I believe the way society treats its most vulnerable individuals reflects its values of justice, compassion, and respect. As a little girl growing up in Union City, New Jersey, I often found myself asking my mom questions like, “Mommy, why did that person ask you for money?” or “Mommy, why is that man sleeping on the sidewalk?” She would usually respond, “Because he doesn’t have a home, sweetheart,” or “Because they don’t have money.” I remember thinking, he doesn’t have a home? How could someone not have a home? That would lead me to ask, “Well, Mommy, if they don’t have any money, why don’t they just get a job?” My six-year-old mind couldn't comprehend that we do not live in a perfect world where homelessness could be solved easily. At the time, my mom tried to protect me from the harsh realities of homelessness. However, as I grew older, its persistence became impossible to ignore. I began to understand that homelessness was not a problem with a single solution, but rather the result of many interconnected challenges. As my understanding grew, so did my questions. Instead of asking, “Why don't they just get a job?” I began asking, “What barriers prevent people from getting the help they need?” The more I learned, the more I realized that many individuals experiencing homelessness were also struggling with invisible battles, such as untreated mental illness, trauma, and addiction. I realized that what I was seeing wasn't just homelessness, it was the result of people falling through the cracks of systems that were designed to help them. Growing up in the New Jersey/ New York area, I regularly witnessed efforts to "clean up the streets" by removing people from public spaces. While these initiatives addressed what people could see, they failed to address the underlying issues many individuals were facing. According to the Kaiser Family Foundation, more than two in ten adults experiencing homelessness on a single night in January 2024 met the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development's definition of serious mental illness (Kaiser Family Foundation, 2024). Learning statistics like these confirmed what I had already begun to understand. I realized that improving mental health care is an essential part of addressing homelessness, not a separate issue. And with that, it was an issue in which I felt a calling to help rectify. For this reason, I've decided to pursue a career in clinical social work with a focus on mental healthcare. I hope to begin my career in the nonprofit sector, working with individuals experiencing homelessness and mental illness to better understand the intersection between mental health and social services. Long term, I plan to earn my LCSW and open a practice that provides accessible, integrated mental health care to underserved communities. Through my experiences, I've learned that the questions I asked as a child rarely have a single answer. I want to build a practice that recognizes the many factors that shape a person's well-being and provides care that treats the whole person, not just one challenge they may be facing. I believe no one deserves to be overlooked, especially when many people are facing circumstances beyond their control. The world is imperfect, and not everyone begins life with the same opportunities. Yet those early questions planted a desire to understand and to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others through a career in mental health. Receiving this scholarship would help me pursue that goal by allowing me to continue my education and focus on becoming the kind of social worker who can make that difference.

You never truly know the impact you can leave on someone else’s life until you see it for yourself. I saw that when I read Reynaldo’s card. In his shaky handwriting, he wrote in Spanish: “Gracias por alegrar un poco más mi vida.” “Thank you for bringing a little more joy into my life." Those words stuck with me long after that moment because, over two months of visiting Reynaldo at the nursing home, I learned how much joy and comfort a little time could bring to someone who felt forgotten. Every summer, my church visits a local nursing home with the hope of spreading the love of Jesus through our time and service. I still remember the first time I walked into the building. The beige tiled floors were worn, and the walls matched the same dull color, making everything seem muted. My heart felt heavy knowing that the people living there spent so much of their time in a place that felt overlooked. As part of our visits, each volunteer was paired with one of the residents to make sure everyone had someone to spend time with. That was when I met Reynaldo. He was a small elderly man with kind eyes. He always wore a polo shirt and a baseball cap, and he sat in his wheelchair accompanied by what he called “mi mejor amigo” — his oxygen tank. When I asked him why he called it his best friend, he laughed and told me, “Because no matter what, it never leaves my side.” Reynaldo taught me how to play chess. It was his favorite pastime, and he would play with anyone willing to sit across from him. During our games, he would tell me stories about his life, especially about his daughter. He told me that she was the first person he ever taught how to play chess. He shared how much he missed her and that he had not seen her in two years. What started as a volunteer opportunity slowly became something I looked forward to every week. Weekend after weekend, Saturday after Saturday, I found myself excited to sit with Reynaldo, play another game of chess, and hear another story from his life. When summer came to an end, so did our church visits, but my friendship with Reynaldo continued. On one of my visits after, Reynaldo told me he had a gift for me — he handed me a card. As I read Reynaldo’s card, I realized something I had not fully understood before. I first walked into that nursing home believing I was there to make a difference in his life, but somewhere between our chess games and conversations, Reynaldo had made a greater difference in mine. Reynaldo taught me the importance of just being present. I believe community service is so valuable because it truly demonstrates the importance of someone's time and presence. I realized that service doesn't necessarily have to look like fixing someone’s problems or making a drastic change. Oftentimes, service can look like sitting beside someone, listening to their story, and reminding them that they are not forgotten. I hope to carry this lesson with me as I continue to pursue a career in social work, especially through my desire to help the homeless community. Through Reynaldo, I learned that while tangible support and meeting people’s needs are important, true compassion goes beyond what we can physically provide. It is found in the time we give, the relationships we build, and the love we choose to show others.

