Brittany Raye Bell Taylor Swift Fan Scholarship 24 May 2026 One of the reasons I respect Taylor Swift has nothing to do with celebrity gossip and everything to do with resilience. I still remember that famous moment years ago when Kanye West interrupted her speech at the VMAs saying Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all time. Honestly, the internet turned that moment into a joke for years, but looking back now, I think it revealed something important about pressure, humiliation, public opinion, and perseverance. A lot of people would have folded under that kind of public embarrassment, especially at such a young age. Instead, Taylor Swift kept building. Album after album. Tour after tour. Reinvention after reinvention. That kind of persistence speaks to me deeply because my own life has required a lot of rebuilding too. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, psychology major, mother, and independent contractor trying to create a better future while balancing real adult responsibilities. My journey has not looked polished or glamorous. There have been seasons of grief, financial stress, delayed dreams, and moments where I questioned if I had fallen too far behind in life to still accomplish meaningful things. What moves me most about Taylor Swift’s career is not perfection. It is endurance. She reminds me that people can misunderstand you, mock you, underestimate you, criticize you publicly, and still not stop what God placed inside of you. I think a lot of women relate to that feeling, especially women who have had to quietly rebuild themselves after heartbreak, disappointment, failure, or lost time. One thing I admire about her artistry is how openly she reflects on emotions, mistakes, relationships, growth, insecurity, and identity. Her music evolves because she evolves. That honesty is part of why so many people connect to her work across different generations and backgrounds. Even if somebody has never lived her exact life, they recognize the emotions underneath it. Honestly, returning to college in my thirties has felt similar in some ways. I had to stop obsessing over timelines and comparisons and just continue moving forward anyway. I have now applied for over one hundred scholarships while juggling substitute teaching, gig work, motherhood, and school. Some nights I am exhausted writing essays wondering if any of this effort will eventually pay off. But then I think about how success usually looks gradual while you are living through it. That is part of why Taylor Swift’s story resonates with me. She kept going long enough to become undeniable. I think that lesson applies far beyond music. Sometimes life embarrasses you publicly before it rewards you publicly. Sometimes people only notice the victory years later without understanding the discipline, rejection, criticism, and emotional resilience it took to survive long enough to reach that moment.

Brittany Raye Bell Sabrina Carpenter Superfan Scholarship 24 May 2026 I used to think women like me were already disqualified from certain dreams before we even started. Not because we were not smart enough. Not because we were not talented enough. Mostly because life gets heavy. Bills get heavy. Grief gets heavy. Being a single mother gets heavy. At some point you look around and realize you are carrying responsibilities while still trying to figure yourself out at the same time. That kind of pressure changes people. That is honestly one reason I connect with Sabrina Carpenter even though I did not grow up as some huge superfan who knew every song word for word. What stands out to me more is watching another woman continue to grow into herself publicly while people constantly underestimate her. I understand that feeling deeply. I am thirty-six years old, an African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, psychology major at East Carolina University, former pharmacy technician student, independent contractor, and mother. None of my success has happened in a straight line. I have dealt with financial struggles, grief, delayed dreams, and moments where I honestly questioned whether I had wasted too much time trying to rebuild my life. At one point I realized something uncomfortable about myself: I had spent years surviving but not fully believing bigger things were possible for me anymore. That mindset will quietly drain the life out of people. You start shrinking your goals to fit your disappointments. What I appreciate about Sabrina Carpenter’s career is that she seems unapologetically herself. Funny. Feminine. Creative. Ambitious. Confident. Emotional. Successful. Society acts like women have to choose one lane. Either be smart or pretty. Either nurturing or ambitious. Either soft or strong. I think seeing women confidently exist as multiple things at once actually matters more than people realize. That has been part of my own growth too. Returning to college in my thirties while raising my daughter forced me to stop seeing myself as “behind” in life. I have now applied for over one hundred scholarships trying to create a better future for us. Some nights I am literally writing essays after substitute teaching all day or after doing delivery app orders just trying to keep everything afloat financially. It is exhausting sometimes. But it is also proof that I have not given up on myself. One thing I admire about Sabrina’s music and public image is the confidence underneath it all. Even songs that seem playful still carry this energy of knowing your worth after being overlooked. I think a lot of women need that reminder, especially women who have spent years pouring into everybody else while neglecting themselves. For me, this scholarship is bigger than being a fan of an artist. It represents continuing to believe my life can still become something beautiful even after setbacks, delays, disappointments, and detours. Sometimes growth does not happen in one dramatic moment. Sometimes it looks like slowly rebuilding your confidence one decision at a time until you finally realize you were capable all along.

Brittany Raye Bell Love Island Fan Scholarship 24 May 2026 If I could create a new challenge for Love Island USA, it would be called “Heart vs. Habit.” The idea came to me after watching how often contestants say one thing while their actions reveal something completely different. Somebody will say they do not want to hurt anyone, but then they immediately explore another connection because their “heart knows best.” That contradiction is honestly one of the most interesting parts of the show to me because it reveals how people often confuse emotional excitement, attraction, validation, and temptation with genuine connection. The “Heart vs. Habit” challenge would test whether contestants are truly choosing partners based on compatibility, emotional safety, honesty, and character or if they are mostly reacting to chemistry and attention in the moment. Each Islander would answer a series of difficult relationship questions privately before seeing their partner’s responses. They would answer questions about trust, emotional honesty, attraction, jealousy, long-term compatibility, and whether they are choosing somebody because of real connection or simply because the person feeds their ego or excitement. After everyone submits their answers, the Islanders would gather around the fire pit while the responses are revealed publicly one by one. Before the answers are shown, contestants would first have to predict how their partner answered. I think that would create some of the most dramatic moments because it would expose whether couples actually understand each other emotionally or if their relationship is mostly physical attraction and surface-level chemistry. What makes this challenge interesting to me is that it goes deeper than just flirting or physical temptation. It would reveal emotional maturity, insecurity, manipulation, vulnerability, and self-awareness in real time. Some contestants might realize they ignored people who genuinely cared about them while chasing a fantasy or trying to prove something to themselves. Others might realize they are emotionally unavailable even though they claim they want love. I think viewers would connect strongly to this challenge because most people have experienced situations where somebody’s words and actions did not fully match. The challenge would almost turn the villa into a live psychology experiment, showing how people behave when emotions, attraction, insecurity, temptation, and public pressure are all mixed together. The best moments on Love Island are not always the dramatic recouplings or kisses. Sometimes the most interesting moments happen when people are forced to confront who they really are and what they truly want. That is exactly what “Heart vs. Habit” would do.

Brittany Raye Bell Greg Lockwood Scholarship May 24, 2026 One of the biggest changes I wish to see in the world is for people to stop treating emotional and mental struggles like weaknesses that should be hidden instead of real issues that deserve compassion, support, and care. I think too many people are silently struggling while trying to survive systems that were never designed with their emotional well-being in mind. Sometimes people do not need judgment nearly as much as they need understanding, resources, stability, and somebody willing to genuinely listen to them. That belief is a huge part of why I chose psychology and why I have become increasingly interested in social work and community support over the years. As a substitute teacher working in underserved schools, I have seen firsthand how many young people are carrying burdens far beyond what most adults realize. Some students are dealing with unstable homes, grief, poverty, trauma, neglect, bullying, behavioral struggles, anxiety, or simply feeling invisible. Honestly, some days I leave emotionally exhausted because you can tell certain children already feel defeated before life has really started for them. What stands out to me most is how often emotional pain shows up as behavior. A child may look “disrespectful,” angry, withdrawn, or difficult on the surface, but underneath there is usually something deeper going on. Once I started recognizing that, it changed the way I viewed people completely. My own life experiences also shaped that perspective. I am a thirty-six-year-old first-generation college student, single mother, psychology major, and former pharmacy technology student. My educational journey has not been perfect or traditional. There were seasons filled with grief, financial struggles, delayed dreams, and moments where I questioned whether I was capable of finishing what I started. At different points in my life, I experienced what it feels like to carry emotional weight while still trying to function normally on the outside. That is one reason I care so deeply about creating a world where people feel safer asking for help. I especially hope to see more compassion and emotional support for marginalized and underserved communities, including people who often feel isolated, misunderstood, or judged for who they are. Too many people grow up believing they have to suppress parts of themselves just to feel accepted or safe. I think the world would look very different if more people felt seen, heard, and valued instead of constantly feeling like they had to defend their existence. In the future, I hope to combine psychology, education, and community outreach to help people emotionally and mentally through counseling, mentorship, advocacy, and accessible support systems. I may not be able to fix every problem in the world, but I do believe small acts of understanding and support can completely change the direction of somebody’s life. Sometimes people just need one person who refuses to give up on them.

Brittany Raye Bell Stephan L. Daniels Lift As We Climb Scholarship May 24, 2026 When most people hear the word STEM, they usually picture engineers building robots or people writing computer code all day. I understand that image, but for me, psychology belongs in that conversation too because understanding the human mind is part of science. Human behavior affects education, healthcare, technology, relationships, and entire communities. The more life I experienced, the more I realized emotional and mental health quietly shape almost everything around us. That realization is one of the biggest reasons I chose psychology. My journey through education has not been traditional at all. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, mother, and former pharmacy technology student. Back in 2017, I completed Wayne Community College’s Pharmacy Technology program, which exposed me to healthcare systems, medication safety, and patient care. Even then, I noticed something that stayed with me. Many people were carrying emotional pain right alongside their physical problems. You could almost see the stress, grief, anxiety, and exhaustion sitting on them before they even spoke. Years later, substitute teaching throughout Wayne County schools opened my eyes even more. I started working with students from underserved communities who were carrying adult-sized burdens in little bodies. Some students are dealing with trauma, unstable homes, poverty, grief, ADHD, anger, or simply feeling like nobody believes in them. Honestly, some days I leave emotionally drained because you can tell certain children already feel defeated before life has really started for them. As a Black woman, those experiences matter deeply to me because many minority communities still struggle with access to mental health support, emotional wellness resources, and representation within healthcare and STEM-related fields. Growing up, I did not see many Black women openly represented in psychology, behavioral science, healthcare technology, or counseling spaces. A lot of people still treat mental health like something to hide instead of something that deserves care and attention. That is why I want to help change things. One of my long-term goals is to combine psychology, healthcare knowledge, education, and technology through telehealth and community-based programs that make emotional wellness support more accessible for underserved families and youth. I especially want to help people who may not normally have access to therapy, mentorship, encouragement, or culturally aware mental health resources. I also want young Black students to see somebody who looks like them working in spaces connected to science, healthcare, education, and innovation. Representation matters more than people realize. Sometimes seeing somebody else succeed makes a person believe they can too. This scholarship would help relieve some of the financial pressure that comes with balancing school, work, and motherhood while continuing my education. More importantly, it would help me continue building a future where I can use psychology and STEM-related fields to uplift communities that are too often overlooked. Honestly, I think helping people heal mentally and emotionally is one of the most important forms of community work there is.

Brittany Raye Bell Raquel Merlini Pay It Forward Scholarship 23 May 2026 Some days, if I am being completely honest, I still sit and wonder how I ended up back in college at thirty-six years old trying to rebuild a future while raising a child and grieving people I loved deeply. Life did not go the way I thought it would when I graduated high school in 2007. I thought adulthood would feel more stable by now. More figured out. Instead, there were seasons filled with financial struggles, loss, setbacks, delayed dreams, and moments where I questioned myself completely. But somehow I kept going anyway. I am a single mother, substitute teacher, psychology major at East Carolina University, and former pharmacy technology student. Back in 2017, I completed Wayne Community College’s Pharmacy Technology program, which introduced me to healthcare, medication safety, and patient care. Even then, I started noticing something that stayed with me long after I left the pharmacy environment. So many people were carrying emotional pain right alongside their physical problems. Stress. Anxiety. Depression. Grief. Exhaustion. Hopelessness. You could almost feel it on people sometimes even when they smiled politely across the counter. Years later, substitute teaching opened my eyes even more. I started working with students from underserved communities who were carrying adult-sized emotional burdens in little bodies. Some are dealing with unstable homes, poverty, grief, trauma, behavioral struggles, ADHD, or simply feeling invisible. Honestly, some days break my heart because you can tell certain children already believe life is against them before they have even had a fair chance to grow. That is a huge reason why I chose psychology and mental wellness as my path moving forward. I want to help people emotionally, mentally, and practically through a career connected to healthcare and psychology. I especially want to work with underserved youth, families, and communities that often do not have enough support, mentorship, or access to mental health resources. One of my long-term goals is to eventually combine psychology, healthcare knowledge, education, and telehealth services in ways that make emotional wellness support more accessible and less stigmatized. As a single mother, my daughter Adriana inspires me every day to keep pushing forward even when life feels overwhelming. I want her to grow up seeing that setbacks do not have to become permanent endings. I want her to understand that healing, growth, education, and purpose are still possible even after hardship. I also keep going because I know what it feels like to need encouragement during difficult seasons. Sometimes one caring adult, one mentor, one teacher, one counselor, or one healthcare worker can truly change the direction of somebody’s life. I want to become that kind of person for others. This scholarship would help relieve some of the financial pressure that comes with balancing motherhood, work, and higher education while continuing to pursue a career dedicated to helping people heal emotionally and mentally. More importantly, it would help me continue turning my life experiences, struggles, and compassion into something that can truly make a difference in the world.

Brittany Raye Bell Learner Math Lover Scholarship 23 May 2026 Growing up, math and I honestly had a toxic relationship. I struggled with dyscalculia, which made mental math feel almost embarrassing at times. I remember sitting in class feeling like everybody else understood things faster than I did. Certain math problems looked like complete confusion in my head no matter how hard I stared at them. For a long time, I thought being “bad at math” was just part of who I was. Ironically, college is what made me stop hating math. At some point, I realized math is almost like learning the rules to a game. Once you understand the patterns, formulas, and logic behind it, things slowly start clicking into place. That mindset shift changed everything for me. Instead of approaching math already defeated, I started treating it like a challenge I could eventually figure out if I stayed patient long enough. And trust me, there were definitely blood, sweat, and tears involved. I worked extremely hard in my college math and statistics classes, but that hard work paid off because I ended up earning A’s in most of them. Honestly, I think struggling with math actually taught me deeper lessons than if it had come naturally to me. It taught me patience, persistence, problem-solving, humility, and how powerful it can be to stop limiting yourself mentally before you even try. Now I appreciate math for more than just numbers. Math is structure. Math is patterns. Math is logic. It quietly supports almost every part of modern life, from healthcare and technology to business, psychology, and science. Even in psychology, statistics and research play a huge role in understanding human behavior and improving people’s lives. Most importantly, learning to stop fearing math gave me confidence in myself overall. It reminded me that sometimes the biggest obstacle is not the subject itself, but the belief that you are incapable of learning it.

Brittany Raye Bell Women in STEM Scholarship 23 May 2026 When most people picture women in STEM, they usually imagine coders, engineers, scientists in labs, or people building robots. I respect all of those fields, but I think people sometimes forget that understanding the human mind is part of science too. Psychology may not always get grouped into traditional STEM conversations, but human behavior affects everything from healthcare to education to technology. The more I continued through school and life, the more I realized emotional and mental health impact almost every part of society. That realization is one of the biggest reasons I chose psychology. My educational path has not been traditional at all. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, mother, and former pharmacy technology student. Back in 2017, I completed Wayne Community College’s Pharmacy Technology program, which exposed me to healthcare systems, medication safety, patient care, and the responsibility that comes with working in environments where people’s health matters. Even then, I noticed how connected physical health and emotional health really are. Some people came in needing medication, but they were also carrying stress, grief, anxiety, exhaustion, or hopelessness that no prescription bottle alone could completely fix. Later, substitute teaching throughout Wayne County Schools opened my eyes even more. I started noticing how many children were struggling emotionally before they even had the chance to focus academically. Some students are dealing with poverty, unstable homes, trauma, grief, ADHD, or simply feeling like nobody believes in them. Honestly, some days I leave schools emotionally drained because you can tell certain kids have already started giving up on themselves way too early. That kept pushing me toward psychology and mental wellness. I want to be part of a future where science, healthcare, education, and technology work together more compassionately for people instead of treating emotional health like an afterthought. One of my long-term goals is to combine psychology, technology, and entrepreneurship through telehealth services and community programs that help underserved families and youth gain better access to emotional wellness resources. I especially care about reaching people who may not normally have support systems, therapy access, mentorship, or encouragement. As a woman entering a STEM-related field, I also think representation matters deeply. Growing up, I did not always see women who looked like me being celebrated in science, healthcare, psychology, or technology spaces. Many women, especially minority women, grow up doubting their intelligence or limiting themselves before they even try. I want my journey to show other women and girls that it is okay to take up space in these fields, even if your path was not perfect or traditional. This scholarship would help relieve some of the financial pressure that comes with balancing school, work, and motherhood while continuing my education. More importantly, it would help me continue building a future where I can use psychology, healthcare knowledge, technology, and compassion together to make a real difference in people’s lives.

Brittany Raye Bell Kayla Nicole Monk Memorial Scholarship 23 May 2026 When most people hear the word STEAM, they usually picture engineers, coders, scientists, or people building robots. At least that is what I imagined at first, but for me, psychology fits naturally into that world because human behavior is part of science too. The mind affects everything. It affects learning, relationships, health, decision-making, motivation, and even whether people believe they are capable of succeeding in life at all. That is one of the biggest reasons I chose to continue my education in psychology. My path has not been traditional. I am a thirty-six-year-old Black American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, single mother, and former pharmacy technology student. Back in 2017, I completed Wayne Community College’s Pharmacy Technology program, which exposed me to healthcare, patient care, medication safety, and the responsibility that comes with working in environments where people’s well-being matters. Even then, I noticed how much emotional and mental health affected people physically. Some patients needed more than medication. They needed encouragement, support, stability, and someone willing to listen to them truly. Later, while substitute teaching throughout Wayne County Public Schools, I started seeing similar struggles in children. Some students are carrying stress, trauma, grief, poverty, ADHD, emotional instability, and hopelessness long before they even walk into a classroom. Honestly, some days broke my heart a little. I would leave school emotionally drained thinking about how many young people feel unseen or already defeated before life has really started for them. That is what pushed me further toward psychology and mental wellness. I want to help people understand that emotional health matters just as much as physical health. Technology, healthcare, education, and science continue advancing every year, but if people are mentally exhausted, emotionally broken, or trapped in survival mode, many still struggle to fully thrive. That is why I eventually hope to combine psychology, education, and technology through telehealth services and community programs focused on underserved families and youth. I especially want to help people who may not normally have access to emotional wellness resources, mentorship, or support systems. What stood out to me most while reading about Kayla Nicole Monk was her vision and determination despite everything she faced physically. I connected deeply with the idea of wanting businesses and dreams to continue flourishing in her name because I understand what it feels like to keep pushing forward through hardship while still wanting your life to mean something bigger than yourself. This scholarship would help relieve some of the financial pressure that comes with returning to school later in life while balancing work, motherhood, and higher education. More importantly, it would help me continue building a future where I can make a real impact through psychology, mentorship, education, and emotional wellness. I truly believe people can change when they are given support, guidance, and the opportunity to believe in themselves again.

Brittany Raye Bell Michael Rudometkin Memorial Scholarship 22 May 2026 I think one of the purest forms of selflessness is helping people even when your own life is not completely together yet. A lot of people think you have to become rich, healed, successful, or perfect before you can pour into others, but honestly, some of the kindest and most giving people I have ever met were struggling themselves. I understand that now more than ever. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, psychology major at East Carolina University, mother, and independent contractor. My life has not been easy or traditional. I have experienced financial hardship, grief, ADHD, dyscalculia, motherhood struggles, and seasons where I honestly felt emotionally exhausted just trying to survive. Over the last several years, I lost my mother unexpectedly to COPD, both of my fathers, and two nephews, including one who was murdered unexpectedly. There were moments where life felt so heavy that I could have easily become bitter, isolated, or hopeless. Instead, those experiences made me softer toward people. One thing I realized through pain is that many people are carrying invisible battles every single day. Some people are smiling, joking, working, and functioning while silently falling apart inside. Because of that, I try to treat people with patience, kindness, and understanding whenever I can. I think selflessness often shows up in ordinary moments more than dramatic ones. One of the experiences that shaped me most started back in 2014 when my church needed volunteers at a local elementary school. I almost did not sign up because I did not think I had much to offer. I remember sitting with a small group of fourth graders struggling with math and teaching them a finger trick for multiplying by nines, something a special education teacher once taught me because I personally struggled with dyscalculia and mental math growing up. Watching those children light up over something so simple honestly changed me. It made me realize that helping people does not always require money, status, or expertise. Sometimes people simply need patience, encouragement, and someone willing to sit beside them long enough to help them understand. That experience eventually led me into substitute teaching throughout Wayne County Schools. The pay is not glamorous at all. Honestly, there are other career paths I could probably pursue right now that would make much more money while I finish school. Yet every time I think about stepping away from education completely, another assignment pops up on my phone and I accept it anyway because I know deep down this work matters. Everywhere I go now, students recognize me. I hear kids yell, “Hey Ms. Bell!” in Walmart or Food Lion, and it honestly makes me smile every time. Those moments remind me that impact is not always loud or world-famous. Sometimes making the world better starts with simply showing up consistently for people who need encouragement. In the future, I hope to continue helping others through psychology, mentorship, emotional wellness, and community-centered work focused on underserved youth and families. I want people to feel seen, supported, and capable of more than the circumstances surrounding them. At the end of my life, I do not just want to be remembered for surviving hardship. I want to be remembered as someone who still chose kindness, compassion, and service in a world that often teaches people to only look out for themselves.

