Education is important to me because my mother never had the opportunity to receive one. She never attended elementary, middle, or high school or college. While other children spent their days in classrooms learning to read and write, my mother spent hers weeding fields, picking fruit for hours each day, and helping raise her seven younger siblings. From the time she could remember, survival came before education. My mother was never given the chance to dream about what she wanted to become because she was too busy doing what she needed to do. The opportunities I have today are opportunities she never had. Despite everything she was denied, my mother made sure that education became the foundation of my life. From my earliest memories, she taught me that education was something no one could ever take away from me. I never pursued good grades because I was forced to. I pursued them because every assignment, every exam, and every achievement represented an opportunity my mother never had. In many ways, my education did not begin with me. It began with my mother's sacrifices. Because of her, I graduated high school with a 4.0 GPA while competing in varsity soccer and basketball. While I am proud of those accomplishments, they are not what make education meaningful to me. They are the result of the values my mother instilled in me through her own sacrifices. As a first generation college student, I recognize that walking into a classroom is a privilege. There was a time in my life when I questioned whether I deserved a future at all. During high school, I struggled deeply with my mental health, and there were moments when I could not imagine myself graduating, let alone attending college. Education became more than earning a degree. It became proof that my story was not over. Every class I attend is a reminder that I am living a future my younger self never believed was possible and one my mother always believed I could achieve. Today, I am pursuing a degree in clinical psychology because I want to use my education to create opportunities for others. I hope to become someone who listens without judgment, advocates for those who feel unseen, and helps people discover hope during some of the darkest moments of their lives. My education is giving me the knowledge and skills to build a career, but more importantly, it is giving me the opportunity to serve others with compassion and understanding. The legacy I hope to leave honors my mother's sacrifices. My mom spent her childhood working in fields instead of sitting in a classroom, but she made sure I never had to choose between survival and an education. She gave up opportunities she never got to have so that I could have them instead. Every time I walk into a classroom, I carry her sacrifices with me. I do not want to be remembered for earning good grades. I want to be remembered for helping people who felt no one was listening. If I can help even one person believe their life is worth living, then every late night studying session and every sacrifice my mother made will have been worth it. My mother never had the opportunity to chase her dreams, but because of her, I get to chase mine. Every lecture I attend, every exam I take, and every step I take toward becoming a psychologist is possible because she put my future before her own. My degree may have my name on it, but it will always tell my mother's story too.

If you asked me what was most noteworthy about me, I would not begin with my transcript. A transcript can tell you that I earned a 4.0 GPA. It can tell you that I played varsity soccer as a freshman, helped send my team to the state championship by scoring the winning goal in the final minutes of our game, and competed at the state level in both soccer and basketball. It can list my accomplishments, my leadership, and my extracurricular activities. What it cannot tell you is the story behind them. It cannot tell you that every accomplishment felt empty because I believed my worth depended on what I could achieve. It cannot tell you that while I celebrated victories on the field and success in the classroom, I quietly questioned whether I deserved a future at all. The greatest challenge I faced in high school was balancing academics and athletics. It was convincing myself that my life had value. Growing up, I always believed that if I worked hard enough, earned perfect grades, or became a better athlete, I could finally earn the love and acceptance I so desperately wanted. Every goal I scored, every A I earned, and every game I won became another attempt to prove that I was enough. But no achievement ever filled the emptiness I carried. School became a place where I learned to wear a mask. I smiled at classmates, laughed with teammates, and showed up to every practice and every class, all while carrying a pain no one could see. During the day, I pretended everything was okay. At night, the silence became the only place where I allowed myself to feel what I had buried. The moon became my friend. Every night I looked toward the sky and wondered what I had done to deserve so much pain. I questioned why I was hurting so deeply when everyone around me believed I had everything. Eventually, I reached a point where I believed there was no future waiting for me. That night changed my life. Looking back now, I no longer see that night as the end of my story. I see it as the beginning of my healing. Healing did not happen all at once. It happened through forgiveness, vulnerability, and the choice to keep moving forward one day at a time. I forgave my mother. I began to understand that my worth was never determined by my accomplishments, nor by someone else's ability to love me the way I needed to be loved. At sixteen, I stood in front of my school during Suicide Prevention Month and shared my story. I spoke about my own struggles and about my grandmother, who lost her life to suicide because she never received the help she needed. I was not looking for sympathy. I wanted my classmates to know that they were not alone and that asking for help was an act of courage, not weakness. After I finished speaking, a girl walked up to me with tears in her eyes and wrapped me in a hug. She quietly said, "Thank you." That moment changed my definition of success. For years, I believed success meant earning perfect grades, winning games, and collecting accomplishments. But standing there, hugging someone who needed to know she was not alone, taught me something far more important. Success is not measured only by awards or achievements. It is measured by the lives we touch and the compassion we show when no one is watching. That realization changed the way I approached everything. During my senior year, I asked my soccer coach if our team could wear purple and teal for suicide prevention. Today, I continue to advocate by being someone who listens without judgment and creates space for others to share their struggles. Today, I am a first generation college student pursuing a degree in clinical psychology. Every class I take is another step toward becoming the person I once needed. My academic accomplishments and extracurricular activities reflect my dedication, discipline, and perseverance, but they are not the most noteworthy part of my story. The most noteworthy part is that I learned my value was never found in a GPA, a championship, or a resume. It was found in discovering that my voice could help someone else find hope. If you choose me for this scholarship, you are not simply investing in a student with strong grades or athletic accomplishments. You are investing in someone who has learned that true success is using every opportunity, every lesson, and every hardship to make another person feel seen, heard, and valued. That is the person I have become, and that is the person I will continue striving to be.

