My "Pie in the Sky" dream is to establish a comprehensive, trauma-informed residential center specifically designed for mothers fleeing domestic violence who are also battling substance abuse. In the current social service landscape, these two issues are often treated in silos. A woman might find a bed in a domestic violence shelter but be turned away because of her addiction, or she might find a spot in a detox center but be unable to bring her children with her. My dream is to erase that "choice" between safety and sobriety by creating a space where a mother can heal alongside her children, receiving clinical mental health support, recovery resources, and vocational training all under one roof. The spark for this dream was the 2,000 miles I had to travel to find my own life. When I fled my marriage, I didn't just leave a person; I left behind an entire version of myself that had been dimmed by abuse and substance use. I remember the sheer terror of that journey—the weight of my two children in the backseat and the uncertainty of where we would land. I realized then that I was one of the "lucky" ones because I had a sister to run to. Many women do not have that 2,000-mile safety net. They stay in dangerous situations because they have nowhere to go that will accept both their children and their struggle with addiction. My dream is to be that safety net for them. To reach this "Pie in the Sky" goal, the first and most critical step is completing my education in social work. I need the clinical foundation to understand the complexities of trauma-informed care and the administrative knowledge to navigate the non-profit and governmental sectors. However, a degree is only the beginning. The second step is gaining diverse field experience. By continuing my work as a Paraprofessional and an RBT, I am already learning how to support the children of these families. Next, I will need to transition into clinical social work to understand the intricacies of addiction counseling. The final, and perhaps most daunting, step is the transition from practitioner to founder. This will require me to build a coalition of lawmakers, donors, and community leaders who believe that recovery and family unity are not mutually exclusive. It feels "out of reach" because of the immense funding and systemic change required to build such a facility. It feels "big" because it challenges the way we currently view "victims" versus "addicts." However, I have already done the "impossible." I have already reclaimed my life from the wreckage of a violent marriage and achieved full custody of my children. I have already maintained two years of sobriety and therapy while working two jobs. My courage is not theoretical; it is proven. My "Pie in the Sky" is to ensure that the 2,000-mile journey I took is a path made shorter, safer, and more supported for every mother who follows in my footsteps. My commitment to growth is not just for my own family anymore—it is for the family I haven't met yet, waiting for a door to open.

A Journey Through Recovery and Advocacy My journey with mental health and substance abuse was once a story defined by loss, but through intentional work and education, it has become a narrative of reclamation. For many years, my life was a cycle of survival within a domestic violence marriage where my spouse's substance abuse became the catalyst for my own. In that environment, my identity was buried under fear and the weight of addiction. However, the turning point came when I realized that to save my children, I had to first save myself. I made the radical decision to flee, moving 2,000 miles away from the life I knew to start over from nothing. This move wasn’t just a geographic shift; it was a total commitment to sobriety, safety, and a better future for my two children, for whom I now have full custody. The last several years have been a testament to the fact that healing is a rigorous, daily discipline. My personal growth, fueled by two years of consistent therapy and a deep commitment to recovery, has transformed me. My recovery process was not solitary; my sister has served as my primary AA support, providing the accountability and grounding necessary to navigate the early, volatile days of starting over in a new place. Alongside this familial support, I have committed to two years of professional therapy. In these sessions, I have done the difficult work of unpacking the trauma of my marriage and developing a toolkit of healthy coping mechanisms. This combination of clinical support and community accountability has allowed me to prove my stability to the world and, more importantly, to myself. My educational goals are a direct extension of this personal evolution. Currently, I work as a paraprofessional for the school district and as a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT). These roles allow me to witness the early signs of mental health struggles in children and adolescents every day. I see the same patterns of trauma and instability that my own children and I once faced, but I now view them through the lens of a trained advocate. My goal is to obtain my degree in social work to professionalize this advocacy. I want to move into a role where I can influence the systems that support women in recovery and their children. I am particularly interested in working with those who are trapped in the intersection of domestic violence and substance abuse, helping them find the same 2,000-mile "escape route" to safety that I had to find for myself. Managing a rigorous academic schedule while working two jobs and raising two children as a single mother is an immense challenge, but it is one I navigate with a strict recovery management plan. My plan for continuing to manage my recovery is built on three non-negotiable pillars. First is the continuation of professional therapy. I recognize that as I enter the field of social work, the risk of secondary trauma is high; maintaining my own mental health is essential to being an effective provider. Second is my continued engagement with my support network, led by my sister. This provides the external accountability that keeps me grounded during times of high stress. Third is my commitment to my children’s stability. Having full custody is a privilege I worked hard for, and it serves as a daily reminder of what is at stake. My education has given me a sense of direction that I lacked for over a decade. It has taught me that my "lived experience" is a specialized form of expertise. In the social work field, there is no substitute for the empathy of someone who has actually survived the systems they are trying to improve. I know what it feels like to be a client in a domestic violence shelter and a person in early recovery. I hope to use my degree to create a future where recovery is accessible and where mothers are empowered to change their lives without fear of judgment. For my children, I want my legacy to be one of resilience. I want them to look at their mother and see someone who didn't just run away from a bad situation, but someone who ran toward a life of purpose. This degree is the final piece of that foundation, allowing me to take my place as a leader and an advocate in the community that helped save me. I am not just a student; I am a survivor who is ready to lead.

