For years, I wore my strength like armor. As a first-generation Fijian American, the oldest child of immigrant parents, and a mother myself, I was conditioned to survive, not slow down. I worked, studied, cared for others, and poured myself into every role—student, clinician, daughter, wife, mother—without realizing I had completely abandoned my own mental and emotional needs. The moment that changed everything wasn’t dramatic; it was quiet. I was sitting alone in my car outside a client’s home, unable to stop crying. I wasn’t sure if I was overwhelmed, exhausted, or just burnt out. But I knew something had to change. That moment became the catalyst for me to reevaluate what it meant to be “strong.” I had ignored the signs for too long—anxiety, constant fatigue, difficulty focusing (which I later recognized as symptoms of my undiagnosed ADHD), and a growing resentment toward the idea that success meant self-sacrifice. I realized I was showing up for everyone except myself. That’s when I made a commitment to prioritize my mental and emotional health. I sought therapy, something that went against everything I was taught growing up. In my culture, you pray, you endure, you stay quiet. But I was no longer willing to pass that silence on to my daughters. Through therapy, I processed the trauma of my childhood—growing up with an abusive, alcoholic father and watching my mother work herself to the bone. I began practicing boundaries, saying “no” without guilt, and asking for help—small actions that took enormous courage. I also started embracing rest and joy as necessities, not rewards. I carved out time for the beach, for laughter with my girls, for journaling, and for simply breathing. These were not acts of indulgence—they were acts of healing. What I learned from that season of my life is that prioritizing my well-being doesn’t make me weak or selfish—it makes me sustainable. It taught me that I cannot pour into others if my own cup is empty. This shift in mindset has deeply shaped how I move through life, school, and work today. As a doctoral student in Applied Clinical Psychology and a practicing BCBA, I now advocate for mental health from both personal and professional experience. I bring empathy into every room I enter, because I know what it feels like to be unseen and unheard. I support my clients and staff by promoting boundaries, balance, and wellness; not just productivity. Prioritizing my mental and emotional health didn’t just help me recover from burnout—it reshaped how I view success. Today, I define success by alignment, not exhaustion. I lead by example for my children, my community, and my clients. And I prepare for my future with a deep understanding that caring for myself is not optional—it’s essential. It’s the foundation on which everything else stands.

Mental health is more than my field of study—it is my passion, my purpose, and deeply personal. As a first-generation college student and Fijian American woman, I have seen the effects of intergenerational trauma, cultural stigma, and limited access to care. Growing up, mental health wasn’t something we talked about. My father struggled with alcoholism and unaddressed rage. My mother worked three jobs to support us, shouldering the weight of survival while never showing cracks. I witnessed pain that was never named, emotions that were buried, and behaviors that were misunderstood. These experiences shaped my path and ignited my desire to create change. I am currently a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst (BCBA) and a doctoral student in Applied Clinical Psychology. I work with neurodivergent children—many of whom are non-verbal, come from immigrant or underserved communities, and face similar barriers to those I once experienced. My career goals are rooted in justice and access: to create pathways for culturally responsive autism evaluations, trauma-informed care, and inclusive mental health education. I want families—especially in Pacific Islander, immigrant, and low-income communities—to feel seen, heard, and supported. One of the most meaningful projects I’ve co-created is Waves of Access, a mobile autism outreach initiative that offers culturally rooted diagnostic and caregiver support services. The goal is to bring resources to our communities, not the other way around. Too often, families delay or avoid seeking services due to fear, lack of trust, or past discrimination. I aim to break down those barriers with cultural humility, community collaboration, and a fierce commitment to equity. Throughout my career, I have worked intentionally to uplift diversity and inclusion—not as buzzwords, but as daily practices. I supervise and mentor behavior technicians from BIPOC and immigrant backgrounds, emphasizing the importance of cultural awareness and trauma-informed care. I facilitate social skills groups for neurodivergent pre-teens and teens, ensuring that group content reflects different lived experiences and communication styles. In academic spaces, I bring my full self: a mother, a woman of color, a neurodivergent clinician, and someone who knows what it’s like to navigate systems not built with us in mind. My doctoral research focuses on the impact of culturally sensitive autism assessments and the role of systemic disparities in developmental outcomes for Pacific Islander children. I hope to use my findings to influence diagnostic practices and guide policy that ensures earlier, affirming interventions for underserved populations. Ultimately, I want to build a nonprofit that partners with physicians and schools across Pacific Island communities to address developmental delays with compassion and cultural understanding. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue my education and expand the reach of my advocacy work. More importantly, it would validate the mission I’ve dedicated my life to: reshaping the mental health field into one that is inclusive, accessible, and rooted in justice. For my community, for my daughters, and for every family that’s been overlooked—I’m committed to being the change I once needed.

