I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 21, right in the middle of trying to figure out who I was and what direction my life was supposed to take. One day I was a healthy young adult, and the next I was learning how to count carbs, calculate insulin doses, and carry glucose everywhere I went. It wasn’t just a medical diagnosis; it was a complete shift in how I moved through the world. I had to learn how to trust my body again, even when it felt unpredictable. That experience changed me, and it’s the reason I want to help others living with chronic autoimmune conditions. Being diagnosed as an adult gave me a unique perspective. I remember how confusing everything felt in the beginning, how every appointment came with new information, and how overwhelming it was to suddenly be responsible for something so constant. I especially remember the moments when a healthcare provider made me feel seen. When they slowed down, explained things in a way that didn’t make me feel judged, or simply acknowledged how hard it is to manage something that never takes a break. Those moments stuck with me. They’re the reason I want to work in healthcare and public health spaces where empathy isn’t just helpful but essential. As I pursue a nursing career, I want to be the person who understands the emotional side of chronic illness, not just the clinical one. When someone tells me they’re burnt out, I’ll know exactly what that means. When a patient is scared of a new device or frustrated with their numbers, I won’t dismiss it. I’ve lived it. I want to create an environment where people feel comfortable asking questions, admitting mistakes, and being honest about what they’re struggling with. Chronic illness is hard enough; no one should feel alone on top of it. I also want to work on the bigger picture of access, affordability, and education. Living with type 1 diabetes opened my eyes to how much privilege is built into staying healthy. Insulin costs, insurance battles, supply shortages, and the price of technology all shape a person’s ability to manage their condition. I want to use my career to advocate for policies that make care more accessible and more humane. Whether it’s pushing for lower insulin costs, improving patient education programs, or helping design systems that don’t leave people behind, I want to be part of that change. Ultimately, my diagnosis didn’t just give me a chronic condition. It gave me a purpose. I know what it feels like to have your life turned upside down by something you didn’t choose. I know what it feels like to rebuild, to adapt, and to keep going. In my career, I want to help others do the same. If I can make even one person feel understood, supported, or empowered in their own journey, then I’ll be doing exactly what my diagnosis pushed me toward: turning a difficult experience into something meaningful.

Having a mother with chronic illness and a brother with disabilities has shaped me in ways that go far beyond responsibility. It has shaped my worldview, my sense of purpose, and ultimately my decision to pursue nursing. Caregiving is not something I do occasionally. It is the rhythm of my daily life, woven into every decision I make about school, work, and my future. My brother has struggled with significant mental health challenges for years, and because he struggles to maintain consistent employment, I have taken on a major role in supporting him. That means helping him manage daily tasks and creating a stable environment at home. Mental health disabilities are often invisible to others, but the impact on a family is constant. Supporting him has taught me patience, emotional awareness, and how to communicate in ways that preserve dignity during difficult moments. It has also shown me how deeply people depend on compassionate, trauma‑informed care—something I hope to bring into my nursing practice. At the same time, my mom has faced two battles with breast cancer, first in 2024 and again in 2026. Her recurrence meant more surgeries, more appointments, and more moments where she needed someone to advocate for her. I became that person. I managed her medications, coordinated her care, communicated with her providers, and handled the household responsibilities she could no longer manage. I also contribute financially by paying the mortgage and half of all bills so she can focus on healing. Watching her fight through pain, fear, and exhaustion while still trying to be strong for our family has shaped my understanding of resilience. It has also shown me how essential nurses are, not just for clinical care, but for emotional support, clear communication, and helping families navigate overwhelming systems. Balancing school and work with caregiving has not been easy. I study between appointments, write papers late at night after everyone is settled, and structure my schedule around the needs of my family. I have missed out on many social events, but I have gained a deep sense of purpose and a commitment to serving others. These experiences have not pulled me away from nursing, they have made my path unmistakably clear. As a low‑income, first‑generation student, the financial strain of pursuing nursing is significant. Every dollar I earn goes toward supporting my family, and scholarships like this one make it possible for me to continue my education without compromising the care my mom and brother depend on. Nursing is not just a career goal for me; it is an extension of the life I already live. I know what it means to show up for someone in their most vulnerable moments, to advocate when they cannot, and to bring compassion into situations that feel overwhelming. Caring for my mom and brother has shaped me into someone who leads with empathy, steadiness, and purpose. It is the foundation of why I am pursuing nursing and the reason I know I will bring deep understanding and advocacy to every patient and family I serve.

