When I first read about Kalia D. Davis, I felt a strange mix of awe and connection. She was a straight‑A student, an athlete, someone with a contagious smile and a heart for her community. She wasn’t just high‑achieving — she was deeply present, deeply kind, and deeply driven. That kind of legacy? It’s something I want to live out in my own way. I’ve never been a traditional team athlete. I spent 13 years doing horseback riding — a sport that doesn’t get enough credit for how mentally and physically demanding it is. It taught me how to lead without dominating, how to stay calm under pressure, and how to fall off (literally and figuratively) and get back on. You don’t just learn discipline in riding — you learn humility, patience, and an insane work ethic. Rain, heat, freezing mornings — you show up anyway. I see that same grit in the way Kalia lived her life. Now I’m a psychology and theology major at Seton Hall University, with a GPA over 3.0, pursuing a career where I can give back through mental health work. My dream is to become a Catholic therapist who walks with people — especially teens and young adults — through their darkest moments. Why? Because I’ve been there. I’ve battled addiction. I’ve been in and out of psych wards. I’ve had people tell me I wouldn’t make it — that I was a failure. I almost believed them. I’ve lost friendships, lost years of my life, and tried more than once to give up entirely. But here I am — not because I’m perfect, but because grace is real and healing is possible. That’s why I serve. Through my university’s campus ministry, I volunteer at events and support other students who feel lost or overwhelmed. I’ve been the girl sitting in the back, barely holding it together — and I’ve also been the one holding someone else’s hand when they feel like giving up. Kindness matters. Presence matters. I want to be the person who shows up, even when no one else does. Kalia lived by Living, Loving, Laughing, and Learning — and that resonates with me deeply. I’ve fought hard to keep learning after years of instability. I try to laugh even when life’s heavy. I love my faith, even when I’m struggling. And above all, I want to live a life that lifts others up — just like Kalia did. If I’m awarded this scholarship, it won’t just support my tuition and textbooks — it’ll help keep me moving toward a future where I’m equipped to serve others with both compassion and competence. I want to live a life that honors those we’ve lost — and reminds the living that healing is always possible.

Let me keep it 100: addiction hit me hard. I lost all my friends. I attempted to take my life six times. I only made it through two years of high school before everything spiraled. I was told I was a failure. My parents were crushed—dealing with emotional trauma, dozens of psych ward admissions, and rehab bills. Despite being a devout Catholic, my faith felt more like a question than an answer. But here’s the amazing thing: because of all that chaos, I know what people really need when they’re drowning. That raw experience—pain, shame, isolation—I carry it with me. And I don’t want to shrug it off or “look past it.” I want to walk with someone through it. That’s why I’m studying psychology and theology at Seton Hall University, aiming for a career where I can integrate therapy with spiritual care. The Jason David Anderson Memorial Scholarship exists to honor Jason’s memory by supporting students pursuing education in healthcare or rehab, who’ve been affected by addiction themselves—or in a loved one—and live in New Jersey . That’s me. Totally me. And I’m here. My GPA is keeping pace above 3.0, and I’m in undergrad—so I qualify academically. Emotionally and spiritually, I’m diving deep: I want to become a Catholic mental health professional or counselor specializing in addiction recovery. When I help people, I don’t want to just run them through therapy scripts. I want to meet them where they are—with empathy, confession, and grace. In my own recovery, I learned that stigma kills faster than the addiction itself. In faith communities, it’s often unspoken: you’re either “sinner” or “holy,” and there’s no room in between. But I lived in between. Addiction didn’t make me evil—but pretending I was fine only made things worse. I want to be that practitioner who can say, “Yes, addiction is serious. Yes, you’ve fallen. But here’s also the mercy of God—not to excuse the pain, but to heal it.” My struggle has become my calling. I’ve volunteered in campus ministry support groups with other students battling mental health challenges and addiction. I’ve walked alongside peers in raw, unfiltered honesty—no judgment, just presence. That’s where healing begins. This scholarship would help me cover tuition, mental health training, and eventually licensure expenses so I can graduate and be licensed without crushing debt. Most importantly, it means I could step into this work sooner—with clarity and purpose. Jason was described as someone with a “heart of gold who would do anything to help others” —that vision is the reason this scholarship exists. I don’t want to just honor Jason’s memory. I want to live out the values behind it: someone with lived experience offering hope to others in recovery, especially within faith settings where silence and shame too often reign. So yeah: I’ve lost—it personally, relationally, spiritually. But I believe God has poured those wounds into something redemptive. And if I get this scholarship, I won’t just go to school. I’ll train to be a safe place for people who feel broken, isolated, or unworthy. Because I’ve been there—and because I believe no one should walk that journey alone.

