I was halfway through a paper for my Cultural Competency class when my left arm went numb. started drooling. I had trouble standing. I was having a stroke. Two actually. One of the most fearsome moments of my life. I'm young and eat a levelheaded diet. I'm active in the gym and in my part-time occupation (dancer/choreographer.) Blood pressure has always been normal. This left me and the doctors mystified. By all accounts, this should not have happened. *How did this happen?* My neurologist said, "Corey, something is wrong." I corrected him. "No. Something *went* wrong. There's a stark difference." I spent a considerable amount of time in the hospital enduring test after evaluation after examination after investigation. Cardiologists. Hematologists. Neurologists. But...nothing. Not an answer amongst them. However, I learned that the strokes presented themselves in the right occipital lobe of my brain. The occipital lobe stores visual memories, enabling me to recognize familiar faces, places, and objects. I gave it some thought when I realized that all of my work with my therapist from the prior six months involved using that part of my brain to recall faces, places, and objects connected to my past because I wanted to do the deeper work -- the deeper work that sat me right of the feet of a PTSD diagnosis. Then I came across some research that nearly knocked the wind out of me. Individuals who experience PTSD are 59% more likely to experience strokes. My past is littered with macro and micro instances of childhood trauma in the form of emotional and physical abuse in addition to religious trauma, as I was a part of two different cultic groups. All the ingredients for a lack of identity, dysregulation, and -- of course -- PTSD. When we mention adversity, we usually connect it with trials or stressful situations. We think of the things that don't go our way and cause us to feel bad. But adversity is a state or instance of serious or continued difficulty or misfortune. I'm most interested in the world "continued." What I endured as a child was continued. As states and instances of serious difficulty and misfortune perpetually showed up as early life stressors, which adversely and considerably affected my adulthood, I can say that I overcame that adversity by listening to my body and getting the help with my mental health that I needed, which in and of itself wasn't easy. Do you know how hard it is to find a Black male therapist? 3.9% of therapists are Black and of that 3.9% only 1% is Black male. It took me 8 months to find a brown therapist. I collected all of my intersections -- a Black, LGBTQ+, performer with this skewed and incomplete view of spirituality -- and found out why they call it "the work." Over the last year, my level of self-actualization has grown more than I could ever anticipated. I'm happier, more regulated, and more connected to myself than ever. I like me. Easy? No. Necessary? Yes. I think about other people who possess my intersections -- Black, LGBTQ+, performer, religiously exposed. They are amongst the most underserved when it comes to mental health support, speaking in terms of representation, resources, access, and nuanced tools and language. My goal is to increase the representation of Black males as a Clinical Mental Health Counselor and create culturally competent interventions for the aforementioned communities. Everyone should have a place and a space where they are welcomed and given unconditional positive regard. Healing is a rightful journey. So is helping other do the same.

"Congratulations, Corey. You have ADHD." My whole world made sense. But it didn't always... I've only been diagnosed with ADHD for the last three years, but prior to that -- because of unequivocal access to resources -- I was misdiagnosed as depressed and anxious. The truth is I was attempting to reconcile neurodivergence with the epigenetic implications of PTSD from childhood trauma. When I made the decision to go back to school, I knew that the journey would not be easy. I knew that I would need instrumental support because I didn't just want to survive; I wanted to thrive. It's funny what can happen when you have the right support around you. I have emerged with a fervent resolve to dismantle the stigma surrounding mental health and foster a culture of compassion and understanding. It is a journey fraught with challenges, yet illuminated by the unwavering belief that every individual deserves access to the support and resources needed to thrive. My decision to pursue a career in mental health advocacy is not merely a professional choice, but a deeply personal calling—a pilgrimage of sorts unswervingly fueled by the conviction that support is the cornerstone of resilience. As I reflect on my journey, I am reminded of a pivotal moment—a moment that crystallized my purpose and set me on this path. One monumental epiphany that manifested was that I could be my own support. I could develop the tools to champion myself. I could forge a path to being so connected with myself that I could easily identify, comprehend, and communicate my needs to myself and others. It was a game-changer. In the middle of a full-time course load, a full-time job, recovering from an emotionally abusive relationship, and the barrage of race-based violence, I found a way to cope healthily. My trajectory was clear: devote my life to advocating for mental health and be a voice for the voiceless and a source of support for those in need. Yet, this journey is not one embarked upon alone—it is a collaborative endeavor, woven together by the threads of compassion and solidarity. Throughout my career, I have been blessed with opportunities to make a tangible difference in the lives of others. From being a Campus Ambassador for the American Psychological Association to working as a research assistant for the world's first mental health app designed by men for men, I have witnessed firsthand the transformative power of support, empathy, and compassion It is a testament to the profound impact that a caring presence can have on those grappling with mental health challenges. Looking to the future, my goals are ambitious yet grounded in a deep sense of purpose. Armed with a Master of Science in Applied Behavioral Analysis, I aim to establish a sanctuary—a safe haven where individuals from all walks of life can find solace and healing and to do so through the lenses of nuance and cultural competency. Through a combination of therapeutic interventions which include but are not limited AI, apps, podcasts, video clips, curriculums, and group therapies, I aspire to create a ripple effect of positive change that extends far beyond the confines of my practice. I believe that each one of us has a profound book living on the inside of us, and it's critical that we write those pages and take care of each other in such a way that those pages get read in order to inspire one another. Support is the bedrock upon which resilience is built. Together, we can rewrite the narrative, one story of hope and healing at a time.

