I think of my family life in before-and-afters. I've always grown up in a single-parent household. My mom, seeking the best quality of life for us, chose to move from the constant rat race of Brooklyn, New York, to South Carolina, where she would switch from teaching at inner-city schools to being one of the few math teachers for multiple grades in southern schools. What the South provided for me was a clean, quaint home and a backyard to play in, access to after-school activities and academic tutors, and a neighborhood where we didn't live in fear: benefits I attribute to my mother’s relentless determination to uplift us from poverty. At one point, she worked three jobs to fund my education. Despite the warmth from my peers' families and the time my mom carved out from her busy schedule, I longed for extended family. My grandmother, who lived with my mother throughout the pregnancy and cared for me in my infancy, still lived in New York. My abuela, equally as far, provided me with warmth, care, and affection that I cherished every summer spent with her. Those childhood summers were some of my favorites. When my mom would send me to my dad's side of the family, my daily routine transformed from a very independent only child to being among handfuls of cousins my age and the constant presence of tíos, tías, and my abuelos. On quiet summer days, I’d help my Grandma organize her pills, run errands, or help her manage patient care plans in her work as a social worker. With my abuelos, I’d sit down and translate papers for them or help manage their glucose. This was my before. One of the heaviest losses in my life was losing my abuela to brain cancer and, subsequently, my tía to suicide. My after. Witnessing my Abuela’s terminal brain cancer diagnosis showed me the importance of patient-centered care. Observing the emergency helicopter, physicians, critical surgeries, and daily care made a lasting impression. Despite being one of the hardest moments in my life, it motivated me to pursue medicine (BS.Neuroscience, Conc. Forensics)—a path no one in my family has followed. In my academic career, I contributed to impactful research. At the community level, I analyzed health disparities in fresh-food-impoverished areas. The results of this research showed high levels of amputation, organ failure, diabetes, and developmental delays. Additionally, my role on EEG studies related to misophonia gave me experience in behavioral coding. I gained essential hands-on experience as an EMT, served on the executive board of the Black Medical Student Association, volunteered over 200 hours with Zeta Phi Beta Sorority Inc., and participated in my university's collegiate EMT team. Reaffirming my commitment to medicine, I served as a camp counselor for children with renal disease at Dialysis Clinic Inc. through a highly selective process. There, hemodialysis machines were available, enabling a camp experience that might otherwise be out of reach. Additionally, I observed world-class medical staff at the number one children's hospital in the nation, Texas Children's Hospital. I am incredibly thankful to the sponsors of the Larry Darnell Green Scholarship. Thank you for hearing my story and for supporting scholars like me who are committed to learning, growing, and giving back. Your support brings my dream within reach, and I intend to pay it forward.

“Books are a form of political action. Books are knowledge. Books are reflection. Books change your mind.”― Toni Morrison Reading is one of the only art forms where you can speak directly to the reader's psyche, where the writer can put their ruminations in and concentrate them into a meditative piece. I want to share some pieces of literature and the writers behind them that have informed and shaped me; I'd also like to talk about how these books came into my life. As we see a rise in book bans and media censorship, the ways I, as the audience, access these works of literature are something we should talk about more. I'd like to start in my sophomore year at the institution I currently attend, the University of South Carolina. It was bitter, wet, and cold outside, and I was in a hurry to make it to my next class in the Science and Technology building (which, annoyingly, was on the other side of campus from the cognitive psychology class I just left), when a small booth of used books caught my eye. These books were a random assortment, with no order or genre. You could pay whatever you saw fit, and so I exchanged two dollars to get two books, "Mutual Aid: Building Solidarity in Crisis", by Dean Spade, which called to me due to the rapidly deteriorating political landscape of America, and “The Healing of America,” by T.R Reid. Dean Spade's work on mutual aid expanded my thinking and vocabulary about actionable steps I could take to better align with my beliefs in collective action to overcome social, economic, and political barriers. However, I want to focus on T.R. Reid's book, which profoundly impacted me as a pre-medical student. "The Healing of America" explores other countries' healthcare systems in a quest for better, cheaper, and fairer healthcare systems; it traces the history of the American healthcare system and includes stories from Americans about how the system has impacted them -- the good, bad, and ugly. This was one of the first times I questioned, "What type of Physician do I want to be?" Beyond specialties and what I find interesting, I questioned how I want to shape the healthcare system to better serve patients and the community. As an EMT, I always felt so much pride in delivering emergency care to my patients and bringing them to life-saving treatments in the hospital, but I never thought about the amount of medical debt they could incur just from riding in my ambulance. This book bridged a chasmic disconnect I had between textbook medicine and the patient populations I would be interacting with. I was put on this earth to help others; that was clear to me. My challenge was how I would do it. Originally, my interest in neuroscience seemed like a streamlined pathway to the imagined high-paying, cushy lifestyle that comes with a highly specialized career. But as books, podcasts, and other media entered my life, they broadened how I approached medicine and the type of critical thinking I should use when examining challenges in the American healthcare system. To end, I'd like to list books that've impacted me: "Lilith's Brood" by Octavia Butler (which shows a dystopian future and raises ethical concerns about altering the human genome and lifespan), "the Game of Life and How to Play it" by Florence Shin (which inspired self-thought into self-placed limiting beliefs and how our spoken word has power for how we shape our life), and my most current read "Salvation" by Bell Hooks (which speaks on love as revolution).