My mother always told me never to shave my arms. 'If you do,' she would say, 'it'll grow back even thicker.' So, at nine years old, I listened, despite desperately wanting to get rid of it. Growing up as a Hispanic girl in a predominantly white community, I quickly became aware of the ways I looked different from many of my classmates. One difference seemed impossible to ignore: my thick, dark arm hair. To me, it seemed like the first thing people noticed. It didn't help when boys would tease me at school asking why my arms had so much hair. Of course sometimes I would fire back with a comment about their unibrow which usually ended the conversation. Other times, though, their words lingered, leaving me wishing I could hide a part of myself that I couldn't change. I became hyperaware of my arms whenever I wore a T-shirt or raised my hand in class. I caught myself comparing my appearance to the girls around me, wondering why something so ordinary in my family felt so out of place everywhere else. It wasn't until years later that I realized my arm hair represented something much greater than a target for teasing. It was a visible reminder of my family and heritage. It was the same dark arm hair my beautiful mother has—the strong woman who cared for me as a single mother while working two jobs. It was the same arm hair my abuela carried when she immigrated from Ecuador to the United States in search of greater opportunities for her family. The feature I had spent so much of my childhood wishing away connected me to generations of courageous women whose strength made my own opportunities possible. Over time, I learned to embrace it. Now, as a young woman and a first-generation college student, I understand that confidence isn't about looking like everyone else. Instead, I realized it's about appreciating the qualities that make you who you are. As a child, I often looked around my classroom searching for someone who looked like me, someone who shared my features, my culture, or my experiences. I rarely found that reflection. It made me believe that belonging meant blending in. Today, as I sit in college classrooms, I sometimes find myself in spaces where my background differs from those around me. The difference is that I no longer see that as something to overcome. Instead, I see it as something I am able to contribute to my classroom environments and society. When I look down at my arms today as I write this essay, I don't see the insecurity that once consumed me. I see my mother's beauty, my abuela's courage, and the legacy of women whose perseverance continues to propel me forward. Their sacrifices remind me that I do not have to look like everyone else or come from the same circumstances to deserve a seat in the classroom. Instead, those unique parts of myself are exactly what allow me to bring a valuable perspective into such spaces.

“One day, we’re going to be sitting on your front porch,” my mother told me the morning of my high school graduation. At the time, I thought she was talking about a physical house—something she had never known, having spent her life living in apartments. But as I’ve grown older and witnessed her sacrifices, I’ve come to understand that my “front porch” meant more to her than a place to live. She was describing a future she never had the opportunity to pursue for herself. To me, being a first generation college graduate means fulfilling that dream, not just for me, but for her. As I watched my mother come home from long nights at work, with tired eyes and heavy shoulders, her love for me was evident. She worked tirelessly, without taking time for herself to rest, all to give me opportunities she never had. She would always tell me, “Hija, it is every parent’s wish for their child to be better than they were.” As I continue my educational journey in college, that reminder pushes me to strive for excellence in my academics. Earning my first degree and continuing to pursue my Master's in Social Work, is my way of saying thank you. It is my proof to her that her sacrifices were not in vain. And with that, pursuing higher education is a statement: that Latino/a students belong in higher education spaces and are capable of achieving excellence, a sentiment I believe is important. As a first-generation student, I understand how intimidating higher education can feel when no one in your family has experienced it before. There are questions that don't come with instruction manuals. Learning how to apply for financial aid combined with understanding how to navigate tuition costs and settling into college life itself was overwhelming for me. Under the financial stress of it all I questioned whether I truly belonged in those spaces. I wondered if my education was worth investing in, I questioned if I was worth investing in. I know what it feels like to wrestle with those uncertainties, and because of that, I hope to become the person I once needed. Whether through sharing my own experiences or simply reminding another first-generation student that they are capable of succeeding, I want my academic career to show others that college is not just reserved for some, but for all. Our backgrounds should not and do not limit our futures. The questions I wrestled with as a first-generation college applicant shaped more than my academic journey—they shaped the kind of person I want to become. During the moments when I questioned whether I was worth investing in, my mother reminded me that I always was. Although she couldn't offer practical guidance on navigating college, she provided belief in my potential. My mother invested in me every day, and opportunities like this scholarship continue to invest in students just like me. Because others have poured into me, I want my life to be one that pours into others. Throughout college, I have sought opportunities to serve underrepresented and underserved communities by volunteering with The Backpack Project and Bigger Vision, where I have worked alongside individuals experiencing homelessness. These experiences strengthened my desire to pursue social work because they allowed me to live out the same investment that changed my own life. And one day, as my mother and I sit on my front porch with Café Bustelo in hand, I hope she knows that investing in me became an investment in others—and that every sacrifice she made was worth it.

