Life hasn’t exactly gone according to plan, but somehow, I’ve always found a way to keep moving forward. I’m a single mom, a Navy veteran, a domestic abuse survivor, and now a graduate student earning my Master of Science in Human Services. I’ve faced more than my share of adversity, but I’ve never let it stop me from showing up for others or striving to create a better life—for myself, my daughter, and my community. I graduated high school at 16, eager to start college and make something of myself. But within a year, I was overwhelmed by depression and ended up leaving school. Not long after, I joined the Navy, where I spent 21 years serving in both IT and human resources, eventually rising to the rank of Chief Petty Officer. I became known for my leadership, dependability, and heart for mentoring others, especially young service members trying to find their way. I saw service as more than a job; it was a responsibility and a privilege. After retiring, I thought the hardest chapters were behind me. But transitioning out of the military while raising a daughter with ADHD and anxiety, navigating life as a single mom, and trying to return to school wasn’t easy. I’ve had to rebuild from the ground up emotionally, financially, and academically. There were moments when I doubted myself, when it felt like I was behind or doing too much. But I stayed focused on my purpose. I want to use my life and experience to help others, especially those who feel unseen, unheard, or unsupported. That drive to help isn’t just something I talk about, it’s something I live. Whether it’s mentoring other women veterans, volunteering with school events, helping other parents navigate IEPs and special education, or showing up for friends and neighbors in crisis, I try to be the person others can count on. Even when my own world has felt heavy, I’ve leaned into service as a way to stay grounded and connected. Academically, I take pride in my work. I currently hold a 4.0 GPA and approach my studies with the same discipline and heart that I gave the military. I don’t take this opportunity for granted. I’m not just earning a degree, I’m building a foundation to make real change in my community. This scholarship would support not just my education, but my mission. My goal is to work with youth and families who’ve experienced trauma, instability, or neglect. I eventually plan to launch a nonprofit called Rise and Reach, focused on life skills, self-advocacy, and emotional wellness for kids who need more than what traditional systems provide. Resilience, service, and purpose aren’t just words for me, they’re how I live my life. I’ve overcome a lot, and I’ve helped others do the same. With support like this scholarship, I’ll keep going—stronger, wiser, and even more determined to make a difference.

I’ve spent my life in service—first to my country, and now to my community. I’m a retired U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer, a single mom, and a graduate student pursuing my Master of Science in Human Services. My story includes leadership, resilience, and survival, but more importantly, it includes a deep commitment to creating a better world for people who are often overlooked. That includes individuals with special needs, especially children like my daughter. My daughter has ADHD and anxiety, and she has an IEP to support her learning needs. While many don’t always consider that “special needs” in the traditional sense, I’ve seen how easily these kids get dismissed or misunderstood because their challenges aren’t visible. I’ve had to fight hard just to get her evaluated, and even harder to have her needs taken seriously. I’ll never forget when one of her teachers changed the way they treated her after the IEP was in place; suddenly, she wasn’t seen as capable, just as a “problem.” I had to advocate not just for her accommodations, but for her dignity. That experience opened my eyes to how many children and families are forced to battle systems that are supposed to help them. Schools are underfunded, educators are overwhelmed, and supports for special needs students, especially those with emotional or behavioral needs, often fall short. That’s why I’m pursuing a career in human services with a focus on youth advocacy and educational equity. I want to work in programs and agencies that not only support families one-on-one but also push for larger systemic change. We need policies that center inclusion, teacher training that addresses neurodiversity, and school cultures where accommodations don’t come with judgment or lowered expectations. My long-term goal is to launch a nonprofit called Rise and Reach, focused on helping youth, especially those with IEPs, mental health needs, or learning differences, build life skills, confidence, and self-advocacy. I want to create safe, inclusive spaces where kids are embraced for who they are and given the tools to succeed in a world that doesn’t always make room for them. This scholarship would help relieve the financial strain of graduate school and allow me to stay fully engaged in this work. I’ve already spent over two decades in service, but this chapter is even more personal. I’m doing this not just for myself, but for my daughter, and for every child like her who deserves better. With the right support and the right systems in place, I believe we can build a world where every child is seen, supported, and empowered to thrive.

I’ve always been someone who shows up—for my family, for my community, and for the people who don’t always have someone in their corner. I’m a single mom, a Navy veteran, a survivor of domestic abuse, and now a graduate student pursuing my Master of Science in Human Services. I didn’t take a traditional path, but every step I’ve taken has shaped the kind of public servant I want to be: steady, empathetic, and deeply committed to creating real change. I graduated high school at 16 and started college right away, but I left after my first year. I was overwhelmed, alone, and unknowingly battling depression. A year later, I joined the Navy in search of purpose and stability, and I found both. During my 21-year career, I grew into leadership roles quickly, but what mattered most to me wasn’t rank. It was the people. I mentored those under my charge, advocated for those who felt unheard, and built community wherever I was stationed. Even when my own life felt hard, especially during and after an abusive relationship, I never stopped trying to be someone others could count on. After retiring as a Chief Petty Officer, I knew I wasn’t done serving. I’m now focused on building a second career that allows me to support youth, families, and communities through public service. I’m especially passionate about helping people who are navigating trauma, poverty, or systems that weren’t built with them in mind. I want to work within or alongside agencies like the Department of Health and Human Services or the Department of Justice, supporting programs that intervene early; before a child ends up in the juvenile system, before a family falls apart, before someone gives up on themselves. This scholarship would help ease the financial strain of graduate school and give me more flexibility to stay engaged in the work that matters, both academically and in my community. It would also set an example for my daughter, showing her that it’s never too late to dream bigger or do better, not just for yourself, but for the people who are counting on you. Public service has been the throughline of my life, and this next chapter is about carrying that forward with even more purpose. My story may not look traditional, but I believe that’s exactly what makes me well-suited for this work. I’ve lived through the things I want to help others overcome, and I’m ready to keep showing up with compassion, accountability, and action.