Is money truly the root of all evil? Money pervades nearly every aspect of life, yet it is often shadowed by negative connotations—capital gain, the pursuit of cash, and valuing grandeur are seen as morally suspect. I have lived on both sides of this argument. A two-parent household was never my reality, but I never felt deprived. My mother, a 27-year-old math teacher, stretched every dollar to provide for me. From food stamps she created fresh, nutritious meals. When New York became too demanding—financially and emotionally—she moved us to South Carolina in search of peace and stability. With hand-me-down clothes, warm oatmeal breakfasts, cycled-down summer workbooks, and inexpensive (but plentiful) holiday experiences -- I'd never felt lack. My childhood was happy despite us being "have-nots," and for that, I am always grateful. But as I became older and wiser, I realized that this sense of financial peace had not come without tradeoffs. Like a duck swimming beneath the surface, my mother was paddling frantically to survive. We were living paycheck to paycheck. After working with kids all day, I felt, as a child myself, that sometimes the last thing my mother wanted to bear with was yet another child. The stress of being the sole provider was physically taxing on my mother. At times, she looked duller; for weeks out of a month, she would have hemorrhaging like periods. Her hair was thinner, her temperament was quicker to snap. At that point, she'd been working two jobs, one of which was an hour and thirty-minute commute, to sustain us. We had found balance in an unstable situation. How happy can a childhood be, if it was at the cost of my mother's life? Like host and parasite ... that way of living can only last for so long before it all falls apart. The breaking point for us wasn't until my junior year of high school. My mother and I were at a tipping point. Our relationship had harbored resentment and tension. It hurt for someone I loved dearly to feel like oil to my water. Out of thin air, any draining days-long argument could surface. I could imagine that for both of us, it felt like walking on eggshells. But this was also the year our family reached financial stability -- and the shifts were evident: life seemed to slow down. My mom and I weren't just surviving ... we were living. Beyond the morality of "money fixes problems," science offers further insight. Strain theory shows that access to resources eases adversity—an idea I first encountered in my Neuroscience and Forensics studies. Money has given me opportunities I might never have known otherwise: a university education, studying abroad, and time with those I love. So, I ask again: is money the root of all evil? For me, money is not evil—it is freedom. The prospect of debt nearly forced me to abandon my dreams of medical school, but financial stability has allowed me to reclaim my path. In a world without constant financial worry, I could care for those who cared for me, pursue my studies wholeheartedly, and invest my energy where it matters most. True happiness is not found in possessions, but in the agency money can provide—the ability to shape my future and give back. That is what financial peace means to me.

