I’ve never taken a straight path; I always tell people that life is never linear, but it is absolutely circuitous. Sometimes I wonder if I might be one of the most unconventional students you’ll ever meet, and then I remind myself, I’m definitely not alone in this. I’m a late-in-life, second-career student who managed to take yet another turn while already on my second career path. For more than ten years, I was a critical care nurse, standing at bedsides in ICUs where every second mattered and families held on to hope in whispers behind closed curtains. I thought that was where I would always be. Then, on a working trip to Nepal, I stumbled upon an idea called One Health, which recognizes that the well-being of humans, animals, and the environment is inextricably linked. It stirred a passion in me, something I couldn’t ignore. I left nursing for veterinary school, convinced I had found the next chapter. I loved studying medicine from an entirely different angle, seeing the threads between people, animals, and ecosystems. But somewhere along the way, I realized what I was really drawn to wasn’t just the medicine itself, but the emotional stories underneath it all. Veterinary school, which many people saw as a “wrong turn,” turned out to be the doorway to what I was searching for all along: mental health. Walking away from veterinary school was humbling. Many people saw it as a setback, even a failure. And then, as if to test me further, I was in a serious car accident. Suddenly, I wasn’t the nurse or the student anymore, I was the patient. I was scared and helpless in ways I had never known before. For someone who had always been the one offering care, it was disorienting to need others to hold me up. But that season softened me. It gave me a deeper understanding of what it feels like to be vulnerable, to live with uncertainty, and to need someone simply to sit beside you. Far from stopping me, the accident strengthened my drive to keep going and to be present with others in their most difficult moments. My path to psychiatry also began far from any classroom, in small villages along Alaska’s coast and deep in the Arctic. There, winter light is scarce, the land and sea are a lifeline, and the people carry stories of resilience and hardship. I worked alongside communities as they faced climate change, disrupting traditional hunting and fishing practices, and food systems shifting away from ancestral knowledge. At the same time, young people stared into an uncertain future. These weren’t just environmental changes. They were cultural and personal, affecting every aspect of life. The consequences were devastating: substance use, grief, and some of the highest youth suicide rates in America. Those experiences reshaped how I think about mental health. Healing isn’t only about easing symptoms. It’s about honoring the entire web of relationships that comprise a life, family, culture, land, history, and faith. In communities where trauma and loss are woven into collective memory, care has to meet people in that complexity. I also learned that mental health work is profoundly relational. It begins with showing up, listening without judgment, and building trust, not as an outsider with solutions, but as a partner who walks beside someone in their own story. In Alaska, this looked like eating meals in community halls, listening to elders share stories of past winters, and hearing young people speak with both pride and pain about their identity. In the ICU, it meant being present when machines kept patients alive, not just with clinical skill but with steady compassion. These relationships taught me that kindness, respect, and presence can be as life-changing as any medication. Academically, I carried that conviction forward. I earned a Master’s in One Health from the University of Alaska Fairbanks. One Health usually tracks disease outbreaks, but I applied it differently, studying the grief and disruption families felt when avian influenza forced them to cull their small flocks. For many Indigenous and rural families, birds weren’t only food; they were heritage. Losing them was devastating, but often unacknowledged. That research showed me again how grief tied to ecological loss must be part of mental health care. Professionally, I’ve moved between many fields, trauma ICU, pediatrics, maternal-fetal medicine, and public health outreach. In Nepal, I worked with youth at risk of suicide as climate change and displacement unraveled their futures. Each place provided me with another lens through which to view how human suffering is shaped not just by biology, but also by environment, culture, and community. I am currently a student in the Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program at Yale, and I am scheduled to graduate in May 2026. Some days, sitting in Ivy League classrooms, I still wonder if I got in on a technicality. But I remind myself: resilience, perspective, and empathy matter just as much as pedigree. Alongside my coursework, I’ve thrown myself into psychodynamic and psychoanalytic training through the Washington-Baltimore Center for Psychoanalysis, the New York Psychoanalytic Society & Institute, and the Institute of Psychoanalysis in the UK. These trainings are preparing me to be a clinician attuned not only to visible pain, but also to the unspoken suffering that lives beneath it. My goal is to address the intertwined challenges of mental illness, substance use, and generational trauma with a mix of evidence-based psychiatry, cultural humility, relational depth, and ecological awareness. For me, this work is not only professional, it is deeply personal. I believe success isn’t about following a traditional path. It’s about resilience when everything falls apart, and kindness even in the most challenging times. My journey has been circuitous, messy, and unconventional, but it has given me the empathy, compassion, and perseverance I need to do this work and hold space for others walking their own nontraditional paths.

