I learned to love the ocean before I had the language to study it. I was ten the first time I dove under the surface after my father. I surrendered my claim to oxygen and learned what breath really meant. Learning how to slow my breathing, how to watch instead of chase, how to notice what was alive and what was changing created the framework of a marine biochemist long before I felt the call. Before coral reefs became my research focus, they were a place of wonder. As I grew, I began to notice bleached coral where there used to be magnificent color, plastic tangled and choking marine life. I began volunteering at beach cleanups. As I walked, collecting bottles and bags, I would find shark teeth and shells, picking through time with my hands until my bedroom became a living archive. Still, it wasn’t enough. I began creating paintings from these cleanups, transforming what we discard into something that demands recognition. This is how I realized that art is how I process grief, but science is how I respond to it. Before graduate school, my academic path was rooted in cancer research. I was trained to think about disease at the molecular level. How cells communicate, and how a subtle chemical shift can determine whether a system is resilient or collapses. When a remarkable turn of events transitioned me into marine science, I was struck by how understudied corals remain and how rarely these tools are applied to their research. Coral reefs support over twenty-five percent of all marine life and provide the structural foundation for the livelihoods of more than one billion people. We are losing systems we do not fully understand, yet rely on entirely. I am currently pursuing a Master’s degree in Marine Biology, where my research focuses on Stony Coral Tissue Loss Disease (SCTLD), one of the most devastating coral diseases documented to date. Unlike other white band diseases, SCTLD affects more than thirty coral species and progresses so rapidly that entire colonies can be reduced to bare skeleton in a matter of weeks. Once lesions appear, intervention options are limited, and mortality rates are dangerously high. My research focuses on coral glycosylation, a post-translational modification process that generates complex sugar structures shaping immune responses and host–pathogen interactions. Using analytical chemistry techniques commonly applied to human disease research, I investigate how molecular patterns differ between healthy and diseased corals. Preliminary results suggest that glycan signatures may serve as biomarkers of coral health or disease history, offering a way to understand disease progression before visible tissue loss and support earlier conservation responses for threatened reef systems. I see chemistry as a form of expression. Alchemy, even. Just as poetry distills emotion into language, chemistry distills biological meaning into structure and pattern. I am an artist at heart, but I know rigor and creativity are not opposites, but partners. My dream is to continue this work through doctoral study and into a career that bridges molecular research, reef conservation, and communication. Ultimately, my goal is to give reefs the same level of molecular attention we give human disease, so conservation decisions are informed by biology rather than loss. The legacy of Joseph Anthony Venuti Jr. reflects that same spirit of curiosity and devotion to marine life. This scholarship would allow me to dedicate myself fully to research at a pivotal stage. More than funding, it would affirm a commitment to understanding reefs not as doomed systems, but as living ones. Reefs aren’t ruins; they are architects still laying stone beneath the tide.

I grew up by the water in Charleston, South Carolina, where pluff mud squished between my toes and the marsh grass bent with the tide. The ocean was my playground, but it also became my teacher. I learned early that what we love, we must also protect—and that lesson has guided me ever since. In high school, I performed a research project on Drum Island, a small island in Charleston Harbor where plastic debris collects from the rivers. I not only quantified the waste but also helped clean it up, filling bag after bag with discarded bottles and tangled fishing line. That project didn’t just change me, it changed my family. Inspired by my work, my mother launched Save the Rock Box, a completely eco-friendly luxury subscription box. Today, I help manage its social media, using storytelling to spread the message of sustainability. At home, we’ve traded single-use plastics for reusable glassware and water bottles, proving to ourselves that small changes really do add up. That experience showed me something I’ve never forgotten: environmental action doesn’t always begin with institutions. It starts with families, with neighborhoods, with communities that choose to act. That belief has carried me into my career. Now, I am a graduate student in marine biology at the College of Charleston and a research specialist at the Medical University of South Carolina. My focus is glycomics—the study of sugars that help cells “talk” to one another. It may sound technical, but to me, it’s simply another way of listening for distress calls that might otherwise go unnoticed. Some days, I study coral tissue to understand how Stony Coral Tissue Loss Disease spreads with cancer-like aggression. Other days, I analyze marine mammal kidneys to see how climate stress leaves hidden scars. Whether in corals, stingrays, or sea lions, my goal is the same: uncover the earliest warning signs so we can intervene before it’s too late. For me, science isn’t just about publishing papers; it’s about protecting what cannot speak for itself. The same molecular tools that help us fight human diseases, such as lupus or pancreatic cancer, can also be used to protect reefs and marine mammals. That bridge between human health and ecosystem health is where I want to dedicate my life’s work. When friends and family ask how they can help, I tell them that action doesn’t have to be overwhelming. Start small: swap single-use plastics for reusables, shop second-hand instead of fast fashion, support businesses that are part of 1% for the planet, bike or walk when possible, and vote for leaders who take the environment seriously. I share the research I read in class and in the lab, because I believe knowledge sparks change and change spreads. My dream is to pursue a Ph.D. and continue developing tools that reveal the hidden signals of stress in our environment, giving us a chance to act before ecosystems collapse. Just as importantly, I want to mentor young women in STEM so they know that their voices and ideas belong here, too. This scholarship would ease the pressures of balancing graduate school, research, and work. More than that, it would affirm that the work I am doing, and the scientist and woman I am becoming, matters. My dream is not only to study the ocean, but to protect it for my generation, the next, and for families like mine who believe that small, determined steps can change the world.