The most challenging aspect of being a single parent and a student is the relentless negotiation of time. For most students, a missed hour of study is a minor setback; for a single mother working two jobs, a missed hour of study is a luxury I cannot afford, and a missed hour with my children is a heartbreak I carry daily. The combination of these roles creates a state of "time poverty," where the invisible war between providing a future for my children and being present for their childhood is fought every single day. My daily reality is a high-stakes puzzle. I work as a paraprofessional for the school district during the day and transition into my role as a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT) in the afternoons and evenings. By the time I return home to my two children, I have already given eight to ten hours of emotional and physical energy to other people’s families. The primary challenge is finding the "second wind" required to be the mother my children deserve—to cook dinner, help with their homework, and provide a nurturing home—while still reserving enough mental clarity to tackle my own university assignments once they are asleep. This lifestyle requires a level of "code-switching" that is mentally exhausting. In one hour, I am a professional helping a student with a disability; in the next, I am a mother comforting my own child; and in the final hours of the night, I am a scholar analyzing social work theory. The pressure of being the sole breadwinner, the sole nurturer, and a high-achieving student is a weight that often leads to burnout. Without financial support, the only way to balance the checkbook is to work more hours, which inevitably means spending less time on my education and less time with my children. This is precisely where this scholarship becomes a transformative force. I do not see this financial assistance as a "handout," but as a strategic investment in my family’s stability. Currently, my education is funded by the "overflow" of my two jobs. This scholarship would allow me to reduce my reliance on excessive overtime shifts, effectively "buying back" the time I need to immerse myself in my social work curriculum. It would allow me to be a more effective student because I would not be studying from a place of total exhaustion. More importantly, it would allow me to be a more present mother. It would mean that a Saturday morning could be spent at the park with my kids rather than at a second job site. Paving the way for my children’s future is the primary engine behind my ambition. My journey through domestic violence and recovery has taught me that resilience is not just about surviving; it is about building something new from the wreckage. By completing my degree, I am providing my children with a living blueprint of what is possible. I am teaching them that their mother took the hardest parts of her history and used them to fuel a career of service. This scholarship provides the breathing room necessary for me to transition from a woman who survived a broken system to a professional who has the power to fix it. It ensures that while I am building a career to help other families in crisis, I am not sacrificing the well-being of my own. With your support, I can move closer to the day when I can finally say to my children that we aren't just surviving anymore—we are thriving.

