I’ve lived most of my life in and out of hospitals. I have both a G and J tube for feeding and a port for IV access, which are things most people don’t think about, but for me, they’re part of everyday life. They’ve kept me alive, but they’ve also complicated almost everything else. Being sick for so long has forced me to be strong in ways I never asked to be. It’s not the kind of strength people usually talk about, it’s not loud or heroic. It’s the kind that shows up quietly, over and over again. It’s getting through another sleepless night because of pain or nausea. It’s waking up after yet another procedure and still doing what needs to be done. It’s missing out on normal things and choosing not to let that make you bitter. It’s learning to speak up when something is wrong, even when you’re exhausted or scared. There have been times I wanted to give up, not on life, but on fighting so hard for a version of life that still didn’t look anything like what I imagined. But I kept going, not because I felt brave, but because I didn’t want to lose myself to the illness. I wanted to keep living, creating, and caring, even if it looked different than I thought it would. That’s part of why I want to be a pediatric nurse. Kids like me, and like Kylee, deserve nurses who truly understand. Nurses who know that strength isn’t always visible. Who don’t get uncomfortable around feeding tubes, ports, or scars. Who walk into the room and see a person, not just a patient. I’ve had nurses who made all the difference. They made me feel safe, they saw me as more than my medical chart, and they stayed kind even when things were hard. But I’ve also had nurses who didn’t listen, who brushed off my pain or overlooked what I needed. I know how much that can hurt, and I know how much it matters when someone gets it right. Kylee showed incredible strength and determination through her own health battles, and I see so much of her story in mine. This scholarship means more than just financial help, it’s a reminder that our strength matters. That resilience can become purpose. As a pediatric nurse, I will carry everything I’ve been through with me. I’ll use it to connect with my patients, to advocate for them, and to give them the kind of care that sees the whole person. I know what it feels like to be on the other side, and I want to be the kind of nurse who makes that side just a little easier, a little softer, and a little more hopeful.

I’ve spent more days of my life in hospitals than most people can imagine. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived with a chronic illness that has affected nearly every part of my daily life. Feeding tubes, ports, long hospital stays, procedures, and specialists have become my normal. However, in all of that difficulty, I found something unexpectedly beautiful: the people who cared for me. Nurses became my role models. They didn’t just give medicine or check vitals. They made me laugh when I was scared, stayed by my side when I was in pain, and advocated for me when I didn’t have the strength to do it myself. Their care was powerful, and it left a lasting impact on me. That’s what inspired me to become a nurse. I’ve seen firsthand how much of a difference a kind, skilled, and compassionate nurse can make, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. Through the hardest moments of my illness, when I was exhausted, overwhelmed, or in pain, it was often the nurse who made things bearable. Whether it was a gentle word, an understanding smile, or someone simply taking the time to explain what was happening, those small acts made a huge difference. I want to be that kind of person for someone else. I want to give back what was given to me. This journey has also made me incredibly passionate about accessibility and empathy in healthcare. I know how scary it can be to feel unheard, how frustrating it is to be treated like a diagnosis instead of a person, and how isolating it can feel to be sick for a long time. As a future nurse, I want to bring that perspective into the field and be a voice for patients who feel lost in the system. I want to help create spaces where patients feel safe, respected, and understood, whether that’s at the bedside, in a hospital room, or simply through a moment of human connection. The Wieland Healthcare Scholarship feels especially meaningful to me because I know firsthand how much the healthcare environment matters. It isn’t just about the equipment or the medicine, but it’s about the space itself: the chairs where families wait, the recliners where patients recover, the places where real healing happens. I’ve been in those chairs. I’ve held the hands of people I love in those rooms. One day, I hope to be the nurse standing in them, making that space feel just a little bit more comfortable. Nursing isn’t just my career goal. For me, it’s a calling that is a result of a life I never would’ve chosen, but one that’s prepared me for this path in the most personal way possible. I found this scholarship when searching for one’s that interested me on Bold.org.