My path to the mental health field began far from the university campus, in small villages along Alaska’s coast and deep within the Arctic, where winter light is scarce, the land and sea are lifelines, and the people carry stories of resilience and continued hardship. There, I worked alongside communities navigating significant challenges: climate change disrupting traditional hunting and fishing practices, food systems disappearing along with ancestral knowledge, and young people facing a future that feels increasingly uncertain. These disruptions were not just environmental; they were deeply personal and culturally rooted. I witnessed how these disruptions, slowly eroded a community’s sense of identity, belonging, and stability. Among Alaska Native youth, the consequences were heartbreaking: elevated rates of substance use and some of the highest youth suicide rates in America. These struggles were not isolated but deeply rooted in histories of colonization, systemic inequities, and disconnection from land and culture. These early experiences transformed my beliefs about what mental health care should be. Healing must address more than symptoms; it must examine the entire web of relationships that shape a person’s life, including those with family, culture, land, history, and faith. I also came to see that mental health work is fundamentally relational. It is about continually showing up, listening without judgment, and building trust, not as an outsider imposing solutions, but as a partner walking alongside someone on their path. In Alaska, I shared meals in community halls, listened to elders’ stories about past winters and hunting traditions, and heard young people speak with both pride and pain about their identity. In critical care nursing, I stood at the bedsides of patients in moments of fear, loss, and hope. In both of these moments, technical skills mattered, but so did the ability to be a steady, compassionate presence. Last year, I earned a Master’s in One Health from the University of Alaska Fairbanks, a field that embraces the interconnectedness of human, animal, and environmental health. While One Health is usually used to track disease outbreaks, I applied it differently, studying the emotional and cultural toll of avian influenza outbreaks on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many families, their birds were not just food sources but part of their heritage. When flocks had to be culled, the grief was real but often unacknowledged. This reinforced my belief that grief tied to ecological loss must be recognized in mental health care. Professionally, I bring more than a decade of experience in trauma ICU, pediatrics, maternal-fetal medicine, and public health outreach. I have also worked in Nepal, addressing youth mental health and suicide risk linked to climate change and displacement, providing me a global perspective on how environmental disruption impacts emotional well-being. I am currently a student in the Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program at Yale University. My training focuses on integrating psychodynamic approaches and trauma-informed care with culturally responsive practice. I am also engaged in psychoanalytic fellowships and coursework in the U.S. and abroad, to equip me to address not only visible symptoms but also deeper unspoken sources of suffering. My career goal is to serve rural and Indigenous communities, addressing the intertwined challenges of mental illness, substance use, and generational trauma. I aim to integrate evidence-based psychiatric care with cultural humility, relational depth, and ecological awareness. My achievements to date are not endpoints; they are preparation for a lifetime of work in service to others. This scholarship will further develop my preparation, ensuring I can bring a proficient level of skill, cultural understanding, and integrity to the communities I serve.

My decision to pursue a career in nursing grew out of experiences in places where health and survival are deeply tied to community and culture. Along Alaska’s coast, I lived and worked in villages facing the profound effects of climate change: disrupted hunting traditions, shrinking seasonal rhythms, and young people struggling with an uncertain future. Among Alaska Native youth, I witnessed devastating rates of substance use and suicide. It was in this setting that I came to see health care differently. It was not just about treating illness, but about listening, showing up, and honoring people’s stories. Healing meant addressing the full web of relationships that shape a life, family, land, culture, and history. That recognition led me to nursing. Nursing, to me, represents the meeting point of science and compassion. It requires technical skill, but it also demands presence, humility, and the ability to walk alongside people in their suffering. My work in trauma ICUs, maternal-fetal medicine, pediatrics, and public health has reinforced this conviction. Whether standing at a patient’s bedside in critical care or listening to an elder share stories of disrupted traditions, I have seen how trust and dignity are as crucial to healing as any medical intervention. Academically, I pursued a Master’s in One Health, a field that studies the interconnectedness of human, animal, and environmental well-being. My research focused on the emotional toll of avian influenza outbreaks on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many, losing their birds meant losing heritage, not just livelihood. This reinforced my belief that health care must be expansive enough to address grief and loss in all their forms. Now, as a student in Yale’s Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program, I am building advanced training in psychiatry, psychotherapy, and psychoanalysis to better address the complexity of mental health and trauma, particularly in underserved and Indigenous communities. My faith has been a quiet but steady guide in this journey. In Judaism, the principle of tikkun olam, repairing the world, has always resonated deeply with me. Nursing feels like a direct expression of that value: a commitment to easing suffering and contributing, in small but meaningful ways, to healing and wholeness. Jewish tradition also emphasizes chesed (loving-kindness) and the responsibility to care for the vulnerable. These values align with how I understand my role as a nurse: not only to treat, but to stand with patients in their most vulnerable moments, offering dignity, compassion, and respect. I chose nursing because it allows me to live out these values in practice. It is both a profession and a calling, one that weaves together science, service, and human connection. Guided by my faith, I hope to continue serving communities where health care is most needed, bringing both skill and heart to the work of repair.