Brittany Raye Bell Our Destiny Our Future Scholarship 22 May 2026 Before I even answer this essay, I honestly just want to say thank you to whoever created this scholarship in memory of someone they loved. Turning grief into something that can help another person grow is one of the most beautiful things somebody can do. I understand loss more than I wish I did. Over the last several years, I lost my mother unexpectedly to COPD in my own bedroom, both of my fathers, and two nephews, including one who was murdered unexpectedly after being shot six times in the back over something that did not even involve him. There were moments where it felt like grief was hitting my family back-to-back without enough time to breathe in between. Loss changes the way you see life. It makes you realize how temporary everything is. It makes you stop caring so much about impressing people and start caring more about purpose, kindness, and the kind of impact you leave behind after you are gone. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, psychology major at East Carolina University, mother, and future entrepreneur. My journey has not been glamorous. I have struggled financially, emotionally, academically, and mentally at different points in life. I spent years feeling underestimated because I struggled with ADHD and dyscalculia and was placed in special education classes. I worked second-shift jobs while raising my daughter and sometimes barely saw her because she would already be asleep when I got home. Still, I kept going. One thing I realized through all my struggles is that some of the people who help others the most are people who know what pain feels like personally. I do not help people because my life was easy. I help people because I know what it feels like to need encouragement, understanding, grace, and hope. Back in 2014, I volunteered through my church at a local elementary school and helped a group of fourth graders struggling with math. I remember teaching them a finger trick for multiplying by nines, something a special education teacher once taught me because I struggled badly with mental math growing up. Watching those kids light up over something so small honestly changed something inside me. It made me realize that knowledge, patience, and encouragement can completely shift how somebody sees themselves. That experience eventually led me into substitute teaching throughout Wayne County Schools. The pay is not amazing. Honestly, some days after taxes and hours worked, it feels like I barely made anything. I could probably be doing work connected to healthcare or something else that makes more money while I finish my degree. But every time another teaching assignment pops up on my phone, I still accept it because deep down I know this matters. In the future, I want to build businesses and programs connected to psychology, mentorship, emotional wellness, and underserved communities. One of my biggest dreams is to eventually give back the same way people and opportunities have been given to me. I truly believe there comes a point where money, status, and accomplishments stop feeling fulfilling if they are only benefiting yourself. At the end of my life, I do not just want to say I survived. I want to know I poured everything God gave me into other people before I left this earth.

Brittany Raye Bell Larry Darnell Green Scholarship 22 May 2026 They say over thirty percent of children now grow up in single-parent households, but honestly, growing up, that statistic never shocked me because almost everybody around me lived that way. My friends did. I did. It felt normal. We were not sitting around thinking we were broken children because our mothers loved us hard enough to make us forget what was missing. It was not until I became older, became a mother myself, and started learning the emotional and financial realities behind those statistics that I realized something painful: we had been surviving on hard mode the entire time and did not even know it. I was raised by a strong single mother who did everything she could to hold life together for us. Looking back now, I realize how much pressure she carried emotionally, mentally, and financially while still trying to make us feel safe and loved. Sometimes our lights would get cut off. Sometimes the water would be off. I remember being in school without enough money for lunch and deciding not to ask for help because I already saw how stressed my mother was. Those experiences quietly shape the way children think. You learn survival before you even fully understand childhood. As much as I promised myself I would create a different life, I eventually became a single mother too. That realization humbled me deeply because I finally understood my mother in ways I never could as a child. There were years where I worked second-shift jobs and barely saw my daughter because she would already be asleep when I got home from work. I remember sitting at the kitchen table with her during fifth grade trying to help with math and realizing she was already learning how to adjust to what was missing, just like I once had. I am now a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, psychology major at East Carolina University, and mother to a fifteen-year-old daughter. My educational journey has not been traditional. Financial struggles, grief, motherhood, ADHD, dyscalculia, and life responsibilities interrupted my path many times. There were moments I questioned myself academically because I spent years in special education classes and often felt underestimated. But over time, I realized perseverance matters more than perfection. In 2025, after a ten-year journey, I graduated from Wayne Community College with my Associate in Arts degree, something I once doubted I could accomplish. Being raised in a single-parent household and later becoming a single mother shaped the way I see service, sacrifice, and community. It taught me how important support systems are, especially for children and parents trying to survive emotionally and financially while still pursuing education and stability. One of the ways I now give back is through substitute teaching and volunteering in local schools. I first volunteered through my church back in 2014, helping elementary students with math. I remember teaching a small group of fourth graders a finger trick for multiplying by nines, something a special education teacher once taught me because I personally struggled with mental math growing up. Watching those children light up reminded me how powerful patience, encouragement, and attention can be, even coming from me. In the future, I hope to continue giving back through psychology, mentorship, education, and community-centered work focused on helping underserved youth and families break cycles of hopelessness and survival mode. I cannot change the generations that came before me, but I can help change what comes after me.

Brittany Raye Bell Future Nonprofit Leaders Award 22 May 2026 “I could probably make more money doing something else.” Honestly, that is something I think about a lot. I have an associate degree, a pharmacy technician diploma from 2017, am gifted in storytelling, and experience that could probably push me toward higher-paying work while I finish my bachelor’s degree. Instead, I keep finding myself going back into schools, substitute teaching, volunteering, and trying to pour into young people who remind me of myself at different stages of life. Financially, substitute teaching is not glamorous at all. Sometimes after working nearly a full day, it breaks down to what feels like ten dollars an hour. But every time I think about walking away from it completely, another teaching assignment pops up on my phone, and somehow I always end up accepting it. Deep down, I know why. Serving people and helping underserved communities has become part of my purpose. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, psychology major at East Carolina University, substitute teacher, mother, and future entrepreneur. My path has not been traditional. Financial struggles, grief, motherhood, and life responsibilities interrupted my education many times. Still, I kept going. One thing I realized about myself through every difficult season is this: “All I have to do is put one foot in front of the other, and eventually I will get where I am supposed to be.” One of the experiences that shaped me most started back in 2014 when my church needed volunteers at a local elementary school. I remember signing the volunteer sheet and being assigned to help a small group of fourth graders struggling with math. I ended up teaching them a finger trick for multiplying by nines, something a special education teacher had once taught me because I personally struggled with dyscalculia and mental math growing up. The reaction from those kids shocked me. They kept saying, “Wait… that can’t be right.” Meanwhile, I was standing there realizing something bigger: knowledge changes people. Somebody once took time to help me when I struggled, and years later I was passing that same knowledge to another group of children. That experience stayed with me because it reminded me how important service, mentorship, patience, and education truly are. It also helped me realize I want my future career to focus on helping people feel seen, supported, and capable of more than their circumstances. In the future, I hope to work within nonprofit spaces connected to mental health, education, mentorship, and emotional wellness, especially for underserved youth and families. I want my work to help young people break out of hopelessness, limiting beliefs, and the idea that they are trapped by poverty, labels, trauma, or the environments they grew up in. I believe many people simply need support, resources, encouragement, and someone willing to truly listen to them. Everywhere I go now, students recognize me. I hear, “Hey Ms. Bell! I know her!” in Walmart or Food Lion, and honestly, it makes me smile every time. Those little moments remind me that impact is not always loud. Sometimes making a difference simply means showing up consistently for people until they finally believe they matter too.

Brittany Raye Bell 7023 Minority Scholarship 22 May 2026 “I could probably make more money doing something else.” Honestly, that is something I think about a lot. I have an associate degree, a pharmacy technician diploma from 2017, am gifted in storytelling, and experience that could probably push me toward higher-paying work while I finish my bachelor’s degree. Instead, I keep finding myself going back into schools, substitute teaching, volunteering, and trying to pour into young people who remind me of myself at different stages of life. Financially, substitute teaching is not glamorous at all. Sometimes after working nearly a full day, it breaks down to what feels like ten dollars an hour. But every time I think about walking away from it completely, another teaching assignment pops up on my phone, and somehow I always end up accepting it. Deep down, I know why. Serving youth in my community has become part of my purpose. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, psychology major at East Carolina University, substitute teacher, mother, and future entrepreneur. My path has not been traditional. Financial struggles, grief, motherhood, and life responsibilities interrupted my education many times. Still, I kept going. One thing I realized about myself through every difficult season is this: “All I have to do is put one foot in front of the other, and eventually I will get where I am supposed to be.” One of the experiences that shaped me most started back in 2014 when my church needed volunteers at a local elementary school. I remember signing the volunteer sheet and being assigned to help a small group of fourth graders struggling with math. I ended up teaching them a finger trick for multiplying by nines, something a special education teacher had once taught me because I personally struggled with dyscalculia and mental math growing up. The reaction from those kids shocked me. They kept saying, “Wait… that can’t be right.” Meanwhile, I was standing there realizing something bigger: knowledge changes people. Somebody once took time to help me when I struggled, and years later I was passing that same knowledge to another group of children. I care deeply about helping young Black students and underserved youth break out of hopelessness and limiting beliefs. I want them to understand they are capable of far more than society, labels, poverty, or even their environment may try to tell them. We are living in one of the greatest ages for learning in human history. Information is everywhere if people are willing to seek it. I do not really have one single hero. I take inspiration from many people, including my mother, my daughter, teachers, and even Michael Jackson, who showed what was possible for a Black man to accomplish globally. Sometimes I even surprise myself. Last year I was physically attending night classes, and now I am substitute teaching across Wayne County while completing my bachelor’s degree online with flexibility previous generations never had. Everywhere I go now, students recognize me. I hear, “Hey Ms. Bell! I know her!” in Walmart or Food Lion, and honestly, it makes me smile every time. Those little moments remind me that impact is not always loud. Sometimes legacy is simply showing up consistently for people until they believe they matter too.

Brittany Raye Bell Let Your Light Shine Scholarship 22 May 2026 “I want to pour everything God gave me into people before I leave this earth.” That is honestly the simplest way to explain the kind of legacy I hope to leave behind someday. When I saw the title “Let Your Light Shine,” it immediately reminded me of the scripture where Jesus says we are the light of the world. I do not think shining your light always means having a huge platform or becoming famous. Sometimes it is simply choosing to stay kind, compassionate, and willing to help people in a world that can make people hard and disconnected. I am a thirty-six-year-old first-generation college student, psychology major at East Carolina University, substitute teacher, independent contractor, and mother to a fifteen-year-old daughter. My life has not been traditional or easy. I first started college in 2007, but life responsibilities, financial struggles, grief, and motherhood interrupted my journey many times. There were years when I worked second-shift jobs and barely saw my daughter because she was asleep by the time I got home from work. Looking back now, I realize those years taught me endurance and sacrifice even though at the time I just felt tired. One thing I have learned about myself is that I genuinely love helping people. Even after disappointment, grief, stress, and hardship, I still have a heart to serve others and really listen to people. That is part of why I enjoy substitute teaching so much. Even on difficult days, I know many students just want to feel seen, understood, and safe around adults they can trust. In the future, I hope to start some type of telehealth business connected to psychology, emotional wellness, mentorship, and encouragement. I especially want to help underserved communities and people who feel overlooked or ashamed to ask for help. Mental health is still heavily stigmatized in many communities, especially in the Black community, and I want to help create spaces where people feel comfortable opening up without fear of judgment. Entrepreneurship is also important to me because I have ADHD traits and work best with flexibility, creativity, and the ability to manage my own schedule. That is one reason I enjoy substitute teaching and independent contractor work now. I have learned that not everybody thrives in a strict nine-to-five environment, and there is nothing wrong with building a life that works with your strengths instead of against them. I believe I already shine my light through service, encouragement, storytelling, volunteering, listening to people, and simply trying to stay soft-hearted in a world that often encourages selfishness. At the end of my life, I do not just want to say I made money or earned degrees. I want to know I used every gift God gave me to help other people heal, grow, and believe in themselves too.

Brittany Raye Bell Patricia Lee Wilson Social Work Memorial Scholarship 22 May 2026 “She used to call me Lady Bug.” That is one of the softest memories I still carry from my mother after losing her unexpectedly to COPD in 2021. Even now, when I see a ladybug land nearby on my car or even on me, it reminds me of childhood before life became so heavy. Growing up, I learned very early that many people are carrying silent burdens that others cannot see. I myself carried many burdens people could not see, because I did not know if I could trust others to carry what I had on my shoulders. This realization shaped the way I interacted with people and is one of the biggest reasons I want to work in psychology and social work serving underserved communities. I am a thirty-six-year-old African American first-generation college student, substitute teacher, psychology major at East Carolina University, and mother to a fifteen-year-old daughter. My educational path has not been traditional. I first attended college in 2007, but financial struggles, grief, motherhood, and life responsibilities interrupted my journey many times. Over the years, I worked second-shift jobs, delivery work, and healthcare-related positions while trying to build a stable life for my daughter and myself. Those experiences gave me firsthand understanding of survival mode, instability, emotional stress, and the pressures many underserved families face every day. Some of my most meaningful experiences came through serving others. I completed pharmacy technician externships at Cherry Hospital and Wayne Memorial Hospital, volunteered through church outreach programs in local schools, and now work throughout Wayne County Schools as a substitute teacher. These experiences exposed me to mental health struggles, poverty, trauma, grief, educational inequality, and emotional instability in ways that cannot fully be understood from textbooks alone. One experience that especially impacted me was substitute teaching at Dillard Middle School, a Title I school serving many underserved communities across Goldsboro. By the end of one day, my voice was sore from constant redirection, and I remember sitting silently in my car emotionally drained. Students were yelling, roaming classrooms, refusing work, and emotionally feeding off each other all day. Instead of simply seeing “bad behavior,” I started seeing children carrying emotional burdens much heavier than adults realize. Many students are struggling with unstable home lives, lack of structure, untreated mental health concerns, grief, poverty, social media influence, and environments where survival often comes before emotional development. Those experiences motivated me to pursue a future where I can help underserved individuals and families feel heard, supported, and understood instead of judged or ignored. I believe social workers have a responsibility not only to help individuals emotionally, but also to advocate for healthier environments, educational support, mental health resources, accountability, and stronger community systems. Many people are fighting battles connected to generational poverty, trauma, emotional neglect, and lack of support long before they ever enter a classroom, hospital, or counseling office. I want my future social work to help people feel safe enough to help heal, grow, and believe they are capable of more than whatever circumstances they were born into.

Brittany Raye Bell Jennifer Kelley Memorial Scholarship 22 May 2026 “She used to call me Lady Bug,” This probably one of the softest memories I still carry from my mother after losing her unexpectedly due to COPD in 2021. Even now, at thirty-six years old, every time I see a ladybug land nearby on my car or even on me, it catches my attention for a second and takes me back to childhood before life became so heavy. In a world that can feel cold, rushed, and self-centered, I think one of the greatest accomplishments is making it through hardship without losing your ability to care about people. That has shaped almost every single part of who I am. I am a first-generation college student, substitute teacher, psychology major at East Carolina University, independent contractor, and mother to a fifteen-year-old daughter named Adriana. My path through life has not been traditional or easy. I first started college back in 2007, but life interrupted that dream many times through financial struggles, grief, family responsibilities, and simply trying to survive adulthood. There were years where I worked second-shift jobs and only saw my daughter for maybe an hour a day because she would already be asleep when I got home. My mother helped raise her during those years while I worked. Looking back now, I honestly feel emotional getting to substitute teach in my daughter’s schools because it feels like a redemption of time I cannot get back. Some of my most meaningful experiences have happened through serving other people. I completed pharmacy technician externships at Cherry Hospital and Wayne Memorial Hospital, volunteered through church outreach programs in elementary schools, and now work throughout Wayne County Schools as a substitute teacher. Those experiences exposed me to people struggling mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually in ways many others never fully see up close. One day substitute teaching at Dillard Middle School especially changed me. Dillard serves many underserved communities and housing projects throughout Goldsboro, and by the end of the day, my voice was sore from constant redirection. Students were yelling, roaming the classroom, refusing to work, and emotionally feeding off each other all day long. I remember sitting silently in my car afterward completely drained, honestly wondering how teachers survive that environment every single day. Ironically, I later had a much calmer experience at the alternative school than I did there. That realization stayed with me because I understood these children were carrying burdens far deeper than “bad behavior.” Instead of making me bitter, those experiences made me want to help more. I eventually want to use my psychology degree to create businesses and programs centered around mental health support, emotional wellness, mentorship, and encouragement for underserved youth and families, especially within African American communities where mental health is often ignored or stigmatized. I want people to feel safe, heard, respected, and understood after interacting with me because so many people today feel invisible. Outside of school and work, I enjoy walking, praying, storytelling, reflecting, and spending time with my daughter. Storytelling has always been part of me. In fifth grade, I won a writing contest, and one of my high school teachers once told me I could become a published writer if I believed in myself enough. My mother and daughter remain my greatest motivators. One taught me sacrifice. The other reminds me every day why I keep going. Together, they taught me that success means very little if you lose your humility, compassion, and ability to truly listen to people along the way.

Brittany Raye Bell GD Sandeford Memorial Scholarship 22 May 2026 By the end of my first day substitute teaching at Dillard Middle School, my voice was sore, my nerves were shot, and I had accidentally left my substitute binder behind because I ran out of the building so fast trying to decompress. I remember sitting in my car afterward in complete silence thinking, “How are teachers surviving this every single day?” Maybe this is exactly why I see this particular teacher in the Frontline Teacher portal requesting for a substitute so often? Were her nerves completely shot? What shocked me most this day was that each class somehow felt more emotionally chaotic than the one before it. I never thought that was possible. Dillard Middle School is a Title I school that serves many of the housing projects and underserved areas across Goldsboro, NC where I live and serve. Students this day were yelling, roaming the classroom, refusing to work, arguing with each other as well as me and feeding off each other’s behavior. At first, I thought I simply was not prepared enough as a substitute teacher. But the more I observed, the more I realized these children were carrying emotional weight far beyond academics. Ironically, I later had a much better experience at Wayne Middle High Academy, the alternative school. I could not believe it. The alternative kids were much better behaved than Dillard. That realization stayed with me because it showed me how deeply many children are struggling emotionally, socially, and mentally without enough support systems around them. That experience changed me as a Educator. As a Black women and first-generation college student, I understand what it feels like to grow up around instability, emotional stress, grief, and survival mode. I also struggled academically with ADHD and dyscalculia and spent years doubting my intelligence. There were times when higher education felt completely out of reach for me. But after a long educational journey, I earned my Associate in Arts degree from Wayne Community College and received the Dallas Herring Achievement Award for perseverance. Today, I am pursuing my psychology degree at East Carolina University because I want to help children and families in communities like the ones I now serve as a substitute teacher. I do not just want a degree hanging on my wall. I hope to eventually create community-centered programs and businesses focused on mental health support, emotional wellness, mentorship, and educational encouragement for underserved youth and families, especially within Black American communities where mental health is often stigmatized or ignored. Substitute teaching has shown me that many students are carrying burdens much heavier than adults realize. Teachers are expected to manage behaviors that often come from deeper issues at home, emotional neglect, trauma, lack of structure, social media influence, and untreated mental health struggles. Many teachers are overwhelmed themselves, and some are even afraid to hold students accountable because of possible retaliation from parents or guardians. Without support from both schools and homes, many children continue spiraling emotionally and academically. I witness these problems often and I want to help address them. I hope to use my psychology degree to help children feel safe, understood, emotionally supported, and connected to trusted authority. Many young people today do not trust adults because they feel repeatedly disappointed by them. I want to help rebuild that trust through compassion, consistency, honesty, and emotional awareness. As a first-generation Black American college student, earning my degree is about more than personal success. I want to become someone who can pour healing, encouragement, and understanding back into my community.

Brittany Bell Women in Healthcare Scholarship 21 May 2026 The first time I realized healthcare was not just about medicine was when I became more of a caregiver than a daughter. Toward the end of my mother’s life, our relationship started changing. I was helping manage appointments, encouraging her to seek therapy, checking on her emotional state, and trying to help her navigate both physical and mental health struggles that seemed to worsen as she got older. Some days she was warm, funny, and full of wisdom. Other days she would stay in bed, withdraw emotionally, or barely respond when I spoke to her. Eventually she was diagnosed with major depressive disorder and PTSD after I pushed her to finally seek professional help. That experience changed me deeply because I realized healthcare is not only about treating symptoms. It is about seeing people fully, especially when they are struggling in ways others cannot immediately see. Before pursuing psychology, I worked as a pharmacy technician during the COVID era. That experience exposed me to a healthcare system under enormous pressure. I saw exhausted workers, overwhelmed patients, frightened families, medication shortages, and people desperately needing reassurance just as much as prescriptions. It made me realize how much compassion matters in healthcare, especially during moments when people feel vulnerable, confused, or unseen. As a Black woman who grew up in special education classes while struggling with ADHD and dyscalculia, I also understand firsthand what it feels like to be misunderstood or underestimated by systems that were supposed to help. Those experiences shaped the way I interact with people now. I pay attention to body language, emotional exhaustion, fear, and shame because I know many people carry invisible struggles while trying to appear “fine.” Today, I am pursuing my degree in psychology at East Carolina University because I want to work in mental health and help people feel emotionally understood instead of emotionally dismissed. Working as a substitute teacher has only strengthened that goal. I see children every day who are carrying anxiety, trauma, behavioral struggles, grief, instability, and emotional wounds that often come out as anger or disruption in the classroom. Many of them do not trust adults easily because they have already been disappointed so many times. I want to become the kind of healthcare professional who creates safety, not intimidation. I believe women bring something powerful to healthcare because many of us are taught early to notice emotional shifts, nurture others, listen carefully, and carry responsibility for the emotional atmosphere around us. While those expectations can sometimes become overwhelming, they also create deep empathy and intuition that can positively impact patient care. My goal is not simply to earn a degree. I want to help reduce the stigma surrounding mental health, especially within Black communities where emotional struggles are often hidden, minimized, spiritualized without support, or left untreated altogether. I want people to feel safe asking for help before they completely fall apart. Healthcare is personal to me because I have lived on both sides of it: as the daughter trying to help her mother, as a healthcare worker trying to help patients, and as someone navigating her own mental health, grief, and learning differences while still trying to build a meaningful future. Those experiences did not push me away from healthcare. They pulled me toward it.