I grew up by the water in Charleston, South Carolina, where the ocean has always felt like both a teacher and a calling. The tides shaped my childhood and my sense of responsibility. I learned early that what we love, we must also protect. That lesson has guided every step of my educational journey. At the Medical University of South Carolina, I study diseases such as prostate cancer, pancreatic cancer, and lupus. At the College of Charleston, my graduate research focuses on corals and marine mammals. On the surface, these fields might seem worlds apart. But they are connected by a common thread: glycomics, the study of sugars that shape the way cells communicate, respond, and survive. For me, glycomics has become both a tool and a language. It’s a way to listen for hidden signs of disease and stress, whether in human tissues or in ecosystems. Some days, my work means analyzing coral tissue to understand how Stony Coral Tissue Loss Disease spreads, a devastating illness that has swept through reefs with cancer-like aggression. Other days, it means studying marine mammal kidneys to see how climate stress leaves invisible scars on their health. The goal is the same for each sample that comes into our lab: to uncover early markers of disease, to act before it’s too late. This research is slow and often exhausting, especially while balancing nearly 30 hours of work each week with a full graduate course load. But I believe deeply in its importance. Being a woman in STEM has taught me perseverance. It hasn’t always been easy to be taken seriously, to balance expectations, or to keep going when the weight of school, research, and financial strain feels overwhelming. There have been moments when it felt easier to step back. But each time, I’ve remembered the responsibility that drove me into science in the first place. The ocean has given me so much; giving up on it was never an option. Those challenges have also given me a deep desire to mentor and uplift other women in science. I want them to know their voices matter, their ideas matter, and their presence changes the field for the better. This is why I serve as a mentor for high school and undergraduate students seeking higher education in biology and chemistry. One of my favorite moments was when a young student told me she had never considered science as “a place for her” until I walked her through a project I was working on. That moment reminded me why I keep going: progress isn’t only in the data we generate, but in the people we inspire along the way. My dream is to pursue a Ph.D. and dedicate my career to bridging human and environmental health, showing that the two are not separate but interconnected. I want to create diagnostic tools that protect reefs and marine mammals just as much as I want to improve human medicine. Just as importantly, I want to stand as proof for young women that they belong in STEM. They don’t need to conform. They can thrive by leading with persistence, curiosity, and compassion. This scholarship would ease the pressures I carry and allow me to focus more fully on my calling. More than that, it would be an affirmation that the work I am doing, and the woman I am becoming, matters. My life’s work is not only to study the ocean, but to protect it. It is also to help ensure that women in science know we belong and know our voices can change the world.

