Teaching is more than a profession, it’s a calling rooted in compassion, community, and a desire to uplift the next generation. For me, this calling has been shaped by years of service within my community, both inside and outside the classroom. From mentoring youth and organizing neighborhood cleanups to advocating for mental health awareness and career readiness, I have always approached service as a lifestyle, not an obligation. These experiences have taught me that true education goes far beyond textbooks; it’s about planting seeds of hope, confidence, and purpose. One of the most meaningful ways I have served is through mentoring young people in underserved communities. As a journeyman carpenter and community liaison, I helped create pathways for youth, especially Black and brown youth, to explore careers in the skilled trades. I led workshops on resume building, job readiness, and interview prep, often working with students who had never imagined themselves as professionals. Seeing their mindset shift, watching their eyes light up with belief in their own potential, reinforced my commitment to education as a tool for transformation. My church involvement has also been a foundation for my service. I’ve volunteered in youth ministries, helped organize back-to-school drives, and supported community events that provided meals, clothing, and resources to those in need. These efforts are driven by a belief in collective care, the idea that we rise by lifting others. Whether it’s offering a ride to a job interview, tutoring a struggling student, or simply listening to someone who feels unseen, I try to lead with empathy in every space I occupy. As a future educator, I hope to bring that same spirit of service and belonging into my classroom. I want my students to know they matter, not just for their grades or achievements, but for who they are and who they’re becoming. I hope they leave my classroom with more than just knowledge; I want them to walk away with confidence, curiosity, and a deep belief in their worth. I want to be the kind of teacher who sees potential where others see problems, who nurtures resilience and sparks joy in learning, even when life outside of school is hard. I also want my classroom to be a safe space where identity and culture are honored. As someone who has seen the effects of misrepresentation and marginalization, I am passionate about creating learning environments that affirm students lived experiences. That means incorporating diverse voices in the curriculum, encouraging critical thinking, and teaching students how to advocate for themselves and their communities. Ultimately, I believe teaching is about legacy, not in the sense of accolades, but in the lives you touch. I want to be the teacher who changes a student's trajectory simply by believing in them. I want to plant seeds that grow long after my students leave my classroom. And I want every child I teach to know that education is not just about facts and figures, it’s about freedom, self-discovery, and the power to imagine a better world.

Supporting early childhood development is a calling that I approach with deep passion and purpose. I believe that the earliest years of life, birth through age five, form the foundation for a child's future learning, behavior, and overall well-being. My plan to support early childhood development involves working closely with families, schools, and communities to create nurturing, engaging, and equitable environments where young children can thrive socially, emotionally, cognitively, and physically. I intend to combine my background in counseling with a focus on education to support children holistically, especially those from underserved or historically marginalized communities. One of the main ways I plan to make an impact is through the school counseling and early intervention systems. I am currently pursuing a bachelor's degree in Mental Health and Counseling and plan to continue into a graduate program with a concentration in school or community counseling. My long-term goal is to work in schools and early childhood centers, where I can collaborate with teachers, social workers, and parents to identify and address developmental concerns early on. I want to be an advocate for children who may need additional support, whether that be emotional regulation skills, speech and language services, or simply more attention to their learning style and home life. I also recognize the importance of parental education and support in early childhood development. Children thrive when their caregivers are informed, supported, and empowered. As part of my work, I plan to offer parenting workshops and community resource connections that help families create supportive learning environments at home. I want to build bridges between home and school that are rooted in trust and respect, especially for families who may feel overlooked or misunderstood within the education system. My decision to pursue this field stems from my own life experiences. As someone who grew up in a working-class, Black community, I witnessed firsthand the gaps in support for children who showed early signs of emotional distress or learning delays. Many of these children were mislabeled, misunderstood, or simply left behind due to systemic neglect. I have also seen how early intervention and nurturing environments can transform a child's trajectory. These experiences inspired me to be part of the solution, someone who listens, intervenes early, and helps unlock the potential in every child. Working in early childhood development allows me to combine my strengths in communication, empathy, advocacy, and problem-solving. It also aligns with my commitment to social justice and my desire to break cycles of generational poverty and trauma. Children deserve the best start in life, and I want to be someone who ensures they get it, not just through academics, but through emotional safety, cultural affirmation, and genuine care. In sum, my plan to support early childhood development involves direct service as a counselor, family advocate, and community educator. I’m committed to being a voice for the voiceless and helping young children build the strong foundation they need for a healthy, fulfilling future.

