While I have learned to thrive with purpose, it’s the ability to take daring calculated risks that I'm now determined to conquer. "Prosper with a purpose" is the attribute of Black Excellence that I embody most deeply, and it is the guiding principle of everything I pursue. Purpose has always been my compass. From a young age, I knew that my life needed to be more than just about success—I wanted to serve my community in ways that went beyond personal gain. After experiencing two strokes, which were linked to PTSD from childhood trauma, emotional and physical abuse, and religious trauma, my life's purpose became crystal clear. I understood that my journey was not just about surviving but thriving in a way that could help others do the same. My strokes grounded me in my mortality, but they also freed me from doubt. Each step I take now is rooted in intentionality and supported by a commitment to serve the Black, LGBTQ+, and entertainment communities—three marginalized groups often overlooked by traditional support systems. My education in Clinical Mental Health Counseling is a direct expression of this purpose. I am not pursuing this degree for personal advancement alone; I am pursuing it to build nuanced resources, create language that uplifts, and develop tools that enable others to self-actualize. Throughout my life, I have learned that success without purpose is hollow. My experiences have made me resilient, but more importantly, they have given me the drive to ensure my prosperity benefits others. Whether it's by serving as a mentor to students, advocating for mental health in creative spaces, or helping individuals in marginalized communities navigate their paths, my success is never mine alone—it belongs to the collective. This is how I embody Black Excellence every day. Even though prospering with a purpose has been my guiding force, I now understand that taking bold, calculated risks is the key to unlocking the next level of personal and professional growth. I’ve always valued careful planning and ensuring that each step is well-thought-out before making decisions. The great thing? This has helped me avoid setbacks. However, this has also limited my ability to step into bigger opportunities with the boldness necessary to reach new heights. Growing up in an environment where safety and security were paramount, I learned to be cautious. For a long time, stepping outside of what felt comfortable seemed reckless and irresponsible. But as I’ve grown and navigated my own healing and self-discovery, I’ve come to realize that meaningful progress often comes from taking well-considered risks, even when the outcome is uncertain. This is where I see the most room for personal growth. To embrace this attribute, I’ve consistently been challenging myself to step out of my comfort zone more regularly. Whether it’s taking on leadership roles in my community or pursuing unconventional research opportunities, I’m learning to trust my instincts and believe in the power of bold action. One concrete step I’m taking is initiating projects that involve interdisciplinary collaboration with professionals outside my immediate circle, which forces me to be vulnerable, think creatively, and push beyond what I know. Another plan for improvement is setting measurable goals that involve a degree of risk. For example, as I continue my work in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, I aim to develop programs for the Black, LGBTQ+, and entertainment communities that challenge existing norms in therapy spaces and reduce barriers to culturally competent access to resources. These initiatives may (will!) require stepping into unfamiliar territory: seeking unconventional partnerships, securing funding in innovative ways, or experimenting with non-traditional modalities like biofeedback. But by daring to take these risks, I know I can create a lasting impact. As I move forward, I will continue to balance careful calculation with bold action, knowing that true growth often lies on the other side of fear. By combining my dedication to prosper with purpose and my growiung courage to take calculated risks, I am forging a path that leads to both personal fulfillment and meaningful change in the communities I serve.

"In case of an emergency, please put on your mask before assisting others." -Every airline, everywhere It took me eight months to find a therapist with my ethnic background. I needed to find a space safe enough to discuss specific and nuanced issues that were affecting me. I didn't realize that this struggle was a microcosm of the broader mental health landscape. Fact: only 5.1% of therapists are Black, and of that, 1% are male. I eventually found my therapist, and we started the work. I put on my mask first and realized that I could now assist others. My initial spark of interest in mental health was rooted in the glaring inequalities that exist, particularly concerning the underrepresentation of Black mental health counselors and therapists. I couldn't ignore the alarming suicide rates among men, particularly among Black males, and these numbers represent not just faceless individuals but my cousins, friends, nephews, co-workers... The fact that 80% of all suicide-related deaths are male, even though males make up less than half of the population, is a painful reminder of the pressing need for change. Adding another layer to my journey, I am also a member of the LGBTQ+ community. Both of these communities are among the most underserved when it comes to mental health care. More than numbers, the disparities are the lived experiences of people like me who constantly balance the implications of these intersections. It is a reminder that the mental health challenges within these communities are real and urgent. My commitment to making a positive impact on mental health extends beyond personal experiences. Currently, I serve as a research assistant for the world's first mental health app for men, where I am actively involved in developing tools, language, and resources specifically aimed at connecting men to less intimidating and more manageable mental health encouragement and resources. Additionally, I'm pioneering a curriculum for Black youth to understand what mental health is with the overarching goal being to challenge the stigma that has long been associated with the idea that one must always be strong and push through or that there are simply no options. I believe that by providing tailored resources and support, we can empower individuals to prioritize their mental well-being. In my journey to create a positive impact, I have also become a member of the American Psychological Association (APA). This affiliation has been instrumental in gathering resources and connecting with like-minded individuals who share my passion for transforming mental health care. As an APA campus ambassador, I have the privilege of bridging the gap between others and these valuable resources, ensuring that more individuals have access to the support they need. Additionally, I am proud to be a part of the Psi Chi Psychology National Honor Society and the Delta Alpha Pi Honor Society, both of which provide platforms for advocacy and awareness around mental health issues. My journey into the realm of mental health advocacy has been deeply personal, fueled by my experiences and a profound desire for change. I firmly believe that by addressing the disparities in mental health care, challenging stigmas, and providing tailored resources, we can create a world where everyone, regardless of their background, can have stories of struggle be transformed into stories of resilience and healing.