I am a Black and Hispanic woman at the University of South Carolina, Columbia, but my presence in STEM did not begin with me. It began generations earlier, with women who entered rooms not designed for them and chose to remain. My mother earned her B.S. in Pure Mathematics, often as the only Black woman in her major-related coursework. My grandmother pursued her Master’s in Social Work at Columbia University in NYC and left an outstanding legacy despite overt racial injustice and exclusion. Their lives were defined not only by academic discipline but by determination. From them, I inherited the values that there was no room—academically or otherwise—that I did not belong to by virtue of creed or race. That inheritance shaped my decision to pursue STEM. I am currently a junior studying Neuroscience with a concentration in Forensics, and I am an NREMT-P. I was drawn to STEM because of its scalability. Scientific advancement has the capacity to create systemic change, particularly in a world facing an aging population and rising rates of neurodegenerative disease. My research experience in a Misophonia physiology lab at UofSC provided clinical awareness. That exposure clarified my long-term goal: to earn an MD and specialize in neuropsychiatry or emergency medicine, contributing to both patient care and the research that informs it. As my coursework advances and I navigate further down the bottleneck funnel to medical school, upper-level neuroscience courses have made increasingly visible the persistent underrepresentation of women—especially women of color—in STEM spaces. The gender gap in clinical neuroscience is not limited to faculty positions; it is reflected in authorship patterns, funding distribution, and leadership representation. Studies examining academic neurology, neurosurgery, and psychiatry have found disproportionately low female authorship, with a substantial proportion of publications containing no female contributors. This disparity is not symbolic; it has clinical and tangible consequences. Take, for example, historically overrepresented male participants, limiting sex-specific analysis in pharmacokinetics and treatment research. The result has been inappropriate dosing standards and increased adverse drug reactions among women. Research also shows that when women are included as scientists, sex- and gender-based analyses are more likely to be incorporated into study design. Representation therefore directly affects scientific rigor. When women leave STEM at higher rates—the “leaky pipeline”—the loss extends beyond individual careers; it weakens the scope and validity of science itself. Scaled to the intersections of race and gender, the consequences deepen. Black and POC individuals already face documented social and health inequalities and lower quality of care, and underrepresentation in research compounds those gaps. My presence in STEM, therefore, carries dual meaning. It is both continuation of my personal ideals and active participation in resistance. As a member of the Black Medical Student Association and a collegiate EMT, I engage in spaces that support underrepresented students pursuing medicine. In the future, I intend to mentor underrepresented students of color entering neuroscience and medicine, advocate for inclusive research protocols, and contribute scholarship that prioritizes sex- and gender-informed analysis. I pursue STEM not only because I belong in it, but because its future depends on broader belonging. The confidence modeled by my pillars allows me to enter these spaces without hesitation. My responsibility now is to ensure that those who follow encounter fewer barriers and more visible paths forward. As a student who supports herself entirely and relies on merit- and institution-based scholarships and grants, financial stability remains one of the most significant barriers to persistence in STEM. Receiving this support would allow me to focus fully on my studies, graduate debt-free, and establish a strong foundation for pursuing master’s-level education without financial constraint.

Service work is often quiet, demanding, and deeply human. The people who commit themselves to serving others rarely do so for recognition, yet their impact shapes entire communities. I have learned through my own experiences that service is not a single act, but a way of showing up consistently for others, especially in moments when they are most vulnerable. My name is Clementine Jordan, and I am a junior undergraduate majoring in Neuroscience with minors in Computer Science and Forensics. I am pursuing a career in medicine because I believe service and healthcare are inseparable. I was drawn to medicine not only because of the science behind it, but because it allows me to care for people in real, tangible ways. Whether through emergency response, research, or advocacy, my goal has always been to serve my community with integrity, compassion, and accountability. One of the most meaningful ways I have served my community is through my work as a collegiate EMT. In emergency medical services, service is immediate and personal. Every call brings uncertainty, urgency, and responsibility. I remember responding to a call involving an elderly patient who lived alone and had delayed seeking care out of fear and limited access to resources. Beyond providing medical assistance, my partner and I took time to explain each step of care, listen to her concerns, and ensure she felt respected and safe. That moment reminded me that service is not just about clinical skill—it is about trust, dignity, and presence. Through EMS, I have seen how gaps in access and understanding can turn manageable conditions into emergencies. These experiences have reinforced my commitment to a career centered on servitude, particularly in medicine, where empathy and advocacy are just as important as technical knowledge. I strive to treat every patient as an individual, recognizing that each person’s story, background, and circumstances matter. Outside of EMS, I am involved in organizations such as the Black Medical Student Association, where I engage in mentorship, outreach, and community-focused initiatives aimed at increasing access to medical education and healthcare resources. Service, to me, is not limited to emergencies—it includes education, support, and creating pathways for others to succeed. Emma Jane Hastie’s legacy of service and care reflects the values I aim to carry forward in my own life. Choosing a path rooted in servitude is not always the easiest or most lucrative option, but it is one that aligns deeply with who I am and the impact I hope to make. This scholarship would support my continued commitment to serving others through medicine and would allow me to further dedicate myself to the well-being of the communities that have shaped me. I intend to build a career grounded in service, compassion, and responsibility—honoring the belief that true impact often comes from quiet dedication and showing up for others when it matters most.

