Returning to school was never a straight or easy path for me. After graduating from high school, I was ready and eager to attend college, but financial barriers connected to my immigration status made that impossible at the time. Watching others move forward while I had to wait was discouraging, but I refused to let that period define me. Instead of standing still, I enrolled in dental assisting school so I could begin building a future with the opportunities available to me. At 21, my life changed in a way I never expected when I became a single mother. That moment came with fear, responsibility, and uncertainty, but it also awakened a deep sense of purpose. I knew my child was watching me, and quitting was never an option. I continued working and pursuing education while learning how to navigate adulthood, parenthood, and independence all at once. I was later accepted into a dental hygiene program, a major milestone I was incredibly proud of. Unfortunately, the COVID-19 pandemic caused significant delays, and during that waiting period I made the decision to enlist in the military. I believed this would help secure my future, but instead it set me back even further. After completing basic training, I was not automatically re-enrolled into the program I had already been accepted into, and I spent nearly two years fighting for readmission. That period was emotionally exhausting and deeply discouraging, but I still refused to let time be wasted. While waiting, I completed my bachelor’s degree so I could keep moving forward in some way. Ironically, earning that degree made me ineligible for many grants and financial aid programs, even though I am now enrolled full-time in a demanding hygiene program and supporting a household on my own. As a mother, a student, and a service member, the financial pressure is constant. My military education benefits are also tied to physical fitness requirements, which have been extremely difficult to maintain alongside a rigorous academic schedule and family responsibilities. Progress has been slow and often overwhelming, but I never let go of my goal. Being over 30 and still in school comes with challenges that younger students may not face. Bills do not pause, children still need you, and life responsibilities often compete with education. There are days when quitting feels easier than continuing. Still, I remind myself of how far I’ve come, navigating immigration barriers, raising a child independently, serving in the military, completing a degree, and returning to the program I have always wanted to finish. This scholarship would ease the financial burden that comes with balancing full-time education and motherhood. More importantly, it would allow me to focus on completing my degree without constantly choosing between basic needs and tuition. Anyone who knows my story knows that ambition defines me. I may have taken the long road, but I never stopped moving forward. Like Geneva Mabry, I believe determination does not disappear in the face of hardship; it grows stronger because of it. I am committed to reaching the finish line, not only for myself, but also for my child and the future I am building.

My area of study is dental hygiene, a field that has always inspired me because it combines education, health, art, and care for others. I’ve worked as a dental assistant for years, and now that I’m finally back in school pursuing my degree, I’m doing everything I can to push through the challenges that come with being both a student and a single mother. My journey hasn’t been simple. I joined the military hoping to better my life, strengthen my discipline, and gain funding to continue my education. I truly believed it would help my career goals, but instead, it complicated my path. After completing basic training, I was shocked to learn I wasn’t granted readmission into my college’s dental hygiene program—even though I had already been accepted before leaving. That moment broke me. Although blindsided and devastated, I decided to apply to other local programs, but deadlines had passed, making it impossible. To make matters worse, I received no support from the military regarding my case. I fell into a deep depression, unsure how to move forward or start over. It took time and a lot of self-reflection to pull myself out of that dark place, but eventually I decided to widen my search and apply to programs across the country. But when I finally started to feel hopeful again, I learned that my prerequisite credits had expired. I couldn’t apply to other programs or even change my major without starting from scratch. That news crushed me. I coped in unhealthy ways—drinking, eating my stress away, and watching my health decline. I also lost my military funding, which made everything worse. Eventually, I decided that I couldn’t let those setbacks define me. I picked myself back up and reapplied to my school’s dental hygiene program, one of the few schools to accept prerequisites 5 years or older. When I got the acceptance letter, I cried. It felt like I had finally been given a second chance. But even now, as I continue my studies, the struggle hasn’t disappeared. Balancing school, motherhood, and finances is still overwhelming. The dental hygiene program is demanding, and my work schedule is limited. Even if I qualified for military funding again, it still wouldn’t cover the cost of living and childcare. Most days, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope—if I give too much to school, my home life suffers. If I focus too much on work, my grades fall behind. There’s never enough time or money, and I often feel stretched thin in every direction. Still, I’m determined to finish. I know that earning my degree will change everything for me and my child. It will mean stability, independence, and the ability to give her the life she deserves. Receiving this scholarship would relieve so much of the financial pressure I face and allow me to focus more on my education and my health. It would give me the chance to breathe—to study without fear of falling behind on bills, to be present for my child, and to keep pushing forward. I’ve already come too far to give up now.