Brittany Bell Tawkify Meaningful Connections Scholarship 21 May 2026 I spent almost six years in a relationship with a man I never physically met in person. That sentence still sounds wild when I say it out loud. We video chatted constantly. We prayed together, laughed together, cried together, argued together, and emotionally it felt real at the time. But looking back now at thirty-six years old, born in 1989 and living somewhere between the old world and this new digital one, I realize technology can create the illusion of closeness while still leaving people deeply lonely. How can you fully know somebody if you do not know what their breath smells like in the morning? If you have never seen how they naturally walk through a room or what they look like when they are not positioning themselves for a camera? Human beings were created for presence. I grew up on Cherry Street in Norristown, Pennsylvania, during a time where life still felt organic. We had cell phones, but they were not glued to our hands every second of the day. Kids sat outside on porch steps for hours. If it snowed, everybody was outside having snowball fights all day long. Sometimes you ended up hanging out with people you did not even plan to see because they just happened to walk past your house. We walked everywhere because we were bored. We walked twenty-one blocks to middle school because there were no buses. We were present. As a substitute teacher, I see every day how much technology has changed the way people interact. Sometimes I watch modern teen shows on Netflix and laugh because everything is text bubbles, Instagram notifications, phones out constantly, recording every moment instead of actually living it. But after working in middle and high schools, I realized those shows are not exaggerating much. One moment especially stayed with me. I was substituting at Eastern Wayne High School and overheard students talking about a fight one of them had supposedly been in years earlier. Another student immediately said, “Show me the video.” When the boy explained he did not have footage because it happened too long ago, the other student almost did not believe him anymore. When I was growing up, people mostly trusted your word about what happened. Now experiences almost do not feel real unless there are screenshots, recordings, or footage attached to them. I even notice now when fights happen at schools, students often pull out their phones before they think about helping or stopping anything. Record first. React later. It makes me wonder what happens to empathy when life slowly becomes content. I think one reason this topic affects me so deeply is because after my mother passed away in 2021, I realized how important simple human conversation really is. My mother had become my adult conversation. She was the person I could vent to about fears, grief, bills, relationships, or life in general. You cannot fully place those emotional burdens on your child because that changes the parent-child dynamic. After my mom died, the silence became loud. That was one of the first times I truly noticed how isolated adulthood can become now. So much of life drifts online. Friendships, dating, conversations, even church sometimes. Everything becomes notifications, scrolling, FaceTime calls, and messages. Even when people are physically together, many are still halfway living inside their phones. And I am not innocent in that either. I am literally typing this essay on a screen while talking about how disconnected screens can make us feel. That is why I say I feel caught between two worlds as a millennial. I understand the beauty of technology too. But I also think many people are starving emotionally while pretending constant online interaction equals intimacy. Authentic human connection in 2026 requires intentionality now. Go outside. Touch grass for real. Sit in parks. Go to libraries. Speak to people in grocery stores. Look people in the eyes. Learn how to sit together without reaching for entertainment every five seconds. God created human beings for community, not isolation. We need real voices, real laughter, real hugs, real eye contact, and real presence. And honestly, as AI and technology continue becoming more advanced, I think genuinely human moments are only going to become more valuable. Because at the end of the day, most people are still quietly hoping somebody truly sees them beyond a profile picture, a screen, or a username.

Brittany Bell RonranGlee Literary Scholarship 21 May 2026 > “And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” > — Mark 9:24 (KJV) I used to think unbelief looked like atheism. Like somebody completely rejecting God. Now I think unbelief can look much quieter than that. Sometimes unbelief looks like a woman sitting in her car outside a grocery store crying because life has disappointed her so many times that she secretly stopped expecting things to truly get better. Sometimes it looks like surviving so long in overdraft cycles, grief, heartbreak, exhaustion, sickness, and fear that you slowly start lowering your expectations just to protect yourself emotionally. That is why this passage in Mark 9 hit me so deeply. Because when I read the father’s words, I no longer saw a weak man with no faith. I saw somebody emotionally exhausted by reality. Before the famous line “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief,” the father says something important first: > “But if thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us.” > — Mark 9:22 That phrase “if thou canst” carries pain in it. This man had watched his son suffer repeatedly. He had probably already tried everything. Then even the disciples themselves failed to help him. By the time he reaches Jesus, disappointment has already discipled his mind into lowered expectation. And honestly? I understand that now more than I wish I did. I understand what it feels like when life slowly trains you to stop expecting much. You still love God. You still pray. You still function. You still survive. But internally, part of you quietly adapts to disappointment. That realization shook me because I started seeing how many people live this way without even realizing it. Poverty does this to people. Trauma does this to people. Grief does this to people. Toxic relationships do this to people. Constant survival mode does this to people. After enough painful cycles, human beings start protecting themselves emotionally by expecting less from life. That is what I believe is happening underneath this passage. The father still comes to Jesus, but he approaches Him wounded by experience. And Jesus responds with something powerful: > “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” > — Mark 9:23 Jesus immediately shifts the focus away from His own ability and toward the father’s expectation. Not because Jesus lacks compassion, but because Christ understands something deeper: prolonged suffering can slowly reshape the human mind until hopelessness starts feeling normal. That is why the father’s response honestly might be one of the most human verses in the entire Bible: > “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” Not fake perfection. Not religious performance. Not pretending. Just honesty. “I do believe… but life has wounded parts of me that are struggling to fully trust.” That verse means so much to me because it exposes the tension many people secretly live with every day. We want to believe God for more, but disappointment keeps arguing back. We pray while simultaneously bracing ourselves emotionally for things not to change. And yet the father still brings his conflicted heart to Jesus honestly. That matters deeply. Especially in a world where people often perform strength instead of telling the truth. Then Jesus rebukes the spirit directly: > “Thou dumb and deaf spirit, I charge thee, come out of him, and enter no more into him.” > — Mark 9:25 What stood out to me was how calm and direct Jesus was. No panic. No striving. No performance. Just authority. That part connected deeply to a dream I once had about healing. In the dream, I was trying extremely hard spiritually. I was using many words, striving emotionally, trying to “work up” power through effort and intensity. But then the revelation suddenly simplified itself: “Speak to it.” In the dream, I directly spoke healing over a shoulder in Jesus’ name, and afterward I realized something that changed how I viewed authority spiritually. The power was never supposed to come from emotional performance. The authority came from Christ Himself. That mirrors this passage perfectly. The disciples later ask Jesus privately: > “Why could not we cast him out?” > — Matthew 17:19 And Jesus answers: > “Because of your unbelief.” > — Matthew 17:20 I do not think this passage is only talking about doubt. I think it is also talking about dependence. Then Jesus says: > “Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.” > — Matthew 17:21 For years I viewed prayer and fasting almost like emergency spiritual tools. But now I think the deeper meaning is connection and dependence. Prayer renews expectation. Prayer fights passivity. Prayer keeps people connected to God instead of becoming emotionally numb from survival mode. Fasting humbles the flesh and reminds people they are dependent on God, not comfort, routine, fear, distraction, or appetite. Without that connection, people can continue functioning externally while internally disconnected from hope. That realization became symbolic to me through another image from my dream: a vacuum cleaner with no power cord attached. At first it seemed random, but later I understood it immediately. Structure without power. Movement without connection. A person can: go to work, pay bills, raise children, attend church, smile publicly, and survive daily life, while internally disconnected from faith, intimacy with God, expectation, or emotional healing. That image honestly described parts of my own life more than I wanted to admit. I realized there were areas where I had adapted to survival instead of expectation. I had unconsciously allowed reality to disciple me more than faith. Not because I hated God. Not because I stopped believing completely. But because repeated disappointment slowly lowers expectation if people are not spiritually renewed. That is why this passage feels so alive to me now. It is not just a story about healing. It is a story about what suffering does to people internally. It is about how human beings slowly adapt to hopelessness while still trying to function. And it is about Jesus confronting that hopelessness with authority, honesty, compassion, and invitation instead of shame. Most importantly, this passage taught me that faith is not pretending wounds do not exist. Faith is bringing those wounded places honestly before God anyway. Sometimes faith is not loud. Sometimes it simply sounds like a tired person whispering through tears: > “Lord… I believe. Help my unbelief.”

Brittany Bell Annie Pringle Memorial Scholarship 21 May 2026 I remember being a little girl in the 1990s absolutely terrified of breast cancer before I even fully understood what breasts were. My mother and other adults around me used to warn me constantly, “Don’t let anybody hit your chest or your breasts because you can get breast cancer.” I do not even know how medically accurate that was, but as a child, I believed it completely. When my breasts first started developing, I became extremely protective of them. I remember hating bras when I first had to wear them because they were itchy, uncomfortable, and felt like a reminder that my body was changing before I fully understood any of it. That fear and curiosity about breast health honestly stayed with me for most of my life. As I got older, I experienced extremely painful breasts around my menstrual cycles and became hyperaware of every lump, soreness, or body change. I even remember watching the Tina Turner movie and seeing a scene where she checked her breasts for a lump. After that, I became almost obsessive about checking mine too. Every little bump or pain scared me. Then motherhood changed my relationship with my breasts completely. I breastfed my daughter for three years because I strongly believed it was beneficial for both the baby and mother. I wanted to give her the healthiest start possible. Breastfeeding taught me how little many women actually understand about their own bodies and how differently each breast can function. My daughter strongly preferred nursing from my right breast, while my left breast would become painfully engorged and overly full. I eventually had to start pumping the left side for relief. What fascinated me was how different the milk looked from each breast. The milk from the side she nursed from more often looked richer, creamier, and fattier, while the milk from the left side often looked thinner and more watery. At the time, I kept wondering if something was wrong with me or if one breast was somehow “bad.” Looking back now, I realize how many women silently question changes in their breasts but often do not feel educated enough to understand what is normal and what is not. Even after I stopped breastfeeding, my journey with breast health continued. My breasts never fully returned to their original size, and I still dealt with soreness, hormonal tenderness, and occasional leaking of clear fluid from my left breast, which frightened me deeply. Sometimes I would notice dents, lumps, or changes while showering and immediately fear the worst. Last year, I finally had my first mammogram. Honestly, I was terrified. When the imaging lit up with multiple areas of concern, my mind immediately went to cancer. I later needed ultrasounds and was eventually diagnosed with fibrocystic breast disease. Even hearing that diagnosis was emotional because fibrocystic tissue can feel lumpy and painful, making it difficult sometimes to distinguish between normal changes and something more serious. I also learned how much caffeine and hormones could aggravate my symptoms, which changed how I approached my health overall. These experiences taught me how important breast health education truly is, especially for women who grow up with fear, misinformation, anxiety, or limited healthcare education. So many women are silently scared, confused, embarrassed, or uninformed about their own bodies. Breast health education matters because knowledge reduces fear. It gives women confidence to advocate for themselves medically, understand changes in their bodies, seek preventative care earlier, and recognize when something truly needs medical attention. It also creates safer conversations around breastfeeding, hormonal changes, breast pain, mammograms, lactation, and women’s health overall. As someone pursuing psychology and healthcare-related education, I hope to continue helping women feel informed, emotionally supported, and unashamed when discussing their bodies and health concerns. For me, breast health education is deeply personal. It is not just medical. It is emotional, generational, educational, and connected to how safe women feel inside their own bodies.

BrittanyRaye Bell Christian Fitness Association General Scholarship 21 May 2026 I still remember winning a writing contest in the fifth grade and realizing for the first time that maybe my voice actually mattered. Up until then, school mostly felt like a place where I was reminded of what I struggled with instead of what I was good at. I was in special education classes because of ADHD and dyscalculia, and a lot of the time, I quietly felt behind other students academically. I struggled especially with math and processing certain information quickly. There were moments where I honestly questioned my own intelligence because it felt like other students understood things naturally that I had to fight for my life to understand. But writing was different. Writing gave me a place where my mind did not feel broken. It became one of the first places where I felt seen instead of corrected all the time. I could tell stories, express emotions, and connect ideas in ways that made people stop and read. I remember one of my teachers later in high school, Ms. Burt, telling me that I could become a published poet or writer someday if I would just apply myself and truly believe in my abilities. That moment stayed with me for years because even while I struggled in some classes, somebody still saw potential in me beyond my learning difficulties. The truth is, much of my educational journey has been about learning not to define myself by my limitations. I grew up facing many family obstacles, including poverty, instability, grief, mental health struggles within my family, and a lack of educational guidance as a first-generation college student. There were seasons where survival took priority over long-term planning. At times, it felt easier to believe I would always struggle financially and academically because that was the environment I had always known growing up. Even when I first attempted college in 2007, I did not fully understand financial aid or how to properly navigate higher education. Like many first-generation students, I entered adulthood without the same support systems or knowledge that many other students already had access to. I made mistakes simply because I did not fully understand the system yet. But over time, something changed in me. I stopped seeing my setbacks as proof that I was incapable and started seeing them as proof that I had already survived difficult things. Now at thirty-six years old, I am pursuing my psychology degree at East Carolina University while balancing substitute teaching, independent contractor work, motherhood, and financial responsibilities. Last year, after a ten-year journey, I finally earned my Associate in Arts degree from Wayne Community College. One of the proudest moments of my life was receiving the 2025 Dallas Herring Achievement Award, an award that recognizes students who overcome significant obstacles while pursuing education. That award meant more to me than people probably realized. It represented years of rebuilding confidence after struggling academically, emotionally, and financially for much of my life. It represented perseverance when quitting would have been easier. There were nights I completed homework exhausted after working all day, nights I questioned whether I was too old to keep pursuing school, and moments where finances, grief, and life pressures almost convinced me to stop believing in myself again. Outside of academics, much of my life revolves around faith, service, creativity, and encouraging others. I am active in my community through substitute teaching, mentoring students informally, encouraging others online and in person, and openly sharing my faith and testimony with people who may feel hopeless or discouraged. I also enjoy creative work like graphic design, storytelling, watercolor-inspired digital art, and writing. One thing I have learned is that intelligence does not always look traditional. Some people are gifted in ways that cannot always be measured through standardized tests or quick classroom performance. My gift has always been connecting emotionally with people through storytelling, encouragement, empathy, and authenticity. Even as a substitute teacher, I often notice students who are misunderstood because I recognize pieces of myself in them. That gift is one reason I eventually hope to combine psychology, mentoring, entrepreneurship, and community outreach work to help underserved communities, struggling students, and people who feel misunderstood or overlooked. I know firsthand how life-changing it can be when just one teacher, one mentor, or one person believes in you before you fully believe in yourself. This scholarship would not only help me financially as I continue pursuing higher education, but it would also represent continued confirmation that my struggles did not disqualify me from success. In many ways, they helped shape the person I am still becoming.

Brittany Bell Forever90 Scholarship 21 May 2026 I have prayed over strangers in grocery store parking lots before. Not because I am a pastor or because I had all the answers, but because sometimes people are hurting so badly you can feel it before they even say a word. One time while doing an Instacart order, I broke down crying in the middle of Food Lion after going through one of the hardest emotional seasons of my life. I was grieving, overwhelmed financially, heartbroken, exhausted, and trying to hold myself together publicly while silently falling apart internally. Two older women noticed me struggling. One of them hugged me right there in the aisle and said, “God gives us tears.” I will never forget that moment because it reminded me how powerful compassion can be in everyday life. That is the kind of person I try to be for others now. I grew up around poverty, grief, mental health struggles, addiction in my family, and instability. I was also in special education classes growing up because of ADHD and dyscalculia, so I know firsthand what it feels like to feel misunderstood or judged intellectually. For years, I quietly carried shame about feeling “behind” in life. But even through difficult seasons, God never allowed me to lose my heart for people. People often describe me as bubbly, encouraging, funny, nurturing, and someone who naturally brings warmth into a room. Honestly, I think part of that comes from surviving hard things while still choosing not to become bitter. My faith is at the center of how I serve others. I do not just view church as a building. I believe the church is the body of Christ, and ministry happens everywhere. I pray for people constantly, intercede privately, encourage people online and in person, share scripture openly on my social media, and try to remind people that God has not forgotten them, especially during painful seasons. Service also became personal for me through substitute teaching. Some students walk into classrooms already carrying adult-sized pain. Some are angry because nobody listens to them. Some have completely stopped trusting adults because the adults in their lives failed them repeatedly. Working with children made me realize how deeply mental health, emotional safety, and compassion matter. It also humbled me because I reached a point where I honestly thought, “I do not even know if I know how to give good advice.” That realization pushed me toward pursuing psychology at East Carolina University. I want to gain the education and tools necessary to genuinely help people emotionally, mentally, and spiritually without causing more harm than good. I eventually hope to combine psychology, mentoring, entrepreneurship, and community outreach to support underserved communities, struggling families, neurodivergent students, and people silently battling trauma, grief, anxiety, or emotional burnout. One thing I never want people to feel around me is stupid, unseen, or misunderstood because I know how deeply those feelings can affect someone’s confidence and future. Service, to me, is not always loud or impressive. Sometimes it is simply praying for somebody. Listening carefully. Encouraging somebody who feels hopeless. Showing kindness when life has given you every reason not to. That is the kind of life I want to continue building through both my faith and my education.

Brittany Raye Bell Manuela Calles Scholarship for Women 21 May 2026 One thing about me is that even after everything life has thrown at me, people still describe me as bubbly, encouraging, funny, and a “big ball of joy.” Honestly, I think that says a lot about my values right there. Because life has not always been soft with me. I grew up in special education classes dealing with ADHD and dyscalculia while also navigating poverty, family instability, grief, and mental health struggles within my own family. There were years where I genuinely felt stupid or behind compared to everybody else around me. I know what it feels like to be misunderstood, judged too quickly, or made to feel like your struggles define your intelligence. That is one of the reasons compassion matters so much to me now. Not fake compassion. Real compassion. The kind that comes from actually surviving hard things without losing your ability to care about people. One of the biggest moments that shaped my future happened while working as a substitute teacher. I started realizing how deeply children carry emotional wounds, especially the ones people label as “bad,” “lazy,” or “difficult.” Some of these kids do not trust adults at all because the adults in their lives have already failed them. And when those students trust me as a leader, I do not take that lightly. There was a point where I sat back and honestly thought to myself, “I do not even know if I know how to give good advice.” That realization humbled me. It made me realize I wanted to pursue psychology and mental health work not because I think I know everything, but because I want to learn how to truly help people without causing more harm than good. I want to understand trauma, emotional regulation, neurodivergence, grief, family dynamics, and mental health on a deeper level so I can genuinely support people, especially underserved communities and students who often feel overlooked. I also want to model something healthier for my fifteen-year-old daughter. I want her to grow up seeing emotional honesty, faith, perseverance, healing, education, and leadership modeled in real time. Another value that guides me is perseverance. I graduated last year with my Associate in Arts degree after a ten-year journey while balancing motherhood, work, financial struggles, grief, and rebuilding my confidence academically. Right now, I am pursuing psychology studies at East Carolina University while substitute teaching and working independent contractor jobs to continue supporting my education and future goals. At the center of everything I want to do is this: I never want people to feel stupid, judged, or misunderstood around me. I know how deeply those feelings can affect a person’s confidence, mental health, and future. Whether through psychology, mentoring, entrepreneurship, community outreach, or simply how I treat people day to day, I want the work I build to make people feel safe enough to be human, heal honestly, and believe they are capable of more than what life tried to convince them they were.

I remember sitting in my car crying after dropping off an Instacart order, wondering how my life became this. Thirty-six years old. Balancing substitute teaching, delivery apps, bills, grief, motherhood, online college classes, ADHD, and exhaustion while trying to convince myself I was not too late to rebuild my future. My trunk smelled like fast food deliveries, my gas light was on, and I was parked outside somebody else’s nice neighborhood trying to finish another scholarship essay from my phone before driving to the next order. That was one of the moments I realized I wanted to build something. Growing up, survival mode was normal to me. I grew up around poverty, instability, untreated mental health struggles, addiction in my family, and educational struggles connected to ADHD and dyscalculia. I spent years believing success belonged to people who had guidance, money, healthy homes, and stability from the beginning. Meanwhile, I was sitting in special education classes feeling embarrassed and behind while secretly wondering if I was intelligent at all. Even when I first attempted college in 2007, I did not understand financial aid properly as a first-generation student. I ended up with debt I barely understood because nobody around me fully understood the process either. Looking back, I realize how many people from underserved communities are pushed into adulthood without enough knowledge, support, or emotional stability to properly build their futures. That is exactly why I want to build something different now. I am currently pursuing my psychology degree at East Carolina University, but my vision goes beyond simply getting a diploma. I want to build counseling, mentoring, tutoring, and community-centered programs for people who often feel overlooked by society, especially neurodivergent students, underserved families, struggling mothers, and people silently battling trauma, anxiety, grief, and emotional burnout. As a substitute teacher, I already see the need every day. I see children acting out because nobody recognizes they are overwhelmed emotionally. I see students labeled “bad” when they are struggling academically or mentally. I see children carrying adult-sized pain while still expected to sit quietly and function normally in classrooms. I understand those students because I used to be one of them. I also want to build entrepreneurship opportunities connected to mental health advocacy, creativity, mentoring, speaking, tutoring, and community outreach because I know survival jobs alone are not enough to truly change generational outcomes. I want my daughter to see me build stability instead of constantly living in fear of falling apart financially. Most importantly, I want people to see that rebuilding your life later is still possible. Every late-night essay, every online class discussion, every delivery order, every spreadsheet, every scholarship application, and every hard season I survive feels like another brick being laid for a future I once thought was impossible for someone like me. I am not just trying to build a career anymore. I am trying to build proof that survival does not have to be the final chapter of someone’s story.

Brittany Raye Bell Ethel Hayes Destigmatization of Mental Health Scholarship 21 May 2026 Growing up, I used to say my mother had two different personalities. One was my mom. The other one was “Susie.” You could tell almost immediately which version of her woke up that day. Sometimes my mother was funny, loving, talkative, thoughtful, and full of wisdom. Other days, “Susie” showed up. Susie woke up angry at the world. Complaining. Irritated. Snapping over little things. Sometimes she would stay in bed all day long. Sometimes she would completely ignore me while I was talking to her, almost like I was invisible standing right in front of her. I even have videos from back then because at one point I truly did not understand what was happening to her mentally. As she got older, it became harder. Especially during the last two years before she passed away. I was overwhelmed trying to balance my own life, motherhood, finances, work, and school while also slowly becoming her caregiver emotionally and physically. I remember finally reaching a breaking point and telling her that if she was going to continue living with me, she needed to get help. She could not just sit in the house suffering mentally without talking to someone anymore. At the time, I honestly did not fully understand mental health myself. Growing up in the Black community, mental health was rarely talked about openly. People survived things. They pushed through things. They prayed about things quietly. But therapy, depression, PTSD, emotional regulation, trauma responses, and mental illness were not conversations most families around me were having. Eventually, my mother started therapy and was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and PTSD. And for the first time, things slowly started making sense. The sleeping all day. The mood swings. The emotional distance. The irritability. The heaviness in the house sometimes. She started talking weekly with a therapist, and I could actually see small improvements. She even sent me text messages apologizing and saying things were going to get better around the house because she was finally starting to address her mental health. But she did not get much time. She passed away unexpectedly on Labor Day in 2021. Losing her changed me deeply because it forced me to look at mental health differently, not just academically, but personally. I started realizing how many families quietly suffer under the weight of untreated depression, trauma, grief, anxiety, addiction, emotional burnout, and generational pain without ever having language for it. My own struggles with ADHD, dyscalculia, grief, anxiety, emotional overwhelm, and survival mode also became easier to recognize after watching my mother’s struggles more closely. For years, I thought mental health struggles meant weakness or failure. Now I understand mental health affects relationships, parenting, education, self-worth, emotional safety, and even how people experience everyday life. My experiences shaped how I view people now. As a substitute teacher and psychology student at East Carolina University, I try to approach people with compassion instead of immediate judgment. Sometimes the “angry” student is overwhelmed. Sometimes the “lazy” person is depressed. Sometimes the “difficult” parent is carrying years of unprocessed trauma. Mental health has made me softer toward people. It also shaped my future goals. I want to work in psychology, counseling, mentoring, and community support because I know how life-changing it can be when people finally feel seen, understood, and safe enough to heal. For years, I thought my mother was simply difficult. Now I realize she was struggling in ways neither of us fully understood yet.