For many, the pursuit of higher education is a traditional milestone, a predictable step following high school. For me, however, education has been a hard-won reclamation of my own life. My journey to becoming a social worker did not begin with a textbook; it began in the visceral reality of survival. As a single mother of two, a survivor of domestic violence, and a person in long-term recovery, my education has been the tool that transformed my past from a source of silence into a source of professional power. It has given me more than just a career path; it has provided a moral compass and a sense of direction that I once thought was permanently lost to the chaos of my circumstances. The challenges I have overcome form the foundation of my professional identity. For years, my primary goal was simply to survive the next hour, the next day, or the next crisis. Fleeing a domestic violence situation while simultaneously navigating the grueling path of recovery from addiction was a curriculum in human endurance. These experiences forced me to interact with the very systems I now seek to join—social services, legal aid, and healthcare. During that time, I felt the sharp edges of these systems. I learned what it feels like to be a "case number" and how demoralizing it is when the person across the desk lacks the empathy to understand the complexity of trauma. However, surviving these trials was only the first step. I realized that if I wanted to prevent others from falling through the same cracks, I had to move from being a recipient of services to a provider of them. Education has refined this desire into a clear, strategic mission. My current work within the school district as a paraprofessional and my second job as a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT) serve as the practical laboratories for my studies. In these roles, I am on the front lines of behavioral health and education every day. As a paraprofessional, I see how socioeconomic stressors and home-life instability manifest in a child’s ability to learn. As an RBT, I work to implement behavioral interventions for children who are often struggling to communicate their needs to a world that doesn't always listen. My education is the bridge that connects these two roles. It allows me to look past a child’s "non-compliance" or "outbursts" and recognize the physiological symptoms of a nervous system stuck in survival mode. By studying social work, I am learning how to translate my lived intuition into evidence-based practice. One of the most profound ways education has shaped my goals is by shifting my perspective on my own history of addiction. In the rooms of recovery, we often talk about "turning our mess into our message." In the academic world of social work, this is called "lived experience expertise." I have come to understand that my background is not a liability; it is a specialized credential. I possess a "BS detector" and an instinctual empathy that cannot be taught in a lecture hall. I know the physical weight of a craving and the paralyzing fear of leaving an abuser. Because I have walked that path, I can offer my future clients a unique form of validation. My goal is to work in advocacy, specifically focusing on the intersection of substance abuse and domestic violence, ensuring that mothers in crisis are met with resources instead of just judgment. Furthermore, my pursuit of this degree is an act of generational healing. As a single mother, I am hyper-aware that my children are watching me. For a long time, they saw a mother who was merely surviving. Today, they see a mother who works two jobs, maintains her recovery, and stays up late into the night to finish her assignments. By pursuing this education, I am rewriting our family legacy. I am teaching them that while we cannot always control the trauma that happens to us, we have total agency over how we integrate that trauma into our future. I am building a life where "stability" is not just a dream, but a permanent fixture of our household. Looking toward the future, I hope to use my education to humanize the field of social work. I want to be the advocate I once desperately needed—someone who understands that recovery is not a straight line and that leaving a violent situation is a process, not a single event. I want to work at the policy level or within community organizations to create more integrated support systems that don't force victims to choose between their safety and their sobriety. In conclusion, my education is not just about a degree or a title; it is about the transition from being a victim of my circumstances to being the architect of my destiny. I am not just looking for a career; I am building a toolkit to ensure that the next person who finds themselves in the dark has a guide who knows the way out. I am turning my survival into a profession, ensuring that my scars serve as a map for others to find their own path to healing and resilience.

The Full Circle of Advocacy My name is Aubrey Mcmanness, and I am a woman defined by my capacity to rebuild. I am a 35-year-old single mother of two, a dedicated professional in the special education sector, and a survivor of a thirteen-year domestic violence relationship. Having walked the long road of recovery from substance abuse, I have spent the last several years reclaiming my life. My career goal is to integrate my experience as a school district employee and a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT) into a future as a Licensed Social Worker. I believe that the most profound way to impact the world is to stand in the gap for those who are currently where I once was. My Plan for Positive Impact To make a difference in the world, one must understand how the world can break. My impact will be rooted in the intersection of education, behavioral health, and systemic advocacy. Empowering Families through Lived Experience: As a social worker, I will not be a distant professional; I will be an empathetic guide. I plan to work with families navigating the complexities of domestic violence and addiction. Because I have navigated these systems myself, I can offer a level of trust and relatability that is often missing in clinical settings. I want to show parents that their past does not have to dictate their children’s future. Integrating Behavioral and Systemic Support: My background as an RBT and a special education professional gives me a unique advantage. I understand that a child’s "behavioral issues" at school are often symptoms of the environment at home. By becoming a social worker, I will be able to treat the root cause—helping families secure housing, escape abuse, and find mental health resources—while also providing the behavioral tools the child needs to succeed in the classroom. Breaking generational Cycles: My greatest impact will be in the prevention of trauma. By working within the school system or child welfare agencies, I plan to create early intervention programs that identify at-risk families before a crisis occurs. My goal is to break the cycles of abuse and substance use that I experienced, ensuring that the next generation has a firmer foundation to stand upon. Conclusion I am not pursuing social work because I want a job; I am pursuing it because I have a debt of gratitude to the people who helped me find my way out of the darkness. My life is a testament to the fact that with the right support, recovery and transformation are possible. By combining my professional training with my personal history, I intend to spend my career ensuring that no child or parent feels invisible in their struggle. I am ready to turn my survival into a lifetime of service.