During my 21 years in the U.S. Navy, I had many opportunities to lead, but one experience in particular stands out as a turning point in how I understood leadership, not just as authority, but as service, empathy, and responsibility. At one point in my career, I was placed in charge of a team that was severely understaffed and emotionally drained after a toxic leadership transition. Morale was low, trust was nonexistent, and the mission was suffering because of it. I was new to the team, but I knew I couldn’t just step in and start giving orders. Instead, I started with the basics: listening, observing, and learning each person’s strengths, struggles, and frustrations. It wasn’t easy. Some team members were resistant at first, burned out by broken promises and poor leadership. But I showed up consistently. I created space for honest feedback, addressed concerns without defensiveness, and implemented small changes that gave the team a voice in how we operated. I also advocated for resources that had previously been ignored—simple things like more flexible duty rotations and updated equipment, which helped reduce daily stress. One of the most important things I did was empower others to lead from within. I didn’t need to be the loudest person in the room. I wanted to be the most consistent. I gave junior team members opportunities to take ownership of projects, trusted them to make decisions, and stood beside them when things didn’t go perfectly. Slowly, things changed. Morale improved. Productivity increased. And more importantly, people started believing in the mission and in themselves again. That experience taught me that leadership isn’t about controlling people. It’s about investing in them. It's about noticing who’s falling behind, who’s not being heard, and what systems aren’t working, and then doing something about it. I carry those lessons with me now as a graduate student in Human Services and as someone building a career focused on uplifting others. My long-term goal is to launch a nonprofit called Rise and Reach, which will provide mentorship, emotional wellness, and life skills education to middle and high school youth. Many of these young people have never had someone believe in them. I want to be that person. I want to take the leadership principles I learned in the Navy—servant leadership, consistency, trust, and accountability—and apply them in a way that changes lives. Whether it’s working directly with youth or leading a team of future mentors and educators, I plan to lead by showing up, listening well, and creating environments where people feel safe to grow. The challenges I faced in the Navy prepared me to stay grounded under pressure, adapt quickly, and lead with heart. Exceptional leadership doesn’t mean having all the answers. It means being willing to ask the right questions, support the people around you, and stay committed to the bigger picture. That’s the kind of leader I’ve been, and the kind I plan to continue being as I move forward in this next chapter of service.

I’ve worn many titles in my life—Navy veteran, single mom, small business owner, and now, graduate student. But the title that means the most to me is “example.” Because everything I’m doing, I’m doing not just for myself, but for my daughter, and for every young woman who needs to see that it's possible to carve your path, even when it doesn’t look traditional. I spent 21 years serving in the United States Navy, retiring with pride and a deep sense of responsibility to continue serving my community. The military taught me resilience, discipline, and leadership, but it also showed me how much work still needs to be done to uplift and protect women, both in and outside of uniform. I saw firsthand how often women’s voices are dismissed, how frequently we’re expected to stay silent or endure more. That shaped my commitment to making things different for the next generation. After retiring, I returned to school to pursue my Master of Science in Human Services. Balancing graduate studies, full-time work, single parenting, and running a small business hasn’t been easy, but it’s fueled by purpose. I’m building toward something bigger than a degree; I’m building a mission. My dream is to launch a nonprofit called Rise and Reach. It will focus on empowering middle and high school girls through mentorship, emotional wellness, and life skills education. I want to reach girls during the years when they’re most vulnerable to self-doubt and external pressures. I want them to know how to set boundaries, manage stress, speak up, and trust their voice—skills I had to learn later in life. Too often, girls are taught to shrink themselves or prioritize others over their well-being. I want to disrupt that pattern and replace it with self-worth, resilience, and leadership. I also plan to work with educators and community leaders to make classrooms and youth spaces more inclusive, affirming, and safe. I want to normalize conversations around mental health, leadership, and personal growth. My goal is to build environments where girls are seen and celebrated early on—not just when they "achieve something," but simply for who they are. My experience in the military, as a parent, and as a woman navigating systems not always built for us has given me a deep sense of empathy and fire. I want to use both to create change. Whether it's through one-on-one mentorship, nonprofit programming, or community advocacy, I plan to spend my career uplifting women, especially those who haven’t yet been told how powerful they are. If I can help even one girl believe in herself, her voice, and her future, then this journey will be more than worth it.