Brittany Bell G.A. Johnston Memorial Scholarship 21 May 2026 Some of my favorite moments happen late at night with my Samsung phone in one hand and Canva open in the other. I have always loved watercolor-style art because it feels emotional, soft, and dreamlike at the same time. Even digitally, watercolor art feels human to me. The blending of colors, the imperfections, and the way light bleeds into different shades reminds me a lot of memory, emotion, and storytelling. I especially enjoy creating watercolor-style graphic designs inspired by dreams I have had, meaningful moments in my life, nature, sunsets, or photos I personally capture on my phone. Art became an emotional outlet for me long before I fully understood it. Growing up with ADHD, dyscalculia, grief, stress, and emotional overwhelm, creativity became one of the few places where my mind felt calm instead of chaotic. Sometimes I create pieces inspired by symbolic dreams or emotional seasons in my life because watercolor styles help me visually express feelings that are difficult to explain with words alone. The two watercolor pieces I uploaded were inspired by personal reflection and emotion. One was inspired by a photograph I took during a quiet moment that reminded me how peaceful God can make even ordinary things feel. The second piece was inspired by a dreamlike emotional season of growth, healing, and transition in my life. I wanted the colors and softness of the watercolor effect to communicate vulnerability, hope, and movement forward. My intended career path is psychology and mental health advocacy. I am currently pursuing my degree at East Carolina University with plans to eventually combine counseling, mentoring, entrepreneurship, and creative outreach work. I hope to use both psychology and creativity to help people feel seen, understood, and emotionally safe. What inspires me most about Gary A. Johnston’s story is that he rediscovered watercolor painting later in life. As a thirty-six-year-old nontraditional student rebuilding my life through education and creativity, that deeply encourages me. It reminds me that passion, purpose, and artistry do not expire with age.

Brittany Raye Bell Smart Boy Studios Joe Gilroy "Plan Your Work, Work Your Plan" Scholarship 21 May 2026 For years, my “plan” for life was survival. Survive the instability at home. Survive special education classes while feeling behind everyone else. Survive poverty. Survive ADHD and dyscalculia. Survive being a first-generation college student in 2007 with almost no guidance about financial aid, student loans, or what college debt could do to your future. I still remember realizing years later that I had accumulated student loan debt I barely understood because my Pell Grant paperwork had not been completed correctly. My mother did not know how to help me navigate college because she had never been through the process herself. I entered adulthood reacting to life instead of planning for it. That experience changed me permanently. Now, at thirty-six years old, I no longer move blindly through life. I plan carefully because I know what happens when you do not. Habakkuk 2:2 says, “Write the vision and make it plain,” and that scripture has become part of how I operate daily. I do not just dream about a better future for myself and my daughter anymore. I actively build toward it. My long-term goal is to earn my Bachelor of Arts in Psychology from East Carolina University and later pursue a Master’s degree so I can open my own counseling, mentoring, and coaching practice focused on neurodivergent individuals and underserved communities. I want to help people who feel overlooked by traditional systems because I know personally what it feels like to struggle academically while still having intelligence, empathy, creativity, and potential. To reach those goals, I operate my life with structure and intentionality. Managing ADHD and dyscalculia means I cannot afford to rely on memory or disorganization. I use Google Tasks, digital calendars, timers, spreadsheets, and reminder systems daily to stay focused. Since I take my ECU courses online while balancing work and motherhood, time management is one of my most important resources. Financially, I also approach school strategically. I currently substitute teach for Wayne County Public Schools while supplementing my income through independent contractor work with Uber Eats, DoorDash, Amazon Flex, and Instacart. I also continue building entrepreneurial income streams through graphic design work and my Etsy shop, Brittany So Crafty. Over the past year, I have treated scholarship applications almost like a part-time job because I understand every scholarship earned is money that helps reduce future debt and increase future freedom. I carefully budget for tuition, textbooks, internet access for online coursework, gas, car maintenance, household bills, and the daily responsibilities that come with raising a child while pursuing higher education. I use budgeting tools like YNAB to track expenses because financial discipline is part of my long-term plan for stability and generational change. I also understand that plans require flexibility. Life happens. The gig economy fluctuates. Emergencies happen. Burnout happens. Instead of panicking, I prepare alternative paths forward. My skills in tutoring, caregiving, substitute teaching, graphic design, and digital work give me multiple ways to continue generating income if one source slows down. Most importantly, my faith keeps me grounded through all of this. I trust God to guide my steps, but I also believe faith requires discipline, stewardship, and action. Joe Gilroy believed in planning your work and working your plan. For the first time in my life, I truly feel like I am doing exactly that. My plan is no longer survival. My plan is education, entrepreneurship, stability, purpose, and breaking generational cycles for my daughter and the people I hope to help one day.

Brittany Bell Learner Mental Health Empowerment for Health Students Scholarship 21 May 2026 I used to think struggling mentally meant I was failing at life. Growing up in special education classes while dealing with ADHD, dyscalculia, family instability, poverty, grief, and emotional stress made me feel “behind” for years. I struggled not only academically, but mentally and emotionally too. There were seasons of my life where I was overwhelmed by anxiety, exhaustion, self-doubt, heartbreak, grief, and survival mode all at once. As a first-generation college student, I often felt like I was trying to navigate adulthood, education, finances, and healing without a roadmap. Now, at thirty-six years old, I realize mental health is not separate from student success. It affects everything: concentration, confidence, relationships, motivation, memory, emotional regulation, physical health, and the ability to believe in your own future. Mental health became especially important to me after major losses and life changes. In 2021, my mother passed away. One of my nephews was murdered, and another later drowned at sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job while trying to emotionally survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. At the same time, I was raising my daughter, managing financial stress, and trying to rebuild my life academically and emotionally. For a long time, I thought strength meant pushing through silently. Now I understand that healing, self-awareness, support systems, faith, therapy-informed thinking, rest, boundaries, and honest conversations about mental health are all part of true strength. As a psychology student at East Carolina University, mental health advocacy matters deeply to me because I know what it feels like to silently struggle while still trying to function every day. I especially understand how mental health challenges often affect underserved communities, low-income families, neurodivergent students, and Black communities where emotional struggles are sometimes ignored, minimized, or hidden behind survival mode. I advocate for mental health in my community in both direct and indirect ways. As a substitute teacher, I try to create emotionally safe environments for students who may be dealing with stress, trauma, behavioral struggles, ADHD, anxiety, grief, or difficult home situations. Instead of immediately labeling students as “bad,” I try to recognize when behavior may actually be emotional overwhelm or unmet needs. I also advocate through openness and transparency. As an adult learner with ADHD and learning disabilities, I openly discuss the importance of structure, coping skills, emotional regulation, and asking for help when needed. I want other people, especially older students and neurodivergent students, to understand that struggling mentally does not make them incapable or unintelligent. Even my educational and career goals are rooted in mental health advocacy. I plan to pursue psychology, counseling, mentoring, and community outreach work focused on helping underserved people feel understood instead of dismissed. Too many people are silently carrying trauma, grief, burnout, anxiety, addiction, or emotional pain while trying to survive daily life. Mental health matters to me because I know firsthand how deeply emotional struggles can affect every part of a person’s life. But I also know healing is possible when people feel supported, understood, and given the tools to grow. For years, I thought I was simply struggling to survive. Now I realize I am learning how to heal while helping others do the same.

Brittany Bell Ruthie Brown Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 I think about student debt differently now because I have already experienced what happens when a first-generation student enters college without enough guidance. When I first attended Montgomery County Community College during the 2007-2008 school year, I honestly did not fully understand financial aid, Pell Grants, or student loans. My Pell Grant paperwork was not filled out correctly, and my mother did not really understand the process either. We were trying to navigate college blindly. Before I fully realized what had happened, I had accumulated around $3,000 in student loan debt without truly understanding the long-term consequences. Today, that debt is down to around $1,600, but the experience stayed with me. It taught me how important financial literacy, planning, and educational support really are for first-generation and non-traditional students, especially students from low-income backgrounds and students with learning disabilities like ADHD and dyscalculia. Growing up, I was never taught how student loans worked, how interest builds, or how to strategically navigate higher education financially. Looking back now at thirty-six years old, I realize I entered adulthood trying to survive instead of fully understanding how to build stability. That is one reason I have approached returning to college very differently. Now I am a first-generation student at East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while substitute teaching, completing delivery app work, raising my daughter, and actively trying to minimize future debt. Instead of passively accepting large student loans, I have treated scholarship applications almost like a part-time job. I spend hours researching scholarships, writing essays, revising personal statements, and applying for opportunities that align with my experiences as a BIPOC adult learner, working student, single mother, and person with learning disabilities. For the first time in my life, I feel informed instead of lost. I am also intentionally building multiple streams of income while pursuing my degree. Entrepreneurship has become important to me because it gives me flexibility and long-term financial goals beyond simply surviving paycheck to paycheck. Along with substitute teaching and independent contractor work, I am growing my Etsy shop, Brittany So Crafty, exploring graphic design opportunities, and planning future businesses connected to psychology, mentoring, tutoring, speaking, and community outreach. As someone with ADHD, I have learned that financial survival requires creativity, adaptability, and planning. I know I cannot approach debt casually because I understand how easily financial mistakes made early in life can follow people for years. Instead of feeling ashamed of my past financial struggles, I now use them as motivation to make wiser decisions moving forward. More importantly, returning to school later in life changed my mindset completely. Growing up low-income can teach people to think only about immediate survival. Education helped me start thinking long-term about ownership, stability, generational change, and financial freedom. I do not want my daughter to inherit survival mode. I want her to watch me build something different. This scholarship would help reduce both financial pressure and future student debt while allowing me to continue pursuing higher education responsibly. Most importantly, it would help me continue transforming painful lessons from my past into a better future for myself, my daughter, and the communities I hope to serve one day.

Brittany Bell Strong Leaders of Tomorrow Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 I think one of the strongest forms of leadership is when someone keeps moving forward even while carrying things other people cannot see. Growing up in special education classes, I often felt different from other students. I struggled with dyscalculia, attention issues, organization, and learning information the same way other people did. There were moments where I felt embarrassed, behind, or underestimated academically. I remember being pulled out of classrooms in elementary school and feeling the quiet shame that comes with being labeled “special ed” before you are even old enough to fully understand what that means. But I also remember something else: I refused to believe I was stupid. One of the biggest things that makes me a leader is my ability to persevere and encourage other people who feel overlooked or underestimated. Because I know personally what it feels like to struggle academically while still having intelligence, creativity, empathy, and potential inside of you. Sometimes people with special needs are treated as if they are broken instead of simply learning differently. That experience shaped how I move through the world now. At thirty-six years old, I am a first-generation college student at East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while raising my daughter, substitute teaching, and balancing work responsibilities at the same time. Going back to school later in life after years of self-doubt took leadership too. I had to lead myself first before I could inspire anyone else. Leadership, to me, is not about being the loudest person in the room. It is about influence, resilience, and the willingness to help others feel seen. As a substitute teacher, I especially notice students who remind me of myself growing up. The quiet child who shuts down when they feel embarrassed. The student who acts out because they are overwhelmed. The child who learns differently but still wants to feel intelligent and included. Because of my own experiences, I naturally lead with empathy and patience instead of immediately judging students by their behavior or academic performance. My experiences with special needs also taught me adaptability and creativity. I learned how to work harder, repeat information more often, and find learning styles that actually fit my brain instead of constantly comparing myself to others. Those struggles made me mentally stronger and taught me how to advocate for myself instead of giving up. I also believe leadership means being transparent enough to help other people feel less alone. There are many adults who quietly struggle with ADHD, learning disabilities, anxiety, memory issues, or feeling “behind” in life. By continuing my education openly and refusing to let shame stop me, I hope other people see that growth does not have an expiration date. Most importantly, my faith taught me that leadership is service. It is helping people rise while you are still climbing yourself. For years, I thought my learning differences made me less capable. Now I realize they helped shape the empathy, resilience, emotional awareness, and perseverance that make me a leader today.

Brittany Bell Olivia Rodrigo Fan Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 We never made it into July. After almost seven years together, the relationship ended in the sixth month of the sixth year. Not one day into the seventh month. Not one step into the seventh year. One day, he just stopped answering his phone. That was it. No dramatic movie ending. No final speech. No closure that felt satisfying. Just silence after years of history, prayers, memories, arguments, forgiveness, dreams, and emotional attachment. Looking back now, that is one reason Olivia Rodrigo’s song “get him back!” resonated with me so deeply. Not because I literally wanted revenge, but because she perfectly captured the emotional confusion that heartbreak creates. The lyric that hit me hardest was: > “Do I love him? Do I hate him? I guess it’s up and down.” That line felt painfully honest to me because heartbreak is rarely clean or logical. Some days I missed him deeply because he had been with me through grief, personal struggles, growth, and major life moments. Other days I felt angry, betrayed, embarrassed, and emotionally exhausted from carrying a relationship that had become unhealthy long before it officially ended. One thing Olivia Rodrigo’s music captures well is contradiction. As women, we are often expected to either become bitter after heartbreak or completely silent about it. But real heartbreak is messier than that. Sometimes you still love the person while realizing they are no longer safe for your heart. Sometimes you miss the comfort of someone while also recognizing the damage they caused. Another lyric that stood out to me was: > “I am my father’s daughter, so maybe I could fix him.” That line honestly made me reflect on myself. I spent years trying to spiritually, emotionally, and mentally hold together a relationship that I now realize I could not save by myself. I kept hoping prayer, loyalty, patience, and love would eventually fix everything. Looking back, I think I was more attached to his potential than the reality of who he actually was in that season of his life. The breakup affected me deeply. I had physical shakes afterward from stress and heartbreak. I cried in public places, including a grocery store during an Instacart order. I replayed old conversations in my mind trying to understand how somebody who once felt like home could suddenly become a stranger. What hurt the most was not just losing him, but realizing how much of myself I had slowly shrunk to keep the relationship alive. At the same time, the breakup taught me something important about myself: I am stronger than I thought I was. For a while, I truly believed losing him would emotionally destroy me because so much of my adult life had included him. But I survived it. As a Christian, I also had to humble myself and realize betrayal and heartbreak are part of the human experience. Jesus Himself was betrayed by people He loved. So who was I to think I would never experience disappointment, abandonment, or grief myself? What Olivia Rodrigo’s music helped me realize is that women everywhere, even with completely different lives and backgrounds, often carry similar emotional wounds. We question ourselves. We replay memories. We hold anger and longing at the same time. We try to make sense of endings that never fully make sense. But eventually, healing comes. Now when I look back at that relationship, I no longer only see heartbreak. I see growth, lessons, emotional maturity, and God pushing me into a new season of my life.

Brittany Bell Deanna Ellis Memorial Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 Some people grow up around addiction so long that chaos starts feeling normal. I remember hearing adults argue, seeing relationships fall apart, watching instability cycle through families, and realizing early that substances do not just affect one person. Addiction affects entire households. Entire childhoods. Entire ways of thinking. Even when the addicted person is loving, funny, intelligent, or trying their best, addiction still leaves emotional damage behind it. My biological father struggled with alcoholism. My mother battled addiction and unhealthy relationships while trying to raise me. Growing up around that environment made me emotionally hyperaware very young. I learned how to read moods, tension, and emotional atmospheres before I fully understood what addiction even was. One minute things could feel calm, and the next minute chaos could break out emotionally, financially, or relationally. For a long time, I thought that was just how life worked. Growing up around substance abuse influenced my beliefs deeply because it taught me that addiction is usually connected to pain, trauma, grief, mental health struggles, hopelessness, or emotional wounds that were never properly addressed. As I got older, I stopped viewing addiction as simply “bad people making bad choices.” I started seeing how many people are carrying unresolved pain while trying to survive life the only way they know how. At the same time, growing up around addiction also taught me boundaries and self-awareness. I saw firsthand how substance abuse can affect relationships, parenting, finances, emotional regulation, trust, and stability. It made me very aware of how quickly unhealthy cycles can repeat themselves if people never confront their trauma honestly. My experiences also affected my relationships because I often became the “helper” or emotionally aware person in different situations. I naturally learned how to comfort people, listen deeply, and recognize when someone was struggling internally even when they tried hiding it. At times, that empathy became emotionally exhausting because I was carrying other people’s pain while still trying to heal from my own. One thing I am grateful for is that my experiences pushed me toward faith, self-reflection, and eventually higher education instead of completely giving up on myself. Returning to college later in life helped me understand both myself and other people more deeply. Now, at thirty-six years old, I am pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies at East Carolina University while raising my daughter and working as a substitute teacher. My experiences with substance abuse heavily influenced my career aspirations because I know what it feels like to grow up in environments where emotional instability, addiction, grief, and trauma affect entire families. I especially want to help underserved communities where many people silently struggle with mental health issues, addiction, emotional neglect, and generational trauma without proper support or understanding. I also want people struggling with addiction to know they are not automatically worthless, evil, or beyond healing. Some of the kindest, funniest, most loving people I have known also struggled deeply with addiction. That complexity matters. Most importantly, growing up around substance abuse taught me how important healing, emotional honesty, accountability, faith, and support systems truly are. Addiction does not only damage the person using substances. It leaves emotional fingerprints on everyone connected to them. That reality changed the trajectory of my life completely.

Brittany Bell Arthur and Elana Panos Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 I do not think I would still be here mentally, spiritually, or financially without God. There were too many moments in my life where it would have been easier to quit. I grew up around poverty, addiction, instability, grief, and emotional chaos. My biological father struggled with alcoholism. My mother battled addiction and unhealthy relationships while trying to raise me. I grew up in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia and learning differently from other students, which made me feel behind for years. After a while, you start believing success and higher education belong to “other people.” Not people like you. But even during my hardest seasons, I always felt God pulling on me. Sometimes it was conviction. Sometimes it was protection. Sometimes it was that quiet voice telling me not to give up even when my life looked like a mess. Looking back now at thirty-six years old, I can clearly see God’s hand on my life, even during seasons where I was grieving, making mistakes, or struggling to believe in myself. My faith became even more important after becoming a single mother and experiencing major loss as an adult. In 2021, my mother passed away. One of my nephews was murdered. Another nephew later drowned at only sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job while trying to emotionally survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. There were nights I cried, prayed, journaled, and honestly asked God what my purpose even was anymore. But every time I wanted to stop, something inside me kept saying, “Keep going.” That faith pushed me back toward education and entrepreneurship instead of staying stuck in survival mode. One thing entrepreneurship taught me is that my ADHD brain actually works better with creativity, flexibility, and independence. Delivery apps, graphic design work, my Etsy shop Brittany So Crafty, and side hustles showed me I do not have to stay trapped in one traditional path to succeed. Entrepreneurship became a blessing because it taught me I could create opportunities instead of waiting for someone else to save me. Now I attend East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while substitute teaching, raising my daughter, and building goals for my future. I want to combine psychology, business, and faith through mentoring, tutoring, books, speaking, digital products, and community programs that help underserved people heal and grow. I want to create businesses that help people emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and financially, especially people who feel overlooked or stuck like I once did. Most importantly, God taught me that even with poverty, ADHD, grief, and setbacks, I can still become everything He called me to be. Reading about Arthur and Elana Panos honestly encouraged me because their story reminds me that humble beginnings do not determine where someone finishes. Even though I am starting later in life, I still believe what God said about me.

Brittany Bell Minority Single Mother Scholarship May 20, 2026 People love to praise single mothers after they “make it.” They do not always see what life looks like while we are still IN it. They do not see the overdrafted bank accounts, the unpaid power bills, the exhaustion, or the pressure of trying to be both the mother and the safety net at the same time. They do not see the tears in the bathroom before picking yourself back up because your child still needs dinner, homework help, and stability, even when you feel emotionally drained yourself. I know that reality personally. I am a Black single mother, first-generation college student, substitute teacher, delivery driver, and student at East Carolina University trying to build a future while still surviving the present. Some nights I leave class discussions about mental health and human development just to go deliver food until midnight because tuition, groceries, and bills do not pause for grief or dreams. And grief has followed me for years. My father, John Thomas Ricks, died from colon cancer in 2017. In 2021, while I was taking Statistics and Sociology classes, my mother died. That same year, my nephew Sean Smith was murdered. Another nephew passed away in 2022, and my stepfather died in 2023. Every time I tried to stabilize my life, another funeral seemed to arrive. At one point, I dropped out of college completely because I was mentally overwhelmed. I remember sitting there after my mother died thinking, “My mom has never been dead before. I do not know how to do this.” That sentence sounds almost childish when I say it now, but grief strips people down emotionally in ways they cannot fully explain unless they have lived through it themselves. Still, God would not let me quit forever. I would randomly meet older women in grocery stores while wearing my Wayne Community College sweatshirt, and they would stop me to say things like, “Baby, it’s never too late to go back.” Some of these women were in their seventies and eighties. Those moments encouraged me deeply during seasons when I felt behind in life and ashamed that my journey was taking longer than other people’s. So I went back. Not because life suddenly became easy. Not because I suddenly had money. But because I got tired of surviving without building anything for my future. What has been most fulfilling about this journey is realizing I am stronger than the version of myself that almost quit. I grew up in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia and learning differences that made me feel “behind” for years. Higher education once felt like something meant for OTHER people, not somebody like me. Now I am pursuing studies connected to mental health and human development because I understand what trauma, grief, poverty, and instability can do to families. I know what it feels like to need emotional support and not have enough of it. Most importantly, my daughter Adriana is watching me through all of this. She watches me study after long workdays. She watches me push through grief and exhaustion. She watches perseverance happen in real time. I do not want her to inherit survival mode as a family tradition. I want her to inherit POSSIBILITY. This scholarship would not only help relieve financial pressure, but it would also help me continue building a future where my daughter and I are finally doing more than simply surviving.

