I didn’t find social work, it found me, during one of the hardest seasons of my life. A few years ago, my family and I were facing housing instability. I watched my parents struggle to communicate with government offices, apply for benefits, and access resources that seemed just out of reach. We weren’t lazy. We weren’t unmotivated. We just didn’t know where to turn. One day, a social worker sat with my mother for over two hours, patiently walking her through paperwork, translating complex terms, and offering empathy without judgment. That day changed everything. It was the first time I realized how much power there is in simply helping people feel seen. That moment was my why. I decided to pursue a degree in social work because I want to be that same source of clarity, support, and hope for others. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I felt called to it in a way that was deeper than just a job title, it felt like a purpose. Since starting the program, my understanding of social work has evolved tremendously. At first, I thought it was mainly about connecting people to resources. Now I understand it’s also about advocacy, policy change, crisis intervention, and being a voice for those who often go unheard. I’ve learned that social workers don’t just work for people; they work with them, honoring their strengths, cultures, and lived experiences. It’s not about saving people, it’s about empowering them. My studies have deepened my passion, but they’ve also expanded my vision. I’ve been exposed to areas of social work I hadn’t considered before, like school social work, trauma counseling, and community organizing. While I entered this field because of my own experience with housing and poverty, I’ve realized that my heart beats just as loudly for children, survivors of abuse, and individuals navigating mental health challenges. The program has reminded me that I don’t have to pick just one issue to care about, because social work is about meeting people where they are, across all walks of life. In my community, I plan to serve those who are often overlooked: low-income families, single mothers, at-risk youth, and those affected by housing insecurity. I want to work in nonprofit spaces that provide holistic services, from counseling to job readiness to emergency housing referrals. I also hope to one day create programs specifically for young people who have aged out of foster care, helping them find stable housing, access education, and build emotional support systems. Eventually, I plan to return to school for my MSW so I can provide therapy and supervision within these same populations. Social work has given my pain a purpose. It has taken my experiences and turned them into fuel for something meaningful. This scholarship would help me continue walking this path, not just for myself, but for every person waiting for someone to show up for them the way that social worker once did for my family.

When I was a child, I often found myself being the “listener”, the one everyone confided in, even when I barely knew what to say. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but I now understand that I was offering what so many people quietly long for: a safe space. That realization led me to choose a career path in mental health. I chose this field because I want to give people what I wished I had, someone to help me navigate life’s most overwhelming emotions, traumas, and transitions. I’ve seen firsthand how untreated mental health struggles can affect families, communities, and generations. Growing up in a community where therapy was considered “taboo” or “only for crazy people,” I want to be part of changing that narrative. I want to make mental health support feel just as normal, and essential, as going to the doctor or talking to a teacher. My future goals are both personal and professional. Academically, I aim to earn my bachelor’s degree in psychology and eventually become a licensed mental health counselor (LMHC), specializing in trauma and family systems. Long term, I want to open a community wellness center in underserved neighborhoods that offers therapy, support groups, parenting workshops, and crisis intervention. I want to create a space where healing is accessible, culturally sensitive, and affordable. A space where people can come broken and leave whole. So far, my experience in the mental health field has been grassroots but powerful. I’ve volunteered with youth mentorship programs and supported peers through college resource centers by offering a listening ear, referrals, and emotional support. I also serve as a bridge in my own family, educating loved ones about anxiety, depression, and childhood trauma. It might not be formal training yet, but it’s real-life experience. I’ve sat with someone as they broke down and helped them feel safe enough to ask for professional help. I’ve researched local counseling centers for a friend and followed up with her to make sure she actually called. I’ve advocated for the people around me, even when it was uncomfortable. That’s the work. That’s what I’m meant to do. Academically, I’ve proven my dedication with a 4.0 GPA and consistent honor roll status. I take this work seriously because it’s not just about a degree, it’s about purpose. My education is the key to helping others reclaim their peace, and every paper I write or test I pass gets me one step closer to that mission. Receiving this scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of my education, but it would also affirm that someone believes in this mission too. It would allow me to continue growing, learning, and becoming the mental health professional I wish I had growing up. Because somewhere out there, someone is waiting for me to be that safe space, and I won’t let them down.

“You Never Know Who’s Watching” When I was younger, I used to believe that success only mattered if people could see it. I thought you had to be the loudest, the most visible, the center of attention to be considered a role model. But I’ve learned that some of the most powerful impacts come from quiet consistency—the kind you don’t even know someone is noticing. A few months ago, I was walking home from class when a girl from my neighborhood stopped me. She’s about 14 and we’ve never really spoken. She looked at me and said, “I see you always going to school with your books, dressed nice, like you’re really doing something. You make me wanna try harder.” I smiled and thanked her, but inside, I was speechless. I had no idea anyone was paying attention to my daily routine. I was just trying to stay focused and do my best, despite everything I’m facing in the background. I’m currently holding a 4.0 GPA while balancing life as a full-time student and navigating some heavy personal challenges. My husband is out of work until August due to his seasonal job, and I’m unemployed while also managing rent arrears and court dates related to housing. Still, I get up every day, log into class, complete my assignments early, and keep my camera off—not to hide, but because I sometimes attend class from places no one would expect. I do this not because it’s easy, but because I know my future is worth fighting for. What makes me different is my resilience. I don’t have the luxury of giving up. I leverage my uniqueness by being real, by being consistent, and by letting my quiet discipline speak louder than my words. I’m not the student with the most resources, but I might be the student with the most heart. And apparently, even when I think no one sees me, I’m inspiring someone else to try. That’s what keeps me going. I believe our power lies not just in who we are, but in who we give others permission to become. Just by being myself—persistent, thoughtful, hopeful—I’ve encouraged a young girl to believe in herself. She might not remember my name, but she’ll remember that someone who looked like her, came from her block, made school look possible. That’s a legacy I’m proud to build, one step at a time. This scholarship would not just help me financially—it would help amplify that quiet impact I never knew I had. With your support, I can continue walking toward my future, and maybe someone else, who doesn’t even know me, will start walking toward theirs.