My path to the medical field began far from any hospital or classroom, in remote Alaskan villages where health and survival are inseparable from land and culture. Along the state’s northern coast, I worked alongside Indigenous communities facing profound disruptions: climate change altering hunting and fishing traditions, food systems no longer matching ancestral knowledge, and seasonal rhythms shifting in ways that unsettled both body and spirit. These changes were not only environmental but deeply personal, eroding identity, belonging, and stability. Among Alaska Native youth, the consequences were heartbreaking, elevated substance use, and some of the highest suicide rates in the nation. It was in this setting that I first understood health care in its fullest sense. To me, it was not just the treatment of illness but a relational practice: showing up, listening without judgment, and honoring people’s stories. Healing required attention not only to symptoms but also to family, culture, land, and history. This recognition drew me toward nursing and, eventually, to psychiatry, because both allow me to bring together science and compassion while addressing suffering in its complexity. My career has reinforced this belief. In trauma critical care units, I learned the technical skills of stabilizing patients in life-or-death circumstances. But I also learned the equal importance of presence, holding a patient’s hand during intubation, supporting a family through loss, or simply being steady in moments of fear. Later, through public health work in Alaska and Nepal, I saw how ecological disruption and displacement fueled depression, anxiety, and suicidality. These experiences deepened my conviction that health care must extend beyond the bedside to address the broader forces shaping health. Academically, I pursued a Master’s in One Health at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, a field that recognizes the interconnectedness of human, animal, and environmental health. My research explored the cultural and emotional toll of avian influenza outbreaks on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many, their birds were not just food sources but part of their heritage. When flocks were culled, the grief was profound yet invisible to most health systems. That work convinced me that grief tied to ecological loss must be recognized in mental health care. Now, as a student in Yale’s Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program, I am building on this foundation with advanced training in psychiatry, psychotherapy, and psychoanalysis. My goal is to serve rural and Indigenous communities, addressing intertwined challenges of mental illness, substance use, and generational trauma with care that is both evidence-based and relationally grounded. I see this work not just as a profession but as a lifelong calling. While nursing is central to who I am, it is not all that defines me. Outside of school and clinical practice, I find balance and joy through art and connection to nature. I am a ceramicist, working on the potter’s wheel to shape clay into vessels inspired by the rhythms of the natural world. Pottery requires patience, presence, and humility; it reminds me to slow down, let go of perfection, and allow form to emerge. I am also deeply drawn to plant medicine and herbalism, which connects me back to my One Health roots. Learning the properties of plants, brewing teas, and integrating seasonal practices into daily life gives me a sense of alignment with the cycles of nature. This practice is not only restorative but also a way of honoring traditional healing systems that have long recognized the connections between body, spirit, and environment. These pursuits, art and herbalism, give me perspective and balance. They remind me that healing is not only about crisis or illness but also about creativity, nourishment, and joy. They replenish the energy I bring into my work as a nurse and keep me connected to the sense of wonder that first drew me to the healing professions. What inspires me most about nursing and psychiatry is the possibility of walking alongside people in their hardest moments and offering not just treatment but presence, dignity, and hope. And what sustains me beyond that work are the simple practices of shaping clay, tending plants, and spending time outdoors, reminders of the resilience and beauty that exist even in the face of loss. Together, these experiences, values, and passions shape not only my career but the person I strive to be: a caregiver, an advocate, an artist, and a lifelong student of both people and the natural world.