I was raised by a single mother who taught me what real strength looks like. Watching her raise children on her own, far from her home country, showed me the meaning of survival, faith, and perseverance. She didn’t have much, but she made sure I understood the value of hard work, respect, and independence. Her example shaped the woman I’ve become today, a single mother myself, determined to break generational barriers and create a better life for my child. Growing up wasn’t easy. My mother worked long hours and often came home exhausted, but she never complained. She carried herself with grace, even on days when I knew she was struggling. Seeing that made me understand early that life doesn’t stop for hardship. You learn to adapt, you keep going, and you do what needs to be done. Those lessons have carried me through every challenge I’ve faced. Now, I find myself walking in her shoes. I didn’t plan to be a single mother, but life has a way of teaching lessons we never expect. Raising a child on my own while going to school and serving in the military has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Yet, every sacrifice reminds me of my purpose: to make sure my child has more opportunities than I did. Being both a student and a mother means learning to stretch yourself in every direction. Childcare, schoolwork, finances, and personal responsibilities all pile up, and sometimes it feels impossible to balance it all. But when I think about how far my mother came as an immigrant and refugee from Liberia, I remind myself that I have the same strength in me. I am taking full advantage of the opportunities this country offers and honoring her sacrifices by finishing what I started. I’m also very aware of how blessed I am to be a woman in America. In many countries, especially in parts of the world where I’m from, women don’t have the freedom to live independently or raise a child on their own. Being a single mother is hard, but it can also be a form of protection, freedom from abuse, neglect, or unhealthy relationships. Even in co-parenting situations, single parenting takes a lot of emotional and physical strength, and I’ve learned to appreciate both the struggle and the independence that comes with it. My mother’s resilience built my foundation, and now my daughter gives me the drive to keep going. I’m committed to finishing my degree, building a stable life, and continuing the cycle of strength, not struggle, that started with my mother.

My journey as a single mother has been full of challenges, growth, and faith. I was raised by a single mother, so I’ve seen firsthand the strength it takes to carry that responsibility. Still, becoming one myself showed me how heavy it can really be. Balancing school, motherhood, and work hasn’t been easy, but it has shaped me into a stronger, more determined woman. I am an immigrant and refugee from Liberia. Coming to the United States gave me safety and opportunity, but it also came with pressure to succeed in a new world while carrying the weight of starting over. I’m a first-generation college student, and education has always been deeply important to me. Still, as a single mother, reaching that goal has taken longer than I expected. Between childcare, financial struggles, and trying to provide stability for my child, I’ve had to pause and restart my education more than once. It has taken nearly ten years to get close to earning my degree, but I’ve never given up. When COVID hit, I had to step away from school, and around that same time, I joined the military, hoping it would bring structure and financial stability. Instead, it added more challenges to balance. Returning to school after those years away wasn’t easy; I had to fight to be readmitted and rebuild my confidence, but I refused to quit. My child has been my biggest reason to keep going. I want her to see that even when life is hard, you don’t give up on your goals. Being a student and a mother at the same time has taught me what resilience really means. There have been nights when I studied after midnight and mornings when I went to class on only a few hours of sleep. There have been times when I didn’t know how I would pay for books or childcare, but I always found a way. Every small step forward is a reminder that progress doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to continue. My goal is to complete my degree in dental hygiene and use it to serve communities like the one I came from—low-income, immigrant, and often overlooked when it comes to healthcare. I want to educate families about oral health and inspire other single mothers to keep pushing toward their dreams. Receiving this scholarship would mean more than financial help; it would be a reminder that my journey matters. It would allow me to focus fully on school, support my child, and continue building the life I’ve worked so hard to create.

