It was September 1st, 2024. My eyes glued to a screen with an email denying my ability to attend school. Twice I’ve blinked to build a wall before the water fell. Hands trembling with luggage as my back faced the dorm doors. I was in San Francisco with nothing but 30 dollars and a clouded mind. It tore me inside. I was a former University Ambassador studying neuropsychology. I had everything going for me. Although externally to my co-workers at a retail store, I looked fine, when the lights were off it was nothing but soft sobs. I’ve couched-hopped for four months. I threw away valuables I’ve deemed useless and ignored the fact that I’ve worn the same outfit three times consecutively. I’ve experienced homelessness and it’s altered the way I view myself. I felt as though I’ve failed. Throughout the entirety of this time period, one thing stayed constant. I was going back to school. One way or another. I’ve always dreamed of being someone in this world. Someone that revolutionized—change-maker. I’ve fallen in love with adolescent development and cognitive psychology because it meant I could help the youth. I could be the resource I didn’t get to have growing up. Currently I’m no longer homeless and with perseverance am back in school. However, I have ways to go from being financially stable. This scholarship will help me focus on what matters. I can continue volunteering at food pantries and homeless shelters. I can attend Psy Chi meetings, advocate for POC first-gen mental health and work towards diminishing food scarcity (and promoting food access) within my campus. I can finally be one step closer towards making a difference in this world. So that when I blink twice, it’s to withhold tears of joy from making a difference.

Throughout my childhood I’ve naturally watched different tv shows on Disney channel. From Jessie to dog with a blog, it was easy to tune out of my everyday world and escape. I’ve found Sabrina carpenter before I knew her legal name. I’ve always known her as Maya from girl meets world, and that show revolutionized the way I’ve conceptualized my own reality. Although a bit cheesy, it was a direct commentary on handling puberty, woman-hood, feminism and friendships. Girl meets world wasn’t just another outlet for me to escape; it was the impact I needed to think critically about my beliefs, ideology’s and motives towards community. Mayas character in particular, drew me in because I could see myself within her. Impoverished family, a daughter fending for herself through a friendship with an economic-social disconnect. Whenever Maya was struggling it was as if the story depicted my own struggles. Currently, I’ve shifted from witnessing Sabrina as simply Maya but into the person she displays to be currently; I couldn’t be more than proud to be a superfan! Before I divulge into the music, I’d like to talk about how Sabrina altered the way Disney stars approach maturity. Historically, Disney stars have always been infantilized and stuck within a box that limited their ability to display maturity and growth. It is why many stars like Miley Cyrus and Ariana Grande approach their desperation for maturity through extreme, culturally-appropriate, hyper-sexual manner. As a black woman, it is difficult to witness child stars take on my culture and alter their persona so the world can view them as more mature and less docile. For instance, Ariana taking interest in AAVE dialect, shifting into more R&B/Hip-Hop and moving her body the way black women do allowed her to show the world she wasn’t Cat Valentine from Nickelodeon. She stripped her whiteness temporarily due to society viewing whiteness femininity as docile and blackness as mature. Only, when she has accomplished her goal in being viewed as grown, was she able to take off the black-accent and return to who she naturally is. In comparison, Sabrina didn’t take the route of cultural-appropriation in order to display maturity. Instead, she took white feminine and made it an irony. The visually docile, verbally vulgar approach to her artistry was refreshing. She didn’t need to hypersexualize, take a black-accent and mimick black women for the world to digest her as grown. She took the privilege of whiteness and used it as leverage to show she wasn’t as innocent as we thought. It was brilliant and as black woman, I loved every second of it. Her career impacted me because she proved that you didn’t need to pretend to be non-white to be viewed as mature. Moreover, to assist with the tittering of not being as innocent as she pretends to be, her costumes and stage outfits do a great job at balancing between sensuality and purity. You see just enough skin, but not too much. It was and will always been brilliant in my eyes. Although I adore her music, I adore the character and brand she’s made for herself and the ability to break out of the shell many child stars are subjected to. It proves that you can be whoever you want to be, regardless of what society tells you. That alone, is something to stan for.