My decision to pursue a healthcare career grew out of lived experience in places where health and survival are inseparable from land, culture, and community. Along Alaska’s Arctic coast, where I first began my path, I worked with Indigenous communities navigating profound disruptions: climate change altering hunting and fishing traditions, shrinking seasonal rhythms, and food systems no longer aligned with ancestral knowledge. These were not only environmental changes but deeply human ones, eroding identity, belonging, and stability. Among Alaska Native youth, the consequences were devastating, with rising substance use and suicide rates among the highest in the nation. In these communities, I came to understand healthcare differently. It was not just about treating illness; it was about showing up, listening without judgment, and walking alongside others as they navigated loss, resilience, and healing. Healthcare, to me, meant recognizing the full web of relationships that shape well-being, family, community, land, history, and culture. That recognition led me to pursue nursing and later psychiatric-mental health, because these roles allow me to bring science and compassion together while addressing suffering in its complexity. Over more than a decade in trauma ICUs, pediatrics, maternal-fetal medicine, and public health, I have learned that technical skill is essential, but presence and trust are equally powerful. In critical care, I stood at the bedsides of patients in moments of fear and loss; in Alaska, I listened to elders speak about traditions threatened by climate change; in Nepal, I witnessed how displacement and ecological disruption worsened youth depression and suicidality. Across these settings, the common thread has been the human need to be heard, to be met with dignity, and to find hope in the face of change. Academically, I earned a Master’s in One Health, a field that recognizes the interconnection between human, animal, and environmental health. My research focused on the emotional and cultural toll of avian influenza outbreaks on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many, losing their birds meant losing a piece of heritage. Grief tied to ecological loss was profound yet invisible to most health systems. That work continues to shape my conviction that healthcare must be expansive enough to address both physical and emotional realities. Now, as a student in Yale’s Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program, I am combining clinical psychiatry with psychoanalytic and trauma-informed approaches. My goal is to serve rural and Indigenous communities, addressing intertwined challenges of mental illness, substance use, and generational trauma with care that is evidence-based, culturally responsive, and relationally grounded. As a woman in healthcare, I also recognize the importance of representation and leadership. Women bring perspectives shaped by caregiving, resilience, and advocacy, qualities that healthcare systems urgently need. I hope to mentor future nurses and practitioners, model compassionate leadership, and create spaces where marginalized voices are heard. My vision is not only to treat illness but to strengthen communities by honoring identity, culture, and connection. Healthcare is a profession, but for me it is also a calling: to walk alongside others in the profound work of healing, and to ensure that no community is left unseen.

My path to nursing began far from any hospital or classroom, in small villages along Alaska’s coast and deep in the Arctic, where winter light is scarce, the land and sea are a lifeline, and the people carry stories of resilience and hardship. I lived and worked alongside Indigenous communities facing profound challenges: climate change disrupting hunting and fishing traditions, shrinking seasonal rhythms, food systems no longer matching ancestral knowledge, and young people facing a future that felt uncertain. These disruptions were not only environmental; they were deeply personal and cultural. I witnessed how they eroded a community’s sense of identity, belonging, and stability. Among Alaska Native youth, the consequences were heartbreaking, elevated substance use, and some of the highest youth suicide rates in the nation. It was there that I realized mental health care needed to look different. Healing could not be reduced to symptoms or diagnoses alone; it had to account for the web of relationships that shape a life: family, culture, land, history, and faith. This recognition drew me to psychiatric nursing. Nursing is uniquely positioned at the intersection of science and humanity: it requires rigorous clinical knowledge and the ability to sit with suffering, to listen deeply, and to offer care that honors the complexity of people’s lives. As a critical care nurse, I learned to act decisively in life-or-death situations, but I also learned the equal importance of presence, holding a patient’s hand during intubation, supporting a family through grief, or listening to a frightened child. Later, through public health work in Alaska and Nepal, I saw how ecological disruption and displacement fuel depression, anxiety, and suicidality. These experiences deepened my belief that nursing must expand beyond the bedside to address the broader forces shaping health. Academically, I pursued a Master’s in One Health at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, a field that recognizes the interconnectedness of human, animal, and environmental health. My research focused on the mental and cultural toll of avian influenza on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many families, birds were not just food sources but heritage. When flocks were culled, the grief was profound but invisible to health systems. This reinforced my conviction that ecological loss and grief must be recognized as part of mental health care. I am now completing my Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner training at Yale, building advanced psychiatric knowledge, psychotherapy training, and psychoanalytic study. These tools allow me to see beyond symptoms, helping patients explore the deeper sources of suffering. As a nurse, I hope to serve rural and Indigenous communities, addressing intertwined challenges of mental illness, substance use, and generational trauma. My goal is to combine evidence-based psychiatric treatment with relational depth and ecological awareness. Nursing gives me the tools to respond to these urgent needs, restoring not only health but also hope, dignity, and connection.