My involvement in my local church has been one of the most transformative and grounding aspects of my life. It has not only deepened my faith but also shaped how I understand service, leadership, and love for my community. The church has been more than just a place of worship; it has been a training ground for servant leadership and a source of strength during times of personal and collective hardship. From an early age, I was taught that faith without works is dead. That principle became real to me as I began participating in community outreach programs hosted by my church. Whether it was preparing meals for families in need, organizing clothing drives, visiting the sick and elderly, or helping with youth mentorship, I learned that true service involves sacrifice, consistency, and compassion. My church provided both the structure and the opportunity to serve with purpose. One of the most impactful roles I’ve taken on through the church is mentoring young people. I have worked with at-risk youth from my neighborhood, many of whom face similar struggles I experienced growing up, such as economic instability, absent parental figures, and systemic inequities. My church provided the platform for me to speak to them not from a place of judgment, but from lived experience and love. The trust I’ve built through these relationships has shown me how vital it is for young people to see someone who looks like them and believes in them. The church has also taught me the power of collective action. When crises hit, whether it’s a family in need of emergency assistance or a larger community issue like gun violence or homelessness, our church doesn’t just pray; we act. I’ve learned how to organize food banks, coordinate transportation for job seekers, and even assist in housing navigation for unhoused individuals. These efforts have reminded me that when faith and action are paired, real change can happen. Moreover, the leadership I’ve gained through ministry has extended into my professional and academic life. Whether I’m working on a construction site, pursuing my degree in Mental Health and Counseling, or advocating for better resources in urban schools, the values instilled in me by my church, accountability, service, humility, and faith, guide my decision-making and how I show up for others. Being part of a church that is committed to the well-being of our community has also reminded me of the importance of spiritual and emotional care. Many of the people I serve are not only struggling financially but also emotionally and mentally. My involvement in church counseling ministries has taught me to listen more, judge less, and extend grace wherever possible. It’s why I’m pursuing a career in school and mental health counseling, because I’ve seen firsthand how healing begins with being seen, heard, and valued. In all, my church has been the foundation of the service I do in my community. It has given me the faith to believe in what’s possible, the tools to take action, and the love to serve others without expecting anything in return. My community work is not just an extension of my faith, it is the living, breathing evidence of it.

Mental health has had a profound impact on my life, shaping the way I view myself, my relationships, and the world around me. Growing up, mental health was rarely talked about in my family or community. Like many in the Black community, we often associated mental health challenges with weakness or spiritual failure. It wasn't until I became an adult, juggling school, work, parenting, and personal loss, that I was forced to confront my mental health struggles head-on. The turning point came after the death of my mother. She had been my anchor, strong, wise, and selfless. Her passing left a void that I didn’t know how to fill. I returned to work and school quickly, thinking that staying busy would help me cope, but grief hit me in unexpected waves. I began experiencing severe anxiety, sleepless nights, and episodes of depression that made even the simplest tasks feel impossible. At times, I felt like I was drowning in responsibilities with no one to throw me a lifeline. I didn’t know how to ask for help, and I didn’t want to seem like I couldn’t handle life. Eventually, my body and mind gave me no choice. I sought counseling through my school’s health center and started therapy. That decision saved my life. For the first time, I had space to process my grief, talk through the layers of trauma, and begin healing. I realized that much of what I was experiencing, stress, burnout, and emotional exhaustion, wasn’t a personal failure. It was the result of years of suppressed pain, systemic pressure, and never being taught how to care for my mental well-being. Through therapy and education, I’ve developed a new perspective on mental health. I’ve also become more aware of the ways race, gender, and class intersect to affect access to mental health resources. Too often, Black and brown communities are underserved, misdiagnosed, or dismissed in clinical settings. As a student pursuing a degree in Mental Health and Counseling, I’m committed to changing that. My experiences have inspired me to be a voice for others who suffer in silence. I want to normalize conversations about mental health in communities that have historically shied away from them. I want young people, especially young Black boys and girls, to know that it’s okay to cry, to seek help, to say “I’m not okay.” My goal is to create safe, affirming spaces for healing, especially for people who have faced trauma, poverty, loss, or discrimination. Mental health isn’t just a topic I’ve studied; it’s a part of my lived experience. It’s what pushed me toward a career in counseling and what drives me to be a more compassionate, informed, and impactful advocate. I believe that when we talk openly about mental health, we break generational cycles and build stronger, healthier communities. My journey hasn’t been easy, but it has given me the empathy and purpose to help others heal, too.