It was the summer of 2024. I’ve just recently finished my spring semester with many job offers to take on during the foggy hours of San Francisco. I attempted balancing three jobs to be financially set for the next academic year. The first one, a summer guest host for prospective students living in dorm rooms and attending summer classes. The second, a retail associate for Lululemon where I encouraged long-time shoppers and first-timers to find the apparel that fit them the most. The third, a University Summer Ambassador where I hosted campus tours and attended informational sessions to answer students from around the country their questions. I’ve loved customer service, ever since I was in high school. However, optimizing for peak financial security was at an unknowing and unprecedented costs of my sanity and emotional well-being. I’d work 80-85 hours weekly. Sipped left over coffee and room temperature red-bulls when my 3 hour naps weren’t enough. I’d stress at the sound of another alarm ringing me behind. I’d cry shamefully after confusing my scripted dialogues. All the while, through the misty air, I held strong because I needed to pay for my education one way or another. As a first-generation student, I didn’t have the privilege and luxury of a family or family member allocating the costs. As proud as I am to be the first to attend college, the days slowly melted together and I couldn’t keep track of the time;only where I needed to be. It was around mid-June where I could finally feel my world crumble. My hands pressed against the smooth fabric from a pair of leggings as my heart raced. The thumping running in my ear drums after consuming my fourth cup of coffee before 3 p.m. I couldn’t tell you why I started to cry in the middle of the store. I can however, tell the feeling. The feeling of losing my grip. Losing the feeling of having control over my own life. As each tear slipped down my cheek, I could only look at my shift lead with trembling lips as I pointed to their office for a talk. I was lucky the lead was around my age—newly graduated from the same college. The silence was thick, lights off for comfort. I felt a hand press against my shoulder but my eyes couldn’t look at her, only the floor that I felt was sucking me in. “You should go home for the day.” I felt it. The control. I sighed heavily and protested at the idea of leaving work. She, however, insisted. For the first time in a long time, the sun shined a bit brighter while I stepped out the store. From that day forward, I prioritized my mental health over money. I changed my availability, made time to see friends, and mandated a Sunday evening to myself. Every Sunday, I write whatever is lingering on my mind in nature—be it things I look forward to, things I’ve regretted or things I’m nostalgic over. As I write, I embrace my thoughts the way my lead did to me. I’ve promised myself that I will take better care of myself, in order for me to be there for others. A saying my grandmother told me will forever resonate. “How can I fill one’s cup when my own is empty?”

Growing up in an all-girl school, I’ve been impacted culturally on how to approach girl-hood, woman-hood, feminism and female-empowerment. I’ve found that the song, “girls, so confusing” deeply resonates with feeling I could describe throughout my adolescence and current adulthood. Throughout the piece, it describes trying to cultivate a community through girlhood and the uncertainty, internalized jealousy and the imposter syndrome many woman face when trying to get to know each other . From secretive beauty competition to the exploitation of one’s physical attributes, being a girl truly is confusing during a time where isolation and loneliness is at an all time high. The song makes me feel validated in seeing someone another girl and admiring their life, comparing my own to theirs and ultimately breaking my biases of their behavior based on their socio-economic status. More over, I love this song because it starts off as two women being in competition with each-other due to outside forces unable to distinguish them apart, in the same way society categorizes women, place them in competition within eachother and subconsciously plant the seed of needing to outdo themselves for external validation. Through the midst of unspoken rivalry and comparison, the song shifts the narrative into one where both parties view eachother in a positive light with similarities the same way I’ve experienced many friendships. There were times where I’d assume someone to be stuck up due to my own envy or resentment being compared to someone because it made me feel as if my individuality was stripped—unless, however, it were in reference to my beauty;in which, confusingly, I’d appreciate the references, and feel a higher sense of self worth. What’s beautiful about this song, though, is that it not only talks about the irony of becoming friends with someone you’ve assumed wouldn’t be in your league, but also the destructive psychological nature womanhood could bring. From forcing on to party and enjoy their youth as a woman with sayings such as “you’re in your prime” to justify objectifying oneself for the sake of a good time. It also plays into the generational narrative of being not like other girls, with the lyric “you’re all about writing poems, but I’m about throwing parties.” It’s a moment that highlights how women naturally categorize each other because society conditioned us to. The idea of being better or less than someone for their interest isn’t uncommon and is a phoneme many women criticize. Personally, it resonated with how I’ve been on both sides. Feeling unworthy of being apart of a certain demographic due to my personal interest not aligning or judging someone for not potentially being good enough because they don’t do what I like to do. Being a woman, truly is confusing. However, Charlie doesn’t talk about womanhood through an adult lens, but in a childlike, infantile nature. This, additionally, plays into the new role of women portraying themselves as “just a girl” and I can appreciate Charlie playing into this. Even saying, “I don’t know, I’m just a girl” to downplay realistic struggles womanhood offers. Overall, this song is not only catchy but truly gets me to an emotional state when listening because it encapsulates emotions I’ve, and many other women, have gone through and continue to go through.