What I want to build is a future where people, especially those in overlooked communities, feel seen, supported, and cared for within the healthcare system. For me, “building” is not just about constructing something new; it’s about creating stability, trust, and access where those things have been missing. As a first‑generation college student and future nurse, I am building a path that didn’t exist in my family before, and I hope that path becomes something larger than myself. My education is helping me build a foundation of knowledge, confidence, and clinical skill, but it’s also helping me build a deeper understanding of the barriers people face when seeking care. Working in public health has shown me how many individuals struggle with chronic conditions, mental health challenges, and the overwhelming complexity of navigating the healthcare system. I’ve seen how easily people can fall through the cracks, not because they lack motivation, but because the system wasn’t built with them in mind. This is what I want to change. As a nurse, I hope to build a career rooted in community health, where relationships matter as much as treatment plans. I want to build trust with patients who have been dismissed or misunderstood. I want to build programs that improve health literacy, expand access to preventive care, and make it easier for people to manage their conditions before they become crises. I want to build a model of care that treats people with dignity, patience, and compassion. On a personal level, I am also building a life that honors the sacrifices my family made. Being first‑generation means carrying both pride and responsibility. It means building a future where financial stability, educational opportunity, and meaningful work are not exceptions but expectations. My nursing degree will allow me to support my family while also giving back to the communities that shaped me. Ultimately, what I want to build is a bridge between healthcare and the people it is meant to serve. My education is the blueprint, nursing is the structure, and my commitment to equity is the foundation. By building this future, I hope to create not only a meaningful career for myself, but a positive, lasting impact on the health and well‑being of my community.

The whole reason I’m becoming a nurse is to serve my community. That has always been at the center of my goals, long before I knew what my exact career path would look like. I’ve spent 7 years working in public health, and while I value the systems‑level work, I’ve learned that I’m most fulfilled when I’m directly supporting people—listening, teaching, and helping them navigate the challenges that shape their health. Nursing is the path that allows me to do that in a hands‑on, meaningful way, while staying connected to the communities that raised me and shaped my values. My decision to become a nurse is also deeply personal. My mom has had breast cancer twice, in 2024 and again in 2026, and being part of her care taught me what it means to show up for someone during the hardest moments of their life. I helped manage her appointments, medications, and recovery, but more importantly, I learned how to be present—how to stay calm when she was scared, and how to advocate for her when she was exhausted. Those experiences didn’t just make me more resilient; they showed me the kind of nurse I want to be. Someone who listens without judgment, who explains things clearly, and who treats every patient with dignity. My background in public health has given me a strong foundation for this work. I’ve seen how social factors such as housing, income, transportation, and stigma shape a person’s health long before they ever see a provider. I’ve worked with patients managing chronic conditions, supported HIV care programs, and collaborated with community partners to expand access to services. These experiences taught me that good healthcare doesn’t start in the clinic; it starts in the community. As a nurse, I want to bridge those worlds by bringing clinical skill together with a deep understanding of the barriers people face. As a future nurse, I hope to serve in community health settings where I can make the biggest impact. I’m drawn to public health clinics, community health centers, and programs that support people who often feel overlooked, such as people managing chronic illnesses, navigating financial strain, or dealing with complicated life circumstances. I want to be the kind of nurse who helps patients feel seen and understood, who can break down complex information into something manageable, and who can advocate for people who don’t always have someone in their corner. Becoming a nurse feels like the natural next step in my journey. It allows me to combine my public health background, my lived experience as a caregiver, and my commitment to equity into a career centered on compassion and practical impact. I want to be a nurse who not only provides excellent clinical care, but also helps build healthier, stronger communities.