My mental health has affected every area of my life, both negatively and positively. The challenges I have faced and overcome have shaped me into the person I am today. At times, those challenges nearly destroyed me and almost made my dreams impossible to achieve. At fifteen years old, I came close to ending my life. Later, I nearly lost my place on my college soccer team, not because of a lack of effort or dedication, but because I chose to advocate for myself. Soccer has been my dream since I was five years old, and fighting to protect that dream has defined much of my journey. The impact of my diagnosis on my life has often felt deeply unfair. The challenges I face every day would cause many people to give up, but I refuse to do so. My diagnosis is only one part of who I am, and I will never allow it to consume me. It has made me strong and weak, fearless and numb all at once. I live with bipolar disorder. I exist between extremes, feeling either on top of the world or trapped in the lowest valley. I take medication every single day, sometimes to the point where I barely recognize myself, because without it, I cannot endure what goes on in my mind. I do not share this for pity. I share it because it is the truth. This is my life. It may not be the life I would have chosen, but it is the life I have, and I intend to make every moment worth it. Every moment I am given is a moment someone else was not. I believe it is my responsibility to make my life meaningful. I am in college pursuing a career as a clinical psychologist because of what I have been through. I want to help people who feel overwhelmed by their own minds and are unsure of how to move forward. I want to help make lives more manageable and give others the support that once felt out of reach for me. I will do everything in my power to help people feel understood and valued. My diagnosis has changed every part of my life, but it has not stopped me. Instead, it has fueled my determination to challenge prejudice, judgment, and the unfair treatment faced by those who struggle with mental health. We are people, too. Our experiences matter, and our lives are worth fighting for. I will turn my survival into service, and I will use my education, my voice, and my resilience to create meaningful change for those whose struggles are too often ignored.

In 2021, I experienced a devastating event that changed my life: I attempted to take my own life. One of the biggest reasons was school, I hated it with a fiery passion. But eventually, I had to return. In the fall of 2022, I walked through those school doors filled with anxiety and fear. I did not know it then, but everything was about to change because I was about to meet someone who would become one of the most important people in my life: Mr. Browne. Mr. Browne taught Ancient Literature. I was never fond of reading or literature before, but his class became my all-time favorite. He introduced me to the great thinkers and heroes of the past, Hector of Troy, Pius Aeneas, Marcus Aurelius, Socrates, Antigone, and many others. Every day, I looked forward to our discussions. Somehow, he always understood what I meant, even when I did not know how to say it, and he always knew exactly what to say in return. More than just literature, Mr. Browne taught me how to be a Christian. Through the writings of Augustine, Plato, and Socrates, he showed us how to live a good and moral life. But what impacted me most wasn’t just what he taught, it was how he lived. Mr. Browne, simply being who he was, faithfully living out the life God called him to live, showed me what it meant to be a Christian. I believe Mr. Browne was always meant to be a teacher. His patience and kindness made his classroom a safe place. He cared not only about my education, but also about my soul and my relationship with God. He created an environment where I could grow spiritually. He had gone through great loss in his own life, just as I had. Yet even through suffering, he still followed Christ. I was amazed. How could someone go through so much pain and still have such strong faith? Why did God allow my pain? I was wrestling with many things at that time. I was angry at God, at myself, and my family, but I realized something. If Mr. Browne could still love God deeply, maybe I could learn to love God, too. Mr. Browne reminds me of Pius Aeneas from The Aeneid: “My comrades, hardly strangers to pain before now, we all have weathered worse. Some god will grant us an end to this as well... Call up your courage again. Dismiss your grief and fear. A joy it will be one day to remember even this... Bear up. Save your strength for better times to come. And even if I die in the act, that death will be glory” (The Aeneid, lines 233–244). At this point in the story, Aeneas has lost everything. Troy has fallen, his men are starving, and many are missing. Yet he stays strong for his people. He puts on a brave face and gives them hope. That’s exactly what Mr. Browne did for me. When I had none, he gave me hope. It felt like my life had a new meaning to it, it felt like I actually mattered in this world. Since meeting him, Mr. Browne has become one of my greatest mentors, a mentor that I will remember until the day I die. He reminds me of my worth, of my place in the world, and how I can make it better just by being in it. To this day, I walk past him in the hall, and he says, “Chloe, you make the world a better place”. And I believe him.