Courage is often misunderstood as the absence of fear. However, after spending thirteen years in a domestic violence relationship and navigating the grueling journey of recovery from substance abuse, I have learned that courage is actually the ability to act while your hands are still shaking. What gave me the courage to go back to school at thirty-five was not a sudden burst of confidence, but rather a quiet, undeniable realization: I had already survived the hardest parts of my life; it was finally time to build the best parts. For a long time, my "courage" was used simply to survive the day. When I finally walked away from a toxic thirteen-year relationship and committed to my sobriety, I found myself standing in the middle of a life that felt like a blank slate. As a single mother of two, the initial fear of returning to school was overwhelming. I worried I was too old, too far behind, or too burdened by my past to succeed in an academic environment. The turning point came through my work within the school district. While supporting students with special needs and learning disabilities, I saw children facing immense obstacles with a brand of bravery that humbled me. I realized that if I could advocate for their growth and believe in their potential, I had to be brave enough to do the same for myself. I saw that my "lived experience"—the very things I was once ashamed of—actually gave me a unique set of tools to help these children. I realized I didn't just want to help; I wanted to be a leader in behavioral health. However, the deepest source of my courage is found in the eyes of my two children. I did not want them to remember their mother only as a survivor of a difficult past; I wanted them to see a woman who redefined her future. I wanted to show them that it is never too late to pivot, to learn, and to grow. The courage to enroll in my RBT certification and pursue my degree came from the desire to turn our "survival mode" into a "thriving mode." Going back to school is my way of taking the power back. It is the final step in my recovery. Every assignment I complete and every clinical skill I master is a testament to the fact that my past was a lesson, not a life sentence. I have the courage to be a student today because I had the strength to be a survivor yesterday. This scholarship represents more than financial aid; it represents the final piece of my reclamation—the bridge between the woman I was forced to be and the professional I am choosing to become.

My name is Aubrey Mcmanness, and I am a 35-year-old single mother of two, a dedicated school district employee, and a student currently pursuing my Registered Behavior Technician (RBT) certification. My life is defined by the concept of "rising." After surviving a 13-year domestic violence relationship and successfully navigating a two-year journey through recovery, I have transformed my life into one of stability and purpose. Today, I use the resilience I gained during my darkest chapters to serve as a light for children with special needs and learning disabilities. To me, servitude is not just about performing a task; it is about recognizing the dignity in others and advocating for them when they cannot advocate for themselves. A specific time I made a positive impact on my community occurred within my work at the school district. I was working with a student who had a severe learning disability and significant behavioral challenges. Because of his outbursts, he was often misunderstood and isolated from his peers. Many viewed him as a "problem to be managed" rather than a child to be taught. Drawing from my own history of being misunderstood during my years in an abusive relationship, I felt a deep, personal responsibility to change the narrative for him. I went beyond my standard job duties to spend extra time observing his triggers and documenting what "spoke" to him. I realized he wasn't being defiant; he was overwhelmed and lacked the tools to communicate his sensory needs. I spent my own time researching and creating modified visual aids and sensory tools that weren't provided in the standard curriculum. Beyond the classroom, I reached out to his parents—who were exhausted and felt judged by the community. I shared my own perspective on the beauty of incremental progress and offered them a judgment-free space to talk. By building this bridge between the school and the home, we saw a dramatic shift. Within months, his behavioral incidents decreased, and he began to hit academic milestones he had never reached before. The impact wasn't just on the student; it was on the school community. By demonstrating a trauma-informed, high-empathy approach, I helped shift the culture of our classroom from one of "compliance" to one of "connection." This experience solidified my desire to become an RBT. I realized that my servitude is my superpower. My ability to see the human being behind the disability—or the struggle—is what allows me to make a tangible difference. I am not just looking for a career in the mental health and education fields; I am looking to continue a life of servitude where I can turn my personal survival into a community’s strength.