Did you know that in clinical neuroscience, gaps in representation are visible not only at the doctoral level, but also in who conducts research, whose communities are studied, and whose health outcomes are prioritized? As neurological and psychiatric conditions continue to rise—especially among aging and underserved populations—these gaps highlight the need for scientists and physicians who see education and service as inseparable. This belief aligns closely with the purpose of this scholarship: supporting the next generation of BIPOC doctors and scientists by investing in their education. Many students aspire to make a meaningful impact on the world, yet social barriers and racial gaps (whether it be wealth and/or resources) continue to make higher education more difficult to access for students of color. As a result, underrepresentation in fields such as medicine and STEM has sustained generationally. As an African American undergrad majoring in Neuroscience with minors in Computer Science and Forensics, I see my pursuit of science as both a professional calling and a responsibility to my community. My name is Clementine Jordan, and I am currently a junior studying Neuroscience. I was drawn to STEM because of its potential to create scalable, lasting change; particularly in communities that have historically lacked equitable access to healthcare and representation in research. Growing up, I saw firsthand how access, trust, and understanding directly shape health outcomes. In particular -- despite progress in education, Black women remain underrepresented at advanced levels of training. While Black women earn undergraduate degrees at increasing rates, they represent a small proportion of graduate and doctoral students in STEM fields, like a funnel. In medical education, Black women account for less than 5% of total U.S. medical school enrollment (AAMC). Representation narrows further in clinical practice, particularly in Emergency Medicine, where Black women physicians make up only a small fraction of the workforce. These statistics reflect persistent barriers—not a lack of ability or ambition—and reinforce the importance of investing in students who can help change these outcomes. During my undergraduate studies at the University of South Carolina, I worked in the Misophonia Physiology Lab, contributing to research aimed at improving diagnosis and treatment for individuals affected by misophonia. Likewise, Service is central to both my academic path and personal values. I am an active member of the Black Medical Student Association, a collegiate EMT, and the Forensics Society. As an EMT, service is immediate and deeply human. Each call requires sound judgment, empathy, and accountability, often in moments of crisis. These experiences have shaped how I view medicine—not just as a career, but as a form of responsibility to others. My long-term goal is to earn my MD and specialize in Emergency Medicine. I hope to address the growing burden of neurological and medical conditions in underserved and aging populations while serving as a physician who understands both scientific complexity and community context. I also plan to mentor students from underrepresented backgrounds and advocate for pathways that make medical and STEM careers more accessible. This scholarship would have a meaningful impact on my educational journey. Like many students pursuing demanding STEM degrees, I navigate financial challenges that require balancing work, study, and service. Support from this scholarship would allow me to focus more fully on my academic and professional development while continuing to give back.

Did you know that the brain stores grief and trauma long after a loss occurs, often reshaping how we think, feel, and see the world? I learned this not first through textbooks, but through personal loss and the long process of healing that followed. In October 2016, I lost my aunt to a drug overdose. It happened on Halloween, a day once filled with lightness that now carries a different meaning. My aunt was someone I spent my summers with growing up—someone who brought warmth, laughter, and comfort into my life. After my grandmother, her mother, passed away, my aunt struggled deeply with grief and turned to drugs as a way to cope. Her passing was sudden and painful, and it forced me to confront loss, addiction, and mental health at a young age. Grief affected me in ways I did not immediately recognize. I navigated sadness, anger, confusion, and moments of emotional numbness. At times, loss made me doubt myself and the world around me. Over time, however, I learned that grief does not simply fade—it must be acknowledged and processed. Through this experience, I discovered resilience within myself and a deeper understanding of how emotional pain shapes behavior and decision-making. Two practices that became essential to my healing were meditation and journaling. Meditation taught me how to slow my thoughts and sit with discomfort without being consumed by it. Journaling gave me a safe space to express emotions I struggled to articulate aloud. Writing helped me process grief, track my emotional growth, and find clarity during moments of uncertainty. Together, these tools helped restore a sense of peace and self-awareness during a time when life felt overwhelming. This healing journey strongly influenced my decision to continue my education. I am currently an undergraduate junior studying Neuroscience, with minors in Computer Science and Forensics, because I want to better understand how trauma, grief, and addiction affect the brain. Education has given me the ability to transform personal loss into purpose. I hope to pursue medicine and work with individuals and families navigating mental health challenges, substance use disorders, and recovery. The greatest influence in my life has been my mother. She taught me how to express my emotions honestly and without shame. Most importantly, she showed me how not to use pain as a sympathy crutch, but instead as a driving force for service and empathy. Her strength, compassion, and emotional wisdom shaped how I approached healing and how I now strive to support others. Losing my aunt changed me, but it also clarified who I want to become. Through mindfulness, reflection, education, and the guidance of my mother, I have learned that healing is not linear—but it is possible. I carry these lessons with me as I continue my education and commit myself to service, empathy, and growth.