Mental health is not just important to me—it is the foundation of my journey as a student, mother, clinician, and community advocate. As a doctoral student in clinical psychology, a Board Certified Behavior Analyst, and a Pacific Islander woman raised in a home shaped by trauma and cultural silence, I’ve lived at the intersection of resilience and vulnerability. I’ve seen firsthand how untreated mental health challenges can fracture families, and how transformative culturally responsive support can be when it finally enters the picture. Growing up in a Fijian immigrant household, mental health was not something we discussed. Survival took priority. My mother worked three jobs to keep our family afloat. My father struggled with alcoholism and unresolved trauma, and I became the “strong one,” burying my anxiety and internal chaos beneath high achievement and emotional responsibility. I didn’t have the language to describe my experiences, and like many first-generation children, I wore strength as armor. It wasn’t until I became a mother and later entered the mental health field that I began to unlearn the silence and recognize my own undiagnosed ADHD, my anxiety, and the toll intergenerational trauma had taken on me. Now, I use my voice and my platform to advocate for those who are still navigating that silence. As a behavior analyst and clinician, I work directly with neurodivergent children and their families, many of whom are navigating complex diagnoses, language barriers, and cultural stigma. I make it a point to meet caregivers where they are—with compassion, cultural humility, and a willingness to listen. I’ve developed caregiver workshops that not only explain autism and developmental delays, but also create space for conversations about grief, acceptance, and hope. My advocacy also extends beyond the clinic. I founded Waves of Access, a nonprofit initiative dedicated to bringing neurodevelopmental assessments, autism diagnoses, and mental health education to Pacific Islander and underserved communities. We focus on mobile outreach, clinician training, and family partnerships that honor cultural values while reducing systemic barriers. Our mission is rooted in community and connection: to make sure every child is seen, and every family is supported. As a student, I also use my academic and lived experience to challenge stigma and encourage openness. In classroom discussions, peer support groups, and mentorship roles, I talk about the importance of mental health, especially for first-gen students, students of color, and those navigating disabilities. I openly share my experiences with ADHD and anxiety—not for sympathy, but to show that success and struggle can coexist, and that it’s okay to ask for help. Mental health matters because it influences every part of a student’s experience—how they learn, how they connect, how they persevere. It matters because stigma still silences too many voices. I advocate because I know what it feels like to not be understood, to navigate systems not built for you, and to carry the weight of unspoken pain. I advocate because no one should feel alone in their journey. This scholarship would not only ease the financial strain of my doctoral education but would also amplify the work I’ve dedicated my life to—creating access, building culturally informed systems, and changing the narrative around mental health, one story, one student, and one community at a time.