Cancer has been a part of my family’s story in ways that are both painful and transformative. My mom has had breast cancer twice, first in 2024 and again in 2026, and my dad’s sister passed away from ovarian cancer in her early sixties. These experiences didn’t just shake us; they changed the way we move through the world, the way we show up for each other, and the way I understand strength. When my mom was first diagnosed in 2024, everything in our house shifted overnight. Suddenly, life revolved around appointments, surgeries, and long days where she was too tired to do much more than rest. Even when she finished treatment, the fear of it coming back never really left. Then, earlier this year, when we heard the words “it’s cancer again,” it felt like the ground dropped out from under us. This time, I understood more clearly what the road ahead would look like, and I stepped into a bigger caregiving role. I helped manage her appointments, kept track of medications, and took on the daily tasks she couldn’t handle while recovering. But the hardest part wasn’t the logistics, it was watching someone I love fight through pain and exhaustion while still trying to stay positive. My mom has this quiet kind of strength that doesn’t make a big show of itself. She just keeps going, even on the days when everything hurts. Being there for her taught me what real resilience looks like. Losing my aunt to ovarian cancer added another layer to all of this. She was warm, funny, and one of those people who made everyone feel welcome. Her death hit my dad especially hard and showed me how illness affects a family from every angle. Grief doesn’t move in a straight line. Some days it’s heavy and loud while other days it’s just a quiet ache that follows you around. Through all of this, I learned what caregiving actually means. It’s not dramatic or heroic. It’s making sure someone eats when they don’t feel like it. It’s driving to early‑morning appointments, sitting through long waits, and being the calm person in the room when everything feels uncertain. It’s showing up consistently, even when you’re tired or scared. These experiences taught me patience, empathy, and how to advocate for someone who doesn’t have the energy to advocate for themselves. Cancer also showed me how quickly a family’s stability can be shaken. Treatment costs, time off work, and unexpected expenses stretched us thin. It made me even more determined to pursue my education and build a future where I can support myself and help my family without giving up my goals. More than anything, cancer taught me the importance of being present. Not just physically, but emotionally, and really being there for someone on their hardest days. It taught me that compassion is something you build through experience, not something you learn from a book. These experiences are a big part of why I’m becoming a nurse, because I want to take what I’ve lived through and turn it into care that helps other families feel less alone. Cancer has taken a lot from my family, but it has also shaped who I am. I’m more grounded, more resilient, and more committed to building a life centered on empathy and purpose.

Option 3: Relationships have shaped my long‑term goals more than any single event in my life. The connections I’ve built in my family and with my partner, a wildland firefighter, have taught me what stability, purpose, and commitment look like in practice. They’ve also shaped the kind of future I want to build, both personally and in my career in healthcare. I grew up as the youngest of three, with a seven‑year age gap between me and my two older brothers. That gap meant I often experienced childhood differently from them, watching them navigate adolescence and adulthood while I was still trying to understand the world around me. My parents were together throughout my childhood, but their relationship was strained for years. My mom didn’t separate from my dad until I graduated high school, though she deserved the chance to leave much earlier. Living in a home where tension was constant but unspoken taught me early how much relationships shape a person’s sense of safety and belonging. As a first‑generation student, I also grew up watching my parents navigate life without a roadmap. They worked hard, often silently, and carried burdens they didn’t always have the language or resources to express. That environment taught me to read emotions carefully, to communicate clearly, and to value relationships built on honesty rather than avoidance. It also taught me to create the kind of stability I didn’t always have growing up. This is something that influences every connection I build today. These early lessons became even more meaningful when I met my partner. Wildland firefighting is a profession defined by unpredictability, long deployments, and real danger. Loving someone whose work requires stepping into risk has reshaped my understanding of commitment. It has taught me that connection is not about constant proximity but about the steadiness you offer each other through distance, uncertainty, and the emotional weight of a high‑risk job. When he is deployed for weeks at a time, communication becomes intentional. We don’t waste words, we don't waste time, and we listen with care. That kind of communication has influenced every relationship in my life—family, friends, colleagues, and the patients I hope to serve in my future career. It has taught me to show up fully, even in small moments, and to build relationships grounded in trust, not convenience. Being with someone who serves others so directly has also shaped my professional aspirations. I am pursuing a career in nursing and public health because I want to bring that same spirit of service into my own work. My partner protects communities from fire; I hope to support people through illness, vulnerability, and the complexities of navigating the healthcare system. My upbringing taught me empathy; my relationship taught me resilience; nursing allows me to bring both into a career centered on care. Relationships also influence the kind of life I want to build long‑term. Growing up in a home where emotional safety was inconsistent taught me to prioritize stability, communication, and mutual respect. Being a first‑generation student taught me to value community and interdependence. Loving a wildland firefighter taught me to appreciate courage, presence, and the importance of choosing each other even when life is unpredictable. These lessons shape not only my personal goals but also the kind of healthcare provider I hope to become—someone who listens deeply, communicates clearly, and supports people through their most vulnerable moments.