Brittany Bell Sharra Rainbolt Memorial Scholarship May 20, 2026 The last real conversation I had with my father before he died started with rejection. In 2017, I drove nearly three hours to visit my father, John Thomas Ricks, after finding out he had cancer. I told him ahead of time I was coming because I wanted to rebuild our relationship after years of distance. But when I got there, he would not come outside. He stayed hidden in the house the entire time. I remember feeling embarrassed, angry, rejected, and hurt all over again like I was still a little girl wondering why her father could never fully show up emotionally. After I got home, I wrote a long emotional rant on Facebook. My uncle printed it out and carried it next door to my father’s house. He read every word to him. He told my father, “You have no idea how much Brittany has tried.” Not long after that, I swallowed my pride and called him myself because I knew he probably was not going to call first. That phone call still stays with me. My father sounded weak and exhausted. He told me, “Brittany, I just feel like I’m dying.” I immediately told him, “Don’t say that. You’re going to make it. Keep believing.” But deep down, I think both of us knew the truth. That conversation happened around May or June of 2017. By October, shortly after his 63rd birthday, my father was dead. Cancer did not just take his health. It destroyed any illusion that there would still be time to fix everything between us. Suddenly, our relationship was frozen forever exactly as it was. All I really have now are memories and the ability to tell our story honestly. It was not a perfect father-daughter relationship. It was messy, painful, and complicated. I remember loving my daddy with all my heart as a child, even after the first time I saw him slap my mother. I still loved him after that. He was my hero until one day he no longer was. Even now, I still respect him as my father, but I refuse to turn our story into something prettier than it was just to make people comfortable. I believe my father became who he was partly because of what he saw growing up. His father was also an alcoholic who abused his mother. His father died of esophageal cancer, while my father died of colon cancer. Cancer, addiction, trauma, and brokenness traveled through generations of my family long before they reached me. His death affected me deeply because complicated grief hurts differently. You mourn the person while also mourning the relationship you wish you could have had. Then more grief followed. My mother died in 2021. That same year my nephew Sean Smith was murdered. Another nephew died in 2022, and my stepfather died in 2023. Those losses interrupted my education many times, but they also pushed me toward psychology and healthcare-related studies at East Carolina University. In a strange way, maybe this scholarship is one final way my father can still help me financially, even after he is gone. Cancer shaped my family for generations. This is my part of the story to tell.

Brittany Bell Travel Not to Escape Study Abroad Scholarship May 20, 2026 I have spent a large part of my life surviving instead of dreaming. Surviving bills. Surviving grief. Surviving trauma. Surviving overdrafted bank accounts while trying to finish homework before midnight deadlines. Surviving single motherhood while pretending I was mentally okay when I was exhausted. People romanticize “hustle culture,” but survival mode is ugly. I grew up around poverty, addiction, incarceration, instability, and grief. My mother struggled with addiction and incarceration before I was born. My father struggled with alcoholism. I spent years in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia and learning differences that made me feel behind everyone else academically. Then grief kept hitting my family one loss after another. My father died in 2017. My mother died in 2021. That same year my nephew Sean Smith was murdered. Another nephew died in 2022. My stepfather died in 2023. Every time I tried to move forward, life seemed to pull me backward again. When my mother died, I dropped all my college classes even though I was close to finishing. I remember praying and feeling God tell me, “My grace is sufficient for you,” but honestly, I was hurting too much to keep going at the time. Still, God kept leading me back to school. Now I attend East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies, and one of my biggest dreams is studying abroad in Spain to deepen my understanding of the Spanish language and culture. For most of my life, opportunities like studying abroad felt meant for OTHER people. Not struggling single mothers trying to survive. But I want more than survival. I want growth. I want healing. I want to experience another culture, become fluent in Spanish, and show my daughter that our lives can become bigger than the environments we came from. I already have my passport because deep down I knew one day I would travel the world. Right now, I am actively researching and applying for study abroad opportunities through East Carolina University and Wayne Community College, especially programs in Spain. My goal is to participate in a summer 2027 study abroad program after graduating while finishing my final semester at ECU. One reason I hesitated about studying abroad is because I do not want to leave my daughter behind. As a single mother, everything I do includes thinking about her too. By summer 2027, she will be 16 years old, which means I will no longer need her father’s signature for her passport since he has not been present to help with that process. My dream is for us to travel together, especially to Spanish-speaking countries, so she can experience the world alongside me instead of only hearing about struggle and survival. As a substitute teacher, summer programs would fit perfectly into my schedule, but financially it has been difficult. Even finding an extra $1,000 can feel overwhelming while balancing motherhood, bills, and school. This scholarship would not just help fund travel. It would help fund healing, education, opportunity, and a future where my daughter and I finally get to experience life beyond survival mode. It would help me dream again.

Brittany Bell Patricia Lindsey Jackson Foundation – Eva Mae Jackson Scholarship of Education May 20, 2026 Prompt: What role does faith play in your life and how has it impacted your academic and future goals? Who or what else has pushed you to pursue higher education? “What are you even going to school for?” I have heard that question in different ways my whole life. Sometimes from other people. Sometimes from my own mind during hard seasons. Because honestly, my life did not look like the life of somebody who was “supposed” to succeed academically. I grew up around poverty, instability, addiction, grief, incarceration, and emotional trauma. I struggled in special education classes with dyscalculia and learning differences that made me feel behind for years. Higher education felt like something for OTHER people... people with stable homes, financial support, confidence, and peace of mind. Not somebody trying to survive. Then life kept happening. My father died in 2017. In 2021, my mother died, and that same year my nephew Sean Smith was murdered. Then another nephew passed away in the summer of 2022. My stepfather died in 2023. It felt like grief just kept hitting my family wave after wave, year after year. I remember in 2021, before my mother passed, I was SO close to finishing school at that time. I was taking statistics and sociology, and I kept praying, “God, should I drop these classes? I’m hurting too much.” And I remember so clearly hearing in my spirit, “My grace is sufficient for you.” But honestly... I dropped them anyway. I could not handle statistics, sociology, motherhood, financial stress, and the grief of losing my mother all at once. I remember thinking something that sounds almost silly now, but it was real to me at the time: My mama has never been dead before. I had never experienced losing my mother before. There was no “correct” way to process that kind of pain. So I walked away from school for a while. But God never stopped bringing education back in front of me. I would wear my Wayne Community College sweatshirt into stores, and random older women would stop me and say things like, “Baby, it’s never too late to go back to school.” Some of these women were in their 70s and 80s. At the time, I was in my 30s feeling like maybe I had missed my chance already. But God kept sending encouragement through people everywhere I went. Online. In conversations. In strangers. In prayers. It felt like God was constantly reminding me that school was still part of my purpose. Then when I finally decided to go back during the 2024-2025 school year to finish my Associate in Arts degree at Wayne Community College, some people still tried to discourage me. One of my cousins kept saying, “Why are you going back to school? Why don’t you just use your pharmacy tech degree?” But people were trying to direct my life based on practicality while I was trying to follow what I genuinely believed God was leading me to do. That taught me something important: sometimes you cannot tell everybody your dreams because they will try to talk you out of them before they even grow. Faith is what carried me through all of this. Not fake faith for appearances. Real faith. The kind you need when your account is overdrafted, your grief feels unbearable, your child needs you, and you are STILL trying to submit assignments before midnight deadlines. My daughter Adriana is another huge reason I continue pursuing higher education. She watches me fight through hard seasons instead of giving up. I want her to grow up understanding that resilience matters. I want to break cycles in my family and create stability, healing, and purpose for future generations. I am passionate about psychology and mental health because I know what grief, trauma, instability, and survival mode can do to people emotionally. I want to help people who feel unseen, overwhelmed, or mentally exhausted the same way I often did. My journey has not been polished or easy, but it is real. And I truly believe God can use real stories too. Facebook: Brittany Bell Facebook Profile: https://www.facebook.com/share/19FSoqkvCV/ Instagram/TikTok: @1dyrfullymade

Brittany Bell Jill S. Tolley Scholarship Essay May 20, 2026 The night I decided I was REALLY going back to college, my bank account was overdrafted, my kitchen was a mess, my daughter was asking for onion rings in the air fryer, and I was sitting there trying to figure out how I was going to keep my lights on another week. That was my “college life.” Not dorm rooms. Not football games. Not cute little coffee shop study sessions on TikTok. Real life. I am a single mother who has written essays while waiting on DoorDash orders, completed homework exhausted on my living room couch, and cried from stress while still forcing myself to log into class discussions before midnight deadlines. There were days I had to choose between gas money, groceries, or paying another bill late. There were days I questioned if pursuing higher education was irresponsible because survival already felt hard enough. But I kept going anyway. That is why I believe I am uniquely deserving of this scholarship. I grew up around poverty, instability, grief, addiction, incarceration, and trauma. I was in special education classes growing up and struggled with dyscalculia and learning differences that made me feel “slow” for years. School did not come easy to me. Confidence definitely did not come easy to me. I spent a large part of my life feeling like higher education belonged to OTHER people... people with money, support systems, stability, and perfect mental health. Not people like me. Then life kept happening. I became a single mother. I lost my mother in 2021. I lost father figures I loved deeply. I struggled financially while trying to raise my daughter and keep myself mentally afloat at the same time. There were moments where I honestly felt like life was swallowing me whole. But something inside me refused to completely quit. My daughter is a huge part of my “why.” She watches everything I do. She watches me study when I’m tired. She watches me stress over scholarships and bills. She watches me continue even when life feels overwhelming. I want her to grow up seeing resilience firsthand, not just hearing motivational speeches about it. I do not want generational struggle to continue through us. I am pursuing higher education because I want stability, purpose, and the ability to truly help people. I am deeply interested in psychology and mental health because I understand firsthand what emotional exhaustion, grief, trauma, poverty, and survival mode can do to a person. I know what it feels like to carry invisible struggles while still trying to function every day. A lot of people are suffering silently. I want to be someone who understands that pain while also helping people move through it. What makes my story different is that I did not pursue education from a place of comfort. I pursued it from survival mode. From grief. From exhaustion. From sitting in overdraft trying to figure life out while still refusing to give up on myself. And honestly, I think that says something about my character. This scholarship would not just help financially. It would relieve pressure that single mothers like me carry constantly but rarely talk about openly. It would help me continue building a future where my daughter does not have to grow up with the same instability, fear, and limitations I did. I may not have the most polished journey, but my story is real. And every degree, every essay, every scholarship application, and every late-night assignment is proof that I am still fighting for a better future anyway.

Brittany Bell Ernest Lee McLean Jr. World Life Memorial Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 I used to think everybody else got handed some invisible instruction manual for life that I somehow missed. Other people seemed emotionally stable. Their families seemed normal. They could focus in school. They knew how to study, how to plan for college, how to regulate their emotions without feeling like they were drowning inside. Meanwhile, I was growing up around addiction, poverty, grief, instability, yelling, emotional chaos, and survival mode so constant that I did not even realize it was survival mode until I became an adult. My biological father struggled with alcoholism. My mother battled addiction and unhealthy relationships while trying to raise me the best she could. She had also been incarcerated before I was born, which permanently fractured our family structure. My older siblings were raised separately, and I grew up feeling like an only child even though I was actually the youngest of four. At school, I struggled too. I spent years in special education classes dealing with dyscalculia and learning differences that made me feel embarrassed and “slow.” I remember watching other students understand things quickly while my brain felt like it was constantly buffering. Eventually, you start internalizing those feelings. You stop saying, “I’m struggling,” and start believing, “Maybe I just AM the struggle.” Then life kept happening. I became a single mother. Financial stress became normal. In 2021, my mother passed away suddenly. One of my nephews was murdered. Another nephew later drowned at only sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job while mentally trying to survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. The scary part about mental health struggles is that sometimes you do not completely fall apart outwardly. Sometimes you are still getting up, smiling, going to work, helping your child with homework, taking delivery orders, paying bills, and functioning while emotionally unraveling inside. That reality is what pushed me toward psychology and mental health care. Not textbooks first. Life first. I know what it feels like to grow up in environments where trauma becomes so normal that nobody even calls it trauma anymore. I know what it feels like to carry grief while still needing to survive financially. I know what it feels like to feel different, behind, emotionally exhausted, and misunderstood while trying to appear “okay” to everybody else. Now, at thirty-six years old, I am a first-generation college student at East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while raising my teenage daughter as a single mother. Returning to school later in life has taught me something important: many people are not lazy, broken, or hopeless. Sometimes they are simply overwhelmed, unsupported, grieving, neurodivergent, traumatized, or mentally exhausted. I want to work in mental health advocacy because I understand firsthand how deeply emotional pain can affect every area of a person’s life, including education, parenting, confidence, relationships, and physical health. I especially want to help underserved communities, students struggling with learning differences, and families trapped in survival mode feel understood instead of judged. I want people to know healing is possible. For years, I thought my painful experiences were proof that my life was falling apart. Now I realize they were the very experiences that taught me how to truly see people.

Brittany Bell Students Impacted by Incarceration Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 Before I even entered the world, incarceration had already shaped my life. When my mother found out she was pregnant with me, she was in prison. By the time she came home, she had already lost custody of my older siblings. Different family members and fathers ended up raising them, and because of that, I grew up as an “only child” even though I was actually the youngest of four children. That separation created a wound in our family that lasted our entire lives. I often think about what we missed. I should have grown up with older brothers and sisters running through the house, arguing, laughing, protecting me, getting on my nerves, and building memories together. Instead, we were raised more like distant cousins than siblings. Holidays felt divided. Relationships felt fragmented. There was always this invisible separation caused by decisions, incarceration, addiction, poverty, and instability before I was even old enough to understand any of it. My mother struggled with addiction and unhealthy relationships throughout much of my childhood while trying to survive and raise me the best she could. Growing up around incarceration, poverty, and emotional instability affected how I viewed myself and the world around me. I learned very early that one decision, one system, or one difficult season can impact an entire family for generations. At school, I also struggled academically. I spent years in special education classes dealing with dyscalculia and learning differences that made me feel behind and embarrassed. For a long time, I carried shame about my family situation and about myself. I often felt like other people came from stable homes while I was simply trying to emotionally survive. But those experiences also gave me deep empathy for people society often overlooks or judges quickly. I understand firsthand that incarceration does not only affect the individual behind bars. It affects children, siblings, relationships, mental health, finances, stability, and entire family structures. Children especially carry emotional consequences they may not even fully understand until adulthood. Now, at thirty-six years old, I am a first-generation college student at East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while raising my teenage daughter as a single mother. Returning to school later in life has taught me resilience, humility, and the importance of breaking generational cycles instead of repeating them. My experiences growing up impacted by incarceration shaped my academic and career goals deeply. I want to work in mental health advocacy and help underserved communities, especially children and families affected by trauma, poverty, addiction, instability, and systemic barriers. I know what it feels like to grow up emotionally overwhelmed while still trying to function normally. Most importantly, I want my daughter to inherit healing instead of survival mode. For years, I viewed my family story as something broken. Now I see it as part of the reason I fight so hard to build something better.

Brittany Bell Sola Family Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 Some of my earliest memories are not of family vacations or peaceful dinners. They are of stress. Hearing adults argue. Watching my mother try to survive while carrying pain I did not fully understand as a child. Growing up with a single mother taught me very early that life could be heavy. My mother struggled with addiction and unhealthy relationships while trying to raise me the best she could. We experienced poverty, instability, emotional chaos, and seasons where survival came before everything else. There were times when lights, bills, transportation, and basic stability all felt uncertain. As a child, you may not fully understand adult problems, but you feel the weight of them anyway. At school, I also struggled academically. I spent years in special education classes dealing with dyscalculia and learning differences that often made me feel embarrassed or “less than” other students. I grew up feeling like I was already behind in life before adulthood even started. For a long time, I carried shame about where I came from. But growing up with a single mother also taught me things many people do not learn until much later in life. I learned resilience. I learned how to adapt. I learned how to survive difficult environments without completely losing compassion for other people. Watching my mother struggle also taught me how important stability, emotional health, and support truly are for children and families. As I got older, I repeated some cycles I said I never would. I became a single mother myself. I know firsthand how exhausting it can feel trying to balance motherhood, finances, grief, work, and education all at once. There are days I complete homework between delivery app orders or study after substitute teaching while mentally calculating bills in the back of my mind. But becoming a mother also changed me in important ways. My daughter gave me a reason to stop believing my life was over or “too late” to rebuild. At thirty-six years old, I am now a first-generation college student at East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies. Returning to school later in life has taken sacrifice, humility, discipline, and faith in myself that I honestly did not always have. Growing up in a single-parent household shaped the way I see the world today. It made me deeply empathetic toward children and families dealing with poverty, trauma, instability, mental health struggles, and educational barriers. I understand what it feels like to grow up overwhelmed, unsupported, or emotionally exhausted while trying to function normally. That is why I hope to use my education to help underserved communities, especially students and families who feel overlooked or trapped in survival mode. I want people to feel understood instead of judged. Most importantly, I want my daughter to see that generational cycles can be broken. I want her to know that where you start in life does not have to determine where you finish. For years, I viewed my background as something painful I needed to overcome. Now I realize it also helped shape my strength.

Brittany Bell M.R. Brooks Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 I remember sitting around other girls in middle school listening to them gush over boys like it was the most natural thing in the world. They would talk about crushes, butterflies, who they wanted to kiss, who was “fine,” and who they dreamed about dating. I would laugh along and try to fit in, but deep down I always felt different. I could recognize when someone was beautiful, whether it was a man or a woman, but the actual attraction everyone else seemed to naturally feel never really came for me. As I got older, I started wondering if something was wrong with me. I grew up wanting to feel “normal” like everyone else around me, so eventually I convinced myself maybe I just needed to try harder to like men romantically. I ended up in relationships, became a mother, and formed emotional attachments to people, but even then, physical attraction never really operated the way it seemed to for everyone else. For a long time, I kept those feelings quiet because I did not fully know how to explain them, especially growing up in environments where people who were different were often judged harshly or misunderstood. That experience shaped the way I see other people now. I know what it feels like to sit quietly in a room feeling like everybody else received some invisible instruction manual for life except you. I know what it feels like to mask parts of yourself just to fit in and avoid being labeled “weird.” Growing up around poverty, instability, grief, and learning differences already made me feel different enough. Spending years in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia only added to those feelings of isolation. Now, at thirty-six years old, I am a first-generation college student at East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while raising my teenage daughter as a single mother. Returning to school later in life has given me a deeper understanding of how important inclusion, compassion, and emotional safety truly are. Many people are silently carrying struggles, confusion, shame, trauma, or identity questions they do not fully know how to talk about. Because of my own experiences, I want to help create spaces where people feel seen instead of judged. I especially care about mental health advocacy for underserved communities, students who feel overlooked, and young people who grow up feeling “different” from everyone around them. Too many people suffer quietly because they fear rejection, bullying, or misunderstanding. I understand that feeling personally. Being a single mother has also strengthened my empathy. Raising my daughter while balancing school, substitute teaching, delivery app work, finances, and grief has taught me resilience and patience. I want my daughter growing up in a world where people are treated with dignity and compassion even when their experiences are different from the majority. My education is helping me turn painful experiences into purpose. I hope to use psychology, mentorship, and advocacy work to help people heal emotionally and mentally while encouraging more understanding within communities that often overlook those who feel different or marginalized. For years, I thought being different was something I needed to hide. Now I realize it helped teach me how to better understand and care for others.

Brittany Bell Jerrye Chesnes Memorial Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 Sometimes I do homework in parking lots between delivery app orders. Sometimes I study exhausted after substitute teaching all day. Sometimes I sit in my car trying to mentally switch from “Mom mode” to “student mode” while worrying about bills, grief, deadlines, and what I am cooking for dinner later. Returning to school as a parent is not just academically challenging. It is emotionally challenging too. Especially when you already feel behind in life. I am thirty-six years old, a single mother raising a teenage daughter while attending East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies. But getting here was not a straight path at all. I grew up around poverty, addiction, instability, and emotional chaos. I also spent years in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia and learning differently from many other students. By the time I first attempted college as a young adult, I honestly did not believe I belonged there. Nobody in my immediate family could explain how college worked because I was a first-generation student trying to figure everything out alone. I became overwhelmed quickly and eventually stopped pursuing school altogether. For years, I quietly carried shame about that. Then life kept happening. I became a single mother. Financial struggles followed me into adulthood. In 2021, my mother passed away suddenly. One of my nephews was murdered. Another nephew later drowned at only sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job while trying to mentally survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. At one point, I truly thought my opportunity for higher education had passed me by. But becoming a mother changed the way I looked at life. My daughter watches everything I do. She sees me studying late. She sees me pushing through exhaustion. She sees me trying again even after failure, grief, setbacks, and self-doubt. I realized I did not want her growing up believing it was too late to chase growth, healing, or purpose. So I went back anyway. I started slowly at Wayne Community College taking developmental math classes because my educational foundation honestly was weak. I remember realizing one day that education was like a muscle I had never fully exercised before. Nobody had really taught me how to study, organize information, or advocate for myself academically growing up. Once I started learning those skills, something inside me slowly started changing mentally too. For the first time, I realized struggling academically did not mean I was incapable. Returning to school as a parent has meant balancing motherhood, grief, finances, substitute teaching, delivery app work, and school all at the same time. It has meant sacrificing sleep, social life, comfort, and sometimes even confidence. But it has also shown me how resilient I truly am. Most importantly, it has shown my daughter resilience too. I want her to understand that where you start in life does not have to determine where you finish. I want her to see that generational cycles can be broken and that growth is still possible no matter how late you start. For years, I thought I was behind in life. Now I realize I was rebuilding.