It was 2019, and Ava DuVernay's poignant portrayal of the Central Park Five in 'When They See Us' has just been released on Netflix. I settled in to watch and thirty minutes into the first episode I was heavily affected. Passion and dehumanization in the form of warm tears manifested. I felt confused, anguished, hopeless, and disgusted. I paused the show to process. To this day, I have not watched the remainder of the series. I thought about why this piece of art had affected me so much? And it hit me: Because I -- or my nephews or friends or brothers or uncles... -- could have been one of them. The narrative of injustice and oppression struck a chord deep within me, igniting a poignant inquiry: where do Black men find refuge in a world that often seems determined to erase our existence? From a young age, we are conditioned to adopt a façade of strength and resilience, navigating a society that measures our worth against a white supremacist yardstick. The burden of proving our manhood by these standards weighs heavily on our shoulders, yet we are denied access to the same tools and resources afforded to our white counterparts. This systemic disparity takes a toll on our mental health, leaving scars that run deep and wounds that often go unseen or unexpressed. In the face of this adversity, I have forged my own path to mental wellness—a journey marked by resilience, introspection, and self-care. Each morning, I embark on a ritual of self-affirmation and gratitude, carving out sacred space to honor the blessings in my life. I breathe, I journal, I read, and I bask in the warmth of the sun (sunlight before screen light), which nurtures my nervous system so that it may, in turn, nurture me. Central to my mental health journey is the profound relationship I have cultivated with myself. In a world that often seeks to diminish our humanity, getting to know myself—fully and unapologetically—has become an act of defiant advocacy. Through self-discovery and self-compassion, I have learned to be gentle with myself, to acknowledge my needs, and to honor the complexity of my existence. Yet, my path to healing has not been without its challenges. Three years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD—a revelation that brought clarity to a lifetime of confusion and frustration. Misdiagnosed as depressed or anxious, I often struggled with a sense of brokenness until I unearthed the truth: the truth was that I was in the pool of neurodivergence compounded by the epigenetic implications of childhood trauma. Armed with this knowledge, I embarked on a journey of healing, assembling a team of mental health practitioners who honored the nuances of my experience, particularly as a Black man. I'm happy to self-report, I'm doing better than alright. Now, as I pursue my Master of Science in Applied Behavioral Analysis, I am driven by a singular purpose: to create a sanctuary for individuals like myself—a space where language and tools are tailored to our unique needs and experiences. Through keynote addresses, support groups, apps, and podcasts, I seek to empower others to protect, maintain, and improve their mental health, one step at a time. My journey is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit—a reminder that even in the darkest of nights, there is hope on the horizon. As I continue to navigate the complexities of existence, I remain steadfast in my commitment to nurturing my mental wellness, knowing that in honoring myself, I honor the legacy of those who came before me.