The smell of fresh pupusas, the sound of salsa music drifting through Celia Cruz Memorial Park, and weekend walks with my mother down Bergenline defined my childhood in Union City, NJ. Surrounded by the traditions, food, and warmth of the Hispanic community, I was shaped by my culture. At the age of eleven, my mother made the decision to move us to Rutherford, NJ, in search of a better school and opportunities for me. Rutherford was very different from Union City. Its quiet, tree-lined streets and polished neighborhoods stood in contrast to the lively, community I had always known. For the first time, I felt like an outsider. Once I started school, that feeling grew. I struggled to adapt while still learning English, making it difficult to connect with classmates and find my place. I also became aware of the financial differences between my family and those around me. I remember watching girls walk into class with bright pink backpacks while I carried the black JanSport my cousin had handed down to me. It felt like another reminder that I was different. One afternoon at lunch, a girl whose mother occasionally gave me rides home asked, "Are you poor because you live in an apartment?" Although she didn't mean to be hurtful, her question stayed with me. As I walked home that day, I replayed those words over in my head. I stared down at the Skechers my mom had bought me from Famous Footwear and cried. I missed my old friends. I missed when it didn't matter what I was wearing. More than anything, I missed home. As difficult as the transition was for me, I knew it was even harder for my mother. I often watched her sit at our kitchen table with bills spread before her. As time passed, her workdays grew longer, yet she never complained. She simply did what she had to do to give me opportunities she believed I deserved. Watching her perseverance taught me to carry my share of the weight at home. After school, I would turn on Selena while I started dinner. The smell of sofrito and ají would fill our apartment before my mom walked through the door. I folded laundry while listening to Celia Cruz and made sure my schoolwork was finished before she came home. Through my mother's example, I learned resilience, independence, and the courage to embrace change. Although I missed Union City, I realized culture isn't confined to a place—that it could live within me. Every meal I cooked, every Spanish song that filled our apartment, and every tradition we continued reminded me that I could bring home to me. Growing up in Union City, I was surrounded not only by a vibrant community, but also by homelessness and poverty. As I grew older my environment combined with my mother's compassion and selflessness, inspired my desire to serve others. Through my involvement with The Backpack Project and Bigger Vision, I have worked alongside individuals experiencing homelessness and learned that every person has a story deserving of compassion. These experiences strengthened my commitment to serving underrepresented communities. Today, I am pursuing a master's degree in social work, where I hope to continue advocating for individuals and families facing adversity. Although I am no longer the little girl who felt like an outsider, I carry those experiences with me. They remind me of the importance of making others feel seen and valued. Through my work in the nonprofit sector, I hope to extend the same compassion my mother showed me to those who need it most.