My name is Draperline, and my passion for dental hygiene is rooted in my personal experience, love of health and art, as well as my purpose in life. As someone born in Liberia and raised in the United States, I’ve had the unique perspective of witnessing two drastically different public health systems. Back home in Liberia, access to the health system is almost nonexistent for much of the population. There's a lack of public awareness, providers, and preventive education, leaving the next generation vulnerable to not only oral diseases but also long-term health defects. My interest in dental hygiene was sparked by a documentary on children born with cleft palates, many of them refugees like I once was. The idea that a health science career could literally bring back someone’s smile stuck with me. The further I dived into my dental education, the more I learned it’s not just about teeth; it’s about the whole body. Oral health connection varies from nutritional health to osteomedicine. A mouthfulof untreated decay makes it harder to eat nourishing foods. Gum disease has links to heart conditions and diabetes. In children, chronic oral pain interferes with school, sleep, and development. The mouth, I’ve learned, is often the first place that shows signs of greater systemic issues. This is especially urgent in Liberia, where the diet is heavily based on high-carbohydrate, starch-rich foods and where Western eating habits are increasingly taking hold. Without education and access to dental care, this shift will accelerate rates of decay, gum disease, and overall poor health outcomes. Future generations will suffer preventable health issues because the country and its citizens lack proper oral and healthcare education. My long-term goal is to return to Liberia and use my dental hygiene training to make systemic changes in all determinants of health. I want to create programs that blend clinical services with public health outreach. I envision mobile health units in underserved communities, partnerships with US colleges, and internationally based Liberians. We'll provide culturally informed dietary education that addresses both oral and general health. I want to help build a national oral health system that does more than treat emergencies; it prevents them entirely. Throughout my journey, I’ve balanced school, military service, and motherhood. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s taught me discipline, patience, and the importance of planning ahead. I’m proud to say I’m currently pursuing my degree in dental hygiene at the Community College of Philadelphia and expect to graduate in 2026. Financial preparedness has been one of the biggest challenges along the way, especially since I don't qualify for major military funding. With work hours limited and the responsibilities of motherhood, I'm limited in options. Scholarships like this provide more than support; they provide hope. This will allow me to focus on excelling in my program without financial constraints and become more than a statistic. While dental hygiene is my present, I'm praying and planning for the future; dental public health is my calling.

My name is Draperline, and I’m a first-generation African American college student and a proud daughter of Liberian immigrants. I’m currently pursuing a degree in dental hygiene while serving in the United States military. For many people, student loans are a financial inconvenience. But for people like me, they can feel like a lifelong weight, one that threatens to hold back everything I’ve worked so hard to build. I joined the military with hope in my heart and purpose on my mind. Like many others, I believed that military service would give me access to the education I dreamed of, free from the financial burdens that often come with it. But what many people don’t understand is that educational benefits are not automatically guaranteed. They come with conditions, often tied to physical and administrative standards that don’t account for life’s unexpected turns. I’ve faced challenges passing my physical fitness test, and because of that, I’ve lost access to certain military educational benefits. It’s been a painful setback, especially knowing that my intentions have always been rooted in growth and service. On top of that, I carry the responsibilities of being a single mother, a student, and a soldier. I work multiple jobs just to keep up with daily expenses and tuition costs. Balancing it all hasn’t been easy. There are days when I feel stretched so thin, I wonder how I’m still standing. But then I remind myself, my story is bigger than these obstacles. I am here to break generational cycles, to create new paths for my child, and to make my family proud. I am the first in my family to go to college. That’s not something I take lightly. It means I’m rewriting the narrative, showing my siblings, cousins, and community that we don’t have to settle. We don’t have to accept debt, struggle, or silence as our only options. But being the first also means I don’t have a financial cushion to fall back on. Everything I have, I work for. Receiving this scholarship would be more than a financial blessing; it would be a lifeline. With less debt, I could begin saving for a home, investing in my child’s future, and setting the foundation for the community programs I hope to create one day. I dream of returning to Liberia to provide accessible dental care and public health education, bridging the gap between cultural beliefs and modern medicine. I’m not asking for a handout. I’m asking for a chance. A chance to breathe, to focus, and to continue this journey without the constant fear of falling behind. Every bit of support reminds me that I am not alone in this fight and that my goals are worth fighting for.