As a Black man, a father, and a first-generation college student, my identity has shaped the way I see the world and my role in it with clarity, compassion, and responsibility. Growing up in a working-class community, I learned early on the value of hard work, resilience, and looking out for others, lessons that still guide me today. But I also learned how systems often fail people who look like me, and how important it is to be a voice and a bridge for those who are unheard and overlooked. My experiences in the trades, in the classroom, and as a parent have taught me that I don’t just carry my own story, I carry the stories of my community, my ancestors, and my children’s future. My identity keeps me grounded in purpose. It’s what pushed me to shift from construction work to pursuing a degree in Mental Health and Human Services. I’ve seen how trauma affects our people and how healing begins when someone finally feels seen. I believe my place in the world is to serve, to create spaces where others feel safe, valued, and supported. My identity has never been a limitation; it’s been my motivation. It reminds me every day that I’m here to build more than a life, I’m here to build change.

Marcus Aurelius' Meditations, Book 2, Section 1: "Begin each day by telling yourself: Today I shall be meeting with interference, ingratitude, insolence, disloyalty, ill-will, and selfishness, all of them due to the offenders’ ignorance of what is good or evil. But for my part, I have long perceived the nature of good and its nobility, the nature of evil and its meanness, and also the nature of the culprit himself, who is my brother (not in the physical sense, but as a fellow-creature similarly endowed with reason and a share of the divine); therefore, none of those things can injure me, for nobody can implicate me in what is degrading." Choosing Strength: Stoic Brotherhood and the Armor of Moral Clarity Thesis Statement: In this passage from Meditations, Marcus Aurelius advances the Stoic ideal that the key to peace and moral strength lies not in avoiding adversity, but in recognizing the shared human condition and maintaining one’s inner virtue despite external offenses. Marcus Aurelius begins this entry in a manner that seems almost cynical: a list of negative traits one should expect to encounter from others in daily life. At first glance, the words “interference,” “ingratitude,” “insolence,” “disloyalty,” and “selfishness” suggest a bleak view of human nature. But the paragraph quickly pivots, not toward condemnation, but toward compassion, understanding, and self-mastery. This shift is crucial to understanding the Stoic worldview. Aurelius isn’t telling the reader to brace for battle; he is inviting us to transcend it. The underlying message is that while we cannot control the actions or ignorance of others, we can control how we respond and that response should be grounded in reason, unity, and the pursuit of virtue. The Stoic framework begins with the acceptance of what is. Marcus does not sugarcoat human behavior. He teaches that it is likely we will face difficult people, not because the world is evil, but because many are misguided about what is truly good or bad. This diagnosis “due to the offenders’ ignorance of what is good or evil” is not a judgment of character but a diagnosis of moral confusion. It assumes that people do wrong not out of inherent wickedness but out of ignorance. This reframing is powerful because it disrupts the instinct for retaliation or resentment. Instead, it replaces anger with empathy. From this foundation of understanding, Aurelius then makes his most important claim: “for my part, I have long perceived the nature of good and its nobility, the nature of evil and its meanness.” This statement is not boastful; it is an affirmation of his commitment to moral clarity. He is reminding himself that the world may be chaotic, but his principles are not. For Stoics, virtue is the only true good, and vice the only true evil. Everything else, pain, praise, poverty, or wealth, is external and morally neutral. When one truly understands this, one becomes immune to insult or injury of character, because character is the one thing fully within our control. What gives this paragraph its soul, however, is the way Aurelius defines the people he expects to offend him: “the culprit himself, who is my brother.” This phrase may seem surprising. Rather than placing himself above others, he aligns himself with them. Despite their ignorance or flaws, they remain fellow creatures “endowed with reason and a share of the divine.” This insight is what makes Stoicism so fundamentally humane. Marcus sees even the offender as a partner in the human experience, worthy not of scorn, but of shared dignity. By identifying others as brothers, Marcus moves the reader toward an ethic of universal kinship. The Stoic sage does not isolate himself from society or grow indifferent to it, he remains connected but unattached to its vices. The idea that “none of those things can injure me” stems from the understanding that the only thing that can truly harm a person is their own moral failure. As long as he remains true to his values, he cannot be degraded by another’s behavior. Aurelius’ message is a practical and spiritual one. Practically, he is preparing himself to move through the world without being thrown off course by pettiness or cruelty. Spiritually, he is grounding himself in a cosmopolitan identity: one who belongs to a larger moral universe governed by reason and virtue. His commitment to self-possession is not selfish; it is a commitment to clarity and peace in the face of inevitable human error. This passage remains deeply relevant today. In a world where social media outrage, personal offenses, and public polarization dominate our emotional landscape, Marcus Aurelius offers a timeless challenge: Can we rise above insult without detaching from compassion? Can we face each day expecting difficulty, but choosing kindness anyway? His advice is not about withdrawing into cold detachment but about meeting the world with eyes wide open and heart intact. In essence, this meditation is a ritual of grounding. It teaches the reader to begin each day with perspective, reminding themselves of the internal power they carry. The world may deliver offense, but the Stoic prepares by strengthening their inner armor, not through ego or indifference, but through a disciplined commitment to reason, virtue, and brotherhood. In a time when personal offense is often treated as personal injury, Marcus Aurelius offers another way. He invites us to expect the worst in human behavior, not to despair in it, but to transcend it. And in doing so, to live not only with strength, but with grace.