As a child growing up in Union City, NJ, I was exposed to the issue of homelessness at an early age. At the time, my mother tried to protect me from seeing the harsh realities of homelessness; however, as I grew older, its persistence became impossible to ignore. I began to realize that homelessness wasn't just an occasional sight on Union City streets, but a persistent social issue that continues to affect countless lives. My passion for helping the homeless in my community stemmed from a young age, and it is a cause that I have continued to pursue throughout my high school and college career. Through my involvement in The Backpack Project of Athens, a student-run organization dedicated to providing tangible resources to individuals experiencing homelessness, as well as my time volunteering at Bigger Vision, a nonprofit organization dedicated to sheltering and supporting those in need, I have had the opportunity to meet people from many different walks of life. The stories I've heard and the exhaustion I've witnessed continually remind me that not everyone has the same stability I've been fortunate to experience. Yet, at the same time, I have witnessed so much joy within these individuals despite the circumstances they face. They would share their favorite books, talk about meals they loved, and laugh with me, as if those hardships did not define them. These experiences have shaped my desire to pursue a career focused on serving others. Conversations like these led me to discover my passion for social work—a career that isn't just about meeting needs, but about recognizing and appreciating the humanity in others. These experiences have also shaped the way I define success. I hope to build a career that allows me to make someone else's world a little better, whether that means helping one person find stability, advocating for those whose voices often go unheard, or simply reminding someone that they are seen and valued. To me, success is not about how far I climb professionally, but about how many lives I have the opportunity to touch with empathy, compassion, and understanding. Above all else, I hope my life reflects the kindness, compassion, and humility that I have learned through my faith in Jesus. Throughout His life, Jesus welcomed those who were often overlooked, loved people without condition, and showed compassion to everyone He encountered. His example inspires me to approach every person with empathy and respect, and I hope to carry those same values into my work as a social worker. In reality, many individuals face significant barriers that limit their ability to secure stable housing, employment, or access to care. Untreated mental illness, stigma, and limited access to healthcare can make seeking help extremely difficult or even out of reach. While efforts have been made to "clean up" homelessness, removing people from public spaces cannot erase the problem. Homelessness continues to appear in the news, on social media, and in communities across the country, demanding acknowledgment and action. I believe we have an ethical responsibility to address homelessness alongside mental healthcare, recognizing that these issues are deeply connected. By pursuing a career in social work and psychology, I hope to positively impact the world by advocating for individuals experiencing homelessness, challenging the stigma that so often surrounds them, providing direct services to people in need. Ultimately, if I can make even one person's world a little better, then I will consider my life and career a success.

As a child growing up in Union City, New Jersey, I often asked my mother questions that she struggled to answer. Why was someone sleeping on a sidewalk? Why did people ask us for money? At six years old, I believed every problem had a simple solution. As I grew older, I realized that homelessness, poverty, and mental health challenges are often interconnected and far more complex than I had imagined. At the time, my mother tried to protect me from seeing the harsh realities of homelessness; however, as I grew older, its persistence became impossible to ignore. Those early conversations became the first bricks in the foundation of the future I hope to build: a career dedicated to providing stability and security to others. As I continue my educational journey, I am laying additional bricks through both academic and hands-on experiences. Through my volunteer work with The Backpack Project and Bigger Vision, I am developing my ability to connect with underserved populations while gaining a deeper understanding of the challenges many individuals face. These experiences have strengthened my commitment to social work and reinforced my desire to serve those experiencing homelessness. After earning my bachelor's degree, I plan to pursue a Master of Social Work to deepen my understanding of the field and strengthen my ability to support vulnerable populations. Following graduate school, I hope to spend several years working directly in mental health and homelessness services. These experiences will allow me to explore where I can make the greatest impact while building the clinical skills, knowledge, and perspective necessary for my long-term goals. My ultimate goal is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and establish my own private practice. Through this practice, I hope to provide counseling services to individuals experiencing homelessness and struggling with mental health concerns. I believe that homelessness is often connected to deeper systemic issues, including untreated mental illness, stigma, and a lack of accessible support systems. When adequate resources are unavailable, many individuals fall through the cracks and are unable to receive the help they need. That is why I envision building a practice that goes beyond traditional counseling by connecting clients with housing resources, mental health services, and community support networks. By pursuing a minor in business alongside my social work education, I am gaining the knowledge necessary to turn this vision into reality and build a practice centered on service and impact. As a first-generation Latina student, becoming a business owner would be the realization of a dream that no one in my family has had the opportunity to pursue before. More importantly, it would allow me to create a space where individuals feel supported and empowered to build more stable futures for themselves. The curiosity and compassion sparked by my childhood questions became the first bricks in the foundation of the future I am building today, and I hope to continue laying those bricks through a career dedicated to helping others.