To me, resilience means finding the will to keep going, even when the road ahead feels impossible. It’s about choosing hope when things get hard and creating a new way forward, even if it’s not the path you originally planned. I’ve always dreamed of becoming a dentist. But as a young single mother, that dream quickly became difficult to manage. Balancing parenting, college coursework, and long-term career goals was overwhelming. Even with a strong support system helping with child care, I often found myself missing important moments in my child’s life. The guilt and pressure began to weigh heavily on me. At first, I felt like I had failed. But over time, I realized that there was another path, one that still aligned with my passion and purpose. Becoming a dental hygienist would still allow me to care for others, work in a profession I love, and build a future that my child and I could be proud of. Right now, I’m facing another hurdle: passing my military physical fitness test. As a service member, my PT score affects my benefits, and promotion, especially my educational funding. Falling short has been discouraging, but giving up isn’t an option. I continue to train, stay committed, and remind myself that setbacks don’t define me; persistence does. Some challenges are beyond our control. Others test our ability to adapt. I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about pretending to be okay; it’s about pushing forward anyway. It means asking for help when needed, adjusting when life takes a turn, and holding onto your dreams even when the path isn’t smooth. As a college student, parent, and soldier, my journey hasn’t been perfect, but it’s shaped who I am. I’m learning to stay grounded, focused, and flexible. With continued support, I know I can achieve my goals, not just for myself, but for the communities I hope to serve through dental care and public health.

Growing up in a Liberian household, I saw how mental health was misunderstood and ignored. In many communities like mine, spirituality is stronger than science. While both can coexist, mental illness is often mistaken for demonic possession or spiritual punishment. People struggling with mental health are not met with care or compassion—they're mocked, ridiculed, and pushed aside. Some are even left to wander the streets, untreated and abandoned. This stigma doesn’t just silence those suffering; it isolates them, strips them of dignity, and blocks them from receiving the help they need. As someone pursuing a career in public health and dental hygiene, I know that mental health is deeply connected to every part of life. When your mind is unwell, it affects your motivation, self-care, hygiene, relationships, and even your ability to seek help. I’ve seen and experienced this firsthand, not only in Liberia but even among my peers, fellow service members in the army, especially those juggling the demands of school, parenting, and service, like myself. I've lost friends to mental health issues and watched others decline because they lack control over their own minds. It's taught me that being resilient is different for everyone and harder to reach for others. Even for myself, there have been times I felt stretched too thin, emotionally drained, and unsure of where to turn. What kept me going was the idea of a better future and those who reminded me that vulnerability is not weakness. That’s a lesson I plan to carry into my career. In the future, I want to bridge the gap between traditional beliefs and modern care in under-resourced communities like Liberia. I want to advocate for mental health policies that acknowledge cultural values while promoting science-based solutions. Whether it's in a dental chair or a public health forum, I will speak openly about mental well-being and challenge harmful narratives. I want to build programs that teach the link between mental health and physical health and provide safe spaces where people feel seen, heard, and helped. My goal is to be more than just a healthcare worker. I want to be a compassionate leader who empowers others to care for their whole selves—mind, body, and spirit. Mental health deserves the same urgency and respect as any other part of our well-being, and I am committed to being part of that change. As the saying goes, "Even therapists need a therapist."