Balancing school, work, and parenting is a challenge on its own, but doing all of it while managing mental health adds another layer most people don’t see. Depression isn’t always loud or obvious. For me, it often shows up as fatigue, self-doubt, and emotional heaviness that lingers in the background of everything I do. As a graduate student, single mom, full-time employee, and business owner, I’ve had to learn how to recognize my limits and build in space for recovery before I burn out. There are weeks when the pressure piles up, deadlines, parenting responsibilities, unexpected life stress, and I find myself emotionally exhausted. It’s easy in those moments to feel like I’m falling short in every area. My mental health impacts my academic performance not because I don’t care, but because I care so deeply that I push myself past the point of balance. I want to succeed. I want to build a better future for my daughter. But when I don’t pause to take care of myself, everything suffers—my energy, my focus, and even my ability to enjoy the wins. In my personal life, depression sometimes makes it hard to be fully present. I may get everything done on the outside, but inside I feel like I’m running on empty. I’ve learned to pay attention to those signs and be honest with myself about what I need. Mental health isn’t something I can ignore and hope will pass. It’s something I have to actively manage and doing that while in school has required both intentional planning and self-compassion. Over the years, I’ve created a mental health toolkit that helps me stay grounded. I schedule breaks during long study sessions, and I no longer wait until I’m completely overwhelmed to ask for help. I use a planner not just for academic deadlines, but for checking in with myself: Did I eat? Have I slept enough? Do I need a walk or a quiet moment before pushing forward? I also journal, lean on a few trusted friends, and try to stay open about how I’m feeling, even when I’m not okay. That openness has helped me build a stronger support system, and it’s modeled healthy coping skills for my daughter too. Making my mental health a priority also means releasing perfectionism. I’ve learned to be proud of progress over performance. Some weeks I’m thriving, and some weeks I’m just getting by, and both are okay. That perspective has allowed me to keep moving forward in my education while also taking care of myself. What I’ve come to understand is that managing my mental health isn’t separate from my success, it’s a key part of it. The more I take care of myself, the more I’m able to show up in the classroom, at work, and at home with presence and purpose. I’m not perfect, but I’m committed—to my goals, to my well-being, and to setting an example that strength includes knowing when to pause and reset.

Mental illness doesn’t always show up all at once. My first experience with depression came during my first year of college. I had graduated high school at 16, ready to chase big goals, but the transition into college life hit me harder than expected. The pressure, isolation, and internal battles I didn’t yet know how to name all came to the surface. I ended up leaving school and eventually joined the U.S. Navy, where structure and responsibility helped me find stability. But the emotional weight never fully left. Years later, after having my daughter, those feelings resurfaced, only this time, they were more intense. It was initially labeled postpartum depression, but after a year, the fog still hadn’t lifted. I started medication, hoping it would pass, and for a while, it did help. I went off the meds and kept pushing forward, like so many of us do, assuming I could manage on my own. For a few years, I did manage, until I couldn’t anymore. As I approached retirement, I felt myself sinking again. I was juggling work, parenting, and the emotional pressure of trying to keep it all together, but inside, I was unraveling. That season of my life was one of the hardest. I was surrounded by people but felt completely alone. It took everything I had just to keep functioning, and pulling myself out of that dark space required not only support but a complete shift in how I approached my own mental health. That journey has deeply shaped who I am and how I show up in the world. I’ve seen firsthand how depression can feel invisible but all-consuming. I’ve also seen how stigma, silence, and self-blame can keep people from getting the help they need. I know what it’s like to smile while struggling, to show up when you feel empty, and to feel unseen even by those closest to you. Now, as a graduate student in Human Services, I’m using those experiences as fuel for the work I want to do. My goal is to create a nonprofit called Rise and Reach, focused on mentoring and emotional wellness for middle and high school youth. I want to help kids recognize early signs of distress, give them coping tools, and normalize the act of asking for help. I want them to know they’re not alone, and that needing support doesn’t mean they’re weak, it means they’re human. Because of my own experiences, I’ve become someone people turn to. I’ve had friends, coworkers, and even strangers open up to me about their mental health struggles, often because they know I’ll listen without judgment. I don’t have all the answers, but I know how powerful it is to feel heard and understood. That’s the kind of presence I strive to be for my daughter, for my community, and for the young people I hope to serve one day. Mental illness has been part of my story, but it’s not the whole story. What defines me is my willingness to keep going, to speak openly, and to help others carry what they shouldn’t have to carry alone.

Mental health is deeply personal to me. I was first diagnosed with depression as a teenager, during my first attempt at college, and it changed the way I saw myself and others. That experience, feeling overwhelmed, unsupported, and unsure, shaped the kind of person I wanted to become: someone who shows up, listens without judgment, and helps others feel less alone. Since then, I’ve found myself naturally supporting friends, classmates, and even coworkers through their mental health struggles. Whether it’s checking in regularly, helping someone access resources, or just being a consistent presence during hard seasons, I’ve learned that small acts of empathy can make a big impact. As a single mom, I also model emotional openness at home, showing my daughter that asking for help is a strength, not a weakness. Now, as a graduate student in Human Services, I’m learning how to turn those instincts into effective, professional advocacy. My future career goal is to launch a nonprofit organization focused on youth empowerment, emotional resilience, and real-world life skills, especially for girls. I want to create spaces where mental well-being is normalized and supported, not stigmatized or overlooked. The rise in mental health challenges, especially among young people, isn’t something I can ignore. I want to be part of the solution, not just as someone with compassion, but as someone with the training to make a lasting difference. My degree will help me design trauma-informed programs, advocate for accessible care, and train others in how to provide support in schools and community spaces. This scholarship would help me continue my education while keeping my long-term mission at the center: creating emotionally safe spaces and ensuring that no one feels like they have to suffer in silence. Mental health is just as vital as physical health, and I’m committed to making sure it's treated that way in every space I work in.