Statement 1 My goal is to become a licensed clinical psychologist specializing in culturally responsive autism assessment and mental health support for underserved communities, particularly Pacific Islander families. This award would ease the financial burden of graduate school and allow me to expand my mobile outreach initiative, Waves of Access, which delivers diagnostic services and family education directly to marginalized communities. As a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst and doctoral student, I’ve published an article in the Apotheosis Medical Journal advocating for stronger collaboration between medical and behavioral health professionals. I also founded and lead social skills groups for neurodivergent youth and regularly train clinicians on cultural humility and trauma-informed care. I’ve overcome systemic and personal barriers as a first-generation college student raised in an immigrant household. Despite limited resources, I’ve become a clinical leader, nonprofit board member, and mentor to future BCBAs. Each of these roles is guided by a deep sense of responsibility to uplift others who, like me, have had to navigate systems not built for them. This scholarship would help me continue turning that purpose into action. Statement 2 ACHE of SoCal’s commitment to advancing equity, education, and leadership in healthcare directly aligns with my mission to increase culturally competent developmental and mental health services in underrepresented communities. As a Pacific Islander doctoral student and Board-Certified Behavior Analyst, I have seen how disparities in diagnosis, treatment, and clinician diversity impact long-term outcomes—particularly for families of color. Through my outreach initiative, Waves of Access, I provide mobile, community-based autism screenings and family training. I also facilitate clinician workshops that teach culturally responsive assessment practices and inclusive care strategies. These efforts mirror ACHE of SoCal’s objectives to elevate underserved populations through education, innovation, and culturally grounded leadership. My career goals include developing interdisciplinary training programs, launching a community wellness center, and mentoring a new generation of clinicians of color. Like ACHE of SoCal, I believe that meaningful health equity begins with listening, representation, and systems-level change. This award would support my continued education and outreach, ensuring I can contribute as both a clinician and a changemaker in the healthcare field.

I am a first-generation college student, a doctoral candidate in clinical psychology, a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst, a wife, mother, and proud Pacific Islander woman. My passion for mental health advocacy stems from personal experience and professional insight, which are deeply rooted in my upbringing. I was raised in a Fijian immigrant household where love was present, but silence around mental health was louder. My mother was married at 17 and left school to support her family before graduating. My father, battling alcoholism and trauma of his own, created an unstable and abusive environment. As the eldest daughter, I became the translator, the mediator, and the person responsible. I learned to survive—but not to process. In our culture, you endured pain, but you didn’t name it. You carried it quietly. It wasn’t until adulthood that I was diagnosed with PTSD and ADHD. That diagnosis didn’t define me—it liberated me. It gave me the words I never had growing up and deepened my understanding of how generational trauma, stigma, and cultural barriers impact our ability to seek care. That realization changed the direction of my life and ignited my purpose. As a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst, I’ve spent over a decade supporting neurodivergent children and their families. But I knew I needed to do more than provide services within systems never designed for people like us. That’s why I returned to school to pursue my doctorate and founded Waves of Access, a nonprofit initiative committed to providing culturally rooted autism screenings, family education, and clinician training in underserved Pacific Islander communities. Our approach is mobile, community-based, and collaborative. We work directly with families, elders, and local providers to build trust and reduce stigma around neurodivergence and mental health. In many Pacific cultures, words like “autism,” “anxiety,” or “trauma” don’t exist in the local language. Children are mislabeled, misunderstood, or punished. My goal is to change that by creating access where there has been none and ensuring that care honors culture instead of erasing it. I also co-own two restaurants that have become informal hubs for Pacific Islander families in our community. Through these spaces, I’ve connected with families, shared resources, and brought mental health conversations into places where people feel comfortable and safe. I’m currently interviewing for PBS SoCal’s Community Advisory Board to further elevate the voices of communities like mine through inclusive media representation. My experience with mental health has shaped every part of my career. It has fueled my belief that lived experience is just as valuable as clinical expertise, and that healing must be rooted in dignity and cultural respect. Through advocacy, outreach, and education, I plan to create waves of lasting change, starting in my community and rippling outward. My dream is to work with local providers across the Pacific Islands, helping them build sustainable care systems that serve families in ways that feel familiar, not foreign. This scholarship would allow me to continue this mission with deeper resources and reach. It would ease the financial strain of graduate school while I continue serving communities that shaped me. Most of all, it would honor the voice of a once-silent girl who has now found the power to speak, serve, and heal.