My path to the mental health field began far from any university campus, in small villages along Alaska’s coast and deep in the Arctic, where light is scarce, the land and sea are a lifeline, and the people carry stories of resilience and hardship. I worked alongside communities navigating profound challenges: climate change disrupting hunting and fishing traditions, shrinking seasonal rhythms, food systems no longer matching ancestral knowledge, and young people facing a future that felt uncertain. These disruptions were not just environmental; they were deeply personal. I witnessed how they eroded identity, belonging, and stability. Among Alaska Native youth, the consequences were especially heartbreaking: elevated rates of substance use and some of the highest youth suicide rates in the nation. These were rooted in colonization, systemic inequities, and disconnection from the land and culture that had sustained generations. Witnessing this, I came to understand that nursing, and psychiatric nursing in particular, offered a way to respond not only to illness, but to suffering in its complexity. These early experiences reshaped my beliefs about what health care should be. I came to see healing as something that must address more than symptoms; it must look at the web of relationships that shape a person’s life: with family, with culture, with land, with history, and with faith. I also came to believe that mental health work is relational. It is about showing up, listening without judgment, and building trust, not as an outsider imposing solutions, but as a partner walking alongside someone on their path toward healing. These beliefs have carried into every setting I’ve worked in, from remote villages to ICU units to international public health projects, and they remain at the core of why I chose nursing. My relationships, both professional and personal, have deepened through this calling. In Alaska, I shared meals in community halls, listened to elders’ stories about winters and hunting traditions, and heard young people speak with both pride and pain about their identity. These moments taught me the value of presence: allowing people to tell their stories in their own words and terms. In critical care nursing, I stood at the bedsides of patients in moments of fear, loss, and hope. There, I saw how technical skill must be balanced with compassion and a steady presence when life feels fragile. Academically, I pursued a Master’s in One Health from the University of Alaska Fairbanks, a discipline recognizing the interconnectedness of human, animal, and environmental health. While One Health is often used to track disease outbreaks, I applied it differently, studying the emotional and cultural toll of highly pathogenic avian influenza on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many families, their birds were not simply food sources but part of their heritage. When flocks had to be culled, the grief was real but often unacknowledged. That research reinforced my conviction that grief tied to ecological loss must be recognized and addressed in mental health care. I am now pursuing a Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner degree at Yale University, with anticipated graduation in May 2026. My training emphasizes psychodynamic and psychoanalytic approaches, trauma-informed care, and culturally responsive practice. Choosing nursing was never simply a career decision; it was a response to what I witnessed, what I learned, and what I believe to be true about healing. My achievements to date are not endpoints but preparation for a lifetime of service. Nursing gives me the framework to combine skill, compassion, and advocacy, ensuring I can meet suffering with integrity and care. It is the profession that allows me to turn lived experience into lasting impact.

