The impact I want to make is simple, but not easy: I want to change the way young people in underserved communities are seen, treated, and spoken to by the systems that claim to serve them. I am going into law because I believe justice has to be more than punishment. It has to be understanding, accountability, and opportunity all at once. I want to be an attorney who does not reduce people to case files, charges, or mistakes, but instead sees the full weight of their circumstances and the full possibility of who they can become. What I will do with my education is return it to the communities that shaped me. I will use it to stand in spaces where young people are often overlooked and make sure they are not ignored in silence. I want to be in the rooms where decisions are made about their lives, and I want to be someone who refuses to let those decisions be made without context, compassion, and truth. I am drawn to juvenile justice because I know how early labeling can shape a life. A young person shouldn’t have their future defined by their worst moment or the environment they were forced to grow up in. I want to push back against that mindset. I want to fight for systems that do not just punish behavior, but ask what happened, why it happened, and what can be done so it does not happen again. The kind of change I want to create is not abstract. It looks like reducing the number of young people who are pushed out of schools and into systems that rarely give them a second chance. It looks like advocating for alternatives to incarceration that actually address trauma, education gaps, mental health, and stability. What drives me is not theory, it is people. It is the young person who has already decided they are a “problem” because that is what they have been called for years. It is the ones who stop speaking up because no one has listened anyway. It is the ones who are still fighting to believe they are more than what they’ve been through. I want to be the person who interrupts that narrative. I am not inspired by perfection. I am inspired by persistence. By people who keep going even when life has given them every reason not to. By the ones who choose to stand anyway. That is the kind of energy I want to bring into my career, not detached, not distant, but present, consistent, and willing to stay in the work even when it is uncomfortable. My goal is not just to practice law, I want my work to reflect the belief that accountability and compassion are not opposites, and that real justice requires both. I want to be part of a generation of attorneys who are not afraid to slow down, ask harder questions, and challenge systems that have become too comfortable with quick judgments. Looking ahead, I see myself continuing to work closely with young people while also contributing to broader juvenile justice reform, whether through advocacy, policy work, or research that pushes the system to evolve. But no matter what form it takes, my purpose stays the same: to make sure young people are not discarded before they are understood. If I can help even one young person believe they are not stuck in who they were told they are, and that their future is still open, then I will know none of my efforts are in vain and my purpose has been fulfilled.

As a future attorney, I believe integrity, fairness, and responsibility to the justice system begin with recognizing that justice depends on facts, circumstances, and nuance rather than assumptions. Attention to detail is not simply a professional skill, it is an ethical obligation. As a first-generation law student and person of faith, I view integrity as more than a professional obligation; it is a personal commitment. As I pursue a career in juvenile justice, my duty extends beyond securing outcomes. It means ensuring victims, communities, and those who have violated the law are treated with fairness and dignity. Accountability and rehabilitation are not mutually exclusive; meaningful justice requires both while recognizing each person's capacity for growth. Zealous advocacy risks compromising integrity when the pursuit of a particular outcome becomes more important than the pursuit of justice itself. Ethical advocacy requires us to recognize where our obligations begin and end. Justice sometimes requires restraint. The right decision is not always the harshest one, and justice cannot be measured solely by convictions or outcomes. It requires sound judgment, honesty, and the humility to do what is right even when difficult. I plan to navigate that boundary by remaining open to guidance, asking questions when faced with uncertainty, and maintaining the humility to acknowledge what I do not know. Ethical decision-making requires continual reflection on professional responsibilities and personal values. My commitment to diversity and inclusion comes from the same values that shape my view of ethical lawyering. People cannot thrive, or trust the justice system, if they feel unseen, unheard, or excluded. As President of the Black Law Students Association, I worked to create spaces where students felt supported while building relationships across organizations and backgrounds. As a Black woman entering the legal profession, I understand the importance of representation and the burden of feeling the need to constantly prove you belong. I wanted students to know they belonged, their perspectives mattered, and they had earned their place. Beyond campus leadership, I have spent years working directly with youth as a Children's Intervention Specialist, Mentor Advocate, and Case Manager in a juvenile group home. In those roles, I advocated for young people across schools, homes, and systems that often failed to hear them. One experience that stays with me involved asking residents to identify five positive and five negative qualities about themselves. Nearly every youth easily filled the negative side of the page, while many struggled to identify positive qualities. I took those worksheets home and filled in the positive side myself, reflecting the strengths I had observed in each child. The following day, we reviewed them together. It was a small exercise, but it reinforced a lesson I carry with me today: justice begins by seeing the person before the case. Advocacy begins by helping people recognize their own worth. Looking ahead, I plan to advance juvenile justice through research, reform, and service. After studying Scandinavian juvenile justice systems, I intend to complete an independent study of juvenile justice in the United States. I hope my research contributes to approaches that balance accountability with compassion for youth from underrepresented communities. I want to help break cycles that too often define vulnerable youth. Meaningful change may take generations, still, I am committed to doing my part. My purpose is to serve those who are overlooked, unheard, and too often counted out; one young person and one case at a time. If my work can help someone believe they are more than their worst mistake, then I will know that every hardship, sacrifice, and challenge that shaped my journey was not in vain.