Brittany Bell Hines Scholarship Essay 20 May 2026 I used to think some people were born already ten steps ahead in life. Kids with quiet homes. Parents helping with homework at the kitchen table. Stable money. Guidance. Structure. Somebody teaching them how college works before they got there. Meanwhile, I grew up hearing adults argue about bills before I even understood what bills were. I grew up around addiction, instability, grief, emotional chaos, and survival mode. My biological father struggled with alcoholism. My mother battled addiction and unhealthy relationships while trying to raise me. I spent years in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia and learning differently from other students. After a while, you start believing things about yourself. You start believing maybe you really are behind. Not temporarily behind. Just behind in life. When I first attempted college as a young adult, reality hit me fast. Nobody in my immediate family could explain how college worked because I was a first-generation student trying to figure everything out alone. I did not know proper study skills, organization, or how to advocate for myself academically. I became overwhelmed quickly and eventually quit. For years after that, I quietly carried the shame of feeling like I failed before I even truly started. Then life kept life-ing. I became a single mother. Financial struggles followed me into adulthood. In 2021, my mother passed away suddenly. One of my nephews was murdered. Another nephew later drowned at only sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job while trying to mentally survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. There were nights I cried wondering if my entire life was just going to be surviving from one problem to the next. But something inside me refused to completely die. At thirty-six years old, while raising my teenage daughter, substitute teaching, doing delivery app orders, grieving losses, and balancing bills, I went back to school anyway. I started slowly at Wayne Community College taking developmental math classes because my educational foundation honestly was weak. I remember realizing one day that education was like a muscle I had never fully exercised before. Nobody had really taught me how to academically push myself growing up. In many ways, I had been passed along more than truly prepared. But once I started learning how to study, organize myself, write papers, and advocate for myself, something started changing mentally. For the first time, I realized struggling academically did not mean I lacked intelligence. It meant I needed support, repetition, patience, and confidence. Now I attend East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while continuing to work and parent at the same time. What makes my story important is not perfection. It is perseverance. I know what it feels like to feel overlooked, emotionally overwhelmed, academically discouraged, and stuck in survival mode while the world keeps moving around you. That is exactly why I want to use my education to help underserved communities, especially students and families dealing with poverty, trauma, mental health struggles, and unstable home environments. I want people to feel understood instead of judged. Most importantly, I want my daughter to see that generational cycles can actually be broken. I want her to know that where you start in life does not have to decide where you finish. For years, I thought I was too late. Now I realize God was rebuilding me the whole time.

I used to think college was for kids who grew up with quiet houses, married parents, help with homework, and somebody checking to make sure assignments were done. Not kids like me. I grew up hearing adults argue about bills before I even understood what bills were. I grew up around addiction, instability, grief, survival mode, and emotional chaos. My biological father struggled with alcoholism. My mother battled addiction and unhealthy relationships while trying to raise me. I was in special education classes most of my childhood struggling with dyscalculia and learning differently from other students. After a while, you start believing certain things about yourself. You start believing maybe you really are “behind.” Maybe college belongs to smarter people, more stable people, people who had guidance and structure growing up. Not you. When I first attempted college as a young adult, reality hit me fast. Nobody in my immediate family could really explain how college worked because I was a first-generation student trying to figure everything out alone. Nobody taught me study skills, time management, organization, or how to advocate for myself academically. I was overwhelmed almost immediately. So I quit. For years after that, I quietly carried the shame of feeling like I failed before I even truly started. Then life kept hitting harder. I became a single mother. Financial struggles followed me into adulthood. In 2021, my mother passed away suddenly. One of my nephews was murdered. Another nephew drowned at only sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job while trying to mentally survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. There were nights I cried wondering if my whole life was just going to be one long cycle of surviving. But something inside me refused to completely die. At thirty-six years old, while raising my daughter, substitute teaching, grieving losses, and balancing bills, I went back to school anyway. I started slowly at Wayne Community College taking developmental math classes because my educational foundation honestly was weak. I remember realizing one day that education was like a muscle I had never fully exercised before. Nobody had really pushed me academically growing up. In special education, many times we were simply passed along instead of truly built up. But once I learned how to study, organize myself, write papers, and advocate for myself, something started changing in me mentally. For the first time, I realized struggling academically did not mean I lacked intelligence. It meant I needed support, repetition, patience, and confidence. Now I attend East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while raising my teenage daughter and continuing to work toward a better future. Some days I still study exhausted. Some days I complete assignments between delivery app orders. Some days I still doubt myself. But I keep going. Being the first in my family to truly navigate higher education means proving to myself that my environment did not get the final say over my life. It means breaking generational cycles of poverty, instability, hopelessness, and survival mode. It means showing my daughter that even if life starts hard, you still fight for growth, healing, education, and purpose. My long-term goal is to work in psychology and healthcare advocacy while helping underserved communities gain better access to mental health support, education, and resources. I especially want to help students and families who feel overlooked, emotionally overwhelmed, or academically discouraged because I know exactly what that feels like personally. For years, I thought I was behind in life. Now I realize God was rebuilding me the entire time.

Brittany Bell WCEJ Thornton Foundation Low-Income Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 I remember hearing grown people argue about bills before I even understood how bills worked. Hearing, “Don’t touch that thermostat,” because the power bill was too high. Watching food stamps run low before the month was over. Watching my mama stress and try to hold everything together while also fighting her own battles at the same time. Growing up low-income makes you grow up fast emotionally, even if you still a child physically. For a long time, I honestly thought struggle was just normal life. I grew up around poverty, addiction, instability, grief, and chaos. My biological father struggled with alcoholism. My mother struggled with addiction and unhealthy relationships while trying to raise me. I also grew up in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia and learning differently from other students. After a while, you start believing certain things about yourself. You start believing college is for “smart people,” stable people, people who grew up with support and structure. Not people like you. When I first tried college as a young adult, I got overwhelmed fast. Nobody in my immediate family could really explain how college worked because I was a first-generation student trying to figure everything out alone. I did not know proper study skills, organization, or time management. I just knew survival. Eventually, I convinced myself maybe higher education just was not for me. Then life kept life-ing. I became a single mother. Financial struggles got worse at times. In 2021, my mother passed away suddenly. One of my nephews was murdered. Another nephew later drowned at only sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job partly because I was trying to protect my family and mentally survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. Some days I cried wondering what direction my life was even supposed to go. Some days I studied between delivery app orders. Some days I was doing homework tired, frustrated, doubting myself, or trying to balance motherhood, grief, bills, and school all at once. But something inside me would not let me quit completely. I went back to school at Wayne Community College and started slowly with developmental math classes because my educational foundation honestly was weak. I remember realizing one day that education was like a muscle I had never fully worked before. Nobody had really taught me how to academically push myself growing up. Once I started learning how to study, write papers, organize myself, and advocate for myself, my confidence slowly started changing too. Now I am thirty-six years old, attending East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while substitute teaching and raising my daughter. Coming from a low-income household taught me resilience, but more than anything, it taught me empathy. I know what it feels like to feel behind, overlooked, emotionally overwhelmed, or stuck in survival mode while the world keeps moving around you. I understand why some people shut down emotionally. I understand why some kids act out in school. I understand what trauma, grief, instability, and poverty can do to people mentally because I lived around it my whole life. That is why I want to use my education to help underserved communities, especially students and families dealing with poverty, mental health struggles, trauma, and unstable home lives. I want people to feel understood instead of judged or dismissed. Most importantly, I want my daughter to see that generational cycles really can be broken. I want her to know that where you start in life does not have to decide where you finish. For years I thought I was behind in life. Now I realize God was rebuilding me the whole time.

Brittany Bell Lotus Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 I remember hearing adults argue about bills before I even understood what bills really were. Lights almost getting cut off. Food stamps running low. My mother trying to survive while battling her own struggles at the same time. Growing up in poverty teaches you how to feel stress early. For a long time, I thought struggle was just normal life. I was raised mostly by a single mother in an environment shaped by poverty, instability, grief, and addiction. I also grew up in special education classes struggling with dyscalculia and learning differences that made me feel academically behind other students. Eventually, I started believing college was for other people, people with money, guidance, and stability. Now I am thirty-six years old, a first-generation college student at East Carolina University, a substitute teacher, and a mother raising a teenage daughter while pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies. Returning to school later in life while balancing financial struggles and grief has not been easy, but it taught me perseverance. Coming from hardship also gave me empathy. I understand what it feels like to feel overlooked, emotionally overwhelmed, or counted out. That is why I want to use my education to help underserved communities, especially students and families struggling with trauma, poverty, and mental health challenges. Most importantly, I want my daughter to see that generational cycles can be broken and that where you start in life does not have to determine where you finish.

Brittany Bell Champions Of A New Path Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “You’re probably just not college material.” Nobody said those exact words to me growing up, but when you spend years in special education classes, struggling to process numbers, struggling to stay organized, and watching other students move ahead while you feel left behind, that message slowly gets planted in your mind anyway. I grew up surrounded by poverty, addiction, emotional instability, grief, and survival mode. My mother battled addiction and abusive relationships before eventually trying to rebuild her life. My biological father struggled with alcoholism. Chaos often felt normal. Stability felt temporary. I learned early how to read emotional atmospheres, stay alert, and survive difficult environments long before I learned how to properly study for an exam. By the time I first attempted college as a young adult, I was completely unprepared emotionally and academically. I did not understand study skills, time management, organization, or even fully believe I belonged there. Nobody in my immediate household could explain how college worked because I was a first-generation student trying to navigate everything alone. After years of struggling academically and feeling overwhelmed, I eventually convinced myself that higher education was simply for smarter, more financially stable people. Then life hit even harder. I became a single mother. I experienced deep grief and financial instability. In 2021, my mother passed away suddenly. Before that, one of my nephews was murdered. Then another nephew drowned at only sixteen years old. During COVID, I left a stable hospital pharmacy job partly to help protect my family and survive emotionally during one of the hardest seasons of my life. I cried, prayed, journaled, delivered food through apps to make ends meet, and honestly wondered many nights what direction my life was even going in anymore. Most people probably would have understood if I gave up on school completely. But something inside of me refused to stay stuck. At thirty-six years old, while raising my teenage daughter, substitute teaching, grieving losses, and balancing financial responsibilities, I returned to college anyway. I started slowly at Wayne Community College taking developmental math classes because my educational foundation was weak. I still remember realizing one day that education was like a muscle I had simply never fully exercised before. Nobody had truly taught me how to study, organize information, or academically push myself growing up. Once I learned those skills, my confidence slowly started changing too. Now I attend East Carolina University pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies while continuing to work and parent at the same time. What gives me an advantage over many people I am competing against is not perfection. It is resilience. It is lived experience. It is the fact that I know what it feels like to struggle academically, financially, emotionally, and spiritually while still refusing to quit. I understand underserved communities because I come from them. I understand grief because I have lived through it. I understand mental health struggles because I have watched them affect entire families and communities around me. Those experiences gave me something many people cannot learn from textbooks alone: empathy, emotional intelligence, adaptability, perseverance, and the ability to connect with people who feel overlooked by society. This scholarship would not be wasted on me because I am not pursuing education only for myself. I am pursuing it to break cycles within my family, create stability for my daughter, and become the type of woman who helps others realize they are capable of more than their environment told them. For years, I believed I was too late, too behind, and too broken to truly succeed. Now I realize I was simply surviving long enough to finally become who I was meant to be.

Brittany Bell Charles B. Brazelton Memorial Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 My awkward thing is that I have always been the girl who could talk deeply about trauma, psychology, God, human behavior, conspiracy theories, grief, education reform, and Grand Theft Auto cheat codes all in the same conversation. I never really fit neatly into one category. Growing up in special education classes, I already stood out. I struggled with dyscalculia, attention issues, organization, and learning differently from many of my classmates. Sometimes I felt smart in ways school did not always reward. I could read emotional atmospheres almost instantly, memorize random facts, understand people deeply, and notice patterns others missed, but then completely blank out trying to do certain math problems in my head. That confused people, including me. I also grew up as a Black girl who was considered “different” depending on what environment I was in. Sometimes I was “too white” because I liked technology, psychology, reading, gaming, anime-style art, or speaking properly in school settings. Other times I was “too Black” in different spaces because of how I talked naturally, my background, my culture, or simply being myself. Eventually, I realized I was exhausting myself trying to fit into boxes other people created. One of the funniest examples of this happened when I was younger at a friend’s house playing Grand Theft Auto. Her stepbrother assumed I was dumb because I was in special education classes. Meanwhile, I was teaching him all the cheat codes, hidden tricks, and game strategies because gaming and technology were naturally easy for me. When he made a comment about special education students being stupid, I remember standing up for myself immediately. I basically told him that learning differently did not make me less intelligent, and honestly, I think I humbled him a little that day. That moment stayed with me because it showed me how quickly people underestimate others based on labels. As I got older, I started realizing many of the things that once made me awkward were actually strengths. My emotional sensitivity helps me connect deeply with people. My curiosity makes me constantly want to learn. My ability to understand both struggle and humor helps me relate to many different kinds of people. Even my experiences in special education shaped my empathy and my desire to study psychology and advocate for underserved communities. I am also awkward in the sense that I ask deep questions people are sometimes uncomfortable with. I want to know why people behave the way they do. Why trauma passes through generations. Why some communities struggle more than others. Why some children act out while others shut down emotionally. Why people feel unseen. Those questions pushed me toward psychology, education, healthcare, and community advocacy. At 36 years old, I finally understand that standing out is not always a bad thing. Sometimes the people who feel awkward growing up become the people who can bridge different worlds together later in life. We learn how to connect with people who feel misunderstood because we know exactly what that feels like ourselves. Now I no longer try so hard to fit into one category. I would rather just fully be Brittany.

Brittany Bell Henry Respert Alzheimer’s and Dementia Awareness Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 Alzheimer’s disease robbed me of someone I never even got the chance to meet. Before I took my first breath, my grandmother was already gone. My mother was grieving her while pregnant with me, incarcerated, heartbroken, and trying to survive. In many ways, I believe I was born into grief before I even understood what grief was. My grandmother passed away from Alzheimer’s disease in January 1989. I was born in July 1989. Because of that, I never had the opportunity to know her personally, hear stories directly from her, or experience the relationship many people take for granted with their grandparents. Instead, I grew up in the aftermath of Alzheimer’s and the silent grief it left behind in my family. Even though I never met my grandmother, I carried her loss with me my entire life because I watched how deeply my mother carried it. Looking back now, I realize my mother never truly healed from losing her mother to Alzheimer’s disease. Her grief lingered quietly through the years while she also battled addiction, emotional pain, instability, and the struggles of trying to survive life as a single mother. Sometimes I wonder if the grief she carried while pregnant with me somehow passed into me too. Not only through stories, but emotionally and spiritually. Growing up in those environments made me extremely aware of emotional atmospheres and the hidden pain people carry. I became the type of person who noticed changes in people quickly. I learned how to comfort others, listen carefully, and sense when someone was hurting even when they could not fully explain it themselves. Long before I studied psychology, caregiving had already become part of who I was. As I became older and began studying psychology, I started understanding dementia and neurological decline through a much deeper lens. I realized that illnesses like Alzheimer’s affect far more than memory. They affect dignity, relationships, identity, emotional stability, and family dynamics. Watching someone forget names, repeat stories, become confused, or lose pieces of themselves over time creates emotional wounds for entire families. One thing dementia has taught me is the importance of patience and compassion. People experiencing cognitive decline often become frustrated, embarrassed, fearful, emotionally reactive, or withdrawn because they know something is changing inside of them. Family members suffer too because they are grieving someone who is still physically alive while mentally becoming more distant. That type of grief is difficult to explain unless you have witnessed it personally. I also became more aware of how memory-related illnesses can create fear within younger generations. Sometimes I forget little things and wonder if it is simply stress, trauma, ADHD, exhaustion, or something deeper. Knowing Alzheimer’s existed within my family history has made me think carefully about brain health, memory, and aging. Instead of allowing fear to consume me, it motivates me to care for my mental and physical health more intentionally through prayer, journaling, education, emotional healing, and self-awareness. My experiences working in healthcare environments also deepened my understanding of dementia-related illnesses. As a pharmacy technician, especially later in hospital pharmacy, I saw how many elderly patients depended on medications, routines, caregivers, and support systems simply to maintain quality of life. I also saw how exhausting healthcare systems can become for families trying to care for loved ones with declining health and cognition. Many families are overwhelmed emotionally, physically, and financially while trying to provide care. One thing that impacted me deeply was realizing how much dignity matters in healthcare. Elderly individuals facing dementia still deserve patience, understanding, emotional connection, and respect even when memory begins failing them. Too often, older adults become overlooked, talked over, or treated like burdens once cognitive decline begins. I believe compassion becomes even more important during those moments because confusion and memory loss can make people feel isolated and frightened. These experiences strengthened my desire to pursue psychology and healthcare-related studies. I want to help bridge mental and physical healthcare together while advocating for stronger mental health awareness, caregiver support, dementia education, and compassionate care for aging populations. I especially want underserved communities, including African American communities, to have greater access to education surrounding neurological illnesses and mental health because many families silently struggle without enough support or understanding. Losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s disease before I was even born shaped my entire outlook on life in ways I did not fully understand until adulthood. It taught me that grief is not always loud. Sometimes it quietly passes through generations, shaping families emotionally for years. It taught me to value remembrance, emotional connection, patience, and simply being present with people while they are still here. Most importantly, these experiences taught me that human beings are more than memory, productivity, or physical ability. Every stage of life still carries dignity and value. Even when memories fade, people still deserve compassion, patience, love, and care. That lesson will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Brittany Bell Kaprieasha Tyler Healthcare Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 There were many moments when I questioned whether returning to college as a single mother in my thirties was realistic. Between raising my daughter, grieving the loss of loved ones, balancing financial struggles, and trying to heal from my own past, higher education often felt overwhelming. At times, I felt behind in life watching other people already established in careers while I was still trying to rebuild mine. As a first-generation college student and single parent, I had to learn how to navigate school largely on my own. I also grew up in special education classes and struggled with dyscalculia and learning differences that affected my confidence academically for years. Returning to college later in life taught me that struggling does not mean someone is incapable. It simply means they may need different tools, support, and perseverance. My daughter has been one of my biggest motivations throughout this journey. I want her to see that growth does not stop because life became difficult. I want her to understand that even after mistakes, hardships, or delays, it is still possible to pursue purpose and education. I am currently pursuing psychology and healthcare-related studies because I want to help bridge mental and physical healthcare together. Through my experiences working as a pharmacy technician and studying psychology, I realized how deeply people need compassion, understanding, mental health support, and education during difficult seasons of life. Most importantly, I want to use my education to help underserved communities feel seen, understood, and supported instead of dismissed.

Brittany Bell Kristinspiration Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “Nobody’s holding your hand anymore.” That was one of the first thoughts that hit me when I attempted college as a young adult. After years in special education classes and growing up around poverty, addiction, emotional instability, and broken family structures, I entered college feeling completely unprepared. I did not understand study skills, time management, organization, or even fully believe I belonged there. Higher education felt like something meant for “other people,” not someone like me. As a first-generation college student, nobody in my household could teach me how to navigate college life or advocate for myself academically. When I first attended community college years ago, I quickly became overwhelmed and discouraged. I lacked confidence, structure, and self-belief. Eventually, I convinced myself that college simply was not for me. Looking back now, I realize I was not unintelligent. I was simply unprepared. For much of my childhood, especially in special education classes, I often felt academically behind other students. I struggled with dyscalculia and learning differences that made processing information difficult at times. Over the years, I slowly internalized the belief that higher education belonged to smarter, more financially stable, and more organized people. Everything changed when I returned to school later in life at Wayne Community College in North Carolina. I started slowly by taking developmental math classes and only a couple of courses at a time. For the first time in my life, I realized education was like a muscle I had simply never fully exercised before. I learned how to study, ask questions, write essays, and advocate for myself. Little by little, I started believing I was capable. Education became important to me because it changed the way I viewed myself and my future. The Bible says, “My people perish from a lack of knowledge.” I believe that deeply because education gave me understanding, confidence, discipline, and hope. It helped me realize that struggling academically does not mean someone lacks intelligence or purpose. Sometimes people simply need support, patience, and different learning methods. Now, as a 36 year old psychology student, substitute teacher, mother, and first-generation college student at East Carolina University, I understand how deeply education can impact generations of people. My daughter has watched me return to school, struggle, persevere, and continue pushing forward despite fear and setbacks. That matters to me because I want her to understand that growth does not stop just because life became difficult or because someone starts later than others. The legacy I hope to leave is one of perseverance, empathy, faith, and breaking generational cycles. I want people, especially women and students from underserved communities, to understand that it is never too late to pursue education, healing, or purpose. I want my daughter and future generations to see that our beginnings do not have to determine our endings. Most importantly, I want to leave behind the example that even people who grew up feeling overlooked, academically behind, or unprepared still have the ability to grow, learn, and build something meaningful with their lives. I know that now because education helped transform mine.

Brittany Raye Bell Harry & Mary Sheaffer Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “You’re not dumb. You just learn differently." Growing up in special education classes, I often felt embarrassed, overlooked, and academically behind other students. I struggled with dyscalculia, attention difficulties, and learning in traditional classroom settings. For years, I internalized the belief that higher education belonged to “other people” who were naturally organized, financially stable, and academically confident. As a first-generation college student growing up around poverty, addiction, emotional instability, and broken family structures, survival often felt more important than long-term educational goals. One of my greatest talents is the ability to deeply understand people who often feel misunderstood by the world. Because of my own experiences with learning differences, grief, trauma, and struggling academically, I naturally notice the people who are usually overlooked. I notice the quiet student who is shutting down emotionally. I notice the child acting out because they need attention and structure. I notice the overwhelmed parent trying to survive another difficult day. I notice the person whose behavior is really a cry for help underneath the surface. As a substitute teacher, psychology student, mother, and first-generation college student at East Carolina University, I have learned that empathy does not mean removing accountability. It means trying to understand the deeper reasons behind people’s behaviors while still encouraging growth, discipline, and responsibility. Many people are carrying invisible struggles connected to trauma, poverty, grief, mental health issues, learning disabilities, or emotional neglect. I especially see this within underserved communities where many children feel unheard and disconnected. Some students have openly told me they go home, sit in their rooms alone, and barely talk to anyone. Others struggle with emotional regulation, short attention spans, or behavioral problems that teachers often become frustrated with. While consequences are important, I also believe many young people desperately need guidance, mentorship, structure, and adults willing to truly listen to them. Education transformed my life because it helped me understand both myself and other people more deeply. Returning to college later in life taught me that struggling academically does not mean someone lacks intelligence or potential. Sometimes people simply need different learning methods, stronger support systems, encouragement, and exposure to opportunity. Through psychology, education, and community advocacy, I hope to help build a more empathetic and understanding world by encouraging people to see the humanity in one another again. I want to advocate for mental health awareness, educational support for neurodivergent students, healthier family structures, and stronger community mentorship programs. I especially want people from underserved communities to understand that they are capable of growth, education, healing, and purpose regardless of where they started in life. I also believe empathy must extend beyond race, class, politics, or background. During one of the hardest moments of my life, sitting in the recovery room after an abortion at nineteen years old, I remember looking around and seeing women of every race and background carrying pain, fear, confusion, and grief. That moment reminded me that human suffering is universal. People everywhere are searching for understanding, compassion, healing, and hope. My faith has also strengthened my belief that every person carries God-given value and purpose. Because of that, I try to approach people with compassion while still encouraging accountability, wisdom, and growth. Most importantly, I want to use my experiences to help people feel understood instead of dismissed. Sometimes one encouraging conversation, one teacher who believes in you, or one person who truly listens can completely change the direction of someone’s life. I know because people like that helped change mine.