Conditions affecting the brain’s blood supply, such as carotid artery dissection, can arise suddenly and quietly—reminding us how vital neuroscience research truly is. Learning that serious medical conditions can affect people, even healthy young individuals, is what drew me to neuroscience and deepened my commitment to service, discipline, and excellence—values that reflect the life and legacy of Kalia D. Davis. My name is Clementine Jordan, and I am an undergraduate junior majoring in Neuroscience, with minors in Computer Science and Forensics. I was drawn to STEM because it allows science, service, and human impact to intersect in meaningful ways. Understanding the brain—its complexity, vulnerability, and capacity for healing—has shaped both my academic focus and my sense of responsibility as a future physician. Like Kalia, I learned discipline early through athletics. Kalia was a high school athlete who ran track and cross country, and I also ran track in high school, where the sport became a teacher. Early mornings, demanding training, and finishing races when quitting felt easier taught me consistency, resilience, and accountability. Those lessons continue to guide how I approach my studies, my service, and my long-term goals. Service is central to who I am. I currently serve as a collegiate EMT (NREMT-P), where remaining calm under pressure and responding with skill and compassion can make a life-changing difference. I am also an active member of the Black Medical Student Association and the Forensics Society, balancing rigorous coursework with leadership and community engagement. In addition, I contributed to the Misophonia Physiology Lab at the University of South Carolina, supporting research that advances understanding and improves patient care environments. Kalia’s story deeply touched me. Seeing a young woman with so much in common—driven, disciplined, accomplished, and full of promise—reminds me not to take life for granted. Her story inspires me to live with intention and purpose, striving for excellence while contributing meaningfully to others as part of her enduring legacy. I carry that motivation with me in my academic pursuits, service commitments, and vision for the future. My long-term goal is to earn my MD and specialize in Neuropsychiatry, serving communities with limited access to neurological and psychiatric care. Inspired by Kalia’s aspiration to serve through ROTC and the military, I plan to pursue the U.S. Air Force Health Professions Scholarship Program (HPSP), combining medicine with service to country. The Kalia D. Davis Memorial Scholarship would support my continued pursuit of academic excellence while honoring a legacy defined by ambition, kindness, and service. I would be deeply honored to carry that legacy forward—living, loving, learning, and leaving a meaningful impact through medicine and service.

Did you know that protecting human health and protecting the environment are deeply connected? My interest in conservation and sustainability began early and has grown alongside my academic path in neuroscience. Through my studies, I have learned that environmental degradation directly affects neurological health, animal welfare, and long-term community resilience. My commitment to sustainability is both academic and personal. During a study abroad experience in Costa Rica, I participated in conservation work with RAFA (Rivers and Forests Alliance - https://riversandforestsalliance.org/rafa-and-verto-education-reforest-the-pacuare-with-1500-trees), helping reforest the Pacuare region by planting over 1,500 native trees to offset the environmental impact of travel and support ecosystem restoration. I am intentional about shopping ethically, supporting animal welfare, and making daily choices that reduce environmental harm. In high school, I was an active member of the environmental club Eco-Warriors, where we promoted conservation awareness and community responsibility. Through my education, I hope to integrate science, sustainability, and service to create meaningful, environmentally conscious change.

