Some people dream of wealth or fame, but my dream has always been to build a life that makes my parents proud. My mom didn’t graduate high school, she chose to help support my grandma instead and my dad earned his diploma but didn't have the money to reach farther so he worked. One thing both of my parents had in common was a lack of opportunities. They didn’t have the luxury of staying in school like they have gifted me with. Even in their teenage years, they had to work to survive because of the poverty and environment they were raised in. My parents did things they had to pay the price for, but they never stopped trying to make a better life for me. Even now, my mom works two jobs to support us, and my dad, even though we don’t live in the same household, calls me after twelve-hour shifts and gives me anything he can. Thanks to their sacrifices, I have the chance to reach for higher goals and pursue my dream of going into healthcare. There have been times when my mom mustered up the strength to tell me she may not have much for Christmas but will try her best. Times when she’s asked me if she’s a good mom, and I know deep down she feels she can’t give me enough. There are times my dad has asked if I’m mad at him. How could I be, when he’s made it this far and done all he could to give me these chances? Being a first-generation college student means breaking barriers that my parents never had the chance to cross. It means turning sacrifice into purpose and pain into progress. The struggles have only made me more grateful, more ambitious, and more hungry for a good quality of life than ever before. I am driven by my passion to help others and my curiosity about how the body and mind connect. In college, I want to study biology and health sciences to prepare for a career in medicine. I want to learn how to care for people both physically and emotionally, bringing comfort to those who feel unseen or unheard. This scholarship would not only support my education but also honor my parents’ sacrifices and my own determination to keep going. It would help me continue my journey toward becoming a healthcare professional who gives back to others the same hope my parents gave me. My dream is to keep learning, to keep pushing forward, and to use my knowledge to make life better for others. With this opportunity, I can continue turning my family’s sacrifices into something meaningful, something that makes a real difference.

“The Note That Taught Me the Power of Words” I still remember the day I learned how powerful writing could be. My mom and I were at our local grocery store when we saw a man sitting quietly on the curb with a small cardboard sign that said, “Anything helps.” That day was special because we had just started a tradition of doing one good deed a week. Whenever we had a little extra, we would share it with someone in need. I bought him a ham and cheese sandwich on the way out of the grocery store and went back to the car, where I found an old piece of paper at the bottom of my bag. I grabbed a pen and wrote a quick note, hoping I could brighten his day a little. On the note, I wrote: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18. Under it, I added, “You’re not forgotten. You are seen, loved, and stronger than you think.” I went back to where he was and handed him the sandwich and the note and said have a good day. When I looked back on the way to our car, I saw him crying. He held the sandwich in one hand, but it was the note he couldn’t let go of. His cry was quiet but full of emotion, the kind that told me he had been holding it in for a long time. I would have never guessed that a simple two-sentence note would become one of the most significant things I’ve ever written down on paper. That moment showed me why I love writing. It reminded me that words can comfort people, heal hearts, and make others feel seen. Writing isn’t just about putting words together. It’s an art of connection and emotion that brings people closer. Our words and feelings are what make us human. They teach us, guide us, and help us understand one another. Throughout high school, writing has helped me connect with others in meaningful ways. I have written research papers about sleep and cognition, reflections for my volunteer work, and letters to spread mental health awareness through the National Honor Society. When working as a CNA, I have also written notes for residents, staff, and visitors of the residents to lift their spirits. Each time, I’m reminded that writing doesn’t have to be long or perfect to make a difference. It just has to be honest. When I go to college, I plan to continue writing in many forms. I want to join a student writing club, contribute to campus publications, and journal about my experiences studying biology and preparing for a career in healthcare. I also plan to write reflections about compassion, hope, and human connection, because that is where my love for writing truly begins. That day at the grocery store taught me that even a little piece of paper can carry something powerful: hope, love, and understanding. This is why I love writing. Words can reach people in ways action can’t, and I want to keep using mine to resonate with others, one word at a time.