I didn’t choose the mental health field—it chose me, in quiet moments of survival, long before I had the words for it. I grew up in a home where trauma, silence, and sacrifice were normalized. My mother married at 17 and worked three jobs to support us. My father battled alcoholism and created an unstable, often violent home environment. As the eldest child of Fijian immigrants, I became the caretaker, interpreter, and problem-solver—long before I was old enough to understand the emotional toll of that role. We didn’t talk about mental health. We endured. That unspoken reality followed me into adulthood until, years later, I was diagnosed with PTSD and ADHD. Instead of shame, I felt clarity. My diagnosis gave me the permission I needed to see myself with compassion, and it fueled my desire to ensure that others like me never had to suffer in silence. Today, I’m a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst with over a decade of experience supporting neurodivergent children and families, many from underserved and marginalized communities. I’m also a doctoral student in clinical psychology, focusing on culturally responsive autism diagnostics and trauma-informed care. My career path is rooted in two goals: to expand access to affirming, culturally relevant mental health services for immigrant and Pacific Islander communities, and to break the cycle of silence around trauma and neurodivergence. Too many families—especially in island nations—are left behind due to cultural stigma, lack of providers, or systems not designed for them. I created Waves of Access, a nonprofit initiative that brings mobile, community-based autism screenings, clinician training, and caregiver education to Pacific Islander families. Our work is grounded in cultural humility, respect for tradition, and a deep belief that care should be accessible and empowering. Throughout my journey, I’ve supervised and trained behavioral teams, led adolescent social skills groups, developed trauma-informed care plans, and advocated for the rights of families navigating school systems, diagnosis delays, and cultural barriers. My recent article, “Autism: Enhancing Support for Autistic Individuals—The Synergistic Role of General Practitioners and Behavior Analysts,” was published in the Apotheosis Medical Journal in September 2024, spotlighting the importance of interdisciplinary collaboration and culturally affirming care. My future goals include expanding Waves of Access across the Pacific Islands, consulting with local providers, and co-creating care models that reflect community values while honoring clinical best practices. I also hope to mentor the next generation of clinicians of color, helping them enter this field with confidence, support, and representation. Mental health is more than my career—it’s my purpose. It’s how I heal the younger version of myself while building a future where my daughters—and all children—grow up with access to care, compassion, and culturally rooted understanding.

Education is one of the most powerful tools we have to prevent and reduce intimate partner violence (IPV). It doesn’t just offer information—it reshapes belief systems, challenges generational norms, and equips individuals with the skills to recognize abuse, set boundaries, and seek support. For communities like mine—immigrant, underserved, and often silenced—education becomes more than prevention; it becomes liberation. As the daughter of Fijian immigrants, I grew up in a home where violence was normalized and silence was expected. My father was physically and emotionally abusive. My mother, who married at 17 and never finished high school, endured years of mistreatment because she believed it was her duty to keep the family intact. We didn’t talk about abuse. We didn’t have the language or safety to name it. And we certainly weren’t taught that we deserved better. I pursued a degree in psychology because I wanted to understand the roots of trauma, not just for myself, but for others carrying invisible wounds. Today, I am a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst and a doctoral student in clinical psychology, specializing in culturally responsive care for underserved populations. I work with families, many of whom are navigating intergenerational trauma, including cycles of abuse that have never been broken. Education can reduce IPV by starting early, teaching children about consent, emotional regulation, and healthy communication. It can reshape adult relationships by increasing awareness of power dynamics, trauma responses, and the importance of mental health. Most importantly, it can help entire communities unlearn toxic cycles and replace them with healing, safety, and mutual respect tools. I plan to use my degree and my lived experience to create culturally relevant educational programs that address IPV within Pacific Islander and immigrant communities. These programs will go beyond standard training and speak to cultural expectations, religious influences, and historical silencing. Through my nonprofit, Waves of Access, I will expand mental health outreach in these communities, integrating education on IPV into parent support groups, clinician training, and youth workshops. As a woman of color who broke cycles of abuse through education and self-advocacy, I believe deeply in the power of storytelling and representation. My voice, and the voices of others like mine, are essential to building systems that truly serve. By combining academic knowledge with cultural humility and lived experience, I hope to create safe spaces where survivors are seen, empowered, and never blamed. Violence thrives in silence. Education gives us the courage and clarity to speak—and the tools to heal.

