I never set out to be a doctor. I set out to understand why I felt so broken—and in that search, I found my purpose. Each stage of my life became an escape from something that hurt. In childhood, I was escaping the feeling of being the Black sheep, always fighting for attention. In my preteen years, I was escaping harsh words about my appearance, trying to find beauty and self-worth. In my teenage years, I was escaping the grip of depression and anxiety, constantly feeling trapped in my mind. Now, in young adulthood, I am escaping the silence of grief, healing by learning to understand both myself and others. Psychiatry speaks to me because I know what it’s like to feel unseen, and I believe there’s power in helping people face what they once had to run from. I’m Cameryn Smith, a rising sophomore at Spelman College, majoring in psychology on the pre-medical track. My journey into the medical field didn’t begin in a hospital or a biology class; it started with confusion, isolation, and a personality quiz. In high school, I was quietly battling depression and anxiety without the language to name it. I found solace in learning about the brain through tools like MBTI and the Enneagram. Understanding cognitive functions gave me clarity when no one else could. I started seeing how mental health wasn’t just about thoughts; it was biology, chemistry, and lived experience. That moment of understanding changed everything. After my father passed away on Christmas Eve of 2024 due to heart surgery complications, everything I’d been quietly passionate about became urgent. I was grieving, but I also had to be strong. Not only for me but for my mom, who now cared for four kids on her own, and for my younger siblings, one of whom was hospitalized for mental health reasons. I didn’t have the luxury to fall apart. In the absence of support, I became support. Though it was a dark time in my life, it only added fuel to my desire to become a psychiatrist—specifically one who works with children and adolescents. I want to create the kind of care I once needed but didn’t have: holistic, accessible, and rooted in empathy. Too often, especially in Black communities, mental health is stigmatized or overlooked altogether. I want to help shift that narrative. Currently, I work as a behavior technician with children on the autism spectrum, using Applied Behavior Analysis in a group setting. I meet each child where they are, and I’ve watched breakthroughs happen. Nonverbal children learning to express themselves, once-withdrawn kids lighting up when I walk into the room. It’s one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had, and it affirms that healing, when grounded in care and science, is possible. My father’s journey also opened my eyes to how deeply physical health and mental wellness are intertwined. I’m passionate about the role nutrition, access to care, and early intervention play in emotional development. I hope to research these intersections and use my findings to educate and empower underserved communities. This path isn’t just a career, it’s my calling. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when people don’t get the care they need. But I’ve also seen the power of what’s possible when they do. Through psychiatry, I hope to be a bridge for kids who feel misunderstood, families who feel overwhelmed, and communities that deserve more than survival. They deserve to heal.

Grief doesn’t come all at once; it sneaks into quiet moments. For instance, I instinctively reach for my phone to text my dad, only to remember he’s no longer here. For five years, my father lived with a Left Ventricular Assist Device that kept his heart beating while he waited on the transplant list. He suffered multiple heart attacks and was in and out of the hospital, missing milestones that I wished he could’ve been there for. Watching someone you love fight so hard to survive takes a toll. It wore on my mental health, my spirit, and my sense of stability. But it also gave me purpose. I’m Cameryn Smith, a rising sophomore psychology major at Spelman College on the pre-medical track. My father’s battle with heart disease and his eventual passing on Christmas Eve of 2024 changed my world. He was my biggest supporter, my safe space, and my motivator. His strength inspired mine. Despite his pain, he worked multiple jobs to support our family of six. I often hear some of his last words: “I’m doing this for you.” When he passed, my family decided to donate three of his organs. It was a heartbreaking moment but also a transformative one. It reminded me that even in death, my father could give life to others. That one act shifted how I saw medicine. I realized it’s not just about what we lose but also about what we provide and who we help. I found solace in learning that three others would continue to live their lives despite my father’s coming to a close. This loss made me even more committed to becoming a psychiatrist, specifically working with children and adolescents. Mental health is just as real and urgent as physical health, and many are unaware that they often coincide. Yet, mental health frequently goes unrecognized, especially in Black and underserved communities. I’ve personally battled depression, and I know what it feels like to suffer in silence. Through psychiatry, I want to be the person I once needed: someone who listens, validates, and supports. I work as an Applied Behavioral Analyst with young children on the autism spectrum. I meet them where they are, supporting their emotional growth in safe and affirming ways. Each child reminds me that healing isn’t one-size-fits-all and that progress looks different for everyone. It’s taught me patience, empathy, and the power of early intervention. I am also passionate about spreading awareness about how physical health and diet affect mental well-being, especially in marginalized communities. My father’s condition taught me how interconnected our systems are and how so much of what we suffer from is preventable with education, access, and care. I desire to be part of the shift that normalizes mental healthcare, especially for kids who are told to “just be strong.” Through my grief, I’ve found a deeper calling. I noticed I’ve grown into a different person after my father’s passing. I’ve become more grounded, compassionate, and determined to make a difference. His love still fuels me, but now, so does necessity. With three siblings in college and limited life insurance, I’ve had to step up financially and emotionally. But I’ve also stepped forward with purpose. I want to create a world where children feel seen, where grief is honored, and where mental health is treated with the care it deserves. I’m building a future where compassion leads, and I won’t stop until more people get the care and love they deserve.