I am a dying soul. I do not think I was a soul made to last. I do not believe the world was made for me. Or maybe I was not made for the world. I am a dying soul, one that burns bright and dies fast. Hello, my name is Chloe Sams, and I am 18 years old. The text above is a poem I wrote about three years ago. In my battle with depression, I always felt like I was not made for this world. I honestly did believe I was a dying soul. I have suffered from depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder almost my entire life. These disorders have taken a toll on me and the people around me. I never shared how I felt to anybody until it all became too much for myself, and I decided that I was going to attempt to take my life. That night, a lot changed, I believe, for the better. Yes, I had suffered so much up until that point I lived as an outcast in my own home. My sister, right across the hall, I had no idea that I was suffering and that I was self-harming. She had no idea, and she was right across the hall. Through those years, a part of me had died, but on that night, I believe something new was born inside of my soul: hope. For the first time, I hoped that things could change, I would be better, and I would live for once. That was an entirely new feeling because I always felt that my life was pointless, that I was put on this earth to be laughed at and forgotten. That night, I decided I was going to live, so I woke up my Mom, got in an ambulance, and went to the hospital and then to a psychiatric facility. It was a challenging time, but I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant I could be where I am today. During that time, my family began to change. My family has never been the type to share our feelings and comfort each other. It was the type of family where if you were crying, you would get told, “I will give you a reason to cry about.” My family was never evil. It was my parent's first time living too. They were not raised in homes that equipped them with the skills to be emotionally available. So, when I got out of the hospital, things had to change for me to get better. Months of therapy with my mom and working out problems with my family took place. Eventually, my home felt like a home. I was honest with my family, and they accepted me. Mental illnesses will always be a part of my life. I know my problems started with my mental illness, but it was my struggles that changed my family into a place that I felt safe to be in. It also became a place where my siblings felt safe. One of my siblings went to the doctor and was prescribed anti-depressants. He told me he would have never gone if it was not for me. And my illnesses have given me a life purpose. I want to go into the psychiatric field and help people like me. I want to be the person I needed three years ago. I am not a dying soul; the world was not made for people like me, but it will be someday. I will burn bright and help people like me. Thank you.

My name is Chloe Sams, and on this fateful day of November 12, 2024, I was looking for scholarships to apply for. I found the "Daniel R. Torres Complete Your Dream" scholarship. Initially, when I saw this, I laughed a little. Complete your dream. What does that mean? I know it says complete your dream, but what is my dream? If you were to ask me this a couple of years ago, I would have had no idea what I would say. I would probably say my dream would be just to be happy. But today, when I read Complete Your Dream, I smile because I know my dream. My dream is to help people. I see many people say that they want to help people. But I genuinely mean it when I say I want to help people. There was a time when I had no one to help me. I was wholly and utterly alone. This loneliness led me to try and attempt to commit suicide. It did not work out, obviously, and I'm so happy I did not die that night. But that moment in my life where I was completely lost and had died inside, that moment gave life to something new. In that darkness, there was light, a hope for something more. What if I could use these awful moments to help others? And that was how my dream was born. I want to help people by being a clinical psychologist. Throughout my last three years of school, I have already started the steps needed to become a clinical psychologist. Starting in my sophomore year, I began taking any psychology class I could take. Most of them were dual credit classes so I could get ahead in college because there are a lot of steps I have to take to fulfill my dream. The second step is to go to college, major in psychology, and minor in pre-med. I can get my license to be a therapist at the university I want to attend, Westmont University in California. After this, I will return to school and get my master's, specializing in clinical psychology. In most cases, when it comes to psychology degrees, you can get your master's and Psy.D simultaneously. A Psy.D is a Docter of Psychology. So after I get that, you can call me Docter Sams. There are a lot of steps to obtain my degree. Years of my life will go to my dream. I want to help as many people as I can. I want to make a difference in their lives. I want to offer to every patient that I help hope that their life will get better, they will get happier, and they can function in society. I know what it feels like not to have hope. It is miserable. I want to help people have hope because I know how easy it is to convince yourself that you have no future in this world when you have your entire life ahead of you, filled with endless opportunities. This is the care I want my patients to have. This is the impact I want to have on the people around me. I do not wish to die famous or rich. I want to die knowing that I did all I could for people like me. That is what completing my dream would look like. Thank you for your time.