I am a first-generation college student, the daughter of Fijian immigrants, and a proud Pacific Islander woman pursuing a doctorate in clinical psychology. My journey into psychology was not a straight path—it was born from a need to understand pain, break cycles of silence, and create access to healing in communities like mine. My upbringing was shaped by resilience and survival. My mother, forced to leave high school and marry at 17, worked three jobs to support our family while navigating unfamiliar systems in a country that wasn’t built for us. My father struggled with alcoholism and was emotionally and physically abusive. Mental health was never discussed—only endured. I became the “responsible one,” translating documents, suppressing emotions, and pushing myself academically in a world where therapy, trauma, and diagnoses were foreign concepts. It wasn’t until adulthood that I received a formal diagnosis of PTSD and ADHD. Rather than feel defeated, I felt empowered. I finally had language for my experience. I began to reframe my narrative—not as someone who had “made it out,” but as someone committed to returning to serve others walking the same path. That decision led me to become a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst and, now, a doctoral candidate specializing in culturally responsive autism diagnosis and mental health care. My background has profoundly shaped my goals in psychology. I have seen firsthand how cultural stigma, systemic inequities, and lack of representation keep immigrant and Pacific Islander families from receiving the care they need. My mission is to change that narrative. I founded Waves of Access, a nonprofit initiative that brings mobile, culturally rooted autism screenings, clinician training, and family education to underserved Pacific Islander communities. We work directly with caregivers, elders, and local providers to offer compassionate, culturally respectful care that meets people where they are, both geographically and emotionally. As a woman of color in this field, I strive to expand what care looks like, to validate diverse worldviews, and to amplify the voices of families who have been silenced or dismissed. My long-term goal is to consult with healthcare professionals across Pacific Island nations and equip them with accessible, culturally grounded mental health tools to support their communities. In addition to my clinical and academic work, I am also published. My most recent article, “Autism: Enhancing Support for Autistic Individuals—The Synergistic Role of General Practitioners and Behavior Analysts,” was featured in the September 2024 issue of the Apotheosis Medical Journal. This article emphasizes interdisciplinary collaboration in autism care and highlights the importance of accessible and affirming support for neurodivergent individuals across all settings. My story began in a small, overlooked home filled with uncertainty. Today, I’m building something bigger than myself—a future where families like mine are seen, supported, and understood. Psychology isn’t just my field of study—it’s my way of giving back.