Imaging mass spectrometry was one of the most imposing topics I encountered in my undergraduate organic chemistry courses. Now, it’s central to my career. As a graduate student in marine biology and a research specialist at the Medical University of South Carolina, I use mass spectrometry to study how environmental stressors affect marine life at the molecular level. This technology detects shifts in complex biomolecules—such as glycans, proteins, and lipids—before symptoms appear, enabling early ecological warning and intervention. Balancing a full-time course load and volunteering alongside approximately 30 hours of work each week has taught me discipline and perseverance, fueling my commitment to advancing technology’s role in conservation. In collaboration with NOAA, I investigated Stony Coral Tissue Loss Disease by identifying glycomic changes in coral tissue that preceded visible damage. This experience shifted my perspective: biotechnology can not only treat human illnesses but also enhance ecosystem health. Currently, I apply mass spectrometry to examine marine mammal kidney tissues, studying how salinity and climate stress correlate with disease markers in stingrays and sea lions. My goal is to develop scientific methods that accurately quantify the health of these animals. These findings could lead to early diagnostic tools for species affected by climate change and inform conservation policies grounded in molecular data. What sets me apart is my perspective: mass spectrometry isn’t just a lab technique; it’s a way to listen and respond urgently to subtle changes we might otherwise miss. I aspire to bridge science and policy through this work. Winning this scholarship would be an honor and crucial support, easing financial and time pressures so I can focus more deeply on research and leadership development. In a world facing escalating environmental crises, we need tools that detect change sooner. Mass spectrometry offers that opportunity, and I am dedicated to using it to protect our planet.

My mother has a chronic illness. Though I wasn’t the one diagnosed, her illness shaped my life from the very beginning. I grew up watching her ride the waves of hormone imbalance. When her levels were even slightly off, everything could shift. She’d go from withdrawn to angry, from vibrant to foggy, sometimes in a matter of hours. As a child, I didn’t always understand why. I just knew that some days felt heavier, and that my mom, who is deeply loving and resilient, was often at the mercy of something invisible. Some of those moments stayed with me in ways I didn’t fully comprehend until years later. The endocrine system became the first part of biology that truly fascinated me. I wanted to learn how such small internal changes could cause such profound external effects. That early fascination is what led me, indirectly but undeniably, to science, and eventually, to glycomics. Today, I’m a graduate student in marine biology, working at the intersection of molecular research and ecological health. My current project examines glycomic and proteomic changes in marine mammals, specifically how salinity stress affects internal systems in sea lions and stingrays. Before this, I had the privilege of collaborating with NOAA to study coral disease and whether it behaves like cancer at the molecular level. That work showed me how early glycomic signals can indicate collapse long before visible damage appears, just like with chronic illness. I’ve come to realize that the questions I ask in the lab are the same ones I began asking as a kid. What’s happening beneath the surface? What are we missing? And how can we use that knowledge to act with empathy and precision? While I haven’t been diagnosed, the disease is hereditary, and I know it’s likely part of my future. I also know what it means to live under its shadow—how it affects routines, relationships, and finances. There were long stretches when my mother couldn’t work full-time. Her fatigue was overwhelming, and her mood shifts made even small tasks impossible. I watched her push through those moments with stubborn grace. I carry that same grit with me now. I currently work full-time as a research specialist at the Medical University of South Carolina while pursuing a full-time graduate degree. Balancing independent research, coursework, and financial responsibilities is demanding. This scholarship would not only ease a significant burden, but it would also allow me to keep showing up fully for this transformative work. It would give me the space to focus more deeply on my studies, my current projects, and my long-term goal of connecting molecular science to human and environmental health. My personal history is no longer just something I carry. It’s something I translate into meaningful, impactful work. I hope to use science to bridge the gap between invisible illness and understanding, between unseen ecological changes and proactive care. The systems that shape our lives, whether biological or environmental, are deeply connected. I want to help people see those connections more clearly and respond with compassion. I believe science, when rooted in story, has the power to heal. And I want to be part of that healing—for the planet, for future patients, and people like my mom.