As a future attorney, I believe integrity, fairness, and responsibility to the justice system begin with recognizing that justice depends on facts, circumstances, and nuance rather than assumptions. Attention to detail is not simply a professional skill, it is an ethical obligation. As a first-generation law student and person of faith, I view integrity as more than a professional obligation; it is a personal commitment. As I pursue a career in juvenile justice, my duty extends beyond securing outcomes. It means ensuring victims, communities, and those who have violated the law are treated with fairness and dignity. Accountability and rehabilitation are not mutually exclusive; meaningful justice requires both while recognizing each person's capacity for growth. Zealous advocacy risks compromising integrity when the pursuit of a particular outcome becomes more important than the pursuit of justice itself. Ethical advocacy requires us to recognize where our obligations begin and end. Justice sometimes requires restraint. The right decision is not always the harshest one, and justice cannot be measured solely by convictions or outcomes. It requires sound judgment, honesty, and the humility to do what is right even when difficult. I plan to navigate that boundary by remaining open to guidance, asking questions when faced with uncertainty, and maintaining the humility to acknowledge what I do not know. Ethical decision-making requires continual reflection on professional responsibilities and personal values. My commitment to diversity and inclusion comes from the same values that shape my view of ethical lawyering. People cannot thrive, or trust the justice system, if they feel unseen, unheard, or excluded. As President of the Black Law Students Association, I worked to create spaces where students felt supported while building relationships across organizations and backgrounds. As a Black woman entering the legal profession, I understand the importance of representation and the burden of feeling the need to constantly prove you belong. I wanted students to know they belonged, their perspectives mattered, and they had earned their place. Beyond campus leadership, I have spent years working directly with youth as a Children's Intervention Specialist, Mentor Advocate, and Case Manager in a juvenile group home. In those roles, I advocated for young people across schools, homes, and systems that often failed to hear them. One experience that stays with me involved asking residents to identify five positive and five negative qualities about themselves. Nearly every youth easily filled the negative side of the page, while many struggled to identify positive qualities. I took those worksheets home and filled in the positive side myself, reflecting the strengths I had observed in each child. The following day, we reviewed them together. It was a small exercise, but it reinforced a lesson I carry with me today: justice begins by seeing the person before the case. Advocacy begins by helping people recognize their own worth. Looking ahead, I plan to advance juvenile justice through research, reform, and service. After studying Scandinavian juvenile justice systems, I intend to complete an independent study of juvenile justice in the United States. I hope my research contributes to approaches that balance accountability with compassion for youth from underrepresented communities. I want to help break cycles that too often define vulnerable youth. Meaningful change may take generations, still, I am committed to doing my part. My purpose is to serve those who are overlooked, unheard, and too often counted out; one young person and one case at a time. If my work can help someone believe they are more than their worst mistake, then I will know that every hardship, sacrifice, and challenge that shaped my journey was not in vain.

My experience with mental health since a very young age has shaped how I view humanity. When I was 6th grade, when I have a very minimal understanding of what mental health actually was, just a very sad little girl, I begin self-cutting. I carved “why me” into my arm and my guidance counselor found out and I was taken to CPEP. I remember being surrounded by so many people who didn’t quite understand that I didn’t want to die, I just wanted the pain to stop. As time went on, I continued to cut, just in places people couldn’t see—like my legs in the winter or on my forearm and just wear hoodies. I was never close with my immediate family, in fact most of the time I felt invisible in my household. When I was 16, I was having a hard time digesting why I felt so differently from everyone, why I was so sad, why didn’t I have close relationship with my family, why did I have to experience certain things at a very young age, for years and no one protected me. I had a plan, and I planned to see it through. I took a hand full of pills and then I just went and laid in my bed and waited to die, in a room which I shared with my two little sisters. Everyone was home that day, and I remember having the thought of not caring if they found me dead. Nobody even noticed how sad I was that day, how disassociated I was, so I figured maybe this is the way I could get them to see me. It didn’t work, and I remember feeling so angry with God. I am grateful that my vision just became blurred and that I didn’t overdose because now I am in a position to help those who struggle with mental health. Especially the youth. Fast forward to now, I have been diagnosed with bipolar type 2 disorder, depression, alongside ADHD. Some days are better than others, but one day at a time I get through. I didn’t want to accept either of those diagnosis initially and I was completely against medication. I came to learn the medication is the grace. I am very intentional how I engage with my close family and friends. I am very intentional about knowing my triggers that may lead me into a depression. I am intentional about taking care of me. I needed that push though that I received later in life from my therapist. I needed to work through the pain. My life experiences especially with my mental health has changed the way I approach everything. I approach things with more grace, patience and understanding. I worked as Children’s Intervention Specialist for 3 years where I came across so many young people struggling with suicide and mental health and not knowing how to navigate it, not having consistent support, so they end up sinking into themselves. Because I learned how to navigate mental health and notice the triggers and become vocal about needing the help, I am now able to better assist young people and even those around me who struggle alongside struggle to speak up. So many people don’t speak up because they’re hoping someone’s notice, or they have, and no one takes it seriously. It breaks my heart. I have so much gratitude that Mental Health is more on the fore front today than it ever was before. It’s not something that should ever be overlooked because the battlefield is truly in the mind. The world can be so cold. No one deserves to walk on eggshells in their own body. No one should be drowning in themselves, alone. I believe in God all the evermore now because he spared my life, so I know that the pain I felt, the sadness, the heartache, none of it was in vain because I get to help others through. One day a time. I am so sorry for the loss of your mother, and I think what you are doing is truly noble and necessary to invite open dialogue. I pray for strength for you when grief sneaks up on you and for God to bless you 10-fold for holding the space for “us”, the ones often overlooked and who have experienced chains in our mind that we so desperately which to break out of. Thank you for allowing me to share my story. Peace and blessings.