From Survival to Support: Why I am Pursuing Mental Health I am pursuing a degree in the mental health field because I believe that the most effective advocates are those who have walked the path of recovery themselves. My journey to this field was not born out of a textbook, but out of a 13-year survival of domestic violence and a hard-won victory over substance abuse. These experiences, while painful, have provided me with a unique "clinical lens" through which I view human behavior, resilience, and the necessity of specialized support. Why I am Pursuing This Path My decision to enter the mental health field is fueled by the realization that behavior is the primary language of trauma. In my current role within the school district, I work with children who have special needs and learning disabilities. I often see how mental health challenges and developmental delays overlap. I am pursuing this degree—and specifically my RBT certification—to bridge the gap between classroom support and clinical intervention. I want to understand the "why" behind the struggle so I can provide the "how" for the solution. Having navigated the complexities of the mental health system during my own recovery, I am driven to ensure that others do not have to navigate their darkest moments alone. How I Will Make a Difference I intend to make a difference in the lives of others through three specific pillars of service: Trauma-Informed Advocacy: Because of my history with domestic violence, I am hyper-aware of how environment affects behavior. I will use my education to create "safe-space" interventions for children and families, ensuring that we are treating the person, not just the symptom. Early Intervention: Working with special needs students has shown me that mental health support must start early. By becoming an RBT and continuing my degree, I can provide the behavioral tools children need to thrive before their challenges become lifelong barriers. Empowering Through Shared Experience: I want to be a visible example of what is possible. By being open about my recovery and my transition from a survivor to a professional, I hope to reduce the stigma surrounding mental health and substance abuse, particularly for single parents and those in high-stress caregiving roles. To me, a career in mental health is the highest form of community service. It is the process of taking the broken pieces of one’s past and using them to build a foundation for someone else’s future. My goal is to ensure that every student I work with and every family I support feels seen, heard, and equipped to overcome their own obstacles, just as I have overcome mine.

Turning Resilience into Advocacy My career choice is rooted in the belief that no child should be defined by their struggles, but rather by their potential. Currently, I work within my local school district, dedicated to supporting students with special needs and learning disabilities. My goal is to become a Registered Behavior Technician (RBT) where I will have two professions to support my children along with furthering my education. I am passionate about this field because I know what it feels like to navigate a world that doesn’t always understand your needs or your voice. To me, behavioral health isn’t just a job; it is a mission to provide the same stability and advocacy for my students that I had to fight to find for myself. My passion for special education and behavioral intervention stems from a deep-seated empathy. In the classroom, I work with students who face significant cognitive and emotional hurdles. I see their frustration when they cannot communicate, and I see their triumph when a breakthrough occurs. By pursuing my RBT certification, I am seeking the tools to provide more specialized, one-on-one clinical support. I want to be the person who translates "difficult behavior" into "unmet needs," helping children find the bridge between their internal world and their external success. However, my path to this career has not been a straight line. To reach my current personal and educational goals, I have had to make sacrifices that tested every fiber of my being. For thirteen years, I was in a domestic violence relationship that stripped away my sense of self and my security. During that time, I also struggled with a two-year period of substance abuse—a coping mechanism for a reality that felt inescapable. The greatest sacrifice I ever made was the decision to walk away from everything I knew to save my life and the lives of my two children. Leaving that relationship meant sacrificing the only "stability" I had, however toxic it was, to enter the unknown. Choosing recovery meant sacrificing the numbing comfort of old habits to face the raw, painful work of healing. As a single mother of two, my daily life is a series of sacrifices: I sacrifice sleep to study for my RBT certification after my children are in bed; I sacrifice personal time to work full-time in the school district; and I sacrifice financial ease to invest in a future that breaks the cycle of trauma for my family. These experiences have not hindered my ability to work in special education; they have enhanced it. I possess a level of patience and a "trauma-informed" perspective that cannot be taught in a textbook. I understand that behavior is a language, and I know that recovery—whether from a learning disability or a personal hardship—is possible with the right support system. Receiving this scholarship would be more than just financial assistance; it would be an investment in a woman who has already proven she can survive the storm. It will allow me to complete my RBT certification and move into a secondary role where I can apply my clinical skills to help children thrive. I am not just working for a paycheck; I am working to ensure that my children see a mother who turned her greatest sacrifices into a legacy of service and strength.