I’ve taken a lot of unexpected turns to get where I am today, but every one of them has shaped the person I’m becoming, and the kind of impact I want to make. I graduated high school at 16, eager to get a head start. I went straight into college, but it was too much, too fast. I struggled with my mental health and made the hard decision to step away. Within a year, I joined the Navy. That’s where I really learned discipline, perseverance, and how capable I was of rebuilding my life. Years later, I’m a single mom, a graduate student, and a first-generation graduate student working toward a Master of Science in Human Services. I also work full time and run a small business. My path hasn’t looked traditional, but it’s been full of purpose. I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about having it all together, it’s about continuing to show up, even when it’s hard. One of the most life-changing moments for me was becoming a mom. That experience gave me a kind of motivation I didn’t know I had. I wanted to build something better, not just for my daughter, but for other kids like her who deserve strong role models and supportive communities. Watching her grow has fueled my passion for youth development and education access. I want her to see what it looks like to pursue your goals, even when the path is winding. That’s why my biggest dream is to launch a nonprofit called Rise and Reach. It will focus on middle and high school youth, providing mentorship, emotional development, and life skills training, especially for girls. I want to create safe spaces where young people feel seen and supported, and where they learn things that will truly serve them in life: how to manage stress, build healthy relationships, handle money, and speak up for themselves. The goal is to help them thrive, not just survive. The values behind this scholarship, resilience, kindness, and self-belief, are deeply personal to me. I’ve had to rebuild more than once. I’ve had to lead with heart, even when life felt heavy. And I’ve learned to believe in myself, even when the odds weren’t in my favor. I carry that mindset into everything I do, whether I’m parenting, working, or giving back. I don’t just want to earn a degree, I want to make a difference. This scholarship would help lighten the financial load of graduate school and allow me to focus more energy on building the foundation for Rise and Reach. It would also be a reminder that my story, while imperfect, is powerful. And that’s what I hope to pass on: that no matter where you start, you are worthy of your dreams. Thank you for considering my story.

My path has been shaped by service, growth, and the deep desire to give back in a meaningful way. Earning my Master of Science in Human Services isn’t just a personal achievement—it’s a foundation for the work I want to do in the world. Once I graduate, I plan to use my education and lived experience to support youth and families in ways that feel real, responsive, and impactful. I want to build programs that meet people where they are and help them move forward with dignity, confidence, and support. One of my biggest dreams is to create a nonprofit called Rise and Reach. This idea has been developing for years, shaped by what I’ve experienced, the gaps I’ve seen in youth services, and my own desire to be part of a solution. I want this organization to focus on mentoring and skill-building for middle and high school students, with added support for families. The vision is simple but powerful: a community-based program where kids can learn life skills, build emotional resilience, develop healthy coping strategies, and be surrounded by adults who believe in them. I also want to bring in voices from the community—therapists, entrepreneurs, educators, and tradespeople—so youth can see what’s possible and build their futures with a wider lens. At the heart of Rise and Reach is the belief that every child deserves access to support, no matter their background. I want to design programs that address the real, everyday challenges many youth face but are rarely taught how to manage, like navigating stress, building healthy relationships, making financial decisions, or understanding their own emotional responses. It won’t be a one-size-fits-all solution; it will be adaptable, inclusive, and culturally responsive. I want young people to feel ownership over their growth and to know that there are adults in their corner who genuinely care. In the long term, I plan to earn a Doctor of Education in Organizational Leadership or Community Care and Counseling. This will prepare me to lead programs and organizations that go beyond surface-level support. I want to shape the way services are delivered and make sure they’re inclusive, trauma-informed, and grounded in real-world experience. Whether I’m serving as a Youth Program Director, a consultant, or the leader of my own nonprofit, I want to make sure that the systems we rely on are working better for the people they’re meant to serve. I’ve always been someone who shows up for others. That’s been true in my military service, as a single mom, and now as a graduate student who is building a new path while still juggling work and parenting. My career goals come from a place of heart and purpose. I want to help young people realize their worth and their potential, especially those who may not have strong support systems in place. I want to be the person who reminds them they are not alone and that they are capable of building a life they love. Representation also matters deeply to me. As a white mother raising a biracial daughter, I’ve learned the importance of affirming identity, challenging stereotypes, and having hard but necessary conversations about privilege, systemic barriers, and belonging. My daughter has been my biggest inspiration in returning to school and creating something that reflects the kind of world I want her to live in. One where support systems are strong, opportunities are real, and people are valued for exactly who they are. I want to contribute to that world, not just for her, but for every young person trying to find their place in it. This scholarship would ease the financial burden that comes with graduate education and allow me to stay focused on my studies and long-term goals. Balancing school, work, and parenthood is no small task, and every bit of support makes a difference. Financially, this scholarship would help me avoid unnecessary debt, which is especially important as I build a future in a field where passion often outweighs paychecks. More importantly, it would serve as a reminder that others believe in what I’m building, and that belief means everything when you're carrying a big vision forward. It would also free up space and energy to start laying the groundwork for Rise and Reach while I’m still in school. I’ve already begun mapping out the early stages—curriculum ideas, community partnerships, mentorship models—and this kind of support would allow me to dive deeper, connect with local organizations, and begin applying what I’m learning in real time. I want to do this right, and I want to start now. My plans also include continued professional growth and community collaboration. I want to stay connected to youth-serving agencies and school systems, not just as a partner but as an advocate. I want to help build bridges between families, schools, and community programs so that kids receive consistent support across their environments. That kind of wraparound approach takes time, intention, and leadership, but it’s the kind of impact that lasts. Another important goal of mine is mentorship. I want to support other future professionals, especially women, veterans, single parents, and first-generation graduate students like myself. I know how overwhelming it can be to step into spaces where you don’t always feel like you belong. I’ve been there. That’s why I want to pay it forward by helping others feel confident in their journey and capable of building a career rooted in service and impact. What I’m ultimately building is a career of purpose. I want to be someone who leads with empathy, makes decisions with integrity, and advocates for those who are too often overlooked. I want my work to matter, not just in small ways, but in ways that help shift systems and open doors for others. I want to leave a legacy that reflects growth, heart, and service. I also want to show my daughter what it means to dream big and follow through. She’s watched me juggle work, school, parenting, and life, all while keeping my eyes on something bigger than myself. And while it hasn’t been easy, it’s been worth it. I hope she sees that hard work, intention, and courage can take you far, and that your dreams matter, even if you have to take a winding road to reach them. The work I want to do doesn’t just live on paper. It lives in every kid who feels like they’re falling through the cracks, in every parent who’s doing their best with limited support, and in every community that needs healing and hope. That’s the heart behind everything I’m pursuing. I’m proud of the journey I’ve taken to get here, and I’m even more excited about what’s next. This scholarship would be a part of that next chapter. An investment not just in me, but in the work I’m committed to doing for years to come.

