I was 8 years old when I witnessed my mother being physically and verbally humiliated—rather degraded. I was 10 years old when witnessing the normalization of media televising and curating the caricature of Black Women enduring abuse and domestic violence; i.e “The Color Purple” and “What’s Love Got To Do With It”. It was socially and culturally appropriate to witness Black womanhood be molded to insinuate traumatic struggle. To struggle in isolation and overcome as the strong black woman. “Myths about Black imperviousness to pain have endured since slavery and have informed the perception of Black women as strong, invulnerable, and non-human, leading to the “othering” of Black women in healthcare settings” as quoted by a psychological research article examining the archetypes of Black womanhood in relation to systematic oppression, lack of care and Black women’s experiences with mental illnesses (alcoholism, depression, anxiety, etc ). Endurance is remarkable and deserves recognition and representation. However, the unrealistic expectation to remain strong discourages vulnerability, delays seeking help and reinforces historically inaccurate stigmas surrounding care. My commitment to this work as a First-Gen studying neuropsychology has been strengthen through leadership in Psi Chi, Black Student Union and Sister Connections at the University of San Francisco. Cultivating spaces on advocacy, connection and mental health awareness amongst Black Women on campus; recognizing the contradiction in being expected to endure while rarely given permission to heal and bridging neuropsychology and Black feminist scholarship and investigate said contradiction. To my mother who, despite her trauma, overcame her struggles without psychological support. Though she was able to, accessible resources for others that cannot is and should be a must for the safety of Black women globally. With this scholarship, I can afford education and be apart of The American Pscyhology Association as a representative for Black Women.

I became a fan of Sabrina Carpenter because of the way she has grown throughout her career while staying true to herself. I admire how she has embraced every stage of her journey, from acting to becoming a successful artist, and how she has created a space where humor, vulnerability, and confidence can exist together. Her music feels personal but still makes people feel like they are part of the experience. Sabrina’s career has inspired me in a way I never expected: she encouraged me to start making music of my own. Watching her turn her thoughts, experiences, and emotions into songs made me realize that creativity does not have to start with perfection—it starts with simply trying. Her confidence gave me the push to begin writing songs, experimenting with melodies, and using music as another way to express myself. What I appreciate most about Sabrina is that she makes creativity feel approachable. She shows that it is okay to be playful, take risks, and not always have everything figured out. As someone who can sometimes overthink starting something new, seeing her continue to evolve reminded me that growth comes from allowing yourself the freedom to create. Because of Sabrina, music became more than something I listened to—it became something I wanted to be a part of. She inspired me to explore my own voice, tell my own stories, and have fun with the creative process along the way.

The day before I turned 18--the summer before senior year--I reached a point where the pressure I carried no longer felt manageable. Staring at my reflection and realizing how deeply I had tied my worth to achievement. For years, I believed that success—especially as a student of color raised in poverty—was the only path to stability. College was not just a goal; it felt like the only way out. And excelling academically felt like the only way to get there. What began as motivation gradually became something heavier. The pressure to succeed, to stand out, and to “make it” turned into anxiety and insecurity. I found myself measuring my value through comparison—especially with my twin sister, whom I love deeply yet at times felt I had to compete with. In chasing the idea of being the “outlier,” I lost sight of my well-being. That realization became a turning point. I made a commitment to myself to no longer place achievement above my mental health. Simultaneously, I began to recognize that my experience was not unique. Many adolescents—especially those from marginalized communities—internalize the belief that their worth is tied to performance, and that their future depends entirely on perfection. Studying psychology has given me the language and framework to understand the intersection of academic pressure, perfectionism, and social expectations. As a student representative for Psi Chi at the University of San Francisco and a former Admissions Ambassador, I have conducted research on how these pressures affect adolescent development, particularly within underrepresented communities. My work examines how systemic factors and social stratification shape mental health outcomes, and how these pressures can lead to anxiety, burnout, and identity struggles in young people. Psychology has not only helped me better understand others—it has helped me understand myself. It has allowed me to unpack the beliefs I once held about success and self-worth, and to reframe them in a healthier, more sustainable way. More importantly, it has given me a path to support others who may be navigating similar challenges. I am especially passionate about advocating for adolescents who feel trapped between expectation and identity—those who believe they must sacrifice their well-being to create opportunities for themselves and their families. I want to contribute to research and clinical work that challenges these narratives and promotes environments where students are supported holistically, not just academically. In my research article for my sociology course, I've explored an underrepresented psychological research field around the minoritized perception of pressure in academic spaces relative to social stratification, external perfectionism, and developing anxiety. It not only sparked more interest and was used to present at the Future Clinical Psychology Association, but also gave me a newfound interest in adolescent development. So much so that I added it as a minor while studying neuropsychology for adolescent development. I strive to be someone who contributes to a broader change; redefining success, centering mental health, and affirming that individuals are more than their academic or financial outcomes. Psychology, particularly clinical psychology, provides the space to do that work. It allows me to combine research, advocacy, and care in a way that directly impacts the lives of young people. I carry many identities—I am a queer, first-generation pre-med student from Georgia, a barista, a volunteer, and someone who finds joy in creativity and community. These identities remind me that people cannot be reduced to a single measure of success. Through psychology, I hope to ensure that future generations understand that truth as well: that they are more than their grades, and that their worth is not defined by pressure, but by their humanity.