I come from Louisville, Kentucky, raised in a community that taught me resilience, creativity, and how to hold on to joy even in hard times. I’m a Black woman, a mother of two, a first-generation college student, a tradeswoman, and a future counselor. My story isn’t perfect, but it’s real and it’s shaped by faith, family, and an unshakable desire to help others. I started my career as a carpenter. For years, I worked in construction, completing the D.O.J. Carpentry Apprenticeship and eventually becoming a Journeyman Carpenter and a Community Liaison with Messer Construction. In that world, I learned how to hold my own in male-dominated spaces, advocate for underrepresented voices, and build not just physical structures, but trust and relationships. But somewhere along the way, I realized I wanted to do more than build buildings, I wanted to help rebuild people. After facing a series of personal losses, including my mother, grandmother, and two uncles, I began reflecting on my life’s purpose. These experiences shook me to the core, especially while I was juggling full-time work, school, parenting, and managing Type 2 diabetes. Grief had a way of cracking me open. And from those cracks came a calling: to support others through their own pain, especially those who feel unseen or unheard. That’s what led me to return to school. I earned my Associate in Applied Science from Jefferson Community and Technical College and an Associate in Construction Management. Now, I’m pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in Mental Health and Human Services at the University of Louisville, with a minor in School Counseling. My long-term goal is to become a licensed professional counselor and open a community-centered wellness hub where people can access affordable mental health care, especially Black families, working parents, and youth who are often overlooked by the system. I’m passionate about mental health equity, culturally responsive care, and creating spaces where people feel safe to tell the truth about what they’re going through. I believe our stories matter. I’ve lived through burnout, grief, chronic illness, and financial stress and still, I rise. My experiences allow me to connect with people not from a place of judgment, but from understanding. School has taught me a lot, but life has been my greatest teacher. Whether it was working 10-hour shifts and then attending night classes, supporting my adult children while navigating my own healing, or standing up for community needs on a construction site, I’ve learned how to keep going, how to lead with heart, and how to listen deeply. These lessons shape how I show up today, not just as a student, but as a future counselor, community advocate, and change agent. I want to be part of the solution. I want to help people feel seen, heard, and valued, especially in systems that haven’t always served us well. And I want to build a legacy rooted in healing, strength, and service. That’s my story. Still being written. But full of purpose.

One of the most pivotal moments in my life came when I made the decision to prioritize my mental, emotional, and physical health after years of neglecting myself for the sake of work, family, and survival. I was a full-time journeyman carpenter working in a physically demanding field, attending school full-time, managing Type 2 diabetes, grieving the loss of my mother and other close family members, and raising two adult children. On the outside, I was functioning, showing up, and getting things done. But on the inside, I was slowly breaking down. The turning point came after I lost my mother. The grief hit me like a wave, and I tried to outrun it by working harder and doing more. But eventually, I had to face the truth: I was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. My blood sugar was out of control, I was mentally drained, and I couldn’t focus on school the way I wanted to. I realized that if I didn’t make a change, I would burn out completely and possibly compromise my long-term health and goals. So, I made a conscious decision to pause and put my well-being first. I began seeing a therapist regularly to help me navigate the grief and stress I had bottled up for years. I also got serious about managing my diabetes, monitoring my blood sugar daily, adjusting my diet, and incorporating gentle movement into my routine, even if it was just walking or stretching. Most importantly, I gave myself permission to rest. I stopped feeling guilty for needing sleep, support, or time alone. I leaned into self-compassion and allowed healing to become part of my daily routine. From this experience, I learned that I cannot pour from an empty cup. If I want to show up for my children, my future students, and my community, I have to show up for myself first. This lesson has become a guiding principle as I continue my journey through higher education and prepare for a career in mental health and counseling. I’ve learned how to listen to my body and my emotions. I’ve also developed a deeper empathy for others who struggle silently with their own burdens while still trying to meet life’s expectations. Now, I approach school and work with a renewed mindset, one that centers balance, boundaries, and wellness. I am no longer driven by survival but by intention. My past has shaped me, but my healing is shaping my future. I’m building a life where I can give back as a counselor, advocate for others’ mental and emotional health, and be a model of what it looks like to prioritize self-care in a world that too often tells us to push through the pain.