What first inspired me to pursue a career in the medical field was not just one single event, but a combination of personal experiences that shaped who I am today. Growing up in a single parent household with my mom had a major impact on me. I watched her work tirelessly to provide for me, often putting her own needs aside to make sure I had every opportunity to succeed. Her strength and determination showed me the value of responsibility and perseverance. Even when things weren’t easy, she never gave up, and she taught me to face challenges with the same mindset. Living in this environment taught me independence, resilience, and the importance of supporting others, qualities that I believe will help me as I work toward becoming a physician. Another life changing experience was losing my aunt before she could finish her doctorate. She was in her final year when she passed away due to a disease that was discovered too late. I was young at the time, but I still carry the memories I shared with her. My mom often tells me that I remind her of my aunt, and I have always held on to that connection. Losing her not only left a gap in our family but also made me aware of the difference early detection and proper medical care can make. It was in that moment that I realized I wanted to pursue medicine. Her unfinished journey motivates me to keep going, even when things get hard, because I want to finish what she was unable to. When I eventually reach the final year of my medical training, I hope I can look back and feel proud that I carried her spirit forward by never giving up. My goal is to study biology in college as a foundation for medical school. I am particularly passionate about women’s health because I have seen how deeply it affects families and communities. Women are often the backbone of their households, just like my mom was for me, and when their health is neglected, it impacts everyone around them. I want to focus on improving the lives of women by providing care that is both knowledgeable and compassionate. Whether it is ensuring better access to healthcare, advocating for preventive measures, or supporting women through the most vulnerable moments of their lives, I want my work to make a real difference. Ultimately, my inspiration comes from the strong women in my life, my mother, who showed me determination and sacrifice, and my aunt, whose unfinished story motivates me to keep moving forward. Their influence continues to guide me as I prepare for my future. Medicine, to me, is not just a career but a way to honor their impact while creating my own. I want to be the kind of physician who not only treats patients but also inspires them to keep pushing forward, no matter what challenges they face.

Growing up, I’ve learned that hard work and determination can carry you through obstacles that might otherwise hold you back. Like many young people, I’ve faced challenges that come with limited resources and financial hardship. But instead of letting those challenges define me, I’ve used them as motivation to push harder and dream bigger. One of the most defining moments for me came while working as a CNA. On just my second day, I cared for a patient who was terrified of me. She screamed that I had hurt her family, not recognizing me as the teenager who was just there to help. At that moment, I felt powerless, unsure of what to do. But what I learned was that strength isn’t always about fixing everything, it’s about staying. Even when people misjudge you, even when it feels like your presence isn’t enough, staying is a form of care. That moment showed me that being a caregiver, and someday a doctor, is not just about skills or titles. It’s about patience, empathy, and presence. Carrying that lesson forward, I’ve built my life around serving others while continuing to grow myself. At James B. Dudley High School, I’ve taken on leadership roles as HOSA treasurer, NHS historian, and secretary of service learning for the Neuro-Outreach Club. I’ve competed at HOSA State Leadership Conference, organized service projects, and helped coordinate a health symposium for medical professionals and students. At my church, I’ve volunteered in programs that bring food and resources to families in need. Altogether, I’ve dedicated more than 150 hours to service because giving back has always been part of me. But balancing all of this with academics hasn’t been easy. I’m a dual-enrollment student, taking challenging courses at both my high school and community college, and I’ve maintained a 4.5 GPA while ranking in the top 11 of my class. I’ve also worked internships, played sports like volleyball and softball, and taken on community leadership, all while navigating the realities of financial need. As a young Black woman pursuing medicine, I know the path ahead is going to be demanding. But I also know that I’ve already proven my ability to rise above challenges with resilience and dedication. Opportunities like this grant matter because they don’t just support a student financially, they open doors for someone who has worked tirelessly but still faces barriers outside of their control. For me, this grant would mean freedom to focus on my studies and growth without carrying the constant weight of financial stress. It would allow me to continue serving my community while pursuing my dream of becoming an OB-GYN dedicated to women’s health and health equity. Motivated students from disadvantaged backgrounds deserve opportunities like this because our potential is not defined by our hardships, it’s revealed in how we overcome them. I am proof of that. With support, I know I can continue to turn obstacles into opportunities and keep moving toward a future where I can give back even more.