Did you know that in clinical neuroscience, gaps in representation are visible not only at the doctoral level, but also in who conducts research, whose communities are studied, and whose health outcomes are prioritized? As neurological and psychiatric conditions continue to rise—particularly among aging and underserved populations—these gaps highlight the urgent need for scientists and physicians who view education and service as inseparable. That belief strongly aligns with the legacy of Willie Louis Pegues, whose life reflected a commitment to education, family, faith, and service. As an African American undergraduate majoring in Neuroscience with minors in Computer Science and Forensics, I see my pursuit of science as both a professional calling and a responsibility to my community. My name is Clementine Jordan, and I am currently a junior studying Neuroscience. I was drawn to STEM because of its ability to create meaningful, scalable change—especially in communities that have historically faced barriers to equitable healthcare and scientific representation. Growing up, I saw how access, trust, and understanding shape health outcomes. Science, when paired with service, has the power to close those gaps. During my undergraduate studies, I participated in the Misophonia Physiology Lab at the University of South Carolina, contributing to research aimed at improving diagnosis and treatment for individuals affected by misophonia. Although this work was modest in scope, it reinforced an essential lesson: progress begins with careful research and a commitment to understanding people as individuals. This approach mirrors the dedication of educators like Mr. Pegues, who spent decades meeting students where they were and guiding them toward growth. Service is central to both my academic path and personal values. I am an active member of the Black Medical Student Association, a collegiate EMT (NREMT-P), and a member of the Forensics Society. As an EMT, service is immediate and deeply human. Each call requires sound judgment, empathy, and accountability—qualities that reflect my upbringing and the example set by leaders who serve both family and community with integrity. My long-term goal is to earn my MD and specialize in Neuropsychiatry, where I hope to address the growing burden of neurological and psychiatric conditions in aging and underserved populations. As neurodegenerative diseases become more prevalent, the need for physicians who understand both scientific complexity and community context is increasingly critical. The Willie Louis Pegues Memorial Scholarship would have a meaningful impact on my educational journey. Like many students pursuing rigorous STEM degrees, I face financial challenges that require careful balancing of work, study, and service. This scholarship would allow me to focus more fully on my academic and research commitments while continuing to serve others—honoring the values this award represents. Willie Louis Pegues devoted his life to education, family, faith, and service. I strive to carry those same principles forward through science and medicine. This scholarship would not only support my academic goals, but also affirm my commitment to using education as a tool for lasting, community-centered impact.

Did you know that in clinical neuroscience, the gender gap is seen not only at the doctoral level but also in scientific articles and studies? This gap exists at the very moment the world needs neuroscience the most — as aging populations grow and neurodegenerative diseases surge. To build a future that is both fair and scientifically sound, we must confront the barriers that limit women in this field. First, I want to establish who I am, why I have pursued STEM, and what I have learned from being in this field. Secondly, I want to briefly identify the main gaps women face in the field of neuroscience and explain why it is so important to bridge those gaps. I am Clementine Jordan, NREMT-P, an undergraduate junior studying Neuroscience with a minor in Computer Science and Forensics. I felt compelled to enter STEM because there will always be a need for it in a rapidly expanding world, and I’ve seen firsthand how advancements in STEM can scale into equitable change. A small but meaningful example comes from the Misophonia physiology lab at the University of South Carolina, where the research I contributed to is helping build better diagnoses and environments for people experiencing Misophonia. That experience showed me how even early-stage involvement in science can contribute to change — and it clarified the larger-scale impact I hope to make as a future physician with a specialty in Neuropsychiatry. To further these goals, I am an active participant in the Black Medical Student Association, a collegiate EMT, and a member of the Forensics Society, each of which shapes how I understand medicine, community, and the responsibility that comes with entering this field. Now let’s talk about why the inclusion of women in STEM matters. As Women in Neuroscience puts it, “Women make up at least 50% of neuroscience students at the predoctoral and doctoral levels, but they leave the field at a greater rate than men; thereby creating a ‘leaky pipeline’.” The ‘leaky pipeline’ creates a downstream of negative outcomes in neuroscience that doesn’t just affect women in the field—it creates a domino effect that touches every level of science and medicine: less earning potential for women, less accreditation of women’s contributions, and a pattern of research being constrained by inherent bias. This pattern of evident gender disparities was studied by K. Hakvoort et. al in the science article, “Is there a gender gap in clinical neurosciences? A cross-sectional analysis of female participation in academic neurology, neurosurgery, and psychiatry.” The outcomes of which concluded there was a significantly low percentage of female authors in these specialities, but even more dismaying -- of the 1910 articles published in six representative journals 29% had absolutely no female participation! The lack of sex-specific or sex-inclusive analysis is not without consequence. Due to an over-representation of male participants, pharmacokinetics and adverse effects put women at a higher likelihood of overdose/drug-related events due to inappropriate drug dosing (Drug Safety, 2022; Zucker and Prendergast, 2020; Lee, 2018; Parekh et al., 2011; Soldin and Mattison, 2009). And it has been proven by research that the inclusion of female scientists is likely to increase the possibility of sex-/gender-related analyses of data (Nielsen et al., 2017b). Ultimately, each departure of a woman in STEM weakens the foundation of science itself, perpetuating bias and constraining innovation. Bridging this gap is therefore not just a matter of fairness— but is essential for the accuracy, relevance, and safety of medical research itself.