Brittany Bell Natalie Joy Poremski Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 I do not know what stayed with me the most afterward. Maybe it was the anesthesia. Maybe it was the sound of the vacuum machine. Maybe it was the woman telling me all I had to pay was forty dollars. Maybe it was waking up confused and throwing up afterward in the recovery room of a Planned Parenthood in Philadelphia at nineteen years old, asking the nurse, “I’m not pregnant anymore?” and hearing her calmly say, “No, you’re not.” Or maybe it was the grief that hit me immediately afterward when I realized I could not put my baby back inside of me. I remember sitting in that basement recovery room surrounded by women of every race imaginable, all carrying different stories but doing the same thing. Some women were silent. Some were crying. Some were there with boyfriends or family members. I remember a minister down there talking about “pro-choice” and saying God gives people choices. He handed me crackers because I was nauseous and showed me kindness while I recovered. Looking back now as a Christian woman, I even see God’s grace in that moment because I believe God knew I would eventually come back to Him fully. At nineteen years old, I truly believed what I had been told: that it was “just a clump of cells,” not really a baby yet. Looking back now, I realize how influenced I was by fear, society, and other people’s opinions. I believed abortion was my choice, but honestly, it did not fully feel like my choice. Fear was making choices for me. The fear of poverty influenced me. The fear of becoming a single mother influenced me. Ironically, many of the fears I had still came true anyway. But one year later, at twenty-one years old, I became pregnant again with my daughter Adriana, and I made a promise to God that if I ever found myself in that situation again, I would choose life. Today my daughter is fifteen years old and thriving in high school. When I look at her laughing in the other room, checking on me when I am tired, or proudly telling me she passed a difficult math exam, I realize something that changed me forever: that “little bean” I once saw on an ultrasound was always her. That realization completely transformed my beliefs about life. My daughter became beauty for ashes and part of my redemption story. Raising her taught me that life truly begins at conception because that tiny life develops into a full human being with thoughts, emotions, personality, and purpose. She also became proof of God’s grace in my life after my mistakes and spiritual wandering. Today my Christian faith shapes every area of my life. Scripture says, “Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee,” and “You knitted me together in my mother’s womb.” I believe that deeply now. At the same time, my experiences taught me compassion for women facing those decisions. Many women are pressured by fear, poverty, unstable relationships, family influence, or society itself. Sometimes it is called “choice,” but fear is standing in the room making the decision with them. My future goals in psychology and health sciences are rooted in both faith and education. I want women to feel supported instead of abandoned, informed instead of manipulated, and loved instead of shamed. Most importantly, I want people to know God’s grace is real and that every life carries value and purpose.

Brittany Bell Dinakara Rao Memorial Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “Nobody’s holding your hand anymore.” That was one of the biggest realizations I had the first time I attempted college as a young adult. After years in special education classes and growing up in instability, I entered college feeling completely unprepared emotionally and academically. I did not understand study skills, organization, or even fully believe I belonged there. Higher education felt like something made for “other people,” not someone like me. I grew up surrounded by poverty, addiction, emotional instability, and broken family structures. My mother struggled with addiction and abusive relationships before eventually fighting to change her life. My biological father battled alcoholism. Because of that environment, education often felt more like survival than opportunity. I did not grow up around people explaining college pathways, networking, internships, or long-term career planning. Most people around me were simply trying to make it through the next day. As a first-generation college student, nobody in my household could teach me how to navigate college life or advocate for myself academically. When I first attended Montgomery County Community College in Pennsylvania years ago, I quickly became overwhelmed. I lacked confidence, structure, study habits, and self-belief. Eventually, I started feeling like maybe college simply was not for me. Looking back now, I realize I was not unintelligent. I was simply unprepared. For much of my childhood, especially in special education classes, I often felt academically behind other students. I struggled with dyscalculia and learning differences that made processing information difficult. Over time, I internalized the belief that higher education belonged to smarter and more financially stable people. Everything changed when I returned to school years later at Wayne Community College in North Carolina. I started slowly by taking developmental math classes and only a couple of courses at a time. For the first time in my life, I realized education was like a muscle I had simply never fully exercised before. I learned how to study, write essays, ask for help, and actually believe I was capable. Now, as a 36 year old psychology student, substitute teacher, mother, and first-generation college student at East Carolina University, I understand how deeply education can change lives. The Bible says, “My people perish from a lack of knowledge.” I believe that deeply because knowledge changes how people see themselves and their possibilities. My motivation for pursuing psychology and community advocacy comes directly from my life experiences. I have personally witnessed how untreated trauma, emotional dysregulation, poverty, addiction, and lack of support impact families and communities. I want to help people feel understood instead of dismissed, especially students and families who silently believe they are incapable simply because they learn differently or come from difficult circumstances. Most importantly, I want my story to encourage other first-generation students who feel behind in life. For years, I believed I had missed my opportunity. But eventually I realized something powerful: the time will pass anyway, God willing. I could either remain trapped in survival mode forever, or I could fight for a better future for myself, my daughter, and my community. I chose to fight.

Brittany Bell Sgt. Albert Dono Ware Memorial Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 You hear screaming through the trailer walls again. Another argument. Another grown man threatening your mother. Another night of chaos while children sit frozen, pretending not to be afraid. You are too young to fully understand addiction, trauma, emotional dysregulation, or generational poverty. You only know survival. You only know that the adults around you are hurting too. That was my beginning. I was born into a world shaped by addiction, instability, father absence, poverty, and emotional pain. My mother struggled with addiction and abusive relationships before eventually fighting to change her life. My biological father battled alcoholism. Many of the adults around me were surviving emotionally wounded while trying to raise children through systems and cycles they themselves had never escaped. As a child, I witnessed violence, emotional instability, financial hardship, and broken relationships long before I had the language to describe what I was seeing. Now, at 36 African American woman, substitute teacher, psychology student, and first-generation college student, I look back and realize how deeply those experiences shaped my understanding of service, sacrifice, and bravery. Sgt. Albert Dono Ware’s legacy reminds me that service and sacrifice are not always dramatic acts performed on a battlefield. Sometimes they happen quietly through perseverance, mentorship, education, faith, and choosing to uplift others while overcoming struggles of your own. One of the biggest challenges I believe the African diaspora in the United States currently faces is the breakdown of healthy structure within families and communities, especially father absence and the lack of positive leadership consistently modeled for children. Young people naturally search for identity, guidance, discipline, and purpose. Too often, gangs, toxic internet culture, violence, and emotionally immature adults become the examples many children follow because they simply do not see enough healthy alternatives around them. As a substitute teacher, I witness the effects of this regularly. Children openly tell me they go home and sit alone in their rooms because nobody has time to talk to them. Many are being raised by exhausted single mothers or grandparents carrying responsibilities that were never meant for one person alone. I see students struggling with emotional regulation, disrespect toward authority, low attention spans, hopelessness, anxiety, and behavioral issues that often reflect much deeper pain underneath the surface. At the same time, I do not believe our communities are hopeless. I believe many people are overwhelmed, unsupported, traumatized, and disconnected from healthy examples of leadership and stability. I also believe education, mentorship, discipline, mental health support, faith, and community involvement can help rebuild what has been broken. Education completely changed the direction of my own life. Growing up in special education classes, I often believed I simply was not smart enough for higher education. I struggled with dyscalculia and learning differences that were not fully understood until later in life. I watched other students seem naturally organized and academically confident while I struggled with memory retention, numbers, and processing information quickly. Eventually, I internalized the idea that college simply was not for me. What changed my perspective was knowledge. The Bible says, “My people perish from a lack of knowledge.” I believe that deeply. Returning to college as an adult taught me that learning differently does not mean being incapable. I realized many students who fall behind academically are not unintelligent at all. Some are traumatized. Some simply were never properly supported. That realization made me more compassionate toward African American youth growing up in circumstances similar to my own. Many children are carrying adult-sized emotional burdens before they even reach high school. If they struggle academically, especially with ADHD, dyslexia, or learning disabilities, they are often at greater risk for poverty, hopelessness, low-paying jobs, and eventually criminal behavior because they begin believing they are failures before adulthood even starts. That is why I believe meaningful reform must involve more than politics alone. We need stronger father involvement programs, increased mental health access, more Black educators, mentorship opportunities, after-school programs, educational support for neurodivergent students, trade education opportunities, and community spaces where children can experience something greater than what they currently see every day. I would especially love to see programs that expose children to colleges, trade schools, entrepreneurship, financial literacy, emotional intelligence, and practical life skills. I recently watched a mentorship program where young men were learning everything from etiquette and conflict resolution to changing tires and respecting people with disabilities. I realized many children are not lacking potential. They are lacking guidance, exposure, structure, and consistent examples. Real change will require collaboration between parents, educators, churches, mental health professionals, nonprofit organizations, mentors, trade programs, community leaders, and local governments that are genuinely invested in rebuilding the next generation instead of simply reacting to crises after they happen. Service and sacrifice have shaped my personal journey as well. Returning to school full-time in my thirties while raising my daughter, grieving loved ones, and balancing financial struggles while continuing forward has required sacrifice every single day. As a Christian, I also believe purpose often requires denying comfort in order to become who God created you to be. Losing parents, grandparents, nephews, and other loved ones taught me something that permanently changed my perspective: life is short. We all have an expiration date. I do not want to leave this earth without becoming all I can be. This education is helping me build the knowledge and opportunities necessary to uplift others while breaking cycles within my own family and community. Most importantly, I want people to understand that I was not handed a silver spoon. My life began in instability, addiction, poverty, and brokenness. For years, I believed it was too late for me to pursue higher education or change my circumstances. But eventually I realized something powerful: the time will pass anyway, God willing. I could either remain trapped in survival mode forever, or I could fight to become more than my environment expected me to be. I chose to fight.

Brittany Bell Maxwell Tuan Nguyen Memorial Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “Ma’am, how much longer is it going to be?” I can still hear the frustration, fear, and exhaustion in patients’ voices from my years working in pharmacy. By the time many people reached the pharmacy counter, they were completely drained. They had already dealt with doctor appointments, insurance problems, pain, long waits, bad news, financial stress, and fear about their health. Sometimes people who had been polite and composed with doctors and nurses would suddenly become angry or emotional at the pharmacy. At first, I thought people were simply being rude. Later, I realized something much deeper: many of them were hurting and desperately looking for relief. Working as a pharmacy technician taught me that healthcare is not just about medicine. It is about people searching for healing, understanding, dignity, and hope during some of the hardest moments of their lives. I worked in both retail and hospital pharmacy settings, and those environments shaped me differently. Retail pharmacy often felt emotionally intense and chaotic because patients were overwhelmed physically, mentally, and financially. Many people did not just need prescriptions. They needed explanations, patience, compassion, and reassurance that someone actually cared about what they were experiencing. Later, when I transitioned into hospital pharmacy and helped prepare chemotherapy medications, my perspective deepened even more. Standing in that environment changed me. I realized this work was truly meaningful because people battling cancer and severe illnesses were trusting healthcare workers with their lives. They were hoping for healing. At the same time, healthcare became deeply personal within my own family. My father battled colon cancer, and watching the disease slowly consume his body was heartbreaking. He went from being a strong, healthy-looking man to someone visibly weakened by illness. Watching him suffer helped me understand that sickness affects much more than the body. It impacts mental health, emotional stability, finances, family relationships, and a person’s entire outlook on life. Mental health also became personal to me through experiences with trauma, grief, neurodivergence, addiction within family systems, and growing up in special education classes myself. Returning to college and studying psychology helped me finally connect many of the things I witnessed growing up. I began understanding how deeply physical and mental health overlap, especially within underserved communities where trauma, poverty, chronic stress, and untreated mental health struggles are often normalized. Those experiences inspired me to pursue a path where I can help bridge mental and physical healthcare together. Too often, people are treated as diagnoses, prescription numbers, or symptoms instead of whole human beings. I want people to feel understood rather than dismissed. I especially hope to support underserved communities where many people silently struggle without proper access to healthcare education, emotional support, or mental health resources. Through my future career, I hope to educate, advocate, and encourage people while helping them feel seen and respected. I want my presence to leave people calmer, more informed, and more hopeful than they were before interacting with me. Most importantly, I want people to understand that healing is not only physical. Healing also involves compassion, dignity, emotional support, and reminding people that their lives still matter even in difficult seasons.

Brittany Bell Special Needs Advocacy Inc. Kathleen Lehman Memorial Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “I thought you would be dumb because you’re in special education.” I still remember a boy saying that to me when I was younger after I had just finished teaching him cheat codes and advanced tricks on a video game. I remember looking at him confused because, in my mind, I had clearly just demonstrated intelligence in front of him. That moment stuck with me for years because it perfectly captured how society often views students with disabilities or learning differences: less capable, less intelligent, or somehow “behind” everyone else. I know that feeling personally because I grew up in special education classes from elementary school through high school. As a child, I experienced the embarrassment that can come with being pulled out of classrooms, separated from peers, or feeling like people were quietly labeling you without fully understanding you. Now, as an adult substitute teacher working in special education classrooms myself, it feels surreal sometimes because I see both sides of the experience. I walk into classrooms filled with students who all have completely different abilities and challenges. Some students are severely autistic, some have ADHD, some have dyslexia, some are developmentally delayed, and some have invisible disabilities where people may not even understand why they are receiving accommodations at all. Some students become overstimulated by noise. Others verbally shout things out constantly. Some students quietly shut down and stop participating altogether. It taught me that special education is far more complex than many people realize. Trying to meet the needs of multiple learners with completely different struggles in the same room can be incredibly difficult. Growing up, I personally struggled with dyscalculia, which I was not diagnosed with until twelfth grade. For years, I felt frustrated trying to understand why numbers would disappear from my mind almost as quickly as I processed them. I struggled holding information in my short-term memory long enough to move it properly into long-term memory. Sometimes information felt like it disappeared “into the abyss.” Learning about dyscalculia changed my perspective because I realized something important: I was not dumb. I simply learned differently and needed repetition, structure, and support. One of the most meaningful moments of my educational journey happened in seventh-grade math class. We had a teacher who, for the first time, expected us to learn from the same textbook as the regular education students. We may not have been on the exact same chapter pace, but carrying that same math book made us feel proud. I still remember me and my friend Shara carrying those books proudly because, for once, we did not feel completely separated or inferior. At thirty-six years old, I still remember that feeling because representation, expectations, and dignity matter that much to children. Through my future career in psychology and advocacy work, I want students with special needs to feel understood, respected, and capable instead of ashamed or hidden away. I especially want students with invisible disabilities to know they are not “less than” because their brains function differently. I want them to stop feeling embarrassed by accommodations or support services. Most importantly, I want to help create learning environments that combine compassion with meaningful expectations. Students with special needs deserve accommodations and patience, but they also deserve opportunities to grow, succeed, and believe in themselves. I want young people to understand that the abilities God gave them still have purpose and value, even if they do not learn the exact same way as everyone else.

Brittany Bell First Generation Scholarship for Underprivileged Students Essay 19 May 2026 The first time I went to college, I honestly thought maybe higher education just was not meant for me. After years in special education classes, I entered Montgomery County Community College in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania during the 2007–2008 school year and quickly became overwhelmed. Nobody was holding my hand anymore. Nobody was making sure I stayed on track. I did not have strong study skills, confidence, organization skills, or belief in my own academic ability. I got distracted easily and started feeling like everybody else understood college except me. Looking back now, I realize I was not unintelligent. I was simply unprepared. For most of my childhood, school was about just getting by and being passed along to the next grade. I watched other students create projects, organize presentations, and build strong academic habits while many of us in special education were not truly being challenged in the same ways. When I became an adult, I realized I had never fully exercised that “academic muscle” before. I had to learn how to study, organize my thoughts, write essays, build outlines, manage time, and advocate for myself academically. Everything changed when I returned to school years later at Wayne Community College in North Carolina. I started slowly in 2015 by taking developmental math classes and only two classes at a time. For the first time, I realized that if I truly applied myself, I actually could succeed. I began building confidence little by little. Writing centers, tutoring, online resources, YouTube videos, instructors, and repetition all became tools that helped me grow stronger academically. Instead of feeling ashamed for needing help, I learned how to use every resource available to me. That journey eventually led me to earning my Associate in Arts degree and continuing my education at East Carolina University. As a first-generation college student, single mother, and African American woman, my educational journey has not been easy, but it has transformed the way I see myself and what is possible for my future. I want other first-generation students, especially students who feel behind, overwhelmed, neurodivergent, or “not smart enough,” to understand that there is no shame in starting slow. Standing still guarantees nothing, but even slow progress eventually moves you toward your destination. College is not one-size-fits-all. Some people learn differently, need more time, or require different tools to succeed, and that is okay. We are living in one of the best educational eras possible because information is everywhere. There are tutoring centers, online videos, digital textbooks, AI tools, study groups, writing labs, and professors willing to help if students ask early enough. My biggest advice is to learn the way your brain learns best and do not quit simply because something feels difficult at first. More than anything, I hope my story inspires other first-generation students to keep going. You are not too old. You are not too far behind. And you are more capable than you think.

“Miss Bell, what are we supposed to be doing!?” As a substitute teacher, I hear that question constantly. Sometimes students ask because they were not listening, but many times it is because there are no clear instructions, no visual supports, no organized lesson flow, and no structure students can independently follow. I have walked into classrooms where students were confused, overstimulated, arguing, wandering around, or completely checked out because the classroom environment itself was not reaching them. In today’s world of short attention spans, emotional stress, technology overload, and different learning styles, visual learning tools are not optional anymore. They are necessary. For this project, I would create a Canva presentation and classroom poster series focused on emotional regulation, growth mindset, classroom expectations, brain function, and reading strategies. I chose these concepts because students cannot learn effectively when they feel emotionally overwhelmed, confused, disorganized, or disconnected from the material. My design would align with social-emotional learning standards and classroom behavior expectations commonly used in K-12 education. These concepts ensure students aren’t too overwhelmed or disconnected to learn effectively. My project aligns with K-12 Social Emotional Learning (SEL) competencies, such as self-regulation and growth mindset and behavioral standards, creating an emotionally safe, organized, and supportive environment where students can thrive. The visual design would use calming but engaging colors, clear typography, icons, graphics, and organized layouts that students could quickly understand without feeling overwhelmed. I would also make sure materials could be accessed digitally through Google Classroom or Canva so students and parents could revisit lessons from home. One issue I see in education today is that many families no longer have physical textbooks, so parents often feel disconnected from what their children are learning. Having organized visuals and digital access allows students to review concepts repeatedly instead of learning information only long enough to pass a test and forget it later. As someone interested in psychology and different learning styles, I understand that we are not all one melting pot. Some students are visual learners, some are auditory learners, and some need repetition or hands-on learning to fully understand concepts. Visual learning is critical because it helps students organize information mentally, retain concepts longer, and feel more confident participating in class. It also helps neurodivergent students, students with executive functioning difficulties, and students who may struggle processing verbal-only instruction. My own college experience taught me how important organized visual learning can be. In Anatomy and Physiology, my professor had every resource organized online through Moodle. He recorded lectures, uploaded materials clearly, and made it easy to review lessons if I missed class. That structure helped me succeed. In contrast, I struggled in chemistry because the class lacked organization and did not match my learning style. I even recorded lectures for myself because if I focused too hard on writing notes, I stopped fully listening and processing the lesson. That experience showed me how powerful teaching structure and accessibility truly are. Ultimately, I want students to walk into classrooms feeling organized, capable, engaged, and supported. I want learning to feel interactive and memorable instead of stressful or disconnected. Visual learning tools do not just make classrooms look better. They help students build confidence, retain knowledge, and feel included in the learning process.

Brittany Bell Fuerza de V.N.C.E. Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “Girl… everybody in this family got something wrong with them.” That is honestly what I started thinking after returning to college and taking psychology courses. Every family reunion suddenly became more colorful. The more I learned about psychology, trauma, emotional regulation, ADHD, PTSD, addiction, executive dysfunction, and mood disorders, the more I started understanding people differently. Behaviors that once looked like people simply being “crazy,” lazy, mean, inconsistent, or difficult started making deeper sense to me. That realization is a large reason why I feel drawn toward social work and mental health advocacy. Growing up as a first-generation college student from an African American family, I witnessed domestic violence, addiction, grief, poverty, emotional instability, and generational trauma up close. In many marginalized communities, survival comes first, so emotional healing often gets pushed to the side. People continue functioning while silently carrying pain they were never taught how to process. At first, I mainly wanted to study psychology because I wanted to understand myself and the people around me better. I wanted answers for why certain people struggled emotionally, why some children acted out in school, why addiction and trauma seemed so common, and why some people could not function the same way others could. Once I entered college, my perspective shifted even deeper. I realized mental health is not just about labels or diagnoses. It is about helping people feel understood while also helping them recognize they are still capable. One moment that changed my perspective was encouraging my mother to seek therapy after noticing she matched many of the concepts I was learning about in class. She became defensive and asked, “So you’re trying to say I’m crazy?” Later, she was diagnosed with PTSD along with other conditions. That moment showed me how stigmatized mental health still is in Black communities. Many people are suffering silently because they do not want another label added onto lives that are already difficult. Studying psychology also changed how I see people in educational settings. While substitute teaching, especially in special education classrooms, I started recognizing that we are not all one melting pot. Different people have different abilities, traumas, strengths, learning styles, and emotional needs. Some students struggle sitting still in classrooms but thrive in sports, business, creativity, or hands-on learning. Some students simply need structure, support, accountability, and adults willing to see beyond the behavior itself. My goal through social work and mental health advocacy is to help underserved communities, especially African American communities where emotional struggles are often minimized or misunderstood. I want people to feel heard instead of judged. I want them to understand that having executive dysfunction, trauma, anxiety, PTSD, or emotional dysregulation does not mean they are incapable of learning, growing, or succeeding. It may simply mean they need different tools and support systems. More than anything, I hope people say that I did exactly what God intended for me to do and that I was needed in this space. I want my future work to leave people feeling understood, capable, encouraged, and hopeful. Encouragement truly goes a long way, especially for people who have spent most of their lives feeling overlooked or misunderstood.