“We don’t protect what we don’t love.” – Jacques Cousteau I grew up in Charleston, South Carolina, where the tides rise and fall like breath. The salt marshes, barrier islands, and quiet pull of the ocean shaped not only my childhood but the rhythm of my life. That landscape taught me reverence for the sea, its creatures, and the fragile systems we so often take for granted. It’s also where I first understood that my faith calls me to protect what was made beautiful and wild. I’m a bisexual marine biology graduate student at the College of Charleston. My identity is an honest part of me, though never something I’ve worn as a banner. I carry it quietly, the same way I carry my purpose: to serve the ocean and the life it holds. Being queer in STEM has never been simple, but it has made me a better listener, collaborator, and mentor. I hope it has made me a more empathetic scientist. Today, I work as a research specialist at the Medical University of South Carolina (MUSC) while attending graduate classes full time. I volunteer in my community whenever I can. And I conduct research that feels hopeful. My current project focuses on marine mammal kidney glycomics and proteomics. I’m analyzing molecular signatures in sea lions and stingrays to understand how salinity influences disease and climate vulnerability in their internal systems. Last fall, I had the privilege of collaborating with NOAA on a project examining coral disease. Our research aimed to determine whether Stony Coral Tissue Loss Disease behaves like a cancer, probing how and why it spreads at the molecular level, and revealed how early glycomic changes could signal ecological collapse long before visible damage appears. That work sparked my interest in translational medicine and opened my eyes to what I now consider my life’s calling: using molecular science to bridge human and ecological health, and to connect what we see with what we can still save. But my path to science began far from a lab. In high school, I studied plastic accumulation on Drum Island, a forgotten strip of land in the Charleston Harbor where debris from the Cooper and Wando Rivers collects. I turned that research into a mural made entirely from recovered marine plastic. I used art as advocacy. It was a warning and a plea meant to speak across language and politics. Even then, I believed that science should not sit silently in a journal, but should move people to act. Since then, I’ve moved from murals to molecules, but I’ve never lost sight of the story behind the science. Every dataset I generate is a piece of something larger: a way to measure damage, but more importantly, a way to guide healing. Receiving the Solgaard Scholars award would be more than an honor—it would be a lifeline. This support would enable me to travel for fieldwork and conferences, secure essential resources for my thesis, and alleviate the financial strain of balancing rigorous coursework, daily study, and full-time work at MUSC. In this political moment, when both environmental action and inclusive science face growing resistance, this scholarship would be a rare and deeply meaningful gift. It would allow me to keep showing up, fully and persistently, for the ocean. I believe the ocean is sacred. I believe we are meant to protect it. And I believe that who we are, truthfully, humbly, and completely, can shape how we do that work. I don’t just want to do this work. I am doing it. And with your help, I’ll keep going.

I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because my passion is rooted not in recognition, but in purpose—a deep responsibility to protect our planet and uplift others as I pursue that calling. As a woman in science, I have chosen a path where representation is still limited, and I have done so with clarity, conviction, and compassion. My dream is not just to study coral reefs but to help preserve them through molecular science, because I believe that every ecosystem, and every young woman with a dream, deserves to thrive. Growing up in Charleston, South Carolina, the ocean was more than scenery—it was my sanctuary. But seeing our waters polluted by trash and sewage lit a fire within me at a young age. That moment wasn’t just heartbreaking—it was transformative. I knew then that I wanted to dedicate my life to protecting the marine world, especially through the lens of science. Today, as a graduate student in marine biology at the College of Charleston, I study N-glycans in coral health, using molecular tools to uncover early signs of coral stress and develop strategies to protect these fragile ecosystems. But getting here has not been easy. There were times during my undergraduate years when I was the only woman in a research group, where I had to fight to be heard or taken seriously. I balanced heavy academic loads, lab work, and jobs to support myself—all while navigating the pressure to prove I belonged in spaces where I often felt invisible. What carried me through was not just ambition, but faith, service, and community. I leaned into the belief that the knowledge I was gaining had purpose far beyond myself. I remembered the ocean, the coral, and the call on my life to be a steward of creation. Alongside my academic work, I’ve consistently volunteered to give back to my community and the next generation. I’ve participated in local beach and marsh cleanups, youth outreach events focused on environmental education, and mentored younger women in STEM. Whether helping a student navigate her first research presentation or participating in efforts to restore coastal habitats, I lead with encouragement and empathy. I want others to know that science is not a gate to guard—it’s a table to expand. One verse that grounds me is Psalm 148:7: “Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths.” This reminds me that my work is part of something sacred. I am not just pursuing a degree—I am answering a calling. I am building a legacy of science, service, and faith, one that reflects the strength and worth of women who dare to dream big and act boldly. I am worth this dream because I’ve shown up for it, through doubt, through challenge, through years of labor and learning. This scholarship would not only ease the financial strain of graduate school; it would honor the journey I’ve taken and affirm the path I’m still forging. I am a woman of vision, of perseverance, and of purpose—and I am ready to keep growing, unapologetically.