“La ropa sucia se lava en casa.” Dirty clothes are washed at home, or in other words, “don’t air your dirty laundry in public.” Growing up in a Hispanic household where mental health was often taboo and overlooked, this phrase was an unwritten law. I learned early on to keep my struggles entirely to myself, locking them away behind closed doors. At thirteen years old, I began experiencing a deep sadness and loneliness that I could not explain. It wasn't just a fleeting teenage phase; it was a persistent, hollow ache that, over time, drained me. As I entered high school, those feelings never subsided, but instead grew heavier. Growing up with a single mother, I watched her work tirelessly for us while carrying herself with constant strength. Because she rarely expressed vulnerability, I convinced myself that my mental health struggles were a sign of personal weakness. I chose silence because I didn’t want to burden her with internal problems she couldn't fix, especially when she already carried the immense weight of providing for our family. However, trying to protect my mother in this way took a heavy toll on our relationship. Hiding my pain ultimately created a barrier between us. Even though we were incredibly close, keeping my depression a secret meant I was shutting the person I cared about most completely out of my world. Professional help also never felt like an option. In my family, therapy was often viewed as unnecessary or shameful, so I dismissed it without a second thought. Instead, I coped with my emotions in ways I am not proud of. Looking back, I realize I was simply trying to suppress feelings I did not know how to hold. The turning point began in my sophomore year of high school when I discovered poetry. Writing became a vital sanctuary for the emotions I had buried for years. With the encouragement of an exceptional English teacher, I learned how to transform those feelings into something meaningful. My poems were eventually published in Scribe, my school’s newspaper, giving me a sense of confidence and validation I had never experienced before. What once felt isolating became a source of healing and self-expression, and poetry remains one of my greatest passions today. However, writing alone couldn't completely untangle years of repressed depression. Recognizing I needed more support, I took a terrifying but necessary step: I sought out online therapy. The digital aspect of it provided a sense of privacy and safety that allowed me to bypass the fear of family judgment. For the first time, in front of a screen, I began unpacking the heavy grief and anxiety I had carried alone. Therapy didn't lead to immediate healing, but it did teach me something of great value: the quiet power of human vulnerability. It taught me that vulnerability isn't a burden, but a bridge, ultimately transforming how I approached my relationship with my mother. With that realization, I finally found the courage to open up to her, replacing years of protective isolation with honest closeness. This intersection of personal suffering, healing, and professional support ultimately shaped the career path I have chosen to pursue. As a psychology and social work major at the University of Georgia, my goals are rooted in the very stigma I had to overcome. I want to help people who feel unseen and unheard, particularly within underserved communities. Just as cultural stigma forces many in the Hispanic community to suffer in silence, societal stigma causes unhoused populations to be routinely dehumanized, ignored, and left to feel entirely unseen. Society often reduces homelessness to a lack of physical shelter, ignoring the profound, untreated mental trauma, severe depression, and substance use disorders that lock people into cycles of vulnerability. My ultimate goal is to establish a private practice alongside a dedication to nonprofit work. Through this dual approach, I plan to focus on providing accessible, specialized counseling services directly to homeless populations using an integrated approach. By dedicating my career to underserved communities, I want to bridge the gap between clinical psychological care and real-world social work. Bringing mental health struggles out of stigmatized darkness is not just a professional goal for me—it is a deeply personal mission. By entering the field of mental health, my ultimate goal is to break the cycles of silence and stigma, because I believe that no one, regardless of their background or circumstances, should have to wash their heaviest laundry in isolation.