Growing up, I was taught that it takes a village to raise a child. Over time, that belief became more than a saying—it shaped my commitment to psychiatric care and adolescent development. I have seen firsthand how community support can buffer the psychological strain of poverty through my work with food pantries, women’s health and hygiene dispensaries, adolescent foster and homeless shelters, and spaces dedicated to historic Black art within queer Black communities. These experiences showed me that care is not abstract; it is built through consistent, accessible support. My own upbringing gave that understanding urgency. I was raised in neighborhoods affected by food deserts and limited access to essential health resources. There were times my family faced the edge of homelessness, with my single mother supporting four children. Those experiences did not just shape my circumstances—they shaped my purpose. I recognized early that there are families and children, many who look like me, searching for a village of their own: one grounded in access, advocacy, and research that reflects their realities. As a first-generation student from Atlanta, Georgia, studying neuropsychology on a pre-med track at the University of San Francisco, I know my path has only been possible because of the people who invested in me. Their support has given me the responsibility to give back with intention. During my college experience, I have engaged in academic and clinical research examining how poverty—systemically, psychologically, and socio-culturally—affects adolescent development. Factors such as food insecurity, housing instability, lack of safe emotional spaces, and limited access to healthcare and hygiene resources do not exist in isolation. Together, they shape developmental outcomes, often leading to behavioral and psychological challenges. Alongside my research, I have served as a student representative in the Black Student Union, a University Admission Ambassador, and a member of the Future Clinical Psychology Association. In each role, I have worked to connect my academic learning with community engagement—leading presentations, assisting in workshops at local high schools in San Francisco, and collaborating with others who are committed to improving outcomes for the next generation. This work is deeply personal. I remember standing in front of an empty refrigerator, holding a bag of oranges and milk cartons from school to help my family get through the night. I remember the frustration and confusion that came with circumstances I did not yet understand. At times, I felt as though I did not have a village, even as my mother worked tirelessly to provide one. Those moments continue to guide me. They remind me why this work matters. In the future, I plan to return to Atlanta to serve as a council representative focused on expanding access to affordable and culturally competent psychiatric care. I aim to advocate for policies that address systemic barriers while also developing school-based programs that integrate food access, mental health education, and cognitive-behavioral support for students and families. My goal is to help create communities where children are supported holistically—where their environments do not limit their development, and where every family knows they are not alone. Ultimately, I want to contribute to building the kind of village that I once searched for—one that ensures every child has the support, stability, and care they need to simply be a child. The way I was fortunate enough to be able to be.

I’ve always dreamed to be the first in my family—the first to perform in competitive dance, the first to win an Atlanta-Journal Constitutional Cup, the first to study across the country. The seed to bring the first was implemented in me when my mother would shake my worries from beneath my skin; when i'd be the first and only Black girl in an advanced field of science or the first to become an undergraduate. In moments like those where being the first felt like punishment than fulfillment, I internalized these emotions and convinced myself unworthy. Being a first-generational student isn't just breaking external and familial boundaries or rewriting the story but your story. Its true I didn't have it all as a child; the first in my friend group without both parents, financial stability or passive-disposable income. what i perceived as lack i was encouraged to speak as the first university ambassador as a first-generational student so other prospective students could see themselves in me. To be the first in their family whatever that may look like. Ive been inspired to focus on neuropsychological research behind inferiority complexes and why marginalized communities are predisposed to this feeling and being a representative of someone that has struggled with such. The first, but not the last, psychiatrist in my family ringing in my ears as I envision a world where being the first place winner, first revolutionist, first-generational, all of it is worthy of praise, recognition and systemic support for those that felt it was a punishment than something to be proud of.

I come from a small southern community in Georgia where many older generations struggle with identifying incriminating websites and emails targeting to scam them out of money. I believe with my knowledge of cybersecurity I can and have assisted elders to pinpoint language, context of the situation and the legitimacy of the situation to inhibit susceptibility to being scammed. My grandmother was scammed 3500 USD in hopes of avoiding a criminal charge not realizing the individuals behind the messages were scammers and caused a serious financial loss to our family. I hope with time, I can curate formal workshops for elders in retirement homes or local villages to study cyber security scams or phishing so they don’t suffer the way my grandmother had suffered; with this knowledge many become more “tech-savvy” and confident in their day-to-day internet use.

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.