"I have to go home sometimes and watch a comedy." This poignant statement from a friend starring in a Tony-nominated Broadway show struck a chord, sparking a reflection on the mental health challenges faced by performer-artists. As a Black man, he was performing in a racially charged musical. As I pondered his struggle and the struggles of individuals like Heath Ledger, Michael B. Jordan, Lady Gaga, and Austin Butler, I felt compelled to take action. Drawing from my own experiences and observations, I recognized the pressing need for solutions to safeguard the mental well-being of creator-artists. With a background in psychology and a personal journey marked by ADHD and anxiety, I embarked on a mission to provide support and resources to those navigating the often turbulent waters of the entertainment industry. Currently, I leverage my expertise in keynote addresses that delve into the intersection of creativity and mental health, aiming to establish connections with creator-artists on a deeper level. Furthermore, I'm in the process of developing a podcast-video series tailored specifically for this demographic, offering practical strategies for protecting, maintaining, and enhancing mental wellness. Statistics reveal that individuals in the entertainment industry are three times more likely to encounter mental health struggles—a sobering reality that fuels my determination to make a difference. To deepen my impact, I am pursuing an MS in Applied Behavioral Analysis, equipping myself with the necessary tools to become a licensed practitioner capable of offering tailored support to creator-artists nationwide. One of my primary initiatives is the creation of interactive workshops and seminars designed to address the unique mental health needs of creator-artists. By integrating psychological theories with practical strategies, these sessions will empower individuals to cultivate resilience, manage stress, and foster self-compassion in the face of adversity. My journey towards advocating for mental health in the entertainment industry is deeply personal. I have grappled with self-doubt and anxiety, and understand the importance of providing a supportive environment where individuals feel seen, heard, and valued. Through education, awareness, and compassionate care, I am committed to ensuring that creator-artists have access to the resources they need to thrive both personally and professionally. Everyone deserves the opportunity to lead a fulfilling and balanced life. By harnessing the power of psychology and leveraging my own experiences, I am dedicated to paving the way towards a healthier, more compassionate future for creator-artists everywhere.

Calculus is the STEM superhero that you didn't know you needed. No easy way to say this: Calculus has a trash reputation. Someone said that it's the math equivalent of a rollercoaster that goes through the heart of a haunted house while you solve riddles under a time constraint and that people might even consider cliff diving into shark-infested waters a more appealing pastime. (Me. I am that someone.) But I want to leave behind my previous feelings and unravel the enigmatic calculus and explain why I think it's vital in the wild, wonderful world of STEM. So put on your capes, because we're about to embark on an epic journey to demystify calculus. STEM careers have been booming with fields like computer support, information security, and civil engineering. In fact, over 35,000 jobs have been added to the STEM career path since 2015. In this explosive STEM renaissance, calculus has not been the villain—it's been the superhero wrapped up in derivatives and integrals. Calculus is the ultimate mastermind of change and motion, and like the Sherlock Holmes of the math world, it's always one step ahead. Whether the job is decoding rocket trajectories, predicting the spread of the next viral sensation (pun intended), or designing algorithms for the artificial intelligence revolution, calculus is the superhero we need. It helps us measure rates of change, predict future trends, and optimize everything from rocket engines to your coffee-to-cream ratio in the morning. In the dynamic world of STEM, calculus indeed a trusty champion. Physics would agree. In physics, calculus is the guiding star. It's the mathematical GPS that helps STEM heroes navigate the former mysteries of the universe. Without calculus, we'd probably still be wondering if those twinkling dots are stars...or the universe's way of trolling us. It's the magic wand that allows us to decipher the secrets of quantum mechanics, make sense of black holes, and predict the cosmic dance of planets and stars. And who doesn't love a dance party? When you look up at the night sky and feel comfort or wonder, give a shout-out to calculus: It's the superhero that gives us a peek into the celestial circus. Engineering has entered the chat. Civil engineers lean on calculus to determine if that shiny new skyscraper can withstand winds and earthquakes. By that account, it's also the guardian of your daily commute, ensuring that bridges don't crumble and highways don't turn into real-life roller coasters. Calculus is the safety net that keeps things from falling apart, literally. Hi, Computer Science and IT. Here, calculus is the secret sauce behind algorithms, the brainpower behind computer programs, and the invisible shield that keeps hackers at bay, ensuring your personal data and digital secrets stay that way. If algorithms are like the recipes in grandma's cookbook, calculus is the secret ingredient. You know why you keep seeing cat videos on your timeline? Calculus. However, calculus isn't just about solving problems; it's about asking the right questions. STEM fields push the boundaries of human knowledge and capability. Calculus isn't a gatekeeper; it's a treasure map compass combo that helps scientists decipher the human genome and the rocket fuel for venturing into outer space. And it's not going away anytime soon. Calculus is for future scientists, engineers, and tech wizards who will shape the world. So, calculus isn't the villain of the academic story; it's, instead, STEM's superhero. Complex? Sure. But so was the last season of 'Game of Thrones.' And both are epic adventures filled with incredible discoveries and a few missteps that are best forgotten.

"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.