My unique contribution to making mental health care affordable and accessible would be rooted in community, culture, and compassion. As a future mental health counselor with a background in construction and community organizing, I understand how to meet people where they are, physically, emotionally, and financially. I would create community-based wellness hubs in underserved neighborhoods that provide free or low-cost mental health services, peer support groups, and culturally responsive resources. These hubs would be staffed by diverse professionals who reflect the communities they serve, helping to break stigma and build trust. I also believe in the power of prevention and education. I would develop programs in schools, churches, and trade unions that teach emotional literacy and trauma awareness from a young age. By embedding mental health support into everyday environments, we normalize the conversation and reduce barriers to care. Finally, I would advocate for policy changes that expand Medicaid coverage for mental health services, support teletherapy, and fund grassroots initiatives led by people with lived experience. My goal is to bring mental health care out of the clinic and into the heart of the community, where it belongs.

What drew me to the career path I’m pursuing isn’t just one moment, it’s a lifetime of moments. Moments where I saw people struggling silently. Moments when I was one of them. And moments when someone took the time to listen, encourage, and remind me that I wasn’t alone. I’m pursuing a career in counseling and education because I want to be that person for someone else. My lived experiences, growing up in an underserved community, working in the trades, parenting through adversity, and surviving deep personal loss, have taught me that people don’t just need information. They need connection. They need guidance. And they need someone who believes in their potential when they can’t quite see it themselves. As a Black man, I’ve also witnessed how mental health and education are approached in our communities, too often with shame, fear, or avoidance. I’ve seen students with learning differences labeled “bad” or “difficult” rather than supported. I’ve seen adults carrying years of trauma because no one ever taught them how to process pain. I’ve lived in systems where the emotional needs of people, especially young people of color, were pushed aside in favor of survival. That’s why I’m not just studying mental health and counseling; I’m committing to breaking cycles. My goal is to work as a school counselor and eventually create a community wellness center that focuses on youth, particularly Black and Brown students and those with special needs. I want to create safe spaces in schools and communities where kids can express what they’re going through, understand their emotions, and gain tools to heal. I want to build programs that focus on emotional intelligence, self-awareness, and resilience, things I had to learn the hard way. I believe that when we invest in a student’s mental well-being, we unlock their academic and personal potential. But my vision doesn’t stop at one-on-one counseling. I plan to use my education to advocate for systemic change. That means working with school leadership, policymakers, and parents to ensure every student has access to culturally responsive, trauma-informed mental health care. That means hiring and mentoring more educators and counselors of color, because representation matters. That means showing young people, especially young Black boys, that it’s okay to feel, to speak up, and to ask for help. Education has opened doors for me I never thought I could walk through. Now, I want to hold those doors open for others. I don’t just want to make a living; I want to make a difference. And through this career, I believe I can. This path is more than a profession to me. It’s a purpose. It’s the way I give back, pay it forward, and continue to grow, right alongside the students and communities I’ll serve.

Growing up, I didn’t always see myself becoming a teacher. In fact, for a long time, school felt more like a struggle than a safe place. I didn’t always feel understood, and I didn’t always know how to express myself. But even in the midst of confusion, frustration, and growing pains, I can remember one person who saw more in me than I saw in myself: Mr. Lawson, my 8th grade social studies teacher. Mr. Lawson wasn’t flashy. He didn’t try to be cool or act like one of us. He just showed up, consistently, compassionately, and with a belief that every single one of us had something to offer. He called me out when I was off track but never in a way that embarrassed me. He would pull me aside, look me in the eye, and say things like, “You’re not invisible in here,” or “I know you’re smarter than what you’re showing me.” One day after class, he asked me what I wanted to do when I got older. I shrugged, not really knowing. He said, “You ever think about teaching?” I laughed it off at the time. But that question stuck with me. It was the first time someone had planted a seed in my mind that maybe, just maybe, I could be the one standing at the front of the classroom one day, making a difference for someone else. That’s what Mr. Lawson did. He made you believe you mattered. He made learning feel like something we were building together. And now, years later, that’s the kind of teacher I want to be. As a Black man, I know how rare it is for boys, especially young Black boys, to see themselves reflected in the teachers standing in front of them. I want to be that presence. I want to be a teacher who not only helps students meet standards, but who helps them set their own, academic, personal, and spiritual. Teaching is more than a job for me. It’s a calling rooted in purpose, mentorship, and community. I want to create classrooms where students are not just tested but heard. Where they’re challenged to think critically but also supported emotionally. Where they know that even if life is hard at home, school can be a place of growth, consistency, and hope. Mr. Lawson changed my life not by doing anything grand, but by simply believing in me. That belief gave me the confidence to imagine something more for myself. Today, I want to carry that same torch. I want to be the teacher who shows up with patience, passion, and the belief that every student, no matter their background or struggle, has the ability to succeed. If I can be that person for even one student, I know this journey will have been worth it.

