One breath. That’s all it takes for everything to change. The lungs—delicate, vital, and too often overlooked—are at the center of a global health crisis that doesn’t always make headlines but devastates lives quietly and consistently: chronic respiratory diseases. From asthma to pulmonary fibrosis, these illnesses disproportionately affect marginalized communities, yet they receive a fraction of the attention and funding they deserve. I care deeply about this issue because I’ve seen what happens when people—especially Black people—are told to “just breathe” in a system that doesn’t always make room for their air. Last summer, I interned with the Human BioMolecular Atlas Program (HuBMAP) under Dr. Jim Hagood at UNC Chapel Hill, where I studied rare pediatric lung diseases and presented my findings at a national research symposium. It was the first time I looked at lungs not just as organs, but as sites of inequality, science, and hope. I analyzed tissue samples and worked alongside physicians treating children who didn’t have the luxury of taking breath for granted. That experience sparked something in me. I didn’t just want to understand lungs—I wanted to fight for the people who depend on them. This fall, I will attend The Ohio State University to pursue my Master’s in Human Anatomy. My goal is to deepen my understanding of the human body so I can become a surgeon who not only treats illness but also advocates for health equity. I want to be the kind of doctor who meets people where they are—especially those in underserved communities—and offers more than a prescription: I want to offer knowledge, representation, and hope. My journey hasn’t been easy. I graduated magna cum laude from Howard University with a B.S. in Biology and a Chemistry minor, all while balancing the demands of being a Division I student-athlete, working, and serving in my community. I took on leadership as the Blood Drive Coordinator for the American Red Cross Club at Howard University, organizing donation events to support local hospitals and directly impact patients in need. That role taught me how to mobilize others, manage logistics, and most importantly, serve selflessly in the face of real medical need. I’ve also volunteered at hospitals, shadowed physicians, and even observed an open-heart surgery—all while staying committed to my dream of becoming a healthcare provider. But graduate school is expensive, and despite budgeting carefully and working consistently, the financial burden is real. Without support, it could hinder my ability to focus fully on research, coursework, and clinical opportunities that are essential for my future. This scholarship would mean far more than just assistance—it would be an investment in a future doctor who is deeply committed to making a difference. It would give me the freedom to pursue pulmonary-focused research, contribute to anatomy education, and continue advocating for respiratory health in underrepresented communities. We often say healthcare workers save lives. But before we can save lives, someone has to help save us—the students who are striving to get there. This scholarship isn’t just financial help to me; it’s a bridge to the future I’ve worked tirelessly for. Thank you for considering me for this opportunity. I promise to use it to breathe life into the future of healthcare.

There’s a silent weight you carry when you’re one of the only people in the room who looks like you. That weight gets heavier when you’re navigating systems that weren’t designed with your success in mind—constantly trying to prove you belong, even when your presence alone challenges expectations. One of the greatest obstacles I’ve faced in higher education has been overcoming the isolation that often comes with being a Black woman in STEM—academically, culturally, and emotionally. At Howard University, I’ve pursued my goal of becoming a surgeon with unshakable drive. But even in a space that empowers Black excellence, the world outside the gates still reminds me of the disparities that persist in medicine and STEM. When I was selected for a competitive lung research internship at UNC Chapel Hill, I felt proud to represent my university and bring my knowledge into a new space. But that pride was cut short the moment I met my principal investigator and he assumed I was part of the janitorial staff. I hadn’t even spoken yet. Despite my resume, my experience, and the hours of preparation I put in, the first thing he saw wasn’t a researcher—it was a stereotype. It was one of many moments that tested my sense of belonging. But I didn’t face it alone. I leaned on someone who has always seen my potential clearly—my former high school biology teacher, Ms. Mitchell. She had been my biggest academic encourager since sophomore year, when she noticed my curiosity in the lab and pushed me to pursue science beyond the classroom. In that moment of doubt, she reminded me that just because the room wasn’t made for me didn’t mean I didn’t deserve to be in it. She helped me reframe the incident not as a setback, but as a reason to push even harder. Her belief in me helped silence the doubt in my head when the world outside tried to make me feel small. My roots go deep. Both of my parents are from Charleston, South Carolina, and my grandparents still live on the land where their great-grandparents were once enslaved. I carry that legacy into every space I enter. With the same blood that once labored in fields, I now break into rooms my ancestors couldn’t have dreamed of—rooms that were never built with us in mind, but that I now walk into with purpose. Receiving the William A. Lewis Scholarship would mean more than just financial relief—it would be a continuation of a legacy. Mr. Lewis believed in access, in opportunity, and in uplifting underrepresented students in STEM. That mission mirrors my own: to become a surgeon not just for the title, but to create visibility, provide care, and open doors for the next Black girl who wonders if she’s enough. I want to be proof that she is. Overcoming isolation taught me that strength can be built—but it doesn’t have to be built alone. This scholarship would not only support my education, it would reinforce that I—and others like me—belong in STEM, not in spite of who we are, but because of it.

`As soon as I walk into a room, I can feel the assumptions settle before I even speak. A young Black woman—often the only one in a lab coat or seated at the table—underestimated before I even open my mouth. But I’ve learned that the quiet power of resilience speaks louder than doubt ever could. This truth followed me all the way to my research internship at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I had been selected for a competitive lung research program through the Human BioMolecular Atlas Program (HuBMAP). Yet, when I met my principal investigator for the first time, he assumed I was part of the janitorial staff. I stood there—credentials, experience, and ambition in hand—reduced to a stereotype before I could even introduce myself. That moment was painful, but not unfamiliar. It reminded me that my mere presence in these spaces is a disruption to the status quo—and that’s precisely why I must persist. My story doesn’t begin in the lab, though. It begins in Charleston, South Carolina. Both of my parents were raised there, and my grandparents still live on the same land where their great-grandparents were once enslaved. The deep South carries the weight of a history anchored in racism, segregation, and exclusion. That legacy is not abstract to me—it’s personal. Yet here I am, with the same blood that toiled in bondage, now breaking into rooms my ancestors couldn’t have even imagined. Every lecture I attend, every lab I enter, every patient I shadow—I carry them with me. My success is not individual. It is ancestral. Pursuing a career in medicine hasn’t been easy. As a first-generation college student and former Division I athlete, I’ve had to master the art of balancing a demanding course load with leadership roles, research commitments, and athletic responsibilities. After undergoing back surgery in 2021, I continued pushing forward in my academic journey, determined to study the very anatomy that once caused me so much pain. I now work as a manager for Howard University’s softball team, assist with neuroscience outreach, and volunteer to mentor underserved students—often while navigating the financial strain of tuition, textbooks, and graduate school preparation. Even though I’ve made the Dean’s List every year, I still find myself constantly needing to prove that I belong. That I’m not a diversity quota. That I earned my seat at the table. Receiving this scholarship would relieve a significant financial burden and allow me to focus more deeply on the things that matter—advancing in research, strengthening my medical school applications, and continuing to serve my community. It would free me from the constant anxiety of whether I can afford to keep chasing this dream and instead allow me to fully invest in becoming the physician I know I am meant to be. This scholarship would not just support my education—it would support the transformation of a system that has long kept women like me on the outside looking in. And I’m determined to change that—from the inside out.