"Therapy is for rich white people." These are the words that were embossed in the core of my memory up until eight years ago, and I'm well into my 40s. More disheartening than that idea was the idea of how difficult it would be to find a therapist who looked like me. That idea, however, was anchored in the coldest, most disappointing truth. I wanted a Black male therapist who knew how to approach LGBTQ+ issues. After nine months of searching, I found a brown therapist. That's when I looked up the statistic: Only 5.1% of all therapists and counselors are Black. Of that 5.1%, only 1% is male. And only 2% of all psychiatrists are Black. I grew up in the South and was the target of much racial discrimination, so much so that I thought it was a way of life and that my need for spaces to be safe enough to work out my life's issues were far and few between. The thing about a need is just because it goes unmet doesn't mean that it disappears. Unhealthy habits surface and emotional regulation becomes a far cry. I know this because of both research and experience. I remember my first therapy session. I proudly committed, "I don't really trust this guy. So I'm not gonna show much outside of certainty. I'll play cool." Five minutes in, I was a sobbing mess. But I left that session affirmed, a little more connected, and with more uncomfortable questions than I knew what to do with. I quickly found out what people meant by "doing the work." The impact on my life after a few months was monumental. And while I realized the importance of mental health, being in therapy was not why I decided to work in mental health. It was Ava DuVernay's "When They See Us." I could only get through the first half of the first episode before hot tears heavy with anger clawed their way down my cheeks. It made me think about the plight of Black men and black individuals, and on my own accord, I started a podcast addressing those things. Then I came across and article about intergenerational trauma and the epigenetics associated with maladaptive behavior and how my great, great-great-grandmother's trauma still affects me. That's when it hit me that therapy isn't for rich white people. It was more easily accessible by rich white people. Who, then, is servicing my community? I gathered my anger, flipped it into active passion, and enrolled in an MS program for Clinical Mental Health Counseling to not only add to the solution but also create nuanced resources that administer specifically to the Black community. I have a strong background in the arts and entertainment so naturally, my ideas to make a positive impact all float around that area. As an example, barbershops and beauty shops. Black men and women find these spaces where they can talk about their issues, clown on one another, support one another, and sometimes get deep. How cool would it be to have a reality show where a licensed therapist traveled all around the country to different barbershops and beauty salons and talked mental health while uptown fades and sister locs are being done? The need is great for language and tools and while I cannot be *the* solution, I can most certainly be a part of the solution and hopefully inspire others to do the same.

My little brother had just been violently killed. A few short moments later I was watching the only grandmother I'd evern known slowly live her final days while Alzheimer's and dementia ate away at her mental health. At the time I was questioning my sexuality, had just been laid off from a job that I loved, and my dad and I weren't on speaking terms. The proverbial cherry on top was the fact that my stress response system was in a constant state of arousal because I'm a Black man in America, and with every hashtag and instagram post connected to "trauma porn," my mental health took a hit as I thought "That could have been me." I felt like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane. Finally, with some encouragement from a friend, I made the decision to get a therapist. At the time, I had great insurance, and I lived in Los Angeles. I had three basic qualities that I wanted to find in the mental health professional with whom I wanted to work: 1. Black, 2. male, and 3. LGBTQ+ affriming. It would be 8 months before I would find a therapist, and that therapist only fulfilled two of the asks -- male and LGBTQ+ affirming. Here I am, years later, and the statistics surrounding Black individuals in the field of mental health health are abysmal. 5.1% of therapists are Black. That number is up from 4.1% in 2021 at the height of the pandemic. Of that 5.1%, only 1% is male. Only 12% of therapists are LGBTQ+. But let's focus soley on the first two numbers in the data set. If there is a convention for licensed therapists, and 2,000 professionals in the field showed up, accordning to the most recentl data, only 102 of those professionals would be Black. Of the 102 Black therapists present, only 1 would be Black and male-identifying. What inspired my decision to return to school in my 40s? That. I think about the history of Black individuals in this country, and the way distress has activated and fired certain genes within us and literally altered our DNA. I think about how intergenerational trauma links us to high blood pressure, compulsive behavior, shorter lives, and schizophrenia. I think about how when my mom would yell at us and tell us to "quit runnin' in the house" and to "go sit down somewhere" because we were "making her nervous," she was really saying, "Hey, babies. I'm having a little trouble self-regulating right now, and my stress response system is fired. Can you give me a few moments of stillness?"...but how she wasn't even near a resource that would give her access to that language. What inspired my decision to return to school in my 40s? That. Currently, I'm working on a combined degree to get my MS in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. My ambition is singular: create nuanced resources for the Black community that connect with their mental health and create a way to get a steady and manageable stream of access to the Black community. It's a heavy lift, and nothing about that discourages me. While I am not *the* solution, I can be a part of the solution. There are also others who feel just as passionately as I. Beyond that, it is my hope that my presence in and underrepresented industry sparks inspiration in others to do the same. Maybe there will be another young man like me struggling for connection. And maybe -- just maybe -- he'll find me.