I’m not gonna sugarcoat it: I’ve been there. Twice. I battled addiction under the weight of pain I didn’t know how to name—and despite attending Mass, praying, and trying to be a “good Catholic,” I found myself falling apart. Each time I went to rehab, I felt broken—but also somehow closer to the people I wanted to help one day. As a psychology and theology major at Seton Hall University, that struggle gave me purpose. I realized the mental health field needs messengers who’ve lived what their clients are living. I don’t just study addiction and faith—I’ve tangled with both. I’m pursuing a career in mental health because I want to walk alongside others like me—Catholics, addicts, survivors of trauma—who feel stuck in shame, confusion, or isolation. Here’s why it matters: stigma kills. Especially in faith communities, addiction is often whispered about. You’re either “too holy to struggle” or “not holy enough.” But my addiction didn’t make me evil—and my Catholic identity didn’t protect me from needing help. That paradox is exactly what I want to unpack professionally. I want to be the therapist who can name both the sin and the grace—who says, “Yes, you mess up. And yes, God meets you there.” I’ve already had a foot in this world: volunteering at campus ministry support groups, where students share their hidden struggles with anxiety, loneliness, and sometimes addiction. I’ve listened as people wrestle with feeling unworthy of God’s love because of their past. I walked that path too. So when someone breaks down, I don’t just offer psychological techniques—I can say, “I’ve been there. We can bring Him into the mess together.” My goal? To become a licensed mental health practitioner—maybe a counselor or therapist—who integrates evidence-based care and spiritual companionship. I want to serve especially those grappling with addiction layered over trauma, anxiety, or grief. My faith teaches me that redemption is possible for everyone—but I also know real healing takes more than prayer: it requires help, humility, community, and truth. This scholarship would help me keep moving forward—with tuition, textbooks, and certification costs on the horizon. I want to graduate, get licensed, and be a safe harbor for people who feel torn between their struggles and their faith. If I become part of the Brian J. Boley Memorial Scholarship legacy, I’ll carry his memory forward by helping others with mental illness and addiction know they’re not erased by their past. I’ll leverage my own recovery story—not as something shameful, but as something sacred that connects me to those I’m meant to help. Because honestly? If someone like me hadn’t loved me through my darkest days, I might not be here. I want to be that person—for someone else.

Growing up, I was the kid who felt everything a little too deeply — the one who asked way too many questions, who cried when others didn’t, who always felt a little “off” in classrooms that weren’t built for how my mind worked. I wasn’t just smart — I was sensitive, overthinking, creative, intense. I didn’t have the language for it back then, but now I know what it was: giftedness. Not just the academic kind, but the kind that comes with emotional overload, spiritual restlessness, and a longing to understand the world on a much deeper level. That’s why I want to help kids like that — kids like Lieba. Her story stopped me in my tracks. She wasn’t just intellectually gifted; she was a force of love, empathy, and kindness. But gifted kids like her are often misunderstood. We see their grades or talents, but we miss their loneliness, their anxiety, their craving for meaning and justice. And that’s the gap I want to fill. Right now, I’m a psychology and theology major at Seton Hall University. I want to become a Catholic therapist who specializes in helping gifted and emotionally intense children — especially those who are struggling spiritually or mentally and don’t feel like they “fit” anywhere. I’ve seen what happens when kids are only praised for performance, not supported in their pain. And I’ve seen how healing it is when someone finally meets them where they’re at — with empathy, not expectations. My faith plays a huge role in this. I believe God gives people different gifts — intellectual, emotional, spiritual — and each one has a purpose. But gifted kids often feel like burdens because of their sensitivity, or like frauds because they’re struggling mentally even though they “should be fine.” I want to be the kind of therapist who brings both psychology and faith to the table — someone who helps kids understand that their intensity isn’t something to hide, but something to steward with compassion and wisdom. Instead of trying to “fix” giftedness, I want to help kids navigate it. That might look like one-on-one counseling, school-based work, or even supporting families trying to understand their child’s needs. I don’t want them to grow up thinking something is wrong with them — I want them to grow up knowing that being gifted can be beautiful and hard, and that they don’t have to walk through it alone. This scholarship would support me as I pursue that mission — helping cover tuition, textbooks, and tools I need to keep moving toward grad school and licensure. I know I have a long way to go, but I also know this is where I’m supposed to be heading. I want to be a safe place for the kids who feel too much, think too deeply, or dream too big — because those are exactly the kinds of kids the world desperately needs. Lieba’s legacy is one of love, justice, and deep care for others. I hope to carry that legacy forward in my own quiet way: one child, one conversation, one soul at a time

