Everyone faces adversity at some point in their life. For me, adversity came in the form of being ignored. Black women and girls are often dismissed when they report health concerns to doctors. Despite this, I refused to accept being overlooked. I knew something was wrong with my body, even when others tried to convince me otherwise. At 16 years old, after years of being told by doctors across Illinois that I was exaggerating my symptoms or was a hypochondriac, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Before my diagnosis, the symptoms began subtly—swelling after sports games which seemed easy to dismiss. Over time, however, the pain intensified. My fingers became swollen, my kneecaps inflamed, and walking through school hallways became a struggle as I limped from class to class. What hurt me as much as the physical pain was the pain of being ignored. By the time I received my diagnosis, my body was functioning at a very low capacity. I could barely hold a pencil, and I lost mobility in my left hand and wrist. Tasks I once took for granted became daily challenges. Instead of giving up, I adapted by teaching myself how to complete everyday tasks using my right hand. I also began practicing yoga to gently move my body while grounding myself. Through yoga, I learned to slow down and listen to my body—understanding my limits, signals, and needs. Yoga helped me relearn myself in a time when I felt disconnected from my body. At the same time, I took the initiative to learn more about my condition. I researched natural remedies, including turmeric and its anti-inflammatory properties, while educating myself on the medications commonly prescribed for chronic illnesses. As I continued learning, I discovered the connection between diet and inflammation. I learned that a meat-heavy diet could contribute to arthritic flare-ups, which led me to reduce my meat consumption. Over time, I eliminated it entirely and became a vegetarian, incorporating more vegetables and whole foods into my diet. Embracing a more holistic lifestyle allowed me to better manage my symptoms while becoming more intentional about how I care for my body. Through this experience, I realized I had two choices: I could become defined by rheumatoid arthritis, or I could rise above it and use my voice to create change. I chose the latter. I began speaking out about the frequent misdiagnosis and dismissal of Black women with chronic illnesses, using my story to raise awareness and advocate for equitable healthcare. My experiences have fueled my passion for helping others feel seen, heard, and supported—especially those from underserved communities who are too often overlooked. This adversity shaped me into a resilient and driven individual. It taught me the importance of self-advocacy, especially in systems that were not built to prioritize voices like mine. I learned to trust myself, to persist even when others doubted me, and to transform my challenges into purpose. More importantly, I learned that my story has the power to create impact—not just for myself, but for others navigating similar struggles. If I could offer advice to someone facing the same circumstances, I would tell them this: do not give up. Advocate for yourself relentlessly. Seek multiple opinions, ask questions, and trust what your body is telling you. There will be someone who listens—someone who takes your concerns seriously and wants to help. Most importantly, remember that you only have one body, and it is your responsibility to listen to it, honor it, and care for it. Even when the world tries to silence you, your voice matters.

Building is about imagining a future that does not yet exist and being committed to creating it. I am working to build a global platform rooted in journalism, advocacy, and empathy, one that amplifies the voices of women whose stories are overlooked. As a young Black woman pursuing my master’s degree in journalism at Northwestern University, with a focus on policy, politics, and foreign affairs, I understand that intersectionality is not just a concept, as it is a lived reality. It allows me to recognize that, while cultures and circumstances may differ, the struggles of womanhood shaped by inequality, poverty, and systemic barriers are deeply connected across the globe. My commitment to this work began during my undergraduate studies, when I attended a summer journalism bootcamp at the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS). There, I reported on how the climate crisis in India disproportionately impacts rural women, threatening their health and stability. That experience showed me that behind every global issue are human stories that deserve to be told with care, urgency, and truth. I plan to build my future by traveling to communities where women are displaced by poverty, conflict, and environmental crises, documenting their experiences and elevating their voices. Through this work, I aim to create narratives grounded in intersectionality. These stories will challenge the distance often created by Western media while reminding us that we are more connected than we think. In the long term, I hope to build an international think tank focused on women in journalism, one that not only produces impactful reporting but also provides resources, mentorship, and support for women globally committed to telling their own stories. I want to create spaces where women are not only subjects of stories, but leaders in shaping them. At the core of my work is a simple belief: love is the catalyst for change. To tell someone’s story with honesty and compassion is an act of care. That care can move people, influence policy, and inspire action. I hope that with reporting from love, the struggles of today will be the freedom of tomorrow. This scholarship would help alleviate the financial burden of graduate school, allowing me to focus more deeply on my research, reporting, and long-term goals. More importantly, it would be an investment in building a future where storytelling becomes a force for equity, connection, and global change.