My journey toward higher education has not been a straight line, it has been a winding path shaped by resilience, personal loss, hard work, and a deep commitment to helping others rise. As a mother, a tradeswoman, a first-generation college student, and now a counseling student, I bring with me not only a lifetime of experience but a renewed sense of purpose. Every challenge I’ve faced has only strengthened my resolve to pursue a career where I can give back, especially to communities that, like mine, have often been overlooked or underserved. For over a decade, I worked in the construction industry, first as a journeyman carpenter and then as a community liaison. While I was proud of the work I did with my hands, it was my work with people, especially youth and families in marginalized communities, that spoke to my heart. I often found myself listening to stories of pain, generational trauma, educational gaps, and mental health struggles. I became a trusted ear, a bridge, and in many ways, a counselor long before I earned the title. But after experiencing the loss of my mother, grandmother, and two uncles in just a few years, while managing full-time work, school, and parenting, I realized I needed to do more. I wanted to be part of changing the systems that left too many people suffering in silence. Returning to college as an adult was both empowering and humbling. At times, I’ve had to balance assignments with doctor’s appointments, job layoffs, and financial setbacks. I’ve studied between shifts, in hospital waiting rooms, and on little sleep. But I’ve never lost sight of why I’m here. I’m pursuing my degree in Mental Health and Counseling with the goal of becoming a licensed school counselor and eventually opening a community-based wellness center focused on Black youth and families. I want to break stigmas around mental health, provide access to culturally competent care, and be the advocate I didn’t always have growing up. These life experiences have shaped my personal values: empathy, integrity, hard work, and service. I believe in meeting people where they are, listening without judgment, and creating spaces where others feel safe, seen, and supported. My commitment to community service is not something I talk about; it’s something I live. Whether it’s mentoring young people in the trades, organizing food drives, or advocating for mental health resources in schools, I believe that we rise by lifting others. This scholarship would be more than financial support; it would be a lifeline. It would allow me to continue my education without choosing between tuition and basic needs. It would help me focus on completing my degree and practicum requirements while also caring for my family. Most importantly, it would affirm that my story, my voice, and my mission matter. Higher education is not just about what I can gain, it’s about what I can give. With the knowledge, skills, and credentials I’m working toward, I will continue to pour back into the communities that raised me. I am not just pursuing a degree; I am answering a calling. And with the help of this scholarship, I will continue to transform pain into purpose, for myself and for those I serve.

Mental health has not just influenced my life, it has shaped it. My experience navigating personal, family, and community mental health challenges has deepened my compassion, transformed my beliefs, refined my relationships, and led me toward a career rooted in healing, education, and advocacy. Growing up, mental health was not a topic openly discussed in my home or community. Like many African American families, we were taught to “keep it in the house,” “pray through it,” or “stay strong” in the face of emotional turmoil. Yet behind closed doors, I witnessed, and later experienced, the impact of unaddressed grief, anxiety, trauma, and depression. The weight of these invisible wounds lingered in silence, and I learned early on that what we don’t name can still hurt us deeply. When I lost my mother, grandmother, and two uncles within five years, the emotional toll felt unbearable. Grief compounded with financial stress, job instability, and the constant demands of parenting and school. I found myself holding it together for everyone else while quietly unraveling inside. It was during this time that I began seeking therapy, support groups, and self-reflection, tools that would change not only how I coped, but how I lived. Through my own mental health journey, I came to believe that vulnerability is strength, not weakness. I realized that silence can be deadly, and that asking for help is not only brave but necessary. These beliefs now serve as the foundation of how I engage with others. I’m more intentional in my relationships, listening with empathy, encouraging open dialogue, and creating safe spaces for those around me to be honest about what they feel. My experience has also clarified my career path. I am currently studying Mental Health and Counseling with the goal of becoming a special education teacher and, ultimately, a school counselor or mental health professional. I want to be the kind of advocate I wish I’d had, especially for students of color and students with disabilities who often face both stigma and systemic barriers to support. I want to empower young people to name their emotions, process their pain, and build resilience without shame. I’ve also seen how mental health intersects with learning, behavior, and academic achievement. In classrooms, I’ve observed students acting out not because they’re “bad,” but because they’re hurting. I’ve seen how trauma can mimic learning disabilities or how depression can silence even the brightest voice. These experiences have ignited a fire in me to bridge the gap between education and emotional wellness. In the end, my journey with mental health has made me more grounded, more patient, and more passionate about the work I want to do. It has taught me that healing is not linear, that grace is necessary, and that every life, no matter how broken it may feel, has value and potential. My mission is to help others see that too.