Brittany Bell Arnetha V. Bishop Memorial Scholarship Essay 19 May 2026 “Girl… everybody in this family got something wrong with them.” That is what I jokingly started thinking after returning to college and taking psychology courses. Every family reunion suddenly became more colorful. The more I learned about psychology, trauma, emotional regulation, executive dysfunction, ADHD, PTSD, addiction, and mood disorders, the more I started understanding the people around me instead of simply judging them. Behaviors that once looked like people “acting crazy,” being lazy, mean, inconsistent, or difficult suddenly started making deeper sense to me. Mental health became personal long before I ever officially studied it in school. I grew up around domestic violence, addiction, grief, emotional instability, poverty, and generational trauma. My mother survived abusive relationships and addiction while trying to raise children and build a better life for us. In African American communities, many people are silently suffering while still expected to stay strong, survive, go to work, raise children, and keep moving like nothing is wrong. A lot of emotional pain gets normalized because survival comes first. One moment that deeply impacted me was encouraging my mother to seek therapy after I noticed she matched many of the psychological concepts I was learning about in class. At first, she became offended and defensive. She said, “So you’re trying to say I’m crazy?” That moment showed me how much stigma still exists surrounding mental health in the Black community. Later, she was officially diagnosed with PTSD along with other conditions. That changed my perspective completely. I realized many people are not “crazy.” Many people are simply wounded, traumatized, emotionally dysregulated, unsupported, or surviving things they never properly healed from. Studying psychology has made me much more compassionate toward people while still believing in accountability and growth. We are not all one melting pot. Different people have different brains, abilities, traumas, strengths, and ways of learning. Some people may struggle sitting still in a classroom but thrive in sports, business, music, or hands-on environments. Some children are carrying emotional burdens adults cannot even see yet. I saw this firsthand while substitute teaching in special education classrooms. Some students were clearly on the autism spectrum, some struggled behaviorally, and some simply learned differently. Yet many of them still completed assignments, read well, and succeeded when proper expectations and support were given to them. Psychology helped me stop seeing people only through behavior and start looking deeper at what may be happening underneath the surface. I also understand personally what it feels like to struggle with executive dysfunction. When I learned about it around age seventeen, it honestly changed my life because I finally understood why certain things were harder for me. At the same time, I learned that a diagnosis should explain challenges, not become an excuse to stop growing. Returning to college taught me that I am fully capable of succeeding; I simply needed different tools, structure, and strategies. Through my future mental health career, I want people, especially within marginalized communities, to feel understood and capable. I want people to leave conversations with me feeling heard instead of judged. I want them to know they still have purpose, value, and hope. Most importantly, I hope people can say that I did exactly what God intended for me to do, that I was needed in this space, and that I helped change lives for the better. Glory be to God.

“Help! He’s trying to kill me!” My mother was running down a dark road while her boyfriend chased her with a truck, swerving toward her body as she dodged trash cans trying to stay alive. My older siblings watched in terror from the back of the truck while my mother screamed for help into the night. I was too young to remember that moment myself, but the story lived inside our family because the trauma never really left any of them. My mother, Betty Bell, survived domestic violence, addiction, poverty, and emotional pain while raising children and trying to keep our family together. One abusive relationship led her into crack addiction temporarily, but eventually she became tired of the chaos, fighting, and instability surrounding our lives. While pregnant with me, she actually begged a judge to send her to prison on a welfare fraud charge because she wanted help getting clean and escaping that lifestyle. That decision changed the trajectory of our family forever. Violence continued to impact my childhood in other ways. One of my last memories of my biological father as a young child was watching him hit my mother so hard she began bleeding from her face. I remember jumping on his back and biting him to get him off her. As a girl, those men were heroes in my eyes until I witnessed the weakness it took to hurt the woman I loved most. Those experiences shaped my passion for psychology and helping African American women impacted by trauma, abuse, addiction, and mental health struggles. Too many women suffer silently while carrying generations of pain without proper resources. I want to use my education and life experiences to help people feel heard, safe, understood, and encouraged while helping break cycles of trauma within families and communities.

The older I get, the more I realize that many people are silently carrying emotional pain while trying to function normally every day. Some people are grieving, emotionally dysregulated, anxious, traumatized, misunderstood, or simply exhausted from surviving life. Growing up, I often noticed these struggles in other people because I recognized many of those feelings in myself. That awareness is what led me toward psychology, trauma-informed care, and work centered around emotional healing and advocacy. As an African American woman and first-generation college student, pursuing higher education has not been an easy journey for me. I returned to school while balancing motherhood, financial hardship, grief, work responsibilities, and self-doubt. For many years, survival came before purpose. However, through my educational journey, I began realizing that my life experiences gave me something valuable: the ability to deeply empathize with people who feel unseen, misunderstood, or emotionally overwhelmed. One of the reasons I feel drawn toward social work and mental health advocacy is because encouragement can truly change someone’s life. I know personally what it feels like to struggle emotionally while still trying to hold everything together. I also know how powerful it can be when someone listens without judgment and makes you feel heard instead of dismissed. Many people, especially within underserved communities, are suffering silently without proper emotional support, resources, or understanding. Working as a substitute teacher strengthened this passion even more. In classrooms, I often notice the children others overlook: the child acting out because they are hurting emotionally, the student struggling with emotional regulation or focus, or the teenager masking insecurity through anger or humor. Instead of immediately labeling people as “bad” or “difficult,” I naturally try to understand what may be happening underneath the surface. Psychology and trauma-informed education helped me put language to things I observed long before returning to college. I especially feel burdened for African American communities where emotional pain, trauma, grief, and mental health struggles are often minimized or misunderstood. I have seen how unresolved trauma and emotional dysregulation can affect entire families and generations. I want people to know that emotional healing matters and that seeking help should not carry shame. Carmen Jimenez-Pride’s commitment to culturally responsive care and emotional healing deeply resonates with me because I also believe healing must happen with compassion, cultural understanding, and humility. My long-term goal is to use my psychology degree to support individuals and families emotionally while also advocating for healthier conversations around mental health in underserved communities. I hope to combine education, compassion, faith-based encouragement, and trauma-informed care to help people feel less alone. I want individuals to leave interactions with me feeling understood, valued, and hopeful instead of judged. I also want my daughter and other young Black girls to see that emotional and mental health are just as important as physical health. Psychology is not a “fancy sounding degree” for invisible problems. The mind affects every part of a person’s life, including relationships, parenting, physical health, self-worth, and future decisions. Science continues proving how deeply emotional wellness impacts the entire body and quality of life. Carmen Jimenez-Pride’s legacy reminds me that healing work is not just about treatment. It is about service, advocacy, emotional safety, and helping people reclaim hope. Through my education and future career, I hope to continue that mission by helping people feel seen, heard, encouraged, and supported during some of the hardest moments of their lives.

Some of the deepest pain people carry cannot be seen physically. A person can look completely fine on the outside while internally feeling hopeless, emotionally overwhelmed, misunderstood, anxious, traumatized, or ready to give up on life entirely. That realization is a large part of why I chose to pursue psychology and mental healthcare. I want people to know they need to be here, that their life matters, and that they are not alone in what they are facing. As a first-generation college student from a lower socioeconomic background, my journey toward higher education has not been easy. I balanced motherhood, grief, financial hardship, low-paying jobs, and self-doubt while trying to continue school. There were many moments where I felt misunderstood myself or struggled to communicate in ways other people understood. Over time, I began realizing how many people silently carry emotional pain while pretending they are okay. One thing that draws me so deeply toward psychology is my desire to help people feel understood. Encouragement can truly change someone’s life. I know personally what it feels like to go through pain, misunderstanding, emotional overwhelm, and periods where you question your value or purpose. Because of those experiences, I naturally connect with people who are emotionally struggling, overlooked, or hurting silently. Working as a substitute teacher strengthened this passion even more. I often notice the students others may dismiss too quickly: the child acting out because they are hurting emotionally, the student struggling with focus or emotional regulation, or the teenager masking insecurity behind anger or humor. I especially feel burdened for my own community because I see how many people struggle with unaddressed mental health issues, trauma, emotional dysregulation, anxiety, mood disorders, and unresolved pain without proper support or understanding. I want people to feel heard, seen, and loved by God. I believe mental healthcare and emotional healing are deeply important because the mind affects every area of life. It affects relationships, physical health, decision-making, parenting, self-worth, and even whether someone believes their future can improve. Sometimes people treat psychology as if it is just a “fancy sounding degree” for invisible problems, but science continues proving how powerfully the mind shapes a person’s entire way of living. My goal is to use my degree to encourage, support, and advocate for people emotionally and mentally, especially within underserved communities. I hope to combine compassion, education, psychology, and faith-based encouragement to help people feel less alone and more empowered to heal. Whether I am helping students, families, individuals struggling emotionally, or members of my community, I want people to walk away from interactions with me feeling valued instead of judged. Most importantly, I want my daughter and other young Black girls to see that emotional health matters and that pursuing education can create real change. I want them to understand that helping people mentally and emotionally is just as important as helping them physically. My journey through psychology is not only about building a better future financially for my family. It is about becoming the kind of person who helps others realize they still have purpose, value, and hope.

The older I get, the more I realize healthcare is not only about treating the body. Many people are physically alive but mentally exhausted, emotionally wounded, traumatized, anxious, grieving, or simply trying to survive life without support. That realization is a big part of why I chose psychology and why I plan to continue working in the healthcare field through mental and behavioral health. Before returning to college, I earned my pharmacy technology diploma in 2017 and worked in healthcare settings where I saw firsthand how people’s physical and emotional health are deeply connected. I saw patients struggling not only with medical problems, but also depression, stress, poverty, loneliness, addiction, and burnout. Many people simply wanted someone to listen to them compassionately instead of treating them like another number in a system. Even then, I realized I naturally gravitated toward understanding people emotionally and psychologically. As a first-generation college student from a lower socioeconomic background, pursuing higher education has not been an easy journey for me. For many years, survival came before dreams. I balanced motherhood, low-paying jobs, financial stress, grief, and self-doubt while trying to continue school. There were many moments where I questioned whether I was too far behind in life to succeed academically. However, continuing my education helped me discover strengths in myself I did not realize I had. One of the biggest reasons I chose psychology is because I genuinely want to understand why people think, feel, and behave the way they do. My own life experiences made me deeply curious about trauma, grief, family dynamics, addiction, neurodiversity, emotional healing, and generational cycles. Growing up, I often felt misunderstood myself, and over time I noticed how many other people silently carry emotional pain while pretending they are fine. Working as a substitute teacher has strengthened this passion even more. In classrooms, I often notice the children others overlook: the child acting out because they are hurting emotionally, the student struggling with focus and self-esteem, or the teenager masking insecurity behind anger or humor. Psychology gives me language and understanding for things I observed long before I entered college. It helps me approach people with more compassion instead of quick judgment. I especially hope to use my degree to help individuals and families within underserved communities, particularly African American communities where mental health struggles are often ignored, misunderstood, or stigmatized. I want people to know seeking therapy, emotional healing, or support does not make them weak. I believe many people are suffering silently from grief, trauma, abandonment, anxiety, and identity struggles without having safe places to process those emotions. My experiences with grief also strengthened my desire to work in healthcare. Losing both of my parents changed me deeply and helped me understand how emotional pain can affect every area of a person’s life, including physical health, finances, relationships, and self-worth. Those experiences made me more compassionate toward others who are struggling, even when their pain is not visible on the surface. More than anything, I want my degree to create stability and opportunity for both myself and my daughter while also allowing me to positively impact other people’s lives. As someone who came from financial struggle and is still building a better future one step at a time, I understand how important encouragement, mentorship, and compassion can be. I hope my future career allows me not only to help people heal emotionally, but also to remind them they are not alone in what they are facing.

When my father was diagnosed with colon cancer, I remember feeling confused and afraid, but deep down I still believed he would survive. Cancer was something our family had seen before. His father had cancer before him, and his brother had also passed away from cancer. Even with that history, I still held onto hope because it is difficult to imagine a parent no longer being here. You always think there will be more time. One of the hardest parts was watching cancer completely change him physically. My father had always been a strong, healthy-looking man. He was never overweight, but cancer slowly ate away at his body until you could see every bone in him. Watching someone who once looked strong become physically fragile is something that stays with you forever. He often said he felt like he was dying, and I remember trying to encourage him not to speak those words over himself because I wanted so badly for him to keep fighting. Cancer also revealed many painful truths within our family. During his illness, my sisters and I tried to be there for him by visiting the hospital, staying overnight, and helping however we could. At the same time, there were family tensions and disappointments that became impossible to ignore. Watching someone suffer while also seeing conflict, stress, and hurt surrounding them added another layer of heartbreak to an already painful situation. Losing my father changed me in ways I still struggle to fully explain. There is something deeply unsettling about realizing your parent is no longer walking this earth with you. Seeing his name on a headstone made the loss feel painfully permanent. It also forced me to accept that whatever relationship we had, whether strained or close at times, was all we would ever have on this side of life. That realization broke my heart because there were still things left unsaid, future memories that would never happen, and milestones he would never witness. One of the things that hurts most is knowing he never got to see Adriana fully grow up or meet future grandchildren. Losing him also affected me financially and emotionally in ways people do not always discuss openly. Even as adults, parents can still provide a sense of covering, security, and support. After he passed, I realized there was no longer a father I could call during difficult times for guidance, reassurance, or even temporary financial help if life became overwhelming. At the same time, losing my father taught me how fragile life truly is. It made me value time differently and pushed me to continue pursuing a better future despite grief and hardship. His death reminded me that life is not guaranteed and that generational patterns, whether health-related or emotional, should not be ignored. Although cancer took my father’s life, his passing strengthened my determination to continue building a better future for myself and my daughter while appreciating the time we have with the people we love.

The older I get, the more I realize my difference is not something I need to hide. For a long time, I felt like the odd one out almost everywhere I went. I was the emotional girl, the deep thinker, the one who asked too many questions, the one who noticed everything, and the one people often misunderstood. Growing up as a Black girl, I also knew what it felt like to be overlooked, judged too quickly, or treated like my voice did not matter. For years, I thought being different was a weakness. Now I realize it is the very thing God uses to help me connect with people others may ignore. One thing that makes me different is my ability to truly see people. Sometimes complete strangers will open up to me in the grocery store, in a school hallway, or while I am working. I can simply say hello or ask how someone is doing, and suddenly they are telling me about their struggles, grief, children, relationships, or fears. It happens so often that it almost feels normal to me now. I believe people can sense when someone is genuine and willing to listen without judging them. Because I know what it feels like to be the underdog, I naturally pay attention to people who seem isolated, overlooked, or emotionally discouraged. Those people are “my people” because I understand that feeling personally. As a substitute teacher, I often notice the students others may miss: the child acting out because they are hurting, the quiet student struggling with confidence, or the teenager trying to hide insecurity behind jokes or anger. Sometimes all people need is someone willing to see them with compassion instead of immediately labeling them. I also use my transparency to help others. I openly share parts of my journey, including financial struggle, grief, single motherhood, self-doubt, and returning to college later in life. As a first-generation college student, pursuing higher education has not been easy for me. There were many moments where I questioned whether I was capable enough, smart enough, or too far behind in life to continue. However, I kept going anyway. Now I realize my perseverance quietly encourages people who may be watching me and thinking about giving up on themselves. One of the biggest ways I make a difference is simply by being honest. Social media often pressures people to appear perfect, successful, or emotionally unaffected, but I try to show people that growth is messy sometimes. Healing takes time. Starting over takes courage. Continuing after grief takes strength. I want people, especially African American women and young girls, to understand they are not disqualified because of hardship, mistakes, trauma, or where they started in life. My daughter motivates me to continue growing. She has watched me work low-paying jobs, return to school, earn degrees, and keep moving forward despite setbacks. I am proud that she gets to witness this all happening in real time instead of only hearing about it later. I hope she learns that being different is not something to apologize for and that kindness still matters. The truth is, I am still growing and learning myself. I do not have everything figured out. But I believe one of the greatest acts of service we can give others is allowing them to feel seen, heard, and less alone. My uniqueness is not that I am perfect or extraordinary. It is that I am willing to be real in a world that often rewards pretending. Sometimes that honesty becomes the very thing that quietly gives someone else hope.

Brittany Bell Vickie Drum Memorial Scholarship Essay 18 May 2026 The day after my mother died in 2021, my daughter Adriana looked at me and said, “We have to take care of each other now, so I’m going to take care of you, Mommy.” She was only ten years old, but in that moment I realized how much she had already witnessed throughout my journey: financial struggle, grief, exhaustion, low-paying jobs, and my determination to continue pursuing higher education anyway. Becoming a mother made college harder in many ways, but it also became the reason I refused to give up. What started as a personal goal eventually became a mission to create a different future for both of us. I first returned to college around 2015 while raising Adriana. I was balancing work, parenting, and physical classes in person while trying to survive financially. One of the hardest parts emotionally was the guilt I carried. I often wished I had completed college before becoming a mother so life could have been more stable for us financially. For most of my adult life, me and my daughter have only known struggle and low-paying jobs. I constantly felt behind in life while also trying to remain emotionally present for Adriana. Everything changed slowly as I began succeeding one class at a time. Passing courses, improving my writing, and continuing despite difficult seasons built confidence in me that I never had before. Prayer and faith also helped carry me through many moments where I felt emotionally burned out. Education changed the atmosphere in our household. Essays and academics once felt intimidating to both of us, but now writing has become second nature to me while pursuing my bachelor’s degree at East Carolina University. Courses like psychology and critical thinking helped me communicate better and understand people and myself more deeply. Now I can help Adriana with homework and encourage her academically in ways I could not before. Most importantly, Adriana gets to witness perseverance in real time. She saw me earn my pharmacy technology diploma in 2017. She saw me continue through grief, financial hardship, and family loss before earning my associate’s degree in 2025. Now she sees me continuing my education at ECU as the first graduate in my family. When I graduate, I believe it will represent more than receiving a degree. It will represent changing the trajectory of our lives. For many people, a stable income may not seem life-changing, but for us it truly would be. Simply moving from surviving on low-paying jobs to having a stable career earning over $45,000 a year would completely change our future. It would give us breathing room, stability, and the ability to prepare for Adriana’s own college journey in a healthier way. I want Adriana to understand that even if life does not happen perfectly or on schedule, it is never too late to keep going. This journey taught me that perseverance is not about perfection. Sometimes it simply means continuing one day at a time until your life slowly begins to change.

My name is Brittany Raye Bell, and I’m a proud mom, full-time student, and woman of faith doing her best to rewrite the story I was born into. I became a mom at 21 years old to my daughter Adriana. She changed everything for me. The way I look at life, the choices I make, even the way I fight to keep going when everything feels like it’s falling apart, it all comes back to her. She’s my “why.” Being a mother while going to college isn’t easy. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. There have been times I’ve had to choose between gas and groceries. Times I was up at 3 a.m. writing papers after tucking her into bed. Times I cried in the car after class because the weight of it all felt too heavy. But through it all, God kept reminding me: this isn’t just for me. This degree, this dream, this journey, it’s for Adriana, too. I recently graduated from Wayne Community College with my Associate in Arts degree, and I’m now headed to East Carolina University to earn my Bachelor’s in Psychology. I’ll also be minoring in Human Development and Family Science. My goal is to become a licensed counselor who works with families and children who have been through trauma. I’ve lived through pain. I know what it’s like to grow up without stability, to lose parents, to question your worth. But I also know what healing looks like. I know what grace feels like. And I want to help others find that, too. Right now, I working on certification to become a substitute teacher and run a small Christian Etsy shop. I make it work. I don’t always know how, but God always provides. And while money is tight, my heart is full. Adriana sees me pushing through. She sees me making things happen, even when it’s hard. And that, to me, is what being a role model looks like. If I’m blessed to receive the Vickie Drum Memorial Scholarship, it would lift a huge weight off my shoulders. It would allow me to put more focus into my studies and less stress into how we’ll afford next semester. But more than that, it would be a reminder that my story matters. That single mothers like me, doing the work day by day, are seen and supported. Thank you for considering my application. Thank you for believing in women like me. I promise, this investment won’t go to waste.

It’s one thing to be a student. It’s another thing to be a single mom, a full-time student, a working woman, and a vessel for God’s healing, all at the same time. That’s my life, and by the grace of God, I wouldn’t trade it. My name is Brittany Bell. I am a 35-year-old single mother raising a strong and creative daughter named Adriana. I am currently finishing my Associate of Arts degree and preparing to transfer into the Psychology program at East Carolina University. My calling is to become a licensed counselor, not just as a career, but as a ministry. I believe God is using my life and experiences to bring healing to those who are hurting, overlooked, or stuck in cycles they do not understand. Being a single parent has deeply impacted my journey through higher education. It has required sacrifice, patience, and perseverance. I lost my mother in 2021, my biological father in 2017, and the stepfather who helped raise me in 2023. On top of that, I work as an independent contractor, delivering food and running a small online business. I manage my household, help my daughter with school when needed, and attend college classes, all while navigating neurodivergence, including ADHD, executive dysfunction, and anxiety. Life has not been easy, but I know the Lord has not brought me this far just to leave me here. Through every hardship, God has been faithful. I was recently honored with the Dallas Herring Achievement Award, which reminded me that my efforts are not going unnoticed. I have come to understand that education for me is not just about earning a degree. It is about preparation for purpose. It is about gaining the tools to counsel with compassion, speak truth in love, and help others process trauma and find hope again. As a single mother, I have learned how to survive, but more importantly, I’ve learned how to thrive. I speak life into my daughter every day. I send her devotionals, teach her how to talk to God, and show her that our story matters. I want her to grow up knowing that she was raised by a woman who refused to let pain have the final say. And I want other women, especially single mothers, trauma survivors, and young adults, to see what is possible when faith meets discipline. My goal is to open a faith-based, trauma-informed counseling center that serves women and teens in underserved communities. I want to create a space where therapy and spiritual growth walk hand in hand. I want to provide resources for those who cannot afford traditional counseling, and I want to use social media to reach people who may never walk into a clinic but will watch a video or read a post that speaks to their soul. This scholarship would help ease the financial pressure so I can focus more on my studies and my daughter. It would give me the time and space to finish strong and move boldly into the next season God has for me. I am not just earning a degree. I am building a life of impact, a legacy of healing, and a ministry of restoration. I believe God is raising up counselors who are not afraid to deal with the hard things, who will pray and study, who will weep with those who weep and speak truth with wisdom. That is who I am becoming. Thank you for considering me. I am honored to walk this path and excited for what God will do through my obedience.