I’m worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because I’ve worked for them, grown through them, and stayed committed to them,no matter what life has thrown my way. I haven’t taken the easy route, and I’ve never expected things to be handed to me. What I dream of building, programs that empower youth, support families, and create long-term impact, comes from lived experience, purpose, and a genuine drive to make things better for the next generation. I’m a single mom, a Navy veteran, and a first-generation graduate student currently working on my Master of Science in Human Services. My life has been full of transitions, challenges, and moments that forced me to dig deep and keep going. Through it all, I’ve stayed focused on something bigger than myself: helping others, especially young people, realize their worth and find their path. I’m not chasing dreams for status or recognition. I’m chasing them because I believe in being a part of the solution. I’ve seen how systems can fail people, especially those who are underserved, overlooked, or struggling in silence. I want to be the person who steps in with compassion, understanding, and action. Whether I’m working one-on-one with a student, leading a community program, or eventually launching my own nonprofit, my goal is always to lift others up and help them see what’s possible. What makes me worthy of these goals is that I don’t quit. I’m constantly learning, constantly showing up, and constantly choosing growth, even when it’s uncomfortable. I balance school, parenting, and work not because it’s easy, but because it’s what my future, and my daughter’s future, deserve. I’m determined to be an example for her and for others who need to see that it’s never too late to start over, dream big, or build something meaningful. My dream is to launch a nonprofit called Rise and Reach. It will serve middle and high school youth, offering mentorship, life skills training, and support systems that go beyond academics. I want to give kids a space where they feel heard, supported, and equipped for real life. Everything I’m doing now is laying the foundation for that dream. Every class I take, every project I complete, and every lesson I learn is helping me prepare for the day I get to open those doors and welcome young people in. So yes, I believe I’m worth the dreams I’m working toward, not because I think I deserve shortcuts or praise, but because I’ve put in the effort, stayed true to my values, and never stopped believing that I can make a difference. And when I get there, I won’t forget where I came from or the people who helped me along the way. I’ll keep showing up, keep reaching back, and keep rising forward—because that’s what this dream is really about.

Returning to school to pursue my Master of Science in Human Services was not a decision I made lightly. It was one born out of reflection, purpose, and a deep desire to create lasting change in my community. As a U.S. Navy veteran, a single mother, and a first-generation graduate student, I’ve faced my share of obstacles. But each challenge has strengthened my resolve and sharpened my focus. Earning this degree isn’t just a personal achievement; it’s the foundation for a future built on advocacy, empowerment, and impact. This scholarship would provide the financial support I need to keep moving forward without sacrificing my stability. Like many adult learners, I’m balancing multiple responsibilities: full-time work, parenting, and building a small business. The financial pressure is real, and while I am committed to this journey, having the extra support would allow me to stay focused on my studies and give more energy to the work I plan to do in the community. It would also serve as validation that others believe in my potential and the purpose behind my degree. My long-term goal is to launch a nonprofit that supports youth and families through mentorship, life skills education, and mental health awareness. I’ve already introduced a school-based mentorship program called Rise and Reach, designed to help middle school girls develop confidence, emotional resilience, and community connection. As someone who has experienced and witnessed the impact of unaddressed mental health challenges, both in the military and as a parent, I know how urgently these kinds of programs are needed. This degree is giving me the framework and knowledge I need to build systems that work, advocate for policy change, and become a trusted leader in human services. I want to help families navigate educational systems, support young people dealing with trauma or instability, and make sure no one falls through the cracks just because they don’t know where to turn for help. My ambition is fueled by lived experience. I know what it feels like to struggle silently, to be unsure of your path, and to need someone to simply believe in you. That’s what I want to be for others: a source of support, direction, and hope. And that’s what this scholarship would help make possible. Receiving this opportunity would ease the financial burden of graduate school, allowing me to stay the course and finish strong. More than that, it would be an investment in someone who is committed to doing the work, day in and day out, to improve the lives of others. I am driven not just by what I’ve been through, but by the future I want to create. With the help of this scholarship, I’ll be one step closer to making that vision a reality.

