Cancer affected my family in a way that permanently reshaped how I understand love, strength, and presence, beginning with my grandmother, Olga Pessoa, who was diagnosed with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer and passed away in late 2021. She was born in Westmoreland Parish, Jamaica, and lived with a quiet but unshakable determination that defined everything she did. As a single mother, she made the decision to leave her home country and migrate to New York with her two children, not for comfort, but for possibility. She came from limited circumstances and chose uncertainty so her children could access education and opportunity she never had. Looking back, that choice feels less like a decision and more like a form of sacrifice built entirely on hope. In New York, she worked relentlessly, often holding three jobs at once. Her life was not defined by ease, but by endurance. There was a seriousness to the way she carried responsibility, as if stopping was never an option she allowed herself. What stays with me most is not a single defining achievement, but the consistency of her effort, the way she continued to show up even when exhaustion was written into everything she did. She taught me, without ever needing to say it directly, that strength is not about comfort or recognition, but about persistence in the face of necessity. When she was diagnosed with cancer, that understanding of strength shifted completely. Illness removed the possibility of control or forward planning. It forced my family into a reality where effort could no longer change the outcome, only the experience of it. In that space, presence became everything. There were no solutions, only time spent together that felt heavier as it became more limited. Watching her journey made me understand that love is not only expressed through support in moments when things can be fixed, but in the decision to remain when nothing can be undone. What I learned through this experience is that standing by the people you love during hardship is not passive or automatic. It is deliberate and often uncomfortable. It means choosing not to retreat when situations become painful or uncertain. It means recognizing that support is not defined by the ability to solve suffering, but by the willingness to sit within it so someone does not have to face it alone. That realization changed how I understand relationships, because it made me see that presence itself can be a form of care, even when words and actions feel insufficient. Her passing also changed the way I understand time. It removed the assumption that there will always be later, that conversations can be postponed, or that gratitude can be expressed whenever it feels convenient. Cancer makes time finite in a way that cannot be ignored. It forces a level of awareness about how quickly moments become memories, and how easily appreciation can go unspoken until it is too late. What remains with me is not only grief, but clarity. Love is not measured in what is said when everything is fine, but in who remains present when everything is not. My grandmother’s life and illness taught me that standing by someone in their hardest moments is one of the most honest expressions of love that exists.

Mental health is important to me as a student because I have come to recognize how often struggle exists beneath the surface, unnoticed and unspoken. College is widely understood as a time of growth, ambition, and independence, yet it is also a space where pressure quietly accumulates. There is an expectation to remain composed, to succeed, and to move forward without hesitation. In response, many students learn to internalize what they are experiencing. Over time, this creates a divide between one’s internal reality and external presentation, and sustaining that divide can be deeply exhausting. My study of psychology has shaped the way I understand this dynamic. It has shown me that these patterns are not simply individual shortcomings, but responses to the environment. When individuals feel that vulnerability may be met with judgment or dismissal, they adapt by withholding parts of themselves. What begins as a means of self-preservation can gradually influence how a person understands their own thoughts, emotions, and identity. In this way, mental health is not only personal but deeply connected to the spaces in which people exist. Because of this, my approach to advocating for mental health is grounded in presence, awareness, and intentionality. I strive to engage with others in a way that allows for honesty without pressure. Listening without immediate judgment or expectation creates room for people to express themselves without feeling the need to refine or justify their experiences. Even brief moments of genuine understanding can ease the sense of isolation that often accompanies internal struggle. I am also attentive to the environments I am part of, recognizing that tone and culture influence how individuals choose to engage. The way people communicate, respond, and hold space for one another can either reinforce silence or encourage openness. I make a conscious effort to contribute to spaces where individuals feel a greater sense of ease, where expression is not met with scrutiny, and where there is room for imperfection. To me, advocacy is not defined solely by visibility or scale. It is sustained through consistency. It is reflected in small, deliberate actions that communicate care and attentiveness. It is the willingness to notice what remains unspoken and to respond with patience rather than assumption. Not everyone is ready to articulate what they are experiencing, but the presence of understanding can make that possibility feel less distant. Mental health matters because it shapes how individuals experience every aspect of their lives. When someone feels overwhelmed or disconnected, it influences their sense of self, their relationships, and their capacity to engage with the world around them. As a student, I hope to contribute to a community where individuals do not feel compelled to navigate these experiences in isolation, and where honesty is not perceived as weakness, but as an essential part of being human.

I plan to make a positive impact on the world by focusing on something that is often overlooked but deeply influential: how people understand themselves and how they are shaped by the environments around them. Studying psychology has made me more aware that many of the challenges people face are not always visible. People are constantly navigating expectations, judgment, and pressure to present themselves in ways that feel acceptable rather than authentic. Over time, this can affect confidence, mental health, and the ability to form genuine connections. I have come to understand that when people do not feel secure in who they are, it not only affects them individually. It influences how they communicate, how they form relationships, and how they respond to differences in others. Because of this, I want my work to focus on creating and improving environments where people feel supported, understood, and able to be themselves without fear of judgment. I am especially interested in spaces that combine community, creativity, and mental well-being. These spaces have the potential to reach people in ways that are both personal and lasting. Whether through programs, organizations, or broader initiatives, my goal is to contribute to systems that prioritize people and their experiences, not just outcomes or performance. I believe that positive impact begins at the individual level but extends far beyond it. When someone feels comfortable expressing themselves honestly, it changes how they move through the world. They are more likely to engage openly, build meaningful relationships, and approach others with empathy rather than defensiveness. These individual shifts may seem small, but when they happen across communities, they create meaningful change. Environments become more inclusive, conversations become more thoughtful, and differences become less threatening. My background in psychology has also shaped how I think about change itself. Behavior is often a response to the environment, not simply a matter of personal choice. When people are placed in environments where they feel judged, excluded, or misunderstood, they adapt in ways that protect themselves. These adaptations can appear as silence, withdrawal, or even resistance. Instead of expecting individuals to change without addressing the conditions around them, I want to focus on improving those conditions. This means thinking intentionally about how spaces are structured, how communication is encouraged, and how access to opportunities is distributed. It also means recognizing that impact is not always immediate or visible. Sometimes it exists in the way someone becomes more confident over time, or in the way a community becomes more open and understanding. The impact I hope to make is rooted in creating experiences that allow people to feel seen and valued without having to adjust who they are. I want to contribute to a world where individuals are not constantly negotiating their identity in order to feel accepted. A world where authenticity is not something that requires courage, but something that is naturally supported. I understand that this kind of change takes time and consistency. It requires patience, awareness, and a willingness to listen. However, I believe it is necessary. When people feel secure in themselves, it creates a ripple effect that extends beyond the individual. It leads to stronger relationships, more inclusive communities, and a society that is more open, thoughtful, and connected. That is the kind of impact I plan to make.

There is a version of almost everyone that the world never truly gets to see. It is not because it does not exist, but because it is slowly shaped and softened over time. People begin to notice what is accepted and what is not. They become aware of how they are perceived, how they are judged, and what parts of themselves feel safer to reveal. Little by little, they adjust. What starts as awareness turns into a habit, and eventually, it becomes difficult to tell where the adjustment ends and the person begins. I have