Why I Am Passionate About Becoming a Special Education Teacher “I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” – Harold Bloom When Professor Harold Bloom said that the purpose of teaching is to bring a student to a sense of their own presence, he articulated something deeply human: the power of education not just to transmit knowledge, but to awaken identity. “Presence” in this context means far more than simply being in a classroom or physically showing up. It means feeling seen, understood, valued, and empowered. It means recognizing your own voice, capabilities, and inherent worth. For students with special needs, who are often overlooked, underestimated, or underserved, this sense of presence is not only essential, but also transformative. I am passionate about becoming a special education teacher because I believe every child deserves the opportunity to feel this presence. I want to be the kind of teacher who doesn’t just teach to the textbook, but who teaches to the heart, mind, and spirit of each child, especially those who’ve been told, directly or indirectly, that their presence doesn’t matter. I want to build bridges between ability and possibility, to help students experience their own agency, uniqueness, and dignity. Defining “Presence” in Special Education To guide students to a sense of their own presence, I must first meet them where they are, not only academically, but emotionally, behaviorally, socially, and cognitively. “Presence” is not one-size-fits-all. For some students, it may mean using a speech device to say “hello” for the first time. For another, it may mean feeling safe enough to share their thoughts or ask a question in class. For another, it may mean developing confidence through hands-on tasks or finally grasping a concept after days of trial and error. Professor Bloom’s idea points to self-realization. In my classroom, this begins with creating an environment rooted in respect, patience, trust, and joy. My mission is not simply to help students meet educational standards, but to help them discover their internal standard—the value of who they are and what they bring to the world, even if they communicate, learn, or move differently than others. My Mission as a Future Special Education Teacher My mission is to be an advocate, guide, and co-learner with my students. I want to be the teacher who never gives up on them, who listens carefully to the things they say, and even more carefully to the things they may struggle to say. I want to help every student understand that their challenges do not define them; their resilience does. I want them to look in the mirror, at a worksheet, or out at the world and think, “I belong here. I am capable. I have something to offer.” To accomplish this, I will: Individualize instruction using IEPs not as limitations but as launchpads; Incorporate multi-sensory learning so that students of all abilities have different pathways to understanding; Celebrate small victories just as enthusiastically as big milestones; Foster peer inclusion so that all students feel part of a community; Engage families as partners in the process, not just participants; Use positive behavioral interventions that build self-regulation and self-respect; Continually reflect on and adapt my teaching practices to meet the evolving needs of each child. But most of all, I want to hold up a mirror to each student’s soul and say, “You matter. You’re enough. And you are here for a reason.” A Brief Fairy Tale: The Teacher of the Hidden Voices Once upon a time, in a kingdom nestled between mountains and mystery, there lived a young woman named Corelle who had the gift of hearing voices no one else could hear. These were not ghostly whispers or winds, but the quiet dreams, worries, and hopes of children whom the world often overlooked. In this kingdom, children who couldn’t walk, talk, read, or behave like others were sent to the Valley of Silence, a quiet place where no one expected them to grow or change. The people believed these children had no presence, that they belonged in the shadows. But Corelle did not believe that. She had once lived in the shadows herself, misunderstood and doubted, until an elder guide showed her the strength in her own voice. Now, she vowed to do the same for others. With her satchel full of colorful tools, chalk that sang, books that danced, and patience that never wore out, Corelle entered the Valley of Silence. She built a school with wide windows, cozy corners, soft music, and space for every kind of mind. One by one, children arrived. Some didn’t speak. Some didn’t sit still. Some cried or shouted. But Corelle saw not problems, only puzzles, and she loved puzzles. She taught with songs, signs, drawings, games, and magic only love can make. And slowly, the valley changed. Laughter echoed. Eyes lit up. Hands clapped in rhythm. One child who hadn’t spoken in years whispered, “I feel… real.” Word spread through the kingdom of this “Teacher of the Hidden Voices,” and the King himself visited. He was moved to tears when a student with trembling hands gave him a handmade crown. “They were never silent,” Corelle said. “They just needed someone to hear them.” The King decreed that every child, no matter their difference, would have the right to be taught, understood, and loved. Corelle smiled, not for the glory, but for the children now shining in their presence. And from that day forward, the Valley of Silence was known as the Garden of Voices, where all children could bloom. Conclusion Teaching is not just a profession. It is a calling. And for me, that calling burns brightest in special education. It is a field that requires compassion, creativity, and commitment, not just to instruction, but to advocacy, empathy, and belief in the unseen potential of every child. To bring a student to a sense of their own presence is to light a fire that no one else can extinguish. As a future special education teacher, I don’t just want to teach students how to read, write, or calculate. I want to help them see themselves as capable, worthy, and powerful human beings. Because once a child realizes their own presence, they become unstoppable. And that, to me, is the highest purpose of teaching.