My Christian faith has been a guiding force throughout my academic and personal journey, deeply shaping my leadership style and sense of responsibility to both people and the planet. As a scientist-in-training, I believe that stewardship of the Earth is a divine calling, and I see my work in marine biology as an act of service to God, to His creation, and to the communities that depend on healthy ecosystems. My faith teaches me that leadership is not about authority, but about servanthood, humility, and lifting others up. These values have grounded me in moments of uncertainty, driven me to pursue excellence with integrity, and inspired me to create space for others to grow. One pivotal moment when I led through faith came during my time working on coral glycomics research at the Medical University of South Carolina. Collaborating with NOAA scientists to study the molecular effects of Stony Coral Tissue Loss Disease (SCTLD), I was placed in a leadership role within a cross-disciplinary team of researchers. In this environment, I relied heavily on prayer and scripture, particularly James 1:5: "If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God." When tensions rose, I reminded my team—and myself—that we were all working toward a shared goal that was greater than any one individual. I approached leadership not with the mindset of commanding, but of serving—making time to listen, encouraging my colleagues, offering grace in stressful moments, and reminding others of the importance of our mission. One verse that has especially guided my work in marine biology is Psalm 148:7: “Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths.” This verse reminds me that creation itself praises God, and that the ocean and its creatures, especially fragile ecosystems like coral reefs, are sacred and worthy of protection. It’s a spiritual reminder that my work is not just scientific, but worshipful. Faith also gave me the courage to be transparent about both challenges and successes, fostering a spirit of trust. My goal was not just to conduct meaningful research, but to cultivate a lab culture rooted in compassion and shared purpose. That experience showed me how faith-driven leadership can unite people, uplift morale, and create space for innovation and resilience, especially in times of adversity. Today, as a graduate student in marine biology, I carry that same leadership philosophy forward — uplifting my peers and advocating for environmental stewardship as an expression of faith in action. I view my academic path as part of my spiritual calling: to be a good steward of the Earth, to lead with integrity, and to inspire others to pursue their own callings with courage and conviction. This scholarship would empower me to continue walking in faith as I bridge molecular science and marine conservation. With God’s guidance, I will keep leading by example, showing how faith can drive scientific discovery, resilience, and hope for a better future.

Growing up in Charleston, South Carolina, I developed a deep connection to marine ecosystems, shaped by the ocean’s beauty and the intricate biodiversity it sustains. As a young woman with an inherent curiosity about the natural world, I felt inspired and responsible for protecting these ecosystems. The first-hand experience of witnessing coral reefs, once vibrant and thriving, succumb to bleaching and disease solidified my resolve to contribute to the preservation of marine life. This profound awareness of environmental challenges has driven my academic and professional pursuits in STEM, specifically in the fields of marine biology and glycomics. As a woman in STEM, I have been empowered by the knowledge gained through diverse research experiences, which have continuously fueled my curiosity and strengthened my resolve to make a meaningful impact. At Dickinson College, I worked with Dr. Mike Roberts on Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML), where I explored RAF inhibitors, honing my experimental design skills and learning the power of scientific inquiry in addressing complex health challenges. Studying abroad at the University of East Anglia further expanded my perspective, as I researched probiotics’ role in human health, broadening my understanding of how molecular biology can influence broader ecosystems. These experiences affirmed my belief that scientific progress is fueled by curiosity and small molecular changes can have sweeping consequences in both human health and the environment. The most defining moment of my journey came as a research specialist at the Medical University of South Carolina, where I had the privilege of collaborating with NOAA to study coral glycomics in corals affected by Stony Coral Tissue Loss Disease (SCTLD). This project revealed the power of glycomics to address urgent environmental challenges, opening my eyes to how molecular diagnostics could help mitigate coral reef degradation. As a woman in STEM, I have come to appreciate how science can serve as a vehicle for change, and this experience reinforced my commitment to bridging the gap between molecular research and environmental conservation. Now, as a graduate student in marine biology at the College of Charleston, I am building on this foundation through my thesis on N-glycans in coral health and stress responses. My research aims to uncover molecular pathways that inform targeted conservation strategies to protect coral reefs—critical to marine biodiversity and human livelihoods. As a woman in this field, I am deeply motivated by the opportunity to contribute to solutions that address the rapid decline of marine ecosystems, and I am committed to inspiring other young women to pursue STEM careers that drive positive change. This scholarship would significantly advance my ability to conduct meaningful research and contribute to the STEM community. It would ease the financial burden of graduate school, allowing me to focus on producing high-quality, impactful work. I am determined to foster a generation of women scientists who are empowered by knowledge, driven by curiosity, and dedicated to solving the complex problems facing our planet. With this support, I will continue to bridge the gap between molecular science and environmental conservation, ensuring that coral reefs—and the communities that rely on them—are preserved for future generations.