It started slowly—one loop at a time. My fingers fumbled through the first chain stitch like I was learning to speak a language I already knew in my body. It was quiet work, the kind that doesn't beg to be seen. Just yarn, a hook, and my breath syncing to the rhythm of pulling the thread through the thread. But somewhere between making a crooked scarf and unraveling it for the third time, I realized this wasn't just a hobby. It was a spark that ignited my fight against my own overconsumption habits.  Crocheting pulled me into stillness long enough to notice how loud the world really is—how constantly we're told to want more, spend more, and be more, especially as a woman and especially online. Our insecurities are profitable. We're sold "confidence" in the form of skincare, shapewear, and self-care. You need a new lip gloss, new kitten heels, a new floral halter top, new concealer, and a new perfume. It's not just marketing—it's manipulation, and I  have fallen for it more times than I could count.  But crocheting disrupted that pattern. It made me slow down and ask questions. Why did I used to feel anxious if I hadn't bought something new in a week? Why did every low mood end in online checkout? Why did silence feel so unbearable? I wasn't just replacing shopping with stitching—I was confronting the discomfort that consumerism had helped me avoid. That curiosity spiraled into something bigger. I began studying the psychology behind spending habits—how trauma, loneliness, and social pressure become intertwined in our purchasing decisions. I learned how behavioral addictions don't always look like substances and created a research article contextualizing normalized shopping addictions corporations target. It also highlights the linguistic aspect of companies shifting into culturally aware, trendy brands that target lonely individuals seeking a sense of community. Sometimes, they resemble sales racks or large packages that your favorite influencer has partnered with.  I started to see how deeply capitalism relies on women staying insecure and isolated.  So, I took action. I started a student organization on campus built around crafting, ethical consumption, and unlearning the emotional traps of overconsumption. We host crocheting circles where we mend, stitch, and talk. We run workshops that explore how capitalism hijacks our coping mechanisms and how to reclaim them. We advocate for mindful spending—not just as a trend but as an act of psychological resistance. Additionally, I've spoken with professors about psychological practices that mitigate the urge to spend during difficult times and rewire cognitive thinking on what and why we pay.  I engage with content creators promoting ethical consumption and aspire to become a psychiatrist who sheds light on addictions like shopping. Crocheting gave me more than handmade clothes. It gave me language for what I was feeling. It gave me a community. It gave me a way to intervene in something that felt so much bigger than me. It's accessible clothing, its control over personalized style and aesthetics, and it slows down the ever-growing normalization of fast fashion. There's a sense of pride in wearing one's own creation that breaks the cycle of buyer's remorse.  Now, every loop I make reminds me that we can always rework what's unraveling us.

Growing up in a low-income neighborhood in southern Georgia, mental health was not a topic of open conversation. I lived in a household that struggled to believe in therapy or psychological diagnoses. Emotional challenges were considered weaknesses, and generational trauma went untreated. It wasn't until I began learning about attachment styles, anxiety disorders, and trauma in academic spaces that I began to connect the dots between what I studied and what I experienced. Understanding these frameworks helped me see that many of the struggles I witnessed—from anger outbursts to emotional detachment—were symptoms of unmet mental health needs, not personal failings. I conducted a descriptive analysis of child aggression in impoverished neighborhoods during a child development course. It wasn't sure through the observational lens, but comprehending the aggressive behaviors my eldest brother exhibited throughout an unstable childhood. That project profoundly shifted my focus—it wasn't enough to solely learn about mental health. I wanted to understand how systemic poverty and racial inequity created environments where children were more likely to experience behavioral issues and less likely to receive support. That analysis launched my passion for exploring how mental health intersects with education, environment, and opportunity.  I now actively engage with the American Psychological Association, participating in conversations that challenge modern mental health constraints—from cultural misunderstanding of disorders to the high cost of therapy. These discussions reaffirm my belief that our systems must adapt to serve marginalized groups, not vice versa. I learned about how cultural stigma, misdiagnosis, and financial constraints disproportionately affect marginalized communities. Frustration was my first response before using my curiosity to continue activism. On campus, I advocate through the Black Student Organization, allowing underrepresented students to feel seen, heard, and supported. I push for conversations that normalize therapy, particularly for Black students who may carry the weight of generational trauma, social pressure, and financial instability.  Moreover, I've developed an ongoing psychological research study to understand the connection between traditional attachment styles with self-doubt, imposter syndrome, and inadequacy found in minority, marginalized students in predominantly white institutions. I want to highlight potential findings in my university's newspaper to reflect and ensure things like unbiased teachings, positive affirmations, and giving students equal opportunities are embedded systematically.   Ultimately, This mission is deeply personal. I've watched family members struggle with untreated anxiety, trauma, and emotional repression. I've lived the consequences of generational pain that was left unaddressed. But I've also witnessed what happens when those patterns break—when someone goes to therapy for the first time or when a conversation ends with, "I understand now." That's what I want to give back. I want to make therapy affordable and accessible, speak at schools and community centers, and build trust in places that feel diminished. I want to create real, lasting change that acknowledges both the science of the mind and the reality of our lives.