when we show up for people with compassion and a willingness to listen. Pursuing a nursing degree will allow me to expand the impact of the work I am already doing. By combining my experience as a doula with clinical training, I hope to advocate for patients both inside and outside of the healthcare system. My goal is to help create a future where every mother, regardless of background, receives respectful, informed, and compassionate care. This scholarship would help me continue my education while staying committed to serving my community. More importantly, it would help me keep building a career focused on advocacy, equity, and improving maternal health outcomes for families who need support the most.

Essay 1: The warm glow of a lamp lit the kitchen table late at night as my mother studied her nursing textbooks, pages covered in notes, diagrams, and determination. I remember sitting nearby, quietly flipping through the thick books and tracing the unfamiliar medical illustrations with my fingers. I didn’t understand the terminology then, but I understood something even more important: my mother’s strength. No matter the hardships she faced as a single parent, she continued pushing forward. Through nursing, she was able to create stability for our family and lift us out of poverty. Watching her perseverance planted the first seed in my mind that I wanted to do something meaningful like that too. As I grew older, I began to question whether nursing was truly the path meant for me. Life took many directions as I became a mother of two and began working as a doula supporting women through pregnancy and birth. Then I experienced one of the most difficult, yet most meaningful, moments of my life. My grandmother became bedridden and entered hospice care, and I stepped forward to care for her. What began as helping quickly became twenty-four-hour care. Some people doubted whether I could handle that responsibility, but I knew I wanted to give her everything she needed during the final chapter of her life. During that time, I learned how powerful attentive care can be. I researched ways to protect her skin, carefully adjusted her positioning, and paid close attention to every detail that could bring her comfort. Because of that care, she never developed bedsores, something that is unfortunately common for bedridden patients. Through that process, I realized something surprising: without realizing it, I was already practicing the foundations of nursing. After taking care of my grandmother, everything clicked. I understood not only the power of compassionate care, but also the path I needed to take. Nursing is how I will serve others, and it is also how I will create a better future for my children and break the cycle of poverty for our family. Essay 2: My hands were resting gently on my grandmother’s shoulders as I leaned close beside her hospice bed. My head was near hers when she suddenly gasped and took her final breath. In that moment, my touch was the only thing I could offer. It could not change what was happening, but it could offer comfort, presence, and peace. Holding her in her final moments showed me the true meaning of human touch. Human touch in healthcare is far more than physical contact. It is the act of being present with another person in their most vulnerable moments. Sometimes patients do not need complicated explanations or medical interventions as much as they need reassurance that someone is there with them. A simple hand on a shoulder, holding a hand, or sitting beside a patient can communicate safety, compassion, and dignity in ways that words often cannot. Through my work as a doula, I have seen how powerful touch can be in moments of intense pain and uncertainty. During labor, when a mother feels overwhelmed by contractions and fear, touch can become an anchor. Applying pressure to her back, guiding her breathing, or holding her hand can help redirect her focus and bring a sense of calm. Touch can help reduce fear, ease tension, and remind someone that they are not facing the moment alone. My grandmother’s final moments showed me another side of human touch. While caring for her during hospice, I learned that presence matters just as much at the end of life as it does at the beginning. When she took her final breath, the simple act of touch became a form of comfort and guidance. It reminded me that even when medicine cannot change the outcome, compassion can still transform the experience. For me, human touch is the bridge between science and compassion. It transforms treatment into care and allows patients to feel safe, seen, and supported during life’s most difficult and meaningful moments.