The First Hand I Held Wasn’t Holding Mine Back I held someone’s hand as they cried. It wasn’t a family member. It wasn’t a friend. It was a patient, and she didn’t want me there. On my second day as a CNA, I walked into her room in hot pink scrubs, trying to remember every step I’d been taught. But the second she saw me, she panicked. She screamed that I had killed her family. Her eyes filled with terror. She didn’t see a nervous teenager eager to help, she saw someone else entirely. Someone dangerous. Someone monstrous. I froze. I didn’t know what to say or do. I just stood there, helpless, as she cried and shook, shrinking into herself as if her bones could shield her. Another CNA stepped in. Calm. Gentle. Present. She didn’t argue or explain. She just stayed. Slowly, the patient’s breathing steadied. Her panic softened. She let us help her get dressed. And just like that, I wasn’t a monster anymore. I was just a girl again, still nervous, still learning, but still standing there. That moment replays in my mind often. Not because it hurt me, but because it showed me something about myself I didn’t know yet. Before that day, I thought being a good caregiver meant always knowing what to do. It meant being confident, capable, and in control. But in that moment, none of that mattered. What mattered was that I stayed, even when I felt powerless. That was the first time I realized strength doesn’t always look like action. Sometimes it looks like stillness. Sometimes it means being misunderstood and staying anyway. It also made me more aware of how I show up in spaces as a young Black woman. Walking into that patient’s room, I wasn’t just a CNA, I was someone who carried both stereotypes and expectations with me. Some people might see me and doubt my capability before I even open my mouth. Others might underestimate my patience, my leadership, or my ability to connect. But that day taught me that even when people don’t see my strength right away, I can prove it through presence. I don’t need to be loud or flashy to be a leader. I just need to stay. Since then, I’ve carried that lesson into every space I lead and serve. Whether it’s helping run service projects at Dudley, volunteering through my church, or mentoring younger students, I’ve learned that leadership isn’t just about directing, it’s about presence. It’s about listening, standing beside others in their hardest moments, and showing them they’re not alone. The first hand I held wasn’t holding mine back. But in its own quiet way, it guided me forward. That day, I discovered a kind of strength I didn’t know I had: the strength to stay. And that’s the kind of leader, and someday, the kind of doctor, I want to be.

I've consistently sought to engage with my school and community because contributing feels inherently right. At James B. Dudley, I've participated in clubs such as HOSA, NHS, and the Neuro-Outreach Club, where I've assumed leadership roles and helped coordinate projects. Through these activities and my church, I've accumulated over 150 hours of service learning. Much of this work has involved building connections, supporting younger students, and ensuring everyone feels included. At Dudley, I've contributed to health-related events and service initiatives that benefited both students and the broader community. At church, I've worked closely with children—keeping them engaged, teaching them, and being a role model. These experiences have demonstrated the significant impact one can have by consistently showing up and caring for others. As I anticipate college, I recognize that financial need will be a significant aspect of my journey. I'm someone who enjoys planning and working diligently towards my goals, and I aspire to pursue a career in healthcare, specifically as an OB-GYN. However, this path requires many years of education, and the cost of higher education can be daunting. My family has always been supportive, but scholarships would greatly alleviate the financial burden, allowing me to concentrate on learning and gaining experience without the constant worry of how each semester will be funded. I don't view financial need as a barrier—it drives me to seek opportunities, work harder, and apply myself in ways that will open doors. A priority for me, both in my school and church communities, is ensuring kids feel safe, particularly concerning bullying and cyberbullying. I understand from personal experience that words and actions can have a lasting impact, even if someone else perceives them as "just joking." That's why I don't remain silent when I witness someone being bullied. If I see it happening, I intervene or support the targeted individual, ensuring they know they're not alone. With younger children, I try to teach them about managing conflict, standing up for themselves, and knowing whom to approach for help. Online, I've discussed with kids in my church how to stay safe—advising them not to overshare, not to trust every stranger they encounter on social media, and not to let cyberbullying affect them. A crucial part of this is reminding them that their worth isn't determined by what others say about them online. I encourage them to focus on positive environments and rely on people who genuinely support them. Overall, my involvement stems from a desire for others, especially children, to feel acknowledged and protected. I understand the longing for that feeling.