Growing up with severe eczema shaped my mental health long before I had the language to describe what I was feeling. As a child and teenager, I carried a quiet but heavy depression that came from constantly managing pain, visible symptoms, and the self‑consciousness that follows you everywhere when your skin becomes a source of scrutiny. I learned early what it feels like to want to disappear, to avoid mirrors, and to move through the world bracing for comments or stares. Those years taught me resilience, but they also taught me how deeply mental and physical health intertwine. I didn’t know it then, but those experiences were already shaping the beliefs and values that guide me today. As an adult, my mental health journey became more defined, and more complicated. At twenty‑eight, I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder after years of pushing through constant worry, hypervigilance, and a sense that I had to hold everything together on my own. A year later, I was diagnosed with ADHD, which reframed so many parts of my life: the exhaustion from masking, the perfectionism, the cycles of burnout, and the feeling that I was always working twice as hard to stay afloat. These diagnoses didn’t solve everything, but they gave me clarity. They helped me understand that my struggles weren’t personal failures, they were real conditions that deserved care, compassion, and support. These experiences have profoundly shaped my beliefs. I believe that mental health struggles are not something people should “push through” or hide. I believe in creating environments where people can speak openly about what they’re carrying without fear of judgment. I believe healing is not linear, and that strength can look like asking for help, setting boundaries, or simply getting through the day. Most importantly, I believe that people deserve to be met with patience and understanding, because you never know what someone is battling internally. My relationships have changed as well. I’ve learned to communicate more honestly, to let people in instead of trying to manage everything alone. I’ve become more intentional about surrounding myself with people who value emotional safety and mutual care. My mental health journey has also made me more empathetic; I listen differently now, with a deeper awareness of how invisible pain can be. These shifts have strengthened my connections and helped me build relationships rooted in trust rather than performance. My career aspirations are directly tied to these experiences. Living with depression, anxiety, ADHD, and a chronic disease has given me a unique understanding of what it means to navigate the healthcare system while feeling vulnerable or misunderstood. It’s one of the reasons I am pursuing a career in nursing and public health. I want to support patients who feel overwhelmed, dismissed, or unseen, especially those managing chronic conditions or mental health challenges. I hope to create spaces where patients feel respected, informed, and empowered, and to advocate for care that acknowledges the full person, not just their symptoms. My mental health journey has been difficult, but it has also shaped me into someone who leads with empathy, seeks understanding, and believes deeply in the power of compassionate care. It has influenced every part of my life and continues to guide the kind of person and future healthcare provider I hope to become.

I chose to pursue a career in nursing because it is the place where every part of my life—my public health training, my lived experience with chronic illness, and my commitment to equity—comes together in a way that feels both purposeful and deeply human. I grew up navigating the healthcare system not only for myself, as someone living with type 1 diabetes, but also alongside family members who often struggled to access consistent, compassionate care. Those experiences taught me how overwhelming the medical world can feel for people who don’t have resources, connections, or guidance. They also showed me how transformative it is when even one clinician takes the time to listen, explain, and advocate. That is the kind of presence I want to be for others. My academic and professional path has always centered on community health. I earned my bachelor’s degree in public health and later completed my Master of Public Health, focusing on health systems, chronic disease management, and equitable care delivery. For the past several years, I have worked in HIV care and treatment compliance, clinical research, and community‑based health programs. These roles have given me a strong foundation in patient education, data‑driven decision‑making, and the realities of health disparities. But they have also shown me the limits of what I can do from the administrative or research side of healthcare. I want to be at the bedside and in the community, caring for patients directly, building trust, and helping people navigate the same challenges I once faced. That is why I am pursuing nursing. It is the field where I can combine clinical skill with advocacy, education, and relationship‑building. My goal is to become a community health nurse working in a public health department or community clinic, serving patients who are often overlooked by the healthcare system—people managing chronic illnesses, families with limited financial resources, and individuals who feel intimidated or dismissed in medical settings. I want to use my degree to bridge the gap between clinical care and public health, helping patients not only receive treatment but also understand it, manage it, and feel supported throughout the process. In the long term, I hope to support programs that improve chronic disease management for low‑income and first‑generation patients, drawing on both my personal experience and my professional background. I know firsthand how much it matters when someone believes in you, explains things clearly, and helps you feel capable of managing your own health. I want to bring that same sense of empowerment to the patients I serve. For me, nursing is not just a career choice, it is a continuation of the work I have already been doing, shaped by the communities that raised me and the challenges that shaped me. With this degree, I hope to honor those experiences by becoming the kind of nurse who makes healthcare feel accessible, respectful, and genuinely healing for every patient.