My time in the U.S. Navy shaped me in more ways than I can count. It taught me structure, responsibility, resilience, and how to lead, even in moments of uncertainty. But it also opened my eyes to the challenges that people face, both inside and outside of the military. I served alongside people from all walks of life, many of whom carried invisible burdens—mental health struggles, family instability, or difficulty transitioning back to civilian life. I saw firsthand how hard it can be to access support, especially for those who need it most. That experience stayed with me. As I prepared for retirement, I realized I was facing some of the same struggles I had witnessed in others. I had spent years focusing on everyone else and pushing through my own battles with anxiety, depression, and undiagnosed ADHD. When it came time to figure out my next steps, I froze. I wasn’t sure who I was outside of the uniform or what my purpose would be. That feeling pushed me to seek help for myself and my future. Returning to school was part of that healing. I chose to pursue my Master of Science in Human Services because I want to take everything I’ve learned through life, service, and motherhood, and use it to support others, especially youth and families. My time in the military taught me how to serve, how to adapt, and how to lead with empathy. Now, I want to take those same values and build programs that make a real difference. I’ve already introduced a mentorship initiative called Rise and Reach, designed to support middle school girls with emotional tools, confidence-building, and community connection. I plan to fully launch this program and eventually grow it into a nonprofit that offers life skills, mental health support, and mentorship for kids who need a steady foundation. I also want to support parents and caregivers by connecting them to resources and helping them advocate for their children, just as I’ve had to do for my daughter, who has anxiety and ADHD. My military experience gave me discipline, perspective, and a heart for service. My education is giving me the tools to turn that heart into something sustainable and impactful. I want to be a voice for those who feel unseen. I want to make systems easier to navigate and create spaces where people, especially kids, can feel safe, supported, and capable of achieving more than they ever imagined. This next chapter of my life isn’t just about earning a degree. It’s about building something bigger than myself and making sure my service to others doesn’t end with the military; it just evolves.

Giving back has always been part of who I am. It doesn’t have to be flashy or public. It’s often the quiet, consistent ways we show up for the people around us. As a single mom, full-time worker, veteran, and graduate student, my plate is full, but I still make it a priority to pour into others whenever and however I can. Right now, that mostly happens within my community, through parenting, supporting friends, and advocating for mental health and equity, but I know this is only the beginning. One of the most important ways I give back is by being present and intentional with my daughter, Olivia. She has anxiety and ADHD, and over the years, I’ve become her advocate, her cheerleader, and her safe space. Helping her thrive means teaching her how to speak up for herself, cope with challenges, and embrace who she is. I believe those daily lessons will have a ripple effect because confident, supported kids become empowered adults who give back, too. I also support people in my circle through small acts of kindness that meet immediate needs. If someone is grieving or going through a hard time, I’ll have groceries delivered or drop off essentials. I offer a listening ear without judgment. I help other moms with rides, child care, or resources when they’re stretched thin. These things may seem small, but I’ve learned that even the smallest gestures can make someone feel seen and supported during a hard time. Recently, I introduced a school-based mentorship program called Rise and Reach that I plan to officially launch in the near future. The goal is to help middle school girls build confidence, emotional awareness, and coping skills while creating a sense of community. This program was inspired by my own experiences as a young girl who didn’t always have guidance or support, and by my daughter’s experiences navigating school with anxiety. I want girls to know their voice matters and they’re not alone. Looking ahead, I plan to use my Master of Science in Human Services to expand my impact. My long-term goal is to start a nonprofit focused on empowering youth and supporting families through mentorship, life skills education, mental health awareness, and connection to community resources. I want to create spaces that center healing, equity, and hope—especially for kids and families who are often overlooked or underserved. I also hope to work within schools or community programs to help strengthen the systems that shape people’s lives. I believe giving back doesn’t require perfection or a title. It just takes a willingness to care and take action. My journey through the military, motherhood, mental health, and higher education has shown me how much change starts with showing up, again and again, for those who need it. Whether I’m mentoring a student, comforting a friend, or building something bigger for my community, I plan to continue giving back in every space I step into.