To me, serving my community isn’t just a good thing to do — it’s a calling. I’ve come to believe that true service isn’t about checking off hours or looking good on paper. It’s about love — inconvenient, selfless, Christ-like love. And I want my life to be an outpouring of that love. As a psychology and theology major at Seton Hall University, I’ve seen firsthand how brokenness and beauty coexist in people’s lives. Whether I’m volunteering with my campus ministry, helping at a food drive, or just showing up for someone who’s struggling — I’m constantly reminded that people are longing to be seen, heard, and known. And I’ve realized that the best way I can live out my faith is to step into that space with them, not with all the answers, but with a willingness to walk alongside them. What drives me is my Catholic faith. I believe Jesus calls us to serve “the least of these” — not just because it’s right, but because that’s where we meet Him. That means I don’t just serve when it’s convenient or easy. I serve because every human being has dignity, and because love demands action. And honestly, some of the most meaningful moments of my life have been the quiet, unglamorous ones: praying with someone in pain, handing out a sandwich to someone on the street, or simply listening when someone feels invisible. I also feel called to religious life — a life totally given to Christ and His people. While I’m still discerning, I’ve spent time with communities who live in solidarity with the poor, the sick, and the forgotten. Their witness has shown me that service isn’t something you “add” to your life — it is your life. And whether I become a sister or not, I want to live like that: poured out for others. This kind of service also connects to my studies. Psychology teaches me how people think, struggle, and heal. Theology grounds me in the truth of God’s love and the Church’s mission. Combining both helps me serve the whole person — body, mind, and soul. Finally, I serve because others have served me. I wouldn’t be where I am today without the mentors, teachers, and spiritual guides who loved me when I couldn’t see my own worth. I want to be that person for someone else. I want to pay it forward — not because I have to, but because I get to. So, why is it important to me to serve my community? Because this world is aching for real love. And I believe God gave me a heart — and a life — not to keep for myself, but to give away.

My name is Gabriella Cannin, and this is my story. When I was in the sixth grade, I came out as bisexual. I was certain of my identity, but I also knew that sharing it with my biological father was not an option. My mother, on the other hand, was skeptical, attributing my revelation to my young age. Now, at 18, I am still proudly bisexual. In the same year, I started cutting. I remember feeling overwhelmed, unable to cope, and desperate for help. I confided in my school guidance counselor, only to be dismissed and told to figure it out myself. That night, I attempted suicide for the first time. This marked the beginning of a long and painful journey, characterized by six suicide attempts, chronic self-harm, and frequent admissions to psychiatric hospitals. I was often told by therapists and psychiatrists that I would not make it past the 10th grade. I was even turned away by professionals who considered me too much of a liability. This was a crushing blow each time, but my mother fought tirelessly for me to receive the treatment I needed. After 17 hospital admissions for psychiatric emergencies, I was finally correctly diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Bipolar Disorder Type Two. This led me to a place where I could finally begin to heal - Newport Academy. However, my story is not just about my struggle with mental health. I am also a horseback rider, a sister, a best friend, a daughter, and a straight-A student. I am resilient and have learned to adapt and overcome the challenges that have been thrown my way. I have learned that my illnesses do not define me; I define myself. I am now a rising freshman at Seton Hall University, where I plan to major in Psychology. I am passionate about using my experiences to make a difference in the lives of others. I want to contribute to the understanding of mental health, especially within the LGBTQIA+ community, and to challenge the stigmatization of mental health disorders. I am applying for the Elijah's Helping Hand Scholarship Award because I believe in its mission of providing support for those impacted by mental health, suicide, and LGBTQIA+ experiences. I am living proof that it is possible to overcome these challenges, and I am committed to using my education to help others do the same. In conclusion, I am more than my mental illnesses. I am a survivor, a fighter, and a believer in the power of resilience and hope. I am determined to use my experiences and my education to make a positive impact in the world. I am Gabriella Cannin, and this is my story.

My name is Gabriella Cannin, and I am going to save children. I started therapy at the age of 5 after a car accident my biological Dad and I were in. Through therapy, it was learned that my father was indeed abusing me mentally, psychically, and sexually. My father would do things, and I would ask my friend Kayla if her dad did the same, and she would say yes and give me a similar example. Kayla later killed herself at the age of 13. She was seeing a therapist until that therapist decided she was too much work and kicked her off her service. This broke her. She cried for days, asking me why she was not good enough for this world and why all of this was happening. All I could say was I do not know. My world was shaken. From that day on, I decided to do whatever I had to to ensure there was never another Kayla. I aim to get a PhD or a Psyd in psychology and work with children in an outpatient or inpatient setting. I want to be that therapist who does her best never to turn down a client. However, if I do, I will ensure they know it is not their fault but mine. After my first therapist told me I was too much of a liability, my heart broke even more. After Kayla's therapist told her she was too much work, she killed herself. All therapists I have been turned down by did not give me any referrals or tell me what to look for; they left my mother and me wholly stranded. I want to become a therapist if I have to turn someone down because I am not qualified enough to give them resources. I want to make sure families never feel alone. I want children who are being abused to have at least one advocate. I want to fight for the kids who have been deemed too mentally ill to help. I have to prove my abusive father wrong. He told me I would never be anything in life and that I would be better off dead. However, that is so far from the truth because if I were dead, I would not be able to fight for the Kaylas and the Gabriellas of this world. I will be the change the world needs to see.