Ever since I can remember, swimming has been a part of my life. I joined my first swim team when I was just four years old. At that age, I didn’t realize how much the water would shape my childhood, my values, and my future. What started as something fun became something that I will continue to do throughout my life, and is something I can always return to when things feel uncertain. Being on a swim team from such a young age taught me discipline early. Waking up before the sun to jump into cold water isn’t easy, especially as a kid. However, doing it again and again taught me how to push through when I’m tired, how to keep showing up even when I don’t feel like it, and how to set goals and work hard for them. As I got older, swimming gave me friendships that have lasted for years. Teammates who cheered me on during races became people who also showed up in the hardest parts of my life. It showed me how a community can grow strong when we support each other. As I grew in the sport, I began to pass on what I’d learned. I became a lifeguard and started teaching swim lessons. I also helped with children’s water ballet classes, and eventually became an assistant swim coach. It was in those moments, when I was helping a child take their first strokes or seeing the pride on their face when they finally floated on their own, that I realized how much I love helping people learn and grow. I learned to be patient, encouraging, and calm under pressure, which are skills that will stay with me forever. The water has always felt like home, but now, I’m taking what I’ve learned from it into the next chapter of my life. I plan to become a nurse. Just like in swimming, nursing takes discipline, focus, and compassion. I want to help others feel safe, cared for, and understood, whether it’s at a hospital bedside or in a community setting. My time in the pool has already shown me how deeply fulfilling it is to guide, support, and uplift others. Applying for this scholarship means a lot to me, because Cynthia Browne Vino’s story sounds so familiar to my own. Her love for swimming, her role as a teacher and mentor, and her devotion to helping others is something I admire. I hope to carry forward that same legacy: to give back to the community, to help people grow, and to keep spreading the joy and strength that swimming has given me.

Ever since I was little, the hospital has felt more like a second home than a place people just visit. I live with a chronic illness that has kept me in and out of hospitals for most of my life. Over the years, I’ve had feeding tubes, surgeries, and more treatments than I can count. I have a GJ tube and a port, and I’ve learned to care for both of them myself. I can sterilely access my own port, manage my infusions, and handle my medical care at home, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I’ve always been fascinated by the medical field and wanted to learn everything I could. Taking ownership of my care has helped me stay in school, stay independent, and focus on healing and growing. After everything I’ve been through, I can confidently say that it was the nurses who made the biggest difference in my life. They were the ones who took time to talk to me, listen to me, explain things, and treat me like a person. I want to be that kind of nurse for someone else. My goal is to become a pediatric ICU nurse, where I can support kids and teens who are facing the same fears, procedures, and challenges I did. I know firsthand how scary and overwhelming medical care can be, especially as a child. I’ve also seen how deeply comforting it is to have a nurse who understands, who cares, and who fights for you. Even though I have experienced many challenges, it hasn’t stopped me from gaining experience even more experience. I’ve spent years watching and learning from nurses, shadowing them as a patient, asking questions, and even picking up some of their habits. I’ve also volunteered at community races for organizations like Girls on the Run, helping younger kids and supporting positive, healthy growth in other ways. I’ve also learned to advocate for myself with doctors and care teams, which are skills that will help me advocate for future patients one day, too. My goal is to earn my RN and eventually specialize in pediatric intensive care. I want to work directly with children and families, bringing them the same kind of strength and hope that so many nurses gave me. Long-term, I hope to be part of improving care for medically complex kids; making the system easier, more accessible, and more compassionate. Going into nursing isn’t just a career choice for me, it’s personal. I know what it feels like to be stuck in a hospital bed, and I also know how powerful it is to have someone beside you who truly cares. I want to be that person. I want to take everything I’ve learned from my own medical journey and use it to help others feel safe, supported, and seen. Thank you for considering me for the Sara Jane Memorial Scholarship. It would be an honor to carry on her legacy of compassion and dedication.