Selflessness isn’t always about big, grand gestures. More often, it’s the small, quiet ways we show up for others, especially when no one’s watching. As a single mother, veteran, and full-time student balancing work and life, I’ve had plenty of moments where I was stretched thin. But even in those times, I’ve always felt a deep sense of responsibility to help others when I can. That’s not just who I am, it’s how I was raised, how I served in the military, and how I hope to lead in my career in Human Services. One of the clearest ways I embody selflessness is through how I care for and support my daughter, Olivia. Parenting her isn’t just about providing. It’s about advocating, encouraging, and showing up even when I’m running on empty. Olivia has anxiety and ADHD, and helping her navigate the world hasn’t always been easy. I’ve spent countless hours working with her teachers, researching strategies, creating structure at home, and learning how to support her emotional needs in a way that doesn’t make her feel "less than." Even when I’m exhausted from work or overwhelmed by school, I make time to connect with her, help her prepare for the day, and celebrate her growth. I choose to show up for her with patience, empathy, and consistency, not because it’s easy, but because she deserves it. Beyond my home, I’ve always looked for ways to support others, even when I didn’t have a lot to give. After friends experience loss or hardship, I often have groceries delivered to their home or drop off essentials without being asked. I do it quietly, not for recognition, but because I know how heavy life can feel and how much small acts of kindness can mean. I've helped friends move, watched their kids when they didn’t have childcare, and offered a listening ear during some of their darkest moments. Even when I’ve been facing my own struggles, whether financial, emotional, or physical, I still do what I can to ease the burden for someone else. Recently, I introduced a mentorship program called Rise and Reach, focused on supporting middle school girls through biweekly group sessions that build confidence, teach coping skills, and promote connection. The program hasn’t launched yet, but I’ve already begun working with school staff and building a curriculum. I’m doing this because I know what it feels like to grow up without strong emotional support, and I want to be the person I needed when I was younger. I don’t expect anything in return. I just want to make a difference. To me, selflessness is about leading with heart. It’s about making sacrifices, sometimes unseen, because you care about the well-being of others. Whether it’s staying up late to help my daughter with a school project after a long workday or quietly sending encouragement and support to a friend in need, I give what I can, when I can, even when it’s hard. That’s the kind of person I strive to be, and the kind of professional I hope to become in the Human Services field: someone who shows up, lifts others up, and puts compassion into action.

Serving in the U.S. Navy was one of the most defining experiences of my life. I joined as a young woman looking for structure, opportunity, and a way to provide for my future. What I got in return was so much more than a job; it was a transformation. The military changed the way I see myself, the way I move through the world, and the way I view this country. Before I joined the military, I didn’t fully understand my strength. I knew I was capable, but I hadn’t been tested in the way the military would go on to challenge me—mentally, emotionally, and physically. I learned how to lead, how to follow, how to adapt in high-stress situations, and how to push through when I was tired, overwhelmed, or unsure. That sense of resilience has carried me through every chapter since: motherhood, transition to civilian life, going back to school, and building a business. I now see myself as someone who can figure things out even in the face of uncertainty, someone who shows up, even when it’s hard. At the same time, the military forced me to confront complex truths about my country. I was proud to serve, and I still am. But I also saw, up close, the disparities that exist in access, treatment, and opportunity. I served alongside people from every background, different races, religions, and economic statuses, and I saw how deeply inequality and bias can show up, even in uniform. That awareness made me more critical and more committed to being part of change, especially now that I’m pursuing a degree in Human Services. My service gave me both gratitude and perspective. I’ve seen what it looks like to serve something bigger than yourself. I’ve also seen how hard it can be for veterans to navigate life after service, with accessing healthcare, finding support, and dealing with invisible wounds. That’s part of why I care so deeply about mental health and community care. I know what it’s like to feel lost in the transition, to question who you are when you’re no longer in uniform. And I know how important it is to be seen, supported, and reminded that your story still matters. Now, as a student and a mother, I carry everything I learned in the military with me. I approach challenges with discipline and purpose. I advocate for others because I’ve seen what happens when people fall through the cracks. And I stay grounded in the belief that real patriotism isn’t blind loyalty. It’s wanting better for the people who live here. It’s working to build a more just and equitable country, especially for those who have served it. The military changed my life, but more importantly, it changed my voice. I’m no longer afraid to speak up, to question systems, or to lead with both strength and compassion. That mindset will guide me in my education, my career, and the legacy I hope to leave for my daughter, for fellow veterans, and for the communities I serve.

Mental health is deeply important to me—not just as a student, but as a mother, a veteran, and a woman who has had to learn the hard way that functioning isn’t the same as thriving. For a long time, I pushed through life on autopilot. I struggled with depression, anxiety, postpartum depression, and undiagnosed ADHD while juggling single motherhood, military life, work, and eventually running my own travel agency. I never gave myself the space to slow down or ask for help, because I thought strength meant doing it all alone. It wasn’t until I was preparing for retirement from the Navy that everything caught up with me. I didn’t break down—I froze. I couldn’t make decisions. I was overwhelmed, exhausted, and scared of what was next. That was a turning point. I knew I couldn’t keep living like that, and I realized how much of my energy had been spent surviving rather than living. As I started prioritizing my mental health through therapy, self-reflection, and learning how ADHD was affecting my focus and day-to-day functioning, I became a better version of myself. Not perfect, but more present. I started noticing the same signs in my daughter, Olivia, who was later diagnosed with anxiety and ADHD, too. My journey became the foundation for how I parent her. I advocate for her in school, help her understand her emotions, and model what it looks like to set boundaries, ask for support, and talk openly about mental health without shame. Now that I’m pursuing my Master of Science in Human Services, mental health is at the core of how I show up as a student. I don’t just want to pass my classes, I want to take care of myself in the process. That means building routines that work for my brain, recognizing when I need a break, and reaching out to professors or peers when I feel overwhelmed. It means showing up with compassion for myself, not just deadlines and checklists. Outside of school, I advocate for mental health in my home and in the community I’m trying to build. I recently introduced a school-based mentorship program called Rise and Reach, focused on empowering middle school girls with coping skills, emotional tools, and community connections. While the program hasn’t launched yet, my goal is to create a supportive space where girls, especially those dealing with anxiety, trauma, or family instability, can learn that their mental health matters and that they are not alone. I’m also open with my story when it can help others feel seen. Whether that’s talking to other parents, helping friends navigate resources, or supporting fellow students who are silently struggling, I try to be the kind of person I once needed. Mental health advocacy doesn’t always look big or loud. Sometimes it’s making space for someone’s truth. Sometimes it’s reminding yourself you’re allowed to rest. For me, it’s choosing every day to move forward with intention, to raise a daughter who feels safe expressing her emotions, and to build a future where mental health isn’t an afterthought, it’s the foundation.