One of the most pressing and deeply personal global health issues I’m passionate about is the under-recognition and under-treatment of mental health conditions in immigrant and underserved communities, particularly within Pacific Islander populations. Mental health has long been stigmatized in many cultures, including my own. As the daughter of Fijian immigrants, I grew up in a home where emotional struggles were seen as weakness and where trauma, anxiety, or depression were rarely acknowledged, let alone treated. We didn’t talk about mental health. We endured it. My mother worked multiple jobs to hold our family together while my father’s alcohol abuse created instability and pain. As a child, I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t have the words—or the support—to name it. It wasn’t until adulthood that I was diagnosed with PTSD and ADHD. Finally, I had the language for what I had carried for years. The diagnosis wasn’t just a label—it was a lifeline. It opened the door to healing, self-compassion, and advocacy. But it also left me wondering: what would my journey have looked like if I had been recognized and supported earlier? What if mental health had been treated with the same urgency as physical illness in my community? This question fuels the work I do today as a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst and a doctoral student in clinical psychology. I serve children and families from diverse and often marginalized backgrounds, many of whom face the same cultural and systemic barriers I did. I see firsthand how language, stigma, and lack of access prevent families from seeking the help they need. And I know how easy it is for neurodivergent children to be mislabeled, punished, or dismissed when their behavior is a cry for support. To address this, I founded Waves of Access, a nonprofit initiative that brings culturally responsive autism assessments, caregiver education, and clinician training to Pacific Islander communities. In many island nations, there are no mental health specialists, and terms like “autism,” “anxiety,” or “trauma” do not even exist in the local dialects. Children are left behind. Families are left confused. Stigma silences their struggles. I care about this issue because I lived it. And I care because I’ve seen what’s possible when someone is finally heard, understood, and supported. Mental health shouldn’t be a privilege—it’s a human right. Whether in a remote village or a bustling city, every person deserves access to care that honors their story and meets their needs. Mental health disparities are not just individual issues—they are systemic, cultural, and global. They require bold, compassionate solutions that bridge medical knowledge with cultural humility. I aim to continue building those bridges, especially for those who’ve been left out of the conversation for far too long. As a future clinical psychologist, a woman of color, and a proud Pacific Islander, I am committed to turning the tide on mental health in our communities—one diagnosis, one conversation, and one life at a time.

I didn’t grow up dreaming of working in healthcare. I grew up translating medical paperwork for my immigrant parents, calming my younger brother during doctor’s visits, and learning how to survive in a household where trauma was never named, only endured. My entry into healthcare wasn’t sparked by inspiration—it was born from necessity. As a first-generation college student and daughter of Fijian immigrants, I didn’t have access to resources or role models who looked like me in professional spaces. My mother gave up her education at 17 to enter an arranged marriage, working three jobs to keep us afloat. My father battled addiction, often leaving us emotionally and financially unstable. In that chaos, I became the helper, the responsible one, the girl who figured it out. It wasn’t until I began working with neurodivergent children as a behavior technician that I realized what I was truly meant to do. I saw in those children pieces of myself—misunderstood, masked, and struggling to be seen in systems not designed for us. That experience lit a fire in me. I became a Board-Certified Behavior Analyst, and now, I am pursuing a doctorate in applied clinical psychology to expand my ability to serve historically overlooked communities. I chose healthcare because I believe everyone deserves access to compassionate, culturally respectful care, especially those who have been pushed to the margins. My work centers on underserved Pacific Islander communities, where autism and developmental differences are often misdiagnosed or ignored due to cultural stigma, lack of awareness, or systemic inaccessibility. There are no clear pathways for families to get help, especially if they live on remote islands or don’t speak English. I’m working to change that. I founded Waves of Access, a nonprofit initiative that brings mobile, culturally rooted autism screenings, education, and clinician training directly to Pacific Islander communities. I believe healthcare doesn’t always need to come from a building—it can come from a van, a village hall, a church, or a kitchen table, if it meets people where they are. I aim to create trauma-informed, affirming care that respects local customs while introducing life-changing resources. As a woman in healthcare, especially as a woman of color, I am deeply aware of the disparities that exist in both access and representation. I’ve had to navigate imposter syndrome, cultural expectations, and invisible disabilities—including adult diagnoses of PTSD and ADHD—while climbing the academic and professional ladder. These experiences, though difficult, have made me more empathetic and driven. I want to be the provider who sees her patients fully—their history, culture, language, and needs. I want to be the mentor who helps young women from underserved communities believe that their voices belong in clinical spaces. And I want to be the advocate who ensures that care is not just available but affirming, empowering, and rooted in justice. Pursuing a degree in healthcare is more than a career path for me—it’s a commitment to healing, not only for others but also for the generations of women in my family who were denied the chance to dream for themselves. I carry their resilience with me, and I intend to use it to build systems that honor every story, every culture, and every child.