Mast cell disease, specifically MCAS, has shaped nearly every part of my life in ways I could never have imagined. While many people hear about the medical symptoms—flushing, swelling, fatigue, and anaphylaxis—what’s not often discussed is how the condition affects you on a deeply personal level, from relationships to dreams for the future. For me, the impact has been profound, not only on my physical health but also on my education, my family, and the way I look at the world. Because of my chronic illness, I’ve had to adjust to a life that’s different from what I expected as a teenager. I couldn’t attend school regularly, and the physical toll often left me too exhausted to keep up with classwork. My parents, who were already balancing their jobs, had to take time off to fly me to the Mayo Clinic for specialized treatment. Every doctor’s visit was a new challenge, a new hurdle to clear, but it also added a financial strain that only deepened our already difficult situation. With my condition, I need my parents close by, so they’ve had to adjust their lives around mine. They worry constantly about leaving me alone, unsure of what might happen when I’m not in their care. This has made it impossible for me to live away from home for college, as I need the safety and support of being near my family. One of the most challenging aspects of living with mast cell disease has been the need for a surgically implanted port for my weekly infusions. The procedure itself was necessary to manage my condition, but it has also introduced a new layer of risk and insecurity, especially as a teenage girl. The idea of having a foreign device embedded in my body was daunting, and as I navigate adolescence, there’s a natural fear of how others perceive me. It can be difficult to accept something that feels so different, yet it’s an essential part of my treatment. I often feel vulnerable and self-conscious, especially during a time in my life when fitting in and feeling “normal” can seem so important. The port, while helping me manage my illness, is also a reminder of the constant battle I face, one that I wish I didn’t have to fight. To accommodate my illness and its unpredictable flare-ups, I’ve had to take a unique approach to my education. I’ve transitioned to online learning for part of my schooling, and even then, I have to be mindful of how much I take on at once. To make sure I don’t overwhelm myself, I’ve opted to take summer classes and spread out my workload, allowing for more flexibility when my health isn’t at its best. It’s not easy, and it’s not the college experience I once imagined, but it’s the only way for me to keep moving forward while still managing my condition. The toll this disease has taken on my family and me has been immense. Despite all these challenges, I’m determined to keep moving forward. Mast cell disease has taught me resilience and the importance of perseverance. I’ve learned how to prioritize my mental health, to adjust my goals when necessary, and to find purpose in the struggle. My health may dictate much of my life, but it doesn’t define who I am or what I can achieve. Even with all the obstacles, I’ve found ways to continue my education and pursue my dreams. The path ahead is uncertain, but I’m committed to walking it with purpose, knowing that every step, no matter how small, is progress.

Balancing academic responsibilities with personal life is always a challenge, but as a female college student, mental health has had an even more significant impact on how I navigate these experiences. As women, we often face unique pressures—societal expectations, academic stress, and the constant juggling of multiple roles—that can deeply affect our mental well-being. These pressures are intensified for students like me, who also deal with chronic health conditions. Managing both my health and academic workload has been overwhelming at times, but it has also reinforced the importance of making mental health a priority. In my academic life, the stress and anxiety that come with being a woman can be paralyzing. As I work to meet academic expectations, I often find myself struggling to balance my studies with the emotional weight of societal pressures. There is a constant expectation to be successful, well-rounded, and perfect, all while dealing with personal struggles. For me, this pressure can lead to anxiety, making it harder to concentrate, retain information, and meet deadlines. These struggles affect my personal life as well. Anxiety and stress cause me to withdraw from friends and family, even when I need them most. There are days when I feel disconnected from my support network, and the weight of everything becomes too much. As a woman, I also feel the added pressure to always be “on”—always taking care of others and pushing through discomfort. This can be emotionally draining, and I have to remind myself that taking care of my mental health is not a sign of weakness but rather a necessity for my overall well-being. The financial strain of college tuition and medical bills only amplifies this stress, making it harder to focus on anything other than how to make ends meet. Despite these challenges, I’ve taken intentional steps to prioritize my mental health. First and foremost, I’ve learned to recognize that I’m allowed to take breaks and ask for help. As a female student, I’ve learned not to measure my worth by the number of things I can accomplish at once or how perfect my results are. Allocating time for both studying and self-care has been essential in maintaining my mental health. Physical activity, like taking walks or doing yoga, is another important part of my routine, helping me manage stress and clear my mind. Self-care is another important part of my mental health strategy. As a woman who is often expected to do it all, I sometimes forget to make time for the things that truly recharge me. Whether it’s reading a book, watching a movie, or simply resting, I make self-care a non-negotiable part of my routine. I also prioritize mental health by practicing mindfulness techniques, like journaling and meditation. This helps me maintain the energy I need to perform academically and emotionally. By actively prioritizing my mental health, I’ve seen improvements in both my academic performance and personal life. I’m able to focus more, complete tasks with greater efficiency, and maintain stronger relationships. This scholarship would alleviate some of the financial burdens I face, allowing me to continue prioritizing my mental health while pursuing my dream of becoming a pediatric ICU nurse. It would be an incredible honor to be recognized for my commitment to mental wellness, and I hope to use my experiences to help other women who face similar challenges in their academic journeys. As women, we deserve to succeed, but we also deserve to thrive mentally and emotionally as we navigate our paths.