As an Asheville, NC native, I find solace in my solitude while hiking the Blue Ridge Mountains. There is something about discovering the trails less traveled and exploring nature. Much of my artistic inspirations derive from the magnitude of the mountain ranges, the strength of century-old trees, even the critters who roam the land. There is much to learn from the lives of plants and animals, just ask Darwin (if only talking to late scientist were possible). My art has always been a creative outlet I utilize to express the surreal in realism. For example, my latest oil painting depicts an octopus-lady painted in hues of purple and blues reigning over the soft-looking layers of trees which create sea mountains. When I am not painting or hiking, you will most likely find me somewhere in a hammock reading a book or creating jewelry. Unfortunately, my free time is extremely limited. Since the age of fifteen, I held a job and worked to support myself. I am currently working as a server in the food and beverage industry and attending Columbia University part-time. Suffice to assume, my financial situation has always been less fortunate. However, compared to the section-eight housing (where I was raised) my situation is forevermore blessed. I, Deja Shivers, had made it from the destitute ghettos to a private Ivy League school! On the other hand, the cost of attending Columbia is rather intimidating, and receiving this scholarship would help buttress the extensive costs. The impact of COVID-19 has delayed my move to New York City until the Fall of 2021. Therefore, should I be accepted as the winner of the Future Black Leaders Scholarship, I will use the awarded funds to pay for the downpayment of my campus living. Furthermore, my most recent volunteer work was concluded at Mountain Area Health Education Center (MAHEC). At MAHEC, underserved populations are treated and provided with accessible health services. At the health center I shadowed an OB-GYN, Dr. Beth Buys. We created a shared-decision making tool for the induction of labor. Later I interned with a family doctor, Dr. Latessa, who treated generations: grandmothers or grandfathers, mothers or fathers, and their kids alike. It was most interesting to see how disorders, mutations, and co-morbidities developed or changed among immediate relatives. Volunteering in settings that were tailored to indigent populations inspired my post-graduate goal. After graduating from Columbia, I will attend medical school to become a child and adolescent psychiatrist. My goals include: establishing mental health awareness at the forefront of black communities, addressing health disparity gaps by serving rural populations, and successfully helping patients who have experienced traumatic events manage their lives.

“I can’t wait to see my daddy at camp! He always matches his friends, wearing the same clothes and bracelets,” I bragged to my older cousin. “He ain’t at camp, whatchu mean? He is in prison” my cousin snapped back with a know-it-all chuckle. I could feel my cheeks flush, and my eyes swell with heavy tears. For the first five years of my life, my dad was in prison, not camp. I felt the betrayal of a lie penetrate my innermost core. At the age of seven, a family friend made me a child victim of sexual abuse and the second betrayal felt worse than the first. I attended therapy sessions after working up the courage to tell my mother about the abuse. Nothing made much sense, and my therapist addled my thoughts even more. I decided to start visiting my dad during the summers, mostly to get away from what happened; ironically, I was subjected to a different kind of abuse. I recall cops being called to the home for domestic violence on multiple occasions. Sometimes, my dad would leave me with my Aunt who neglected to feed me, made me steal clothes for her children to wear, throw me down the stairs, and prank-scare me for her entertainment. She was cruel to me, and once again, I confided in my mother. Another therapist, same result. Summer visits ended and I continued to help raise my brother while my mother worked three jobs and attended nursing school. She instilled a value of work ethic in me early in life that is irreplaceable. At age 21, I landed a job at the American City Business Journal in Charlotte as an Account Executive. Concurrently, I was enrolled in sixteen to eighteen credit hours per semester. I picked up a second-night job to help pay for college finances. A colleague noticed how overworked and tired I had become and offered me an Adderall one late night in a study cubicle. The Adderall helped me stay up and put everything into focus. I was performing better on tests, meeting sales goals, and staying awake during night shifts. The Adderall turned to lead to Vyvanse; which, eventually led to cocaine. I was hooked, and on the fast track to graduating and establishing a career as an account executive. I threw it all away to work at a cocktail lounge, which better buttressed my abusive, toxic habit. My addiction evolved, robbing me of everything. I picked up the phone and confessed to my mother. No one had betrayed me this time, no one but me. I was apprehensive to seek treatment, fearing I would be stigmatized for my own plight. The idea of having a label slapped across the value of my character was humiliating. Unbeknownst to my trivial worries, pursuing medical attention helped empower me to discover a healthier way of living. Receiving treatment is a major reason why I will become a physician. After leaving UNCC to go to rehab, I had my semester waived as I demonstrated an academic decline and my substance abuse grew. I knew I had to choose between creating a better life or going back to what little I had left. I opted out of the latter and began to learn how to love myself. With my new goals in focus, I embraced my talent in oil paintings and explored nature for inspiration and reconnection. Most importantly, I became both educated and impartial towards the defamed notions of addiction and treatment. Thus, allowing me to learn that it is possible to live a full life while managing disorders stemmed from trauma. I took a year off and focused on my health and abstinence. Out-patient therapy became my only priority and for the first time in my life, I felt as if therapy was helping me. Finding the right psychiatrist turned my life around and I was accepted into UNCA’s undergraduate program. After graduating with a BA in psychology, I continued my education at Columbia University in the City of New York. Upon reflection, I realize my fractured childhood often left me imagining my adult life would be a fairytale. Contrary to my idealistic misconceptions, a fable was far from reality. Constructed biased beliefs prohibited my ability to grasp the suffering complexities of mental illness until I became an inhabitant myself. Three years and counting, I am sober and continuing to rebuild my life despite the gruesome statistics of substance abuse and single-parent homes. I look forward to breaking past mental health barriers as a relatable, versatile physician.

Another late night at the library spent diligently studying in a cramped cubicle. A colleague noticed how overworked and tired I had become and offered me an Adderall. The Adderall helped me stay up and put everything into focus. I was performing better on tests, meeting sales goals, and staying awake during night shifts. The Adderall lead to Vyvanse; which, eventually led to cocaine. I was hooked, and on the fast track to graduating and establishing a career as an account executive. Instead, my addiction evolved, robbing me of everything. I knew I had to choose between creating a better life for myself or, going back to surviving with what little I had left. Ultimately I opted out of the latter. However, I remained apprehensive to seek treatment fearing I would be stigmatized for my plight. The idea of having a label slapped across the value of my character was humiliating. Unbeknownst to my trivial worries, pursuing medical attention would change the course of my life for the better. Receiving treatment is a major reason why I will become a physician. During detox, a behavior specialist made a bet with other medical employees. “Pay up, she actually got up today Mike,” I overheard. I felt my blood vessels tighten and a fire burn in my heart. I wanted to prove Mike wrong, and more than anything I wanted to become a pillar of strength for myself. Thus, I vowed to become the doctor who was everything the behavior specialist was not: loyal to patient care, empathetic, and knowledgeable. Unlike Mike, I became both educated and impartial towards the defamed notions of addiction and treatment. Out-patient therapy became my only priority and for the first time in my life, I felt as if therapy was helping me. Finding the right psychiatrist empowered me and propelled my cognitive-emotional stability. Four years have passed since rehab and I am currently attending the post-baccalaureate pre-med program at Columbia University in the City of New York. I look forward to breaking past mental health barriers as a relatable, versatile physician.