On the phone, she suggested me to think about whether or not I was stressed. I told her that I wasn't. Then she asked me if I shoulders were up near my ears, if my tongue was on the roof of my mouth, and eyes were wide. The answer was yes. There's a difference between stress and anxiety I've learned, and managing the former will, most times, automatically take care of the latter. When we say "relax," we mean destress. When we say "take care of mental health," we mean purify our states of being from anxiety. In order to destress, I -- of course -- breathe. Often. Deep, connected breaths increase my para and allow me to feel a state of centeredness no matter where I am. I also hum or dance it out in a mirror. (Wonders what a 3-minute, favorite song movement party can do.) I also carve out a block of time each week to plan my schedule. To know everything I can for the upcoming seven days while fully accepting the fact that it will never go exactly according to plan. I consistently go on dates with myself and touch base with where I am. For mental health, I see a therapist regularly. Together, she and I create a space for me to set boundaries for my life and way to protect those boundaries. As someone who was recently diagnosed with ADHD, it's been a journey to develop anti-anxiety habits, but I'm happy to report that my awareness has certainly decreased the level of anxiety in my life. And, listen. I love hanging with friends, playing with puppies, painting in the park, listening to strangers, and writing poetry. I'm not afraid to admit that I like a good animated double feature on the sofa.

Ballet, Blackness, and Bisexuality... In other words, intersections. I live a life of intersections, and in my 40 years of life – as I continue to develop – I've learned to love and embrace each one of those intersections. Hey, reader. My name is Corey and that intro sentence is directly related to why I'm pursing a Psychology Pre-Counseling degree with an eventual move to pursuing my Master's in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. The goal: a private practice based off of my intersections. Ballet. Not just ballet but other dance disciplines as well. And not just dance, but other areas of the arts. Currently, I'm a lecturer in the Dance Department at Chapman University. In entertainment, I'm a choreographer, writer, director, singer, actor, and dancer. I've worked alongside some of the biggest people in the industry, and what I've found is that they're all the same: they crave connection not only with themselves, but with others. Broadway, TV/Film, tours, cruise ships, etc. But Where are the creative therapists that may understand what they're going through? Blackness. ...and Native and Haitian Dominican. I've been Black...all my life. But I didn't see a therapist until I was in my late 30s. As you could imagine, there was quite a bit to unpack -- specially being from the south. Therapy came/comes with a stigma in the general Black community. I'd like to address that stigma and bring mental health to the forefront of their thinking process. In 2015, only 4 percent of therapists were Black/African American. According to a 2019 pre-pandemic evaluation, that number has dropped to 3 percent. Where are the Black therapists that may understand what they're going through? Bisexuality. This one came later in life. I have an ex wife, and a current boyfriend after being single for 9 years. Mostly because I discovered that there are quite a few [I'll speak for the] men who carry unprocessed trauma and it gets acted out in some detached, unhealthy ways. Quite a bit of thinking with the amygdala. While the marriage didn't end because of sexual preference it would have been great to know there was a place I could process that transition. When I finally tried to find a therapist who could understand, the journey took me 8 months. Should it take that long? Where are the therapists who are a part of the LGBTQ+ community that may understand what they're going through? Still connected with each of these intersections, I hope to collect as many perspectives as I can in order to understand them as humans. Not just as clients. Once – when I was getting ready to return a pair of hair clippers to someone who let me borrow them – my mom said to me (after seeing that I had done a half ass job at cleaning them), “Baby. You can’t give those back to him like that. When you borrow people’s stuff, you have to give it back to them as good or better than the way you found ‘em.” That stuck with me and I pressed forward to applying that to people and situations. Every person and situation, I’d like to leave better than the way I found. Every project. Every creative endeavor. Every conversation. I’m passionate about people and identity and connecting those two things. I’m passionate about the truth and the simplicity found in life. That's the positive impact that I want to make in the world. I want to create a space for those niche groups -- those groups that contribute so much to society -- to be seen.