On January 31, 2026, I sat beside my mother, my older sisters and their spouses, my aunt, my cousin, and my best friend as eight doctors told us that no matter what they did, my 14-year-old sister would die. I held a notebook in my hand, writing down every word they said while scanning the room in quiet panic. For the first time, my fear was not for myself—it was for the people I love. My sister, Aminah, has spent most of her life battling Wilms tumor, a rare kidney cancer with only about a 0.1% chance of recurrence. Unfortunately, she became part of that fraction. I was twelve when she was first diagnosed, and since then, I have watched her endure 11 years of treatment, uncertainty, and pain with a level of strength that continues to shape who I am. I watched her fight through the nausea and exhaustion of chemotherapy with unwavering courage. I watched her celebrate birthdays that were always shadowed by the unknown, yet filled with joy. I watched my mother make the difficult decision to shift her attention almost entirely toward Aminah’s care, sacrificing time with my brother and me to ensure Aminah could experience as much comfort and normalcy as possible. But more than anything, I watched my sister choose to live. She taught herself to play volleyball, even though she was never medically cleared to play for her school’s team. She learned taekwondo, plays the violin and guitar, and built friendships rooted in genuine love and kindness. Every day, despite being told for over a decade that her life might be cut short, she wakes up and embraces it fully. Through Aminah’s journey, I have learned that when you are told your time is limited, you face a choice. You can let that reality consume you, letting fear and sadness define your days, or you can choose to live with intention. My sister chose the latter, again and again. Because of her, I understand that courage is not the absence of fear or exhaustion—it is the decision to keep going despite both. It is choosing to find joy when your body is weak, and hope when doubt begins to creep in. That lesson has shaped the way I approach my own life, especially my education. Her resilience has driven me to pursue my goals with urgency and purpose. I no longer take time or opportunity for granted. Instead, I strive to live in a way that reflects the same determination she has shown—to push forward, to embrace challenges, and to make the most of every moment I am given. At the end of fear and uncertainty, I have learned, there can still be love, promise, and a future worth fighting for.

Growing up in a community where opportunities were scarce, I often found solace in the tales of those who overcame insurmountable odds. These stories ignited a fire within me—a burning desire to make a difference, to break the cycle, and to create a legacy of hope. My journey to Hampton University was more than a quest for higher education; it was a testament to my unyielding determination and the dreams I dared to dream despite the odds. Hampton University, with its rich history and legacy as a beacon of excellence for African Americans, became my North Star. However, the path to Hampton was not without its challenges. My family faced financial hardships that derailed my dreams. There were times when the thought of attending such a prestigious institution seemed like an unattainable fantasy. But I refused to let my circumstances define my destiny. I juggled multiple jobs in high school while maintaining a rigorous academic schedule. I spent countless nights studying, determined to secure scholarships and financial aid. The sacrifices were immense, but the vision of Hampton’s campus kept me going. Every obstacle became a stepping stone, every setback a lesson in perseverance. The day I received my acceptance letter from Hampton University was one of the most emotional moments of my life. It wasn't just an admission into a university; it was a validation of my hard work, resilience, and unwavering belief in my dreams. As I read the words, tears streamed down my face. I had done it—I was going to Hampton. Attending Hampton has been transformative. The professors, mentors, and peers I have encountered have enriched my understanding of what it means to be resilient and to strive for excellence. They have taught me that true strength lies not in the absence of challenges, but in the courage to face them head-on. Yet, even at Hampton, financial hardships continued to follow me. My grandmother, who has been a pillar of strength and support throughout my life, was diagnosed with cancer. The medical bills and associated expenses added an overwhelming burden to our already strained finances. There were moments when the weight of it all felt crushing, and I questioned how I could continue my education under such circumstances. But my grandmother became my inspiration. Despite her suffering, she urged me to persist and reminded me of the importance of education. I took on additional part-time jobs and applied for every scholarship and grant I could find. As a journalism major, I am committed to exposing medical racism and advocating for equitable healthcare. I want to be a beacon of hope, much like Hampton has been for me, and contribute to a legacy of healing and empowerment. In reflecting on my journey, I am reminded of a quote by Maya Angelou: "You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated." These words resonate deeply with me as they encapsulate my journey to Hampton and my aspirations beyond. The challenges I have faced have shaped my character, instilling a resilience that fuels my ambitions and propels me forward. As I stand on the cusp of my future, I am grateful for the journey that has brought me here. Hampton University is not just a dream realized; it is a testament to the power of resilience and the unwavering belief in one’s potential. It is a reminder that no matter how formidable the challenges, with determination and perseverance, we can turn our dreams into reality.