There was a point in my life, right before I retired from the military, when everything felt like it was closing in. I had always been the one to push through, juggle all the responsibilities, and keep moving forward no matter what. But as retirement got closer, instead of making plans and moving into that next chapter with confidence, I froze. I wasn’t sure what life would look like outside of the structure I’d always known, and the fear of the unknown left me stuck. I wasn’t falling apart on the outside, but inside, I could feel myself sinking. That was when I realized I needed to prioritize my mental and emotional health—something I hadn’t done for most of my adult life. I had struggled with depression, postpartum depression, anxiety, and undiagnosed ADHD for years, but I had always brushed it off. There was always something or someone else that needed my attention more. But at that point, I was trying to balance motherhood, my full-time job, and building my travel agency, and I noticed I was constantly overwhelmed. My focus was off. I was scared of making simple mistakes. I felt like I was treading water, just trying to stay afloat. Getting help wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. I started therapy, sought clarity on my ADHD, and began making small changes to support my well-being—setting routines, learning how to manage my focus better, and giving myself grace. I also became more mindful of how my mental health impacted my daughter, Olivia, who has her own diagnoses of anxiety and ADHD. I realized that if I wanted to be the support system she needed, I had to model what it looks like to take care of your mind and ask for help when you need it. Since then, my entire approach to life, school, and work has shifted. I’m now in graduate school pursuing my Master of Science in Human Services. It’s not easy balancing everything, but I’m doing it with more intention and awareness than ever before. I’ve learned to plan ahead, lean on my support system, and let go of the pressure to be perfect. And through all of this, I’ve found a deeper sense of purpose—one that’s guiding me toward a future where I can use my education and lived experience to support youth and families, especially those navigating mental health challenges. This scholarship would lighten the financial load and help me keep pushing forward in this chapter. More importantly, it would be an investment in someone who is committed to paying it forward. I plan to use my education to create and lead programs that teach kids like Olivia and parents like me that mental health matters, and that healing is possible when we stop surviving and start prioritizing ourselves.

My life has been a journey of resilience, growth, and rediscovery. As a U.S. Navy veteran, a single mother, and a first-generation graduate student, I’ve experienced life through multiple lenses—each one adding depth to my understanding of service, leadership, and purpose. Returning to school to pursue my Master of Science in Human Services is not a detour but a continuation of a mission I’ve always felt called to: helping others find stability, support, and a sense of belonging. My decision to pursue higher education at this stage in life stems from years of navigating complex systems, both personally and professionally. From managing military transitions and healthcare systems to advocating for my daughter’s educational and emotional needs, I’ve learned firsthand how policies and support systems often fall short for those who need them most. These experiences have sharpened my empathy, strengthened my voice, and ignited a deep desire to be part of the solution. Throughout my career, I’ve always gravitated toward roles centered around helping people—whether that’s through my current role as a Resource Coordinator, my time in the Navy, or the work I do in my travel business, where I strive to give families life-changing experiences. But I’ve come to realize that my deepest fulfillment comes from supporting youth and families, particularly those who are overlooked or underserved. That’s why I’m working toward a long-term goal of launching a nonprofit focused on empowering children with coping skills, life tools, and mentorship—something I’ve already begun laying the groundwork for through a school-based mentorship initiative I created called Rise and Reach. This scholarship would help me ease the financial burden of graduate school and allow me to focus on the work that matters most: building programs that support the well-being and success of youth and families in my community. As a single mother balancing work, school, and parenting, every dollar counts. This support would not only help me continue my education but also serve as a powerful reminder that others believe in the work I’m striving to do. My values are rooted in equity, compassion, and community. I believe in meeting people where they are, honoring their stories, and creating spaces where healing and growth can happen. With this degree, I hope to step into leadership roles where I can influence systems, whether that’s in schools, nonprofits, or community organizations, and ensure that families have the tools and resources they need to thrive. Education, for me, is not just about a title or degree—it’s about building a legacy of impact. I want my daughter to see that it’s never too late to chase your calling, and that even the hardest paths can lead to purpose. I’m committed to using my life experience, education, and heart for service to create change that lasts far beyond the classroom.