"When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly. They are like this because they cannot distinguish good from evil. But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and I have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own... None of them can hurt me." — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations. In this opening passage, Marcus Aurelius demonstrates the personal sovereignty that we possess over our own peace. We achieve mental resilience not by hiding from the flaws of others, but by acknowledging human faults and bracing ourselves with cautious grace and understanding towards others. As a perfectly blameless man hung on a cross, facing the height of human malice and evil, one of the most memorable and radical prayers was spoken into existence. In Luke 23:24, Jesus prays, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Jesus prayed this prayer, asking for forgiveness on behalf of men who displayed the worst kinds of evil done against him— a concept that my human mind still fails to fully comprehend. Centuries later, Marcus Aurelius, arrived at a strikingly parallel realization when he wrote that difficult people act poorly because "they cannot distinguish good from evil." As a Christian, my faith teaches me that striving to live like Jesus means extending grace precisely when it is hardest to do so. Looking closely at Aurelius’s words reveals that his Stoic philosophy offers a practical, psychological framework for practicing this very type of Christ-like perspective, providing a reliable path to peace in the face of offense. At first glance, Aurelius’s list of human faults—selfishness, arrogance, and dishonesty—reads like a deeply negative condemnation of the world, written from a position of self-righteous superiority. However, looking beneath the surface reveals the quiet power in reading human nature through a lens of preparation. This exercise mirrors how Jesus sees all of our flaws and human messiness, fully recognizing that we are broken sinners, yet choosing to love and walk with us anyway. For Aurelius, this morning reminder is a tool to eliminate impulsive offense rather than judge his peers. By carefully reading the predictable patterns of human brokenness at dawn, he removes the element of surprise, preparing his heart to respond with patient composure rather than retaliatory anger. "They are like this because they cannot distinguish good from evil". Understanding the word 'cannot' is the key to unpacking the deeper meaning of the text. Aurelius does not see difficult people as villains acting with clear-eyed malice, but as individuals suffering from a profound lack of moral clarity. This subtle distinction changes our entire internal response to harm, shifting us from anger to mercy. Just as Christ looked down from the cross and identified a spiritual blindness rather than pure evil, Aurelius suggests that looking beyond the surface of a person's behavior allows us to see their underlying brokenness. When we reframe the offensive behavior of others as an inability to see clearly rather than a desire to do harm, our natural instinct to defend ourselves turns into an instinct to understand. We would not be angry at a physically blind person for bumping into us; similarly, understanding human motives allows us to meet moral blindness with a greater sense of patience and grace. With that, this understanding does not minimize the real impact of difficult behavior, nor does it require discarding personal boundaries; rather, it ensures that while another person's chaos may disrupt our environment, it lacks the power to corrupt our character. On a personal level, as a future social worker preparing to serve individuals experiencing homelessness, this intersection of faith, philosophy, and textual analysis directly shapes my daily worldview and professional calling. My passion for mental health has taught me that individuals endure unimaginable hardships, and I recognize that I am inherently limited in my ability to fully comprehend the depth of another person's suffering. However, this text, synthesized with my faith, reconfigures my entire approach to interpersonal conflict. It serves as a reminder that those navigating housing instability may project defense mechanisms such as anger or dishonesty simply as tools for survival. Instead of reacting with judgment or frustration, this perspective allows me to look past surface behaviors and view them through a Christ-like lens—as broken individuals who possess inherent dignity and remain infinitely worthy of grace. A key concept in social work is meeting clients exactly where they are, and this philosophy provides the framework to do so. While I cannot control the trauma or systemic hardships a client brings into a space, I retain absolute control over my own heart. By practicing this deeper level of analysis, I can preserve my capacity for empathy and remain a calm, steady source of support. In the context of learning, Aurelius’s approach perfectly matches the practice of close reading itself. Deeply engaging with a text requires us to look past the surface—to not just notice a harsh tone or a confusing phrase, but to ask why it is there. Just as Aurelius looks beneath frustrating behavior to find a deeper lack of understanding, a close reader looks beneath the explicit words on a page to find the real human needs driving the writer. Ultimately, Aurelius’s assertion shows that close reading is not just an academic exercise for the classroom, but a vital tool for cultivating a Christ-like attitude in an imperfect world. It reminds us that protecting our inner character requires an active, deliberate interpretation of the world around us. By slowing down to read between the lines of human behavior, we learn to acknowledge human flaws while still withholding condemnation. We can choose to respond to malice with understanding, anchoring our peace not in how others treat us, but in our enduring commitment to extend the same grace we have been given.