To be a Black woman in America is to be strong when feeling weak, protecting everyone around you while not feeling protected, with a smile on your face and a graceful presence. I remember staring at my reflection at thirteen years old and not noticing myself. A mere ghost of who I used to be. The World that once saw me as a young Black child started to view me as a woman and as a threat. An English teacher once told me "you'll never amount to anything, you'll end up dropping out of high school if anything." So filled with shame, I took those words and stuffed them in the deepest part of my heart, and soul. I became angry, empty, and silent. I never shared the pain of that White woman's words. Instead, I internalized the blatant disrespect and racism. Years later I pondered over the effect of that woman's words, actions towards me. I felt disappointed in myself. Maybe if I would have told someone the pain wouldn't be so raw, I wouldn't be so angry. I knew what I had to do, I had to go out and ensure other young black girls never felt like me during their educational experience. I began to use my voice to speak up. I discussed the oppression young black girls were facing in the schools, city. Being a class clown doesn't mean you're dumb, uneducated, and disinterested in your education. I now attend Hampton University, use the words of my past English to help fuel successes. I want to show young Black women that the only way out is through. We must fight these systems of oppression head-on with grace, intelligence, and knowledge. As a mentor to young Black girls, I show them that they can be anything in this world. No matter what any White man or woman says.

Music to me is like the air we get from the trees. Making us feel so liberated, so free. Music has always been my holy ground keeping me sane, keeping me strong, keeping me alive. I was eight years old the first time I heard Donny Hathaway’s “A song for you”. I didn’t know it then but this song would take me through every emotion I’ve ever felt within the next ten years. A song for you, my mom would always hold me in her arms on days when I felt like I couldn’t go on. She sang that song to me, building me up, making me feel like I was the strongest girl in the world. A song for you, I played this song for a boy I thought I loved, The lyrics too intense for him to comprehend. A song for you I played when he left me hurt and lonely. I felt small but just like always my mom was there. Ready to hold her in my arms because when she sang “I love you in a place, Where there’s no space or time.” she meant it. A song for you, the only song that would keep my back straight and my head clear for six months. Six months of replaying A song for you over and over and over again. This song like a shield that seemed to protect me from my inner demands, yet shows the world I am happy, I am not weak. A song for you teaching me how to keep my precious secrets just how Donny Sang. That same song held me when I fell down and couldn’t get up for a while. The same song that loves me for its life and I’ll always love it for mine. A song for you is literally the song that saved my life.

To be a conscious black woman in America is to be the backbone of every social-political revolution. To be a young conscious black woman means I hold the revolution in my hands. Amaud Aubrey, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd are names that sparked the summer of uprisings, demonstrations, and mourning. In my own mourning of these national hate crimes against fellow black people, I started to protest, rally, and attend other demonstrations. After the killings of Amuad Aubrey, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd I grew sad and angry with this country. I realized that I shared these emotions with the majority of my peers. We decided enough was enough. This summer, I and four other local high school students came together to be the change that we wanted to see in our community. To be said to change, we developed Paign to Peace. ‘Paign to Peace’ is a local organization of minority women in Champaign-Urbana and I have the honor of being one of those women. Within the organization, we have planned three protest marches, an education rally, and are members of the Champaign County Anti-Racist Coalition. Before I began protesting I was shy, avoided conflict, and hated public speaking. I was also plagued with the fears of messing up or receiving backlash for my views. My fear is why I chose to stay silent. That was until I reached my breaking point. I was tired of seeing people who resembled myself or my brother being murdered as a result of senseless acts of racism and brutality. I decided that it was my turn to use my voice, use my power as a black woman, to help my community. At that point, I realized helping my community was my calling. On June 6, 2020, my organization planned Champaign County's largest protest in history. This protest filled me with emotions that I was unaware that I had. Emotions that I was feeling not only for myself but for my community and organization as well. I spoke of Kiwane Carrington, a 15-year-old boy who was murdered by the Champaign Police Department. As I spoke, the crowd was silent, they heard me, they understood the importance of Kiwane and his legacy. Our community members understood that police brutality happens right here in our small town. As I stood in front of the crowd, their energy helped me realize I’ve had the tools all along, it was just a matter of using them. By the end of the summer, I had attended over 30 protests, and have spoken at more than half of them. The more involved and engaged I was with community activism, the more I matured and grew. I have learned that the revolution welcomes numerous perspectives from different walks of life. We have created over three community pantries and a community closet. I hope to continue to serve my community and break these chains of oppression that is hurting my community. I have met so many beautiful people with various lifestyles, who all are dedicated to actively making a difference. Differences that are not solely focused on social media but being on the ground and fighting with us. The courage and actions of fellow activists have motivated me to continue to push harder for my community with the work that I do. As Dr. Huey P. Newton once said, “The revolution has always been in the hands of the young. The young always inherit the revolution.”