There is a strange rhythm that forms when your life becomes measured in appointments. Ultrasound. MRI. Bloodwork. Imaging. Again. You learn to read the faces of technicians the flicker of concern, the practiced neutrality You learn the language of waiting rooms, the hum of fluorescent lights, the quiet tapping of anxious fingers, the sound of your own name being called. It took eight years for someone to put a name to what was happening inside me. Eight years of fainting at work, fainting on public transport, crying in emergency rooms where nurses held my hand with the kind of compassion that can only come from seeing pain up close. Eight years of “try this,” and “your insurance won’t cover that,” and “we’ll see if it helps.” Eight years of tracking symptoms like a detective chasing an invisible suspect. Some days I felt like a mystery even to myself a body constantly masking itself During that time, I learned endurance in its truest form. Not the kind that looks brave from the outside, but the quiet kind that gets up after another night of no sleep, puts on clean clothes, and goes to work anyway. The kind that studies between bouts of pain, that pays tuition one month and medical bills the next, that keeps saying, I can do this, even when your body says otherwise. You learn to notice small mercies: the nurse who remembers your name, the professor who gives you a day of grace, the friend who texts, 'You’ve got this', 'Thinking of you' And slowly, you learn that your life is not defined by what breaks you but by what you build from the pieces. Now, as a returning student at Georgetown University, balancing full-time work with full-time study, I carry those lessons with me every day. Pain taught me patience. Uncertainty taught me empathy. And the long road to a diagnosis taught me purpose. I’m pursuing a future in counseling and art therapy because I know what it means to be unseen in your suffering, to feel invisible in the world of forms, copays, and clinical detachment. I want to create spaces where others can find language for their pain, through art, through story, through care that listens before it prescribes. What inspires me now is not the absence of struggle, but the way struggle can be transformed into connection. If I can help even one person feel less alone in the waiting room if I can turn all those years of silence into understanding then every hour spent fighting through the fog will have been worth it. Because survival, I’ve learned, is not the end of the story. It’s the beginning of what you can offer the world.

My mother became a single mother by choice. From the start, she chose to raise me on her own, to build a life that reflected her independence and strength. She loved to compare us to the "Gilmore Girls", she owned her own business, I was polite and bookish, and we're both caffeine fiends. When I was nine, she married briefly, but when my stepfather passed away seven years later, she was once again left to carry the full weight of parenthood, this time while grieving the loss of a partner. There was no fun TV show to help us map this journey. Watching her navigate both love and loss with grace shaped everything about who I am. My mom has never been able to contribute financially to my education, but what she gave me instead is far more lasting. She built a small business from the ground up, often working long hours and sacrificing personal comfort to keep things afloat. From her, I learned that stability isn’t always about material wealth, it’s about resilience, resourcefulness, and unwavering faith in yourself. Growing up with a single mother meant growing up with responsibility. I learned early how to manage my own needs, how to be independent, and how to support her in the small ways that I could. But more than that, I learned to appreciate strength not as a show of toughness, but as quiet perseverance, the ability to keep going even when no one is applauding. When my stepfather passed away, I saw firsthand how loss can shape a person. My mother faced it with composure and grace. She never let grief turn into bitterness; she channeled it into resolve. I watched her rebuild, not because life gave her an easy path, but because she refused to stop showing up for the people she loved. That model of endurance has guided every decision I’ve made since. Today, as a 30-year-old returning student at Georgetown University, balancing full-time work with full-time study, I see her influence in everything I do. The persistence that keeps me up late finishing assignments, the calm I bring to challenges, and the gratitude I feel for second chances, all of it comes from her example. My education is, in a way, the continuation of her story: a testament to the kind of strength that doesn’t give up when life gets hard. Being raised by a single mother taught me that success is built in layers, through moments of courage, consistent effort, and belief in yourself even when resources are scarce. It taught me that love and stability can be created through presence and character, not just money. And it taught me that perseverance is not an abstract quality, it’s a way of life. If this scholarship helps me reach the next stage of my education, it will be because of the lessons my mother lived every day. Her resilience made mine possible. Her strength built my foundation. And her unwavering example continues to remind me that there’s no obstacle that can’t be met with determination, grace, and love.