My name is Courtney Robinson, and I am a nontraditional college student, proud father, and a dedicated future educator who has taken a unique path toward a career in mental health and school counseling. Before returning to higher education, I spent several years in the construction industry, working as both a Journeyman Carpenter and Community Liaison at Messer Construction. That experience taught me the value of hard work, teamwork, and being a dependable presence in underserved communities—values that now inform my mission as an educator. Currently, I am pursuing a bachelor's degree in Mental Health and Counseling with a minor in School Counseling at the University of Louisville. I will graduate in December 2025. I also hold an Associate Degree in Construction Management and an Applied Science degree from Jefferson Community and Technical College. While I am proud of my career achievements, what has truly shaped me are the challenges I’ve overcome the loss of my mother and other close family members, managing Type 2 diabetes, parenting two adult children, and returning to school full-time while working. These experiences have deepened my empathy and strengthened my commitment to service. I plan to make a lasting impact on the world through education by being the kind of educator I once needed a consistent, compassionate adult who not only teaches but listens, mentors, and uplifts. My focus is on mental wellness, emotional literacy, and culturally responsive education, particularly for students who have experienced trauma, discrimination, or marginalization. I understand firsthand how difficult it can be to stay focused in school when your life outside the classroom is unstable. That’s why I want to work in schools, side-by-side with students, not just to guide them academically but to advocate for their well-being. In my future role as a school counselor or mental health educator, I plan to create safe spaces for students to express themselves, process their experiences, and build the confidence needed to dream big. I aim to bring mental health education to the forefront of school culture, destigmatize therapy, and introduce programs that support the emotional development of all students especially Black and Brown youth, who often face barriers to care. My long-term vision includes developing community-based initiatives that connect families, schools, and local organizations to support students holistically. I believe in restorative practices, trauma-informed teaching, and culturally grounded communication strategies that honor students’ backgrounds while helping them thrive. Whether it’s through one-on-one counseling, classroom guidance lessons, or community workshops, my goal is to be a bridge to help young people not just get through school, but to grow through it. I don’t just want to work in education; I want to change it. I want to be the reason a student feels seen, heard, and believed in. I want to leave a legacy of healing, empowerment, and possibility. That’s the impact I hope to make one student, one conversation, one breakthrough at a time.

If I Could Create a Required K–12 Class If I could create a class that all students in grades K–12 were required to take, it would be called "Life Literacy: Emotional Intelligence, Financial Wellness, and Cultural Awareness." This class would be taught progressively at every grade level and tailored to be age-appropriate, combining emotional development, financial literacy, mental health education, communication skills, and cultural competency. In short, it would prepare students not just to make a living, but to make a life. Too often, we send young people into adulthood academically prepared yet emotionally unprepared for the pressures, responsibilities, and realities of the world. A Life Literacy course would close that gap. From an early age, students would learn how to understand and regulate their emotions, express themselves effectively, develop empathy, resolve conflicts, and make responsible decisions. These emotional intelligence (EQ) skills are linked to better academic performance, healthier relationships, and long-term success, yet are rarely prioritized in traditional school curricula. As students progress through the grades, the course would introduce financial basics like saving, budgeting, understanding credit, and building generational wealth. By high school, students would be taught how to do their taxes, evaluate student loans, and make informed choices about employment, housing, and retirement planning. These are real-world life skills that are often learned too late, if at all, and the lack of financial education disproportionately impacts students from underserved communities. Another major component of the class would focus on mental health and wellness. It would destigmatize therapy, promote self-care, and teach students how to seek help when needed. With rising rates of anxiety, depression, and suicide among school-aged youth, this part of the curriculum would be essential. Students would learn how to support one another while also setting healthy boundaries and managing stress. Finally, the class would include a cultural awareness and communication unit that evolves over time, teaching students how to appreciate differences in race, ethnicity, gender, religion, and background. This would help develop respectful, informed citizens capable of contributing positively to a diverse society. Students would explore the effects of bias, racism, and privilege, and would also learn how to communicate across cultures—an essential skill in today’s world. The impact of such a class would be transformational. Over time, we would see students graduate with stronger self-esteem, better decision-making skills, and a deeper understanding of both themselves and the world around them. We would see a generation more equipped to handle stress, manage finances, and engage with others in meaningful and respectful ways. It would break cycles of trauma, poverty, and ignorance, replacing them with awareness, empowerment, and empathy. I believe that the purpose of education is not just to create workers, but to create whole, healthy human beings. A Life Literacy course, required from kindergarten through 12th grade, would do just that.