My career goal is to serve rural and Indigenous communities, addressing the intertwined challenges of mental illness, substance use, and generational trauma. I aim to integrate evidence-based psychiatric care with cultural humility, psychodynamic depth, and ecological awareness. This award would ease the financial pressures of advanced training and allow me to focus entirely on clinical excellence and community service. My path began in small villages along Alaska’s coast, where I witnessed the devastating mental health impacts of climate change, disrupted traditions, and systemic inequities. These experiences taught me that healing must address the web of relationships between land, culture, family, and identity. I bring more than a decade of experience in trauma ICU, pediatrics, maternal-fetal medicine, and public health outreach, along with international work in Nepal addressing youth suicidality linked to climate disruption. I hold a Master’s in One Health, where I studied the emotional toll of avian influenza on small and Indigenous flock owners, highlighting the intersection of ecological loss and grief. Leadership and service have guided my journey. I’ve mentored youth, collaborated with elders, and worked across disciplines to strengthen community resilience. Barriers, financial, geographic, and personal loss, have shaped me into a resilient, empathetic provider. This scholarship would enable me to bring the highest skill and integrity to the communities I serve. ACHE of SoCal’s commitment to advancing healthcare leadership, equity, and community well-being aligns deeply with my goals as a future psychiatric nurse practitioner. Like ACHE, I believe health care must extend beyond treating symptoms to addressing systemic inequities, strengthening relationships, and improving access for underserved communities. My professional and academic path has been dedicated to these principles. I earned a Master’s in One Health, a field that recognizes the interdependence of human, animal, and environmental Health, and I applied it to highlight the emotional and cultural costs of ecological disruption. In Alaska and Nepal, I worked with Indigenous and rural communities where climate change, displacement, and systemic inequities drive mental Health and substance use challenges. These experiences taught me that authentic leadership means listening, partnering, and honoring cultural knowledge while building systems that are inclusive and just. Now, as a PMHNP student at Yale, I am training in psychodynamic and trauma-informed approaches while pursuing psychoanalytic study to deepen relational and culturally responsive care. My long-term aim is to expand access to integrative psychiatric services in rural and Indigenous communities, fostering both individual healing and community resilience. Like ACHE of SoCal, I view healthcare leadership as a vehicle for systemic transformation, one that must prioritize equity, community service, and compassionate excellence. This scholarship would support me in becoming the kind of leader who embodies those values and works to advance them in practice.

My path to the mental health field began far from any university campus, in small villages along Alaska’s coast and deep in the Arctic, where winter light is scarce, the land and sea are a lifeline, and the people carry stories of resilience and hardship. I worked alongside Indigenous communities navigating profound challenges: climate change disrupting hunting and fishing traditions, shrinking seasonal rhythms, food systems no longer matching ancestral knowledge, and young people facing a future that feels increasingly uncertain. These disruptions were not just environmental; they were deeply personal and cultural. I witnessed how they could erode a community’s sense of identity, belonging, and stability. Among Alaska Native youth, the consequences were especially heartbreaking: elevated rates of substance use and some of the highest youth suicide rates in the nation. These were not isolated problems; they were rooted in histories of colonization, systemic inequities, and a painful disconnection from the land and culture that had sustained generations. These early experiences transformed my beliefs about what mental health care should be. I came to see healing as something that must address more than symptoms; it must look at the whole web of relationships that shape a person’s life: with family, with culture, with land, with history, and with faith. Mental health struggles often coexist with substance use, especially in communities where trauma and loss are woven into the collective memory. True care must honor this complexity. I also came to believe that mental health work is fundamentally relational. It is about showing up, listening without judgment, and building trust, not as an outsider imposing solutions, but as a partner walking alongside someone on their path toward healing. These beliefs have carried into every setting I’ve worked in, from remote villages to ICU units to international public health projects. My relationships, both professional and personal, have been deepened by this calling. In Alaska, I shared meals in community halls, listened to elders’ stories about past winters and hunting traditions, and heard young people speak with both pride and pain about their identity. Those relationships taught me the value of being fully present, allowing people to tell their stories in their own words and on their own terms. In critical care nursing, I have stood at the bedsides of patients in moments of fear, loss, and hope. In those moments, the technical skills matter, but so does the ability to be a steady, compassionate presence. My work has shown me that relationships built on trust and respect can be life-changing, for the patient and for the provider. Academically, I earned a Master’s in One Health from the University of Alaska Fairbanks, a field that recognizes the interconnectedness of human, animal, and environmental health. While One Health is often used to track disease outbreaks, I applied it differently, studying the emotional and cultural toll of highly pathogenic avian influenza outbreaks on small and Indigenous flock owners. For many families, their birds were not just food