If I could change one thing in education, it would be how we teach young children to understand themselves in a world increasingly mediated by screens. I believe that in early education, we have the rare chance to shape not only how a child learns, but how a child relates to others, to the world, and to their own sense of wonder. In an age where digital saturation begins in toddlerhood, children often arrive in classrooms overstimulated, yet under-nurtured. They are “connected” in the technological sense, but many lack the emotional connection and patient guidance that is foundational to human development. I am pursuing a degree at Georgetown University to bolster my understanding early childhood education because I want to meet these children with calm, presence, and the kind of understanding that rewires the pace and priorities of the classroom. My background as a theater educator has allowed me to work with young artists across the globe. In classrooms I have witnessed a universal truth: children want to be seen. They want someone to hear their stories, to reflect back to them that they matter. They crave the kind of attention that cannot be downloaded, swiped, or multitasked. I’ve worked with children for whom English is a second language, children on the autism spectrum, and children navigating trauma far beyond their years. Each time, I’ve seen how the arts, especially drama, offer them a language beyond words to express themselves and feel affirmed. But I have also seen how overstimulation and digital exposure have created barriers to focus, self-regulation, and imagination. Many of my students struggle to sit still, to follow a story from beginning to end, or to tolerate even small doses of discomfort without the immediate reward or distraction a screen provides. This isn't their fault — it’s the world they’ve inherited. And instead of punishing them for it, we must teach differently. We must cultivate classrooms that encourage embodied learning, slow thinking, and emotional literacy. We must model patience instead of performance. This is why I believe that early childhood education is the most important frontier of our time. If we can meet children with compassion during these first formative years, if we can slow down with them, breathe with them, and give them tools to navigate their feelings and curiosity, we stand a real chance of shaping a healthier, more connected generation. We can teach them to value presence over productivity, and to relate to others as more than faces behind a screen. What I want to bring into the classroom is not just knowledge, but presence. I want to be a teacher who helps children feel safe in their bodies, curious in their minds, and secure in their relationships. I want to create a learning environment where exploration is encouraged, mistakes are welcomed, and every child, no matter how noisy or shy, digitally immersed or newly arrived, feels known. My dream is to bring a drama- and play-based curriculum into early education spaces, particularly in underserved communities, where creativity is too often considered a luxury rather than a necessity. My passion for teaching is rooted in my own lived experience. I come from a low-income household where patience was sometimes in short supply and emotional understanding was rarely modeled. I know what it means to crave stability and structure and to need just one adult to believe in you. In working with children, I aim to be that adult. I have seen the transformative power of simply holding space for a child’s voice, validating their emotions, and giving them the tools to express themselves. This isn’t only teaching, it’s healing as well. The loss of Sierra Argumedo speaks deeply to me. Her dream that every child should feel seen and loved in the classroom, is the same dream that fuels my work. I carry it with me every time I step into a room of young people. I believe that education, when done right, can be one of the most compassionate professions in the world. It’s not just about shaping minds, but about safeguarding hearts. If I could change education, I would start by changing our priorities. I would advocate for curricula that emphasize self-regulation, imagination, and relationship-building alongside academic benchmarks. I would push for fewer screens in early childhood and more movement, music, storytelling, and sensory exploration. I would center the emotional world of the child as a key part of their learning journey. Because children are not just absorbing facts , they are becoming people. And the kind of people they become depends so much on who’s there to guide them.

Helping others with their mental health has been a central focus of my personal and professional life, shaped by my own journey through anxiety, agoraphobia, and PTSD in my late teens. Overcoming these challenges taught me the transformative power of compassion, creativity, and therapy—lessons I have worked to share with others through my background in theater and education. For years, I have designed and facilitated theater workshops that create safe spaces for participants to explore their emotions, confront fears, and build confidence. These workshops help individuals process their experiences and connect with others. I have seen how these methods can foster resilience and emotional healing, particularly for those who feel isolated or overwhelmed. By integrating mental health awareness into creative expression, I have helped participants discover their inner strength and develop tools to navigate life’s challenges. As I pursue a Bachelor’s degree at Georgetown University and eventually a Master’s in Psychology, my goal is to expand the scope and impact of my work. I plan to combine my studies in psychology with my experience in the arts to develop innovative therapeutic programs that address the mental health needs of underserved communities. These programs will use creative approaches, such as drama therapy and collaborative storytelling, to make mental health care more accessible and engaging. In my future career, I aim to emotionally support others by breaking down the stigma surrounding mental health and promoting open, inclusive conversations. I envision establishing community-based initiatives that integrate psychological principles with artistic practices to empower individuals to heal and thrive. Whether it’s working with schools, nonprofits, or mental health organizations, my mission is to ensure that emotional support and mental health resources are available to all who need them. At the heart of my work is a belief in the potential for growth and resilience within every individual. By fostering a culture of empathy and understanding, I hope to contribute to a world where seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness. Through my studies and future career, I am committed to helping others find hope, healing, and the courage to move forward.

Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book 1 Lines 1 - 88 (Translated by A.D. Melville): “Before the seas and lands had been created, before the sky that covers all, Nature displayed a single aspect only throughout the cosmos: Chaos was its name, a shapeless, unwrought mass of inert bulk, and nothing more, with the discordant seeds of disconnected elements all heaped together in anarchic disarray. No Sun as yet shone forth upon the world, nor did the waxing Moon renew her horns; nor was the Earth suspended in the air, balanced by her own weight; nor Ocean stretched to far horizons, as a world of sea. Land there was none, nor air, nor sky. The mass lay without form and shone without a light; no aspect of its essence could be seen; and each was hostile to the others’ kind, for in one body cold contended hot, and wet was dry, and soft was hard, and weightless substance strove with matter having weight.” Ovid’s depiction of the universe’s creation in Metamorphoses can be read as a metapoetic meditation—a self-reflective exploration of the poet’s role as a creator. The transformation of chaotic, disconnected elements into an ordered, harmonious cosmos mirrors Ovid’s poetic process of constructing his epic from a vast collection of myths. By juxtaposing natural creation with artistic creation, Ovid positions the poet as a divine architect, shaping chaos into meaningful form. At the core of this passage lies the image of Chaos, “a shapeless, unwrought mass of inert bulk.” This description of primordial disorder directly parallels the raw material of storytelling: myths, characters, themes, and ideas in their unrefined state. Like the discordant elements of Chaos—“cold contended hot, and wet was dry”—the poet’s source material is filled with tension, contradiction and contrasting narratives that must be resolved into a coherent structure. The poetic act, much like the cosmic act of creation, involves imposing order, balance, and clarity onto this formless mass. A.D. Melville’s translation highlights the tension between disordered elements: “discordant seeds of disconnected elements all heaped together in anarchic disarray.” This conjures the diversity of myths Ovid inherited, which in their unrefined state resemble seeds—raw potential waiting to be cultivated by the poet’s hand. The emergence of structure from Chaos functions not only as a cosmic process but also as a reflection of the Metamorphoses itself. Ovid’s epic spans vast narrative landscapes, from creation to the reign of Caesar Augustus, weaving hundreds of myths into a singular, unified tapestry. The eventual order that emerges in the passage—“each was hostile to the others’ kind” but is eventually balanced—mirrors the poet’s task: not to erase conflict, but to reconcile and organize it. Myths—gods and mortals, transformation and permanence, love and violence—are preserved in the Metamorphoses, framed in a way that reveals their interconnections and significance. Through this metapoetic reading, we also recognize Ovid as an innovator. By opening the Metamorphoses with the transformation of Chaos, Ovid aligns himself with divine creation, setting the stage for a work that will continue to explore transformation. This theme of transformation, mirrored in the description of Earth becoming “suspended in the air, balanced by her own weight,” reflects the precarious balance of Ovid’s project—uniting diverse myths into a cohesive narrative without collapsing under its ambition. In a performed reading of Metamorphoses, I found the interplay between voice and movement mirrored the text’s own process of transformation. As performers we began with the words on the page and constructed the work through physicality, we embodied Ovid’s creative act. Each transformation on stage—whether through gesture, expression, or vocal modulation—was a reenactment of the cosmic transformation described in the text. As Ovid transforms chaos into cosmos his language lends directly to performance, human’s ability to be transformative creatively across multiple mediums. The passage’s reference to the Sun’s absence—“no Sun as yet shone forth upon the world”—can function as a metaphor for poetic and artistic inspiration, emerging from darkness. As the world is illuminated through creation, the poet brings clarity to chaos, shaping it into a coherent whole. Ovid’s creation passage is not just a cosmological account but a metapoetic exploration of artistic creation. The transformation of Chaos into order mirrors the poet’s role in shaping raw material into a structured, meaningful whole. Through this process, Metamorphoses itself becomes a reflection of cosmic and human creation. Ovid’s work celebrates the power of art to impose meaning on a chaotic world, embodying the very act of transformation that it describes.