Being a “You Got It Girl” means showing up with resilience, grit, and heart — not just when things are going well, but especially when life gets heavy. For me, that identity was shaped through years of balancing school, work, caregiving, and sports — often without the resources or support that many athletes have. I’m now pursuing a second bachelor’s degree, and even though I’m not playing college soccer this time around, the qualities that sports built in me are still at the center of who I am. I’m a YGIG because I’ve learned how to keep going, how to lift others up, and how to carve out space for myself in environments where women’s sports are often overlooked or underfunded. Soccer has been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember. I grew up playing, competed in high school, and played club soccer for my college during my first undergraduate degree. Those years taught me discipline, teamwork, and how to push myself even without access to elite clubs or private coaching. Today, I still play in adult leagues because the sport continues to ground me. It keeps me connected to a community of women who show up for each other, compete hard, and create space for joy and strength in a world that doesn’t always make that easy. In 2024, I tore my ACL — one of the hardest setbacks I’ve ever faced as an athlete. The surgery and long recovery tested me physically and mentally. There were months where I wondered if I’d ever feel confident on the field again. But I committed to physical therapy, stayed patient, and kept believing in the possibility of a comeback. Returning to soccer in 2025 wasn’t just about playing again — it was about trusting my body, rebuilding my confidence, and proving to myself that I could rise after something that tried to take the sport away from me. That comeback is one of my proudest accomplishments. Off the field, I’ve faced challenges that shaped me just as deeply. In 2024, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Overnight, I became her primary caregiver — managing her appointments, medications, and recovery while working, taking nursing prerequisites, and managing my own health as someone with type 1 diabetes. While difficult, this experience taught me what real resilience looks like. It taught me how to advocate, how to stay organized under pressure, and how to show up even when I was scared or tired. My mom is the person I admire most. Watching her fight cancer with courage, humor, and stubbornness changed me. Even on her hardest days, she reminded me to keep going, to take care of myself, and to believe that our circumstances didn’t define our future. She inspires me because she never let her diagnosis take away her spirit. She taught me what resilience looks like in real life. She’s the reason I’m pursuing nursing now. I want to be the kind of steady, empathetic presence she had in her care team. This scholarship would make a real difference for me. As a low‑income student supporting my family while pursuing a second bachelor’s degree, every expense matters; tuition, transportation, books, rent, medical expenses, groceries, and more. Staying active in soccer is also important for my physical and mental health, especially while balancing school and caregiving responsibilities. This scholarship would give me the stability to focus on my education and continue building toward a career in nursing without having to sacrifice the sport that has shaped me. While I’m not competing as a college athlete this time around, I still consider myself an athlete. I plan to continue playing soccer in adult leagues throughout my program because it keeps me grounded, connected, and strong. Being a student‑athlete, even outside the formal college system, means carrying the lessons of sport into every part of my life: discipline, teamwork, resilience, and the belief that I can push through hard things. Those qualities are exactly what I’m bringing into my nursing journey.

Nursing interests me because it brings together everything I care about—community health, equity, and being able to show up for people in real, hands‑on ways. I grew up in north Portland, where I saw early on how much someone’s environment and access to care shape their health. That perspective pushed me toward public health, and I eventually earned both my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in the field. I’ve spent the last several years working in HIV care, chronic disease research, and community‑based programs, and while I’ve learned a lot, the moments that stay with me are always the ones where I’m working directly with people. I realized that I don’t just want to improve systems—I want to be in the room with the patient, helping them understand what’s going on and supporting them through it. Nursing is the path that lets me do that. My long‑term goal is to become a nurse who serves communities that often get overlooked. I’m especially drawn to public health clinics and community health centers, where people come in with not just medical needs but also barriers, fears, and life circumstances that shape their health. I want to be the kind of nurse who listens without judgment, explains things in a way that feels manageable, and helps people feel seen. With my public health background, I also hope to bridge clinical care with prevention and advocacy—making sure patients don’t just get treated, but also get supported in the long run. A lot of my professional experiences have prepared me for this next step. Working in HIV care taught me how to build trust with patients who have every reason to be cautious. Supporting research teams showed me how to communicate complex information clearly. Collaborating with community partners helped me understand how to navigate systems that aren’t always designed with patients in mind. All of these experiences strengthened my commitment to becoming a nurse who can meet people where they are. My personal life has shaped this path too. Living with type 1 diabetes has given me a deep understanding of what it means to manage a chronic condition day in and day out. I also spent the last few years caring for my mom through her breast cancer diagnosis, surgeries, and recovery. Balancing her appointments, medications, and daily needs while working and managing my own health taught me what caregiving really looks like behind the scenes—the exhaustion, the fear, the small victories, and the constant problem‑solving that families do quietly every day. I know what it feels like to juggle work, family responsibilities, and the ongoing demands of staying healthy. I’ve had providers who made both of us feel supported and capable, and I’ve had moments where I felt overwhelmed and alone. Those experiences are a big part of why I want to be a nurse. I want to offer the kind of empathy, clarity, and steady presence that made such a difference for my mom and for me. Every step I’ve taken—academically, professionally, and personally—has led me toward nursing. I’m entering this field with a strong foundation in public health, a commitment to equity, and a genuine desire to serve. Becoming a nurse will allow me to bring all of these pieces together and build a career centered on compassion, community, and meaningful impact.