Growing up in a Liberian household, I saw how mental health was misunderstood and ignored. In many communities like mine, spirituality is stronger than science. While both can coexist, mental illness is often mistaken for demonic possession or spiritual punishment. People struggling with mental health are not met with care or compassion—they're mocked, ridiculed, and pushed aside. Some are even left to wander the streets, untreated and abandoned. This stigma doesn’t just silence those suffering; it isolates them, strips them of dignity, and blocks them from receiving the help they need. As someone pursuing a career in public health and dental hygiene, I know that mental health is deeply connected to every part of life. When your mind is unwell, it affects your motivation, self-care, hygiene, relationships, and even your ability to seek help. I’ve seen and experienced this firsthand, not only in Liberia but even among my peers, fellow service members in the army, especially those juggling the demands of school, parenting, and service, like myself. There have been times I felt stretched too thin, emotionally drained, and unsure of where to turn. What kept me going was the support of mentors and peers who reminded me that vulnerability is not weakness. That’s a lesson I plan to carry into my career. In the future, I want to bridge the gap between traditional beliefs and modern care in under-resourced communities like Liberia. I want to advocate for mental health policies that acknowledge cultural values while promoting science-based solutions. Whether it's in a dental chair or a public health forum, I will speak openly about mental well-being and challenge harmful narratives. I want to build programs that teach the link between mental health and physical health and provide safe spaces where people feel seen, heard, and helped. My goal is to be more than just a healthcare worker. I want to be a compassionate leader who empowers others to care for their whole selves—mind, body, and spirit. Mental health deserves the same urgency and respect as any other part of our well-being, and I am committed to being part of that change. As the saying goes, "Even therapists need a therapist."

My name is Draperline, and my passion for dental hygiene is rooted in my personal experience, love of health and art as well as my purpose in life. As someone born in Liberia and raised in the United States, I’ve had the unique perspective of witnessing two drastically different public health systems. Back home in Liberia, access to the health system is almost nonexistent for much of the population. There's a lack of public awareness, providers, and preventive education, leaving the next generation vulnerable to not only oral diseases but to long-term health defects. My interest in dental hygiene was sparked by a documentary on children born with cleft palates, many of them refugees like I once was. The idea that a health science career could literally bring back someone’s smile stuck with me. The further I dived into my dental education, I learned it’s not just about teeth, it’s about the whole body. Oral health connection varies from nutritional health to osteomedicine. A mouth full of untreated decay makes it harder to eat nourishing foods. Gum disease has links to heart conditions and diabetes. In children, chronic oral pain interferes with school, sleep, and development. The mouth, I’ve learned, is often the first place that shows signs of greater systemic issues. This is especially urgent in Liberia, where the diet is heavily based on high-carbohydrate, starch-rich foods and where Western eating habits are increasingly taking hold. Without education and access to dental care, this shift will accelerate rates of decay, gum disease, and overall poor health outcomes. Future generations will suffer preventable health issues because the country and its citizens lack proper oral and healthcare education. My long-term goal is to return to Liberia and use my dental hygiene training to make systemic changes in all determinants of health. I want to create programs that blend clinical services with public health outreach. I envision mobile health units in underserved communities, partnerships with US colleges, and internationally based Liberians. We'll provide culturally-informed dietary education that addresses both oral and general health. I want to help build a national oral health system that does more than treat emergencies; it prevents them entirely. Throughout my journey, I’ve balanced school, military service, and motherhood. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s taught me discipline, patience, and the importance of planning ahead. I’m proud to say I’m currently pursuing my degree in dental hygiene at the Community College of Philadelphia, and expect to graduate in 2026. Financial preparedness has been one of the biggest challenges along the way, especially since I dont qualify for major military funding. With work hours limited and responsibilities of motherhood, im limited in options. Scholarships like this provide more than support; they provide hope. This will allow me to focus on excelling in my program without financial constraints and become more than a statistic. While Dental hygiene is my present, Im praying and planning for the future; in dental public health is my calling.