“One day, we’re going to be sitting on your front porch,” my mother told me the morning of my high school graduation. At the time, I thought she was talking about a physical house—something she had never known, having spent her life living in apartments. But as I’ve grown older and witnessed her sacrifices, I’ve come to understand that my “front porch” meant more to her than a place to live. She was describing a future she never had the opportunity to pursue for herself—one that I am determined to achieve for both of us. As a first-generation college student and proud Latina, my pursuit of higher education has never been solely about personal success. It is rooted in my single mother's sacrifices, my values, and a deep desire to honor the resilience of the generations who came before me. My academic journey wasn't always the easiest; however, I am eternally grateful for the resilience it has taught me. As the only child of a single mother who never had the opportunity to pursue higher education, I often found myself navigating my academic journey alone. When I struggled with my English homework, I couldn't always turn to my mother for academic help. Instead, I learned how to seek out resources, ask questions, and, most importantly, persevere. Throughout high school, I balanced academics with work, holding jobs since the age of fourteen. Later, I navigated the college application process independently, teaching myself how to research schools, complete applications, and pursue financial aid opportunities. Now, as a college student at the University of Georgia, I've discovered a passion that aligns with my values and long-term goals. After entering college as a Psychology major on the pre-med track, I enrolled in an introductory social work course that completely shifted my perspective. While I was drawn to psychology's focus on understanding human behavior, social work introduced me to something that resonated even more deeply: the opportunity to serve others. This realization inspired me to become more involved in my community. Through my involvement with The Backpack Project, a student-run organization dedicated to supporting individuals experiencing homelessness, I have had the opportunity to meet people from many different walks of life. The stories I have heard and the hardships I've witnessed continually remind me that not everyone has been afforded the stability that I have been fortunate enough to have. Yet, at the same time, I've witnessed so much joy within these individuals despite their circumstances. They would share their favorite books, talk about meals they loved, and laugh with me, as if those hardships did not define them. Their experiences strengthened my commitment to social work and affirmed my desire to advocate for underserved populations. In the future, I aspire to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and eventually open my own private practice. To prepare for that goal, I am pursuing a minor in business alongside my social work education, equipping myself with the knowledge necessary to successfully manage a practice. As a first-generation Latina student, becoming the first person in my family to own a business would be a meaningful milestone and a testament to the power of determination and the selfless sacrifices of my mother. “Hija, it is every parent's wish for their child to be better than they were.” Those words from my mother replay in my mind as I continue my academic journey. They remind me why I persevere through challenges, pursue my goals with determination, and strive to make her proud.

As a little girl growing up in Union City, New Jersey, I often found myself asking my mother questions like, “Mommy, why did that person ask you for money?” or “Mommy, why is that man sleeping on the sidewalk?” She would typically reply, “Because he doesn’t have a home, sweetheart,” or “Because they don’t have money.” My six-year-old mind struggled to comprehend how someone could not have a home or money. At the time, my mother tried to protect me from the harsh realities of homelessness; however, as I grew older, I realized homelessness wasn't just an occasional sight on the streets but a persistent problem that became impossible to ignore. I believe that being exposed to these issues at an early age led me to my passion and desire to help individuals experiencing homelessness early on. As the child of a single mother, I am especially grateful to have had as much opportunity and resources as I have been blessed with. Additionally, it has been a blessing in itself to have been raised by a woman like my mother, one that is both strong and compassionate. I believe the qualities she has instilled in me has been the foundation of my determination towards my goals and the kindness I hope to share with others. As a social work and business major, I hope to utilize my passions for service, mental health and homelessness to help others in an impactful way. After earning my bachelor’s degree, I plan to pursue a Master of Social Work degree. Following graduate school, I hope to gain hands-on experience through nonprofit work, community outreach programs, and counseling services. Ultimately, my goal is to build a career dedicated to empowering individuals and families experiencing homelessness, helping them access the resources, support, and opportunities needed to achieve stability. As a long-term goal, I plan to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and eventually establish my own private practice. Through this, I plan to focus on providing counseling services to homeless populations struggling with a variety of different mental health issues, such as addictions, depression or mental disorders. I believe that the connection between homelessness and untreated mental illness reveals a deeper problem that extends beyond a lack of housing alone. When there are not adequate resources and support systems in place to help these individuals, they can easily fall through the cracks and not get the help they need. Therefore, I want my future practice to be one that is fully integrated, combining housing services, mental health care, and community support systems so that each individual feels safe and more secure about their future. While I am no longer a six-year-old asking questions on a New Jersey street, the curiosity, compassion, and sense of responsibility that those questions sparked continue to guide me. Even though my questions as a child were simple, they led me to my passion and lifelong commitment of helping others. These values will continue to guide me, shaping not only the career I hope to have, but also the person I hope to become. A person that is able to see the complexity in others’ struggles and respond with compassion and practical support.