1. I don’t! I actually don’t even want to go to college, I just need extra mons to buy some new Sims expansion packs. 2. Make money, be rich, find a rich husband. This would help me to further my dreams of becoming a first-generation trophy wife! Helping me to be my families Martha Stewart; I’d start my own library hundred year old gardening books just like Ms. Stewart. Oh- And my ultimate career goal? To be self-employed on a yatch — in Dubai. 3. My name is Clementine and an obstacle I am overcoming is being so intimidating! As 5’2 woman — girl? Teenager? Sometimes I forget just how scary I can be. Imagine being one of my poor unassuming friends and we get into an argument — and now you having something akin to a Gremlin at your ankles! It doesn’t help that my reputation precedes me.. my friends have now started referring to me as Chompie. In the present day, I work to build a better reputation through more open conversation. Seen through me texting bestie things like “I feel hurt” instead of “you were rude” and “I’m lonely and want to spend time with you” instead of “you work too much.” Improvement, yeah?

In life I’ve been affording so much blessings. I can’t express how happy I am to be born into my mothers arms, raised in humanities’ love, and shaped into an empath. Since I was young, with beads in my braids and gaps in my teeth, I knew that what ever profession I chose, I wanted to do two things: Give back to my family, who has loved me unconditionally and help those around me who I share this world with. So, a few obvious options come from this — go into medicine or go into law. And with all honesty I had and have a genuine and raw interest for both. My Grandmother, my personal hero; who I feel was destined to be in my life, suffers from glaucoma (as did her mother, my Nana, who lived to 101, passing surrounded by family; eyes covered in a layer of grey). So I alway considered being an eye doctor. To not only honor her. But also my grandmother and any one who suffers from afflictions in the eye. And my interest in law was first rooted in true crime channels and naturally blossomed throughout my life as I become further aware of the corruption of today. Resulting in my passion of advocacy. However, as I grew; releasing my hair from my braids, felt the heartaches of life, and learned more of the human experience, a truth came to me. A third “want.” I found that not only did I want to help others and support my family, but I wanted one other small thing: to be happy. To live a mindful and purposeful life, filled with joy, adventure, and magic! Was that too much to ask? A naive ambition? This perspective changing and colorful dream of mine to shape my own path was first seen as admirable by others— cute; a sign of my childish innocence. But as I moved into higher levels of education, away from color books and towards sat prep books, it became less “cute.” Many people crushed my dreams of wanting to go to an ivy league school, looking at me with a puzzled expression. Or politely smiler when I explained I wanted to go into a niche field that combines my love of biochemistry and Computing. I felt a sense of not judgement, but concern. However, my mother and grandmother? Never. They always nurtured that passion inside of me. Even when I had lapses of doubt, they looked into my eyes and always reminded me of what I knew deep down all long. That I am capable of anything I put my mind to. If someone else could do it why couldn’t I? So to the world I would say, “why not?” In a harsh world why would you not be your own advocate? Why don’t you try to achieve beyond your means? Why do you have to be the first to crush your dreams in fear that someone will crush them first. My advice would be to live as if there is no tomorrow — live limitlessly and unapologetically chase your dreams.