My phone rang, and on the other end I heard a voice say, “They’re trying to take my baby.” My stomach dropped. I will never forget that moment. My client, who had just given birth after a traumatic birthing experience, was on the other end of the phone. She was crying, not the kind that slowly fades, but the kind that comes from being overwhelmed, scared, and exhausted all at once. Between breaths she tried to explain what had happened. She had just given birth. Her body was exhausted, her mind was racing, and she was completely alone. A young single mother with no family support or partner, trying to recover from one of the most intense experiences a person can go through. All she had asked for was help. In the middle of the night, exhausted and overwhelmed, she asked a nurse if someone could help watch her baby for a few hours so she could get some rest. Instead of receiving compassion, her request was misunderstood. Suddenly the conversation escalated, and there were questions about whether she was capable of caring for her baby. She was terrified her baby might be taken away. I remember gripping my phone tighter, my heart racing as she spoke through her tears. But I could hear something else in her voice too. Too often when Black women express pain, frustration, or exhaustion, it is not seen as vulnerability. It is seen as aggression. A raised voice can quickly be labeled as threatening instead of someone overwhelmed and asking for support. In that moment, I realized how quickly someone’s story can be misunderstood. At the time, I had just started working as a doula. I was still learning what it meant to support someone during one of the most vulnerable moments of their life. Part of me felt unsure of myself, wondering if I had enough experience to step into a situation that felt so serious. But as a new mom myself, listening to her cry made one thing clear. She did not need someone perfect. She just needed someone to stand beside her. And that is exactly what I did. I listened. I heard her side of the story and helped her slow down and breathe. She wasn’t asking someone else to raise her baby. She was a new mother recovering from birth with no support system who simply needed rest so she could safely care for her child. In that moment, I learned something important about advocacy. Sometimes it is not about speaking over someone. Sometimes it is about making space so their voice can be heard clearly and standing up for someone who feels vulnerable and misunderstood. My role was not to take over the conversation. It was to help bring understanding back into the situation and remind everyone involved that this was a mother who needed support, not judgment. That experience changed the way I think about communication and confidence. Using your voice is not just about speaking for yourself. Sometimes it means standing beside someone who feels powerless and helping them be seen and understood. That phone call shaped how I want to move forward in my life and career. I want to continue advocating for and supporting families, especially mothers who may feel unheard or misunderstood. Dignity and compassion should not be optional in healthcare. They should be the standard. That night reminded me how powerful a voice can be when it is used with empathy. Sometimes all it takes is one person willing to listen, speak up, and stand beside someone in their hardest moment.

My grandma was holding my mother as she cried. I stood there, fearful of what was happening to my mother, the person I loved most and my other half. Little did I know that the pressure of being a single mom, struggling financially while pushing through nursing school, had caused her to break. At the time, I was too young to understand the weight she was carrying, but I could feel the heaviness in the room and the love my grandmother showed as she comforted her. No matter what, my mom never gave up. That was the first lesson she ever taught me about perseverance. Even during the hardest times, she kept going. Growing up without an emotionally present father left many questions in my heart. My confidence was lacking, and I often questioned myself and my worth. There were moments where I felt unsure of who I was or where I fit in. Yet my mother filled our home with something stronger than the absence of what I didn’t have. She filled it with strength, determination, and a belief that even when life is hard, you keep moving forward. Watching her pursue a difficult career while facing financial struggles and raising me on her own shaped who I am today. I saw her study late at night, exhausted but determined. I saw the sacrifices she made to build a better future for us. As I grew older, I began to understand that the hardships we faced were not just struggles, they were shaping my character and giving me a sense of purpose. They taught me to notice pain in others, to listen deeply, and to care in a genuine way. Going through life with challenges made me incredibly empathetic toward the struggles that many people carry quietly. The biggest thing my mother gave me was her unwavering belief in me. Even when I doubted myself, she never did. She has always supported my dreams and pushed me to become a better woman. I remember sitting beside her while she studied for nursing school, flipping through her textbooks and looking at the diagrams of the human body. The pages were filled with things I didn’t fully understand at the time, but I remember feeling fascinated. I would look at the pictures of the heart, the bones, and the organs, wondering how everything worked together to keep us alive. In those quiet moments, watching her work so hard to learn how to care for others, I began to realize that I wanted to make a difference in people’s lives too. Today I see a future where I use my talents to see and support those who are vulnerable. I want to guide, teach, and advocate for people who are experiencing hardships. I want to bring comfort, support, and knowledge to families facing difficult circumstances and remind them that resilience is possible, even in your hardest moments. My mother’s perseverance planted something powerful in me. It showed me that strength can grow from struggle and that compassion can grow from pain. Because of her example, I want to use my life in healthcare to serve vulnerable communities and help change the course of other people’s lives.