As a little girl growing up in Union City, New Jersey, I often found myself asking my dad questions like, “Daddy, why did that person ask you for money?” or “Daddy, why is that man sleeping on the sidewalk?” He would typically reply, “Because he doesn’t have a home, sweetheart,” or “Because they don’t have money.” My six-year-old mind struggled to comprehend how someone could not have a home or money. At the time, my father tried to protect me from the harsh realities of homelessness; however, as I grew older, I realized homelessness wasn't just an occasional sight on the streets but a persistent problem that became impossible to ignore. Growing up so close to New York City, homelessness was something I witnessed often, and it became an issue that became increasingly important to me as I matured. During my senior year of high school, I took an AP Psychology class and became deeply interested in mental health diagnoses and psychological disorders. As I transitioned into college at the University of Georgia, my advisor suggested that I take an introductory social work class during my first semester. Through this course, I began to recognize the strong connection between mental illness and underserved communities, particularly the homeless community. Many people experiencing homelessness also struggle with untreated mental illness, trauma, and limited access to support and resources. This realization inspired me to combine my passion for mental health with my desire to help others in underserved communities. Throughout my first year, I became involved with The Backpack Project and Bigger Vision in Athens, Georgia. Both organizations work to combat homelessness and support vulnerable populations within the Athens community. The Backpack Project distributes essential items to individuals experiencing homelessness in Athens and surrounding areas, while Bigger Vision provides shelter, meals, and other necessities for those in need. Volunteering with Bigger Vision especially allowed me to build relationships with many of the same individuals each week, which not only strengthened my drive to help others, but also helped me grow as a person. Through volunteering, I have seen firsthand how even a few hours of our time can make a meaningful impact on someone’s life. Over time, I began remembering small details about the individuals I regularly interacted with, such as their favorite book or the snacks they liked most from the pantry. Although they were small gestures, I realized how meaningful it is for someone to feel remembered and valued. The gratitude, kindness, and smiles I receive from the individuals I work with continually remind me why this work is so important and reinforce my desire to dedicate my career to helping others Ultimately, I believe safe housing and mental healthcare are basic human rights. Yet homelessness and mental illness are still highly stigmatized issues that society often tries to ignore or conceal. However, neglecting these issues or treating them as taboo subjects only allows them to worsen and causes more individuals to fall through the cracks. Dedicating my career to nonprofit work is important to me because I believe nonprofit organizations play a valuable role in addressing the root causes of these problems and solving them through tangible support. Through a career in social work, I hope to help make mental health and homelessness resources more accessible and create environments where individuals can feel seen and valued.

“One day, we’re going to be sitting on your front porch,” my mother told me the night before my high school graduation. At the time, I thought she was talking about a physical house—something she had never known, having spent her life living in apartments. But as I’ve grown older and witnessed her sacrifices, I’ve come to understand that my “front porch” meant more to her than a place to live. She was describing a future she never had the opportunity to pursue for herself. To me, being a first-generation college graduate means fulfilling that dream, not just for me, but even more so for her. As I watched my mother come home from long nights at work, with tired eyes and heavy shoulders, her love for me was so evident. She worked tirelessly, often without taking time for herself to rest, all to give me opportunities she never had. There were moments when I felt guilty, knowing how much she sacrificed for me, and I tried to ease that burden in small ways. But she never allowed me to carry that weight. Instead, when I shared those feelings with her, she would say, “Hija, it is every parent’s wish for their child to be better than they were.” As I continue my educational journey in college, that reminder pushes me to strive for excellence in my academics. Earning my first degree and continuing on to pursue my Master’s in Social Work is my way of saying thank you. It is my proof to her that her sacrifices were not in vain. And with that, pursuing higher education is a statement: that Latino/a students belong in higher education spaces and are capable of achieving excellence—a sentiment I believe is important to affirm. My desire to pursue a career focused on serving others stems from my mother’s heart and the love for others that she has so clearly modeled in my life. Throughout high school and college, I have sought opportunities to serve those around me, especially individuals in underrepresented and underserved communities. From volunteering at a soccer camp for children with mental and physical disabilities to serving as an executive member of Letters for Rose, where I built relationships with elders in our community homes, each experience was a blessing and a learning opportunity, guiding me to where I feel most called to serve. I found that sense of purpose when I began working with individuals experiencing homelessness. Through my involvement in the Backpack Project, a student-run organization dedicated to supporting the homeless in our community, as well as my time volunteering at Bigger Vision, I have had the opportunity to meet many different people from all walks of life. The stories I’ve heard and the exhaustion I’ve witnessed continuously remind me how blessed my mother and I are. Yet, at the same time, I have witnessed so much joy within these individuals despite the circumstances they face. They would share their favorite books, talk about meals they loved, and laugh with me, as if those hardships did not define them. Conversations like these led me to find my passion for working with individuals experiencing homelessness, and social work—a career that isn’t just about meeting needs, but about recognizing and appreciating the humanity in others. And so one day, as my mother and I sit on that front porch, with our Café Bustelo in hand, I hope she feels proud of me—knowing that investing in me was an investment in others, and that everything she gave, every sacrifice she made, was worth it.