On Christmas Eve of 2024, my world shifted. I lost my dad—my biggest supporter, my safe space, my foundation. And with that loss, I realized that I’m not the same person I was before. I’m learning how to live in the discomfort of his absence and move forward even when part of me wants to freeze time. But this grief has also opened my eyes. It made me more aware, grounded, and passionate about the work I want to do. I’m Cameryn Smith, a rising sophomore psychology major at Spelman College from Maryland. I’ve always been fascinated with the way the brain works and how we interact with one another. I consider myself creative, witty, and emotionally intelligent, traits that help me connect with people on a deeper level. If more people understood how the mind works, we could prevent a lot of damage that is often done during childhood and adolescence. Words and environments matter. And the earlier we catch emotional struggles, the more healing becomes possible. For this reason, I want to become a child and adolescent psychiatrist. I desire to serve the often overlooked kids, especially those in Black and marginalized communities. I also care deeply about children with autism and other developmental disabilities because, too frequently, their emotional and mental needs get pushed aside. Mental health is just as real and just as important as physical health, yet so many people never receive the care they need as this emotional neglect often starts young. I work as an Applied Behavioral Technician, supporting young children with autism through early intervention. I work with them in a daycare environment, helping them navigate the world in safe and empowering ways. It’s not always easy, but it’s deeply fulfilling. Every session is a reminder of why empathy, humility, and authenticity matter. These kids teach me patience. They remind me that growth isn’t linear and that progress looks different for everyone. They also reinforce my belief that with the proper support, every child can thrive. Everything I do now intends to create a world that’s more understanding and less judgmental. A world where children feel heard. Where mental health is prioritized. Where Black kids don’t have to “be strong” all the time just to survive, I want to help others feel seen in the ways I sometimes didn’t. It is my deepest desire to be the kind of psychiatrist who doesn’t just treat symptoms but listens to stories. Who advocates, shows up, and heals. The road ahead won’t be easy, but I’m committed to this path. My experiences, especially the pain of losing my father, have given me a more profound sense of purpose. And through it all, my faith, resilience, and desire to make a difference keep me going. I’m building a future where compassion leads, and I won’t stop until more people get the care and love they deserve.

People love to talk about mental health, but only when it’s easy. Yet, the conversation suddenly stops when the signs show up in someone they know. Growing up in a Black household, the family often dismissed emotional struggles. Phrases like “You’re being lazy” or “You’re just rude” left me feeling isolated. I didn’t understand my own emotions either, which took a toll on me, especially during the pandemic. It wasn’t until school resumed in person that I realized I had been struggling with depression. Acknowledging my mental health was the first step. Expressing my emotions felt foreign but necessary. Now, as a college freshman, I prioritize my well-being by seeing a therapist bi-weekly. This journey has helped me develop emotional intelligence, which I’ve used to support those around me. During my first semester, I was focused on my personal growth until I came home for Thanksgiving break. Unfortunately, I came home to a nightmare. My brother was in the hospital as a result of attempting to end his life. Guilt consumed me. Had I been so focused on my healing that I overlooked his struggles? He refused to see me, and even phone calls were unproductive. I respected his space, but he never left my mind. By Christmas break, I was determined to reconnect with my family. But tragedy struck again. My father passed away following heart surgery on Christmas Eve. My family was shattered, each of us grieving in different ways. Yet, I noticed something familiar in my brother. His withdrawal, his silence, it mirrored what I had once felt. Determined not to let him suffer alone, I invited him out with my friends, listened without judgment, and validated his feelings. I became the person for him that I once needed. I noticed a slight difference in his attitude, which warmed my heart. Even after returning to school, I continued to support him, becoming the one he called for advice and reassurance. I also urged my mother to seek professional help for him and to be more gentle in her approach. My experiences with mental health, both my own and my brother’s, have shaped my desire to become a psychiatrist. I want to be the kind of support system I lacked, to help others feel seen, heard, and validated. My journey has shown me that healing starts with understanding, and I am committed to making that difference for others.