sources but part of their heritage. When flocks had to be culled, the grief was real but often unacknowledged. This work reinforced my belief that grief tied to ecological loss must be recognized in mental health care. Professionally, I bring more than a decade of experience in trauma ICU, pediatrics, maternal-fetal medicine, and public health outreach. I have worked in Nepal addressing youth mental health and suicide risk linked to climate change and displacement, giving me a global perspective on how environmental disruption impacts emotional well-being. I am now a student in the Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner program at Yale University, graduating in May 2026. My training focuses on integrating psychodynamic and psychoanalytic approaches, trauma-informed care, and culturally responsive practice. I am also engaged in multiple psychoanalytic trainings at various institutes, including the Washington-Baltimore Center for Psychoanalysis, the New York Psychoanalytic Society & Institute, and the Institute of Psychoanalysis in the UK. Each of these experiences is equipping me to address not only the visible symptoms of distress but also the deeper, often unspoken sources of suffering. My career goal is to serve rural and Indigenous communities, addressing the intertwined challenges of mental illness, substance use, and generational trauma. I aim to integrate evidence-based psychiatric care with cultural humility, relational depth, and ecological awareness. I believe this kind of work is not only a professional calling but also a spiritual one. The verse that inspires this scholarship, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men,” resonates deeply with me. To be a fisher of men is to reach out into the deep waters of human struggle and offer connection, safety, and hope. In my own journey, this has meant casting my net into places where suffering is great, and where trust must be earned. It has meant showing up in villages after a suicide loss, in ICU rooms where families cling to each other, and in communities rebuilding after environmental devastation. Faith has been the steady thread through it all. It reminds me that every person is created with dignity, that healing is possible even in the darkest circumstances, and that my role is to serve with humility, perseverance, and compassion. Mental health and addiction are among the most pressing challenges of our time. Nearly half of people with severe mental illness also experience substance abuse, and the need for compassionate, well-equipped providers has never been greater. In Alaska Native communities, the stakes are high, not just for individual health, but for the survival of culture, language, and ways of life. My achievements to date, academic, professional, and relational, are not endpoints; they are preparation for a lifetime of work in service to others. This scholarship would allow me to deepen that preparation, ensuring I can bring the highest level of skill, cultural understanding, and spiritual integrity to the communities I serve. I believe that answering this call is both my vocation and my act of faith. In following it, I honor the legacy of those who came before me, the resilience of the communities I serve, and the example set by the great physician who calls us all to be fishers of men.

I was inspired to pursue a graduate degree in psychiatry after working closely with Indigenous communities in rural Alaska. It was there in the harsh climate of the Arctic of Alaska that I came to understand the devastating impact of climate change on communities whose lives are deeply rooted in their relationship with the land. As traditional food systems collapsed and seasonal rhythms became unpredictable, I witnessed profound grief, disorientation, and emotional pain. The mental health effects of a rapidly changing and disappearing Arctic cannot be minimized; this is trauma on both an individual and collective level, deeply entangled with cultural identity, generational history, and survival. These experiences shifted how I understood mental health. I began to see psychiatric care not just through an individual lens, but through a broader, interconnected framework, one that included the environment, animals, and public health systems. This led me to pursue a master’s degree in One Health through the University of Alaska Fairbanks. One Health is a transdisciplinary approach that recognizes the health of people is closely connected to the health of animals and the environment. While the model is often used to track and prevent zoonotic disease, I applied it differently, exploring how ecological collapse, disease outbreaks, and displacement impact marginalized communities' emotional and psychological well-being. My research while training in Alaska focused on the mental health toll of highly pathogenic avian influenza (HPAI) outbreaks on rural and often Indigenous flock owners across Alaska, California, New York, and Canada. Many of these individuals saw their animals not just as livestock but as family members, cultural anchors, and sources of food sovereignty. When forced to cull flocks due to federal mandates, they grieved deeply. What I saw was a need for trauma-informed psychiatric care that could respond not only to the event itself, but to the broader systems of disenfranchised grief, ecological loss, and historical trauma that make these moments so devastating. Nursing offers a unique and holistic way to engage in this work. As a future Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner, I aim to integrate psychodynamic therapy, cultural humility, and ecologically informed care into my practice. My long-term goal is to serve communities navigating the psychological effects of climate change, colonization, and intergenerational grief, especially Indigenous and rural populations. This journey has been deeply personal and purpose-driven. I carry with me the stories of communities I’ve worked with and a commitment to showing up in relational, grounded, and healing ways. My training in One Health, combined with my background in trauma/critical care and public health, has given me a unique lens I hope to bring into the field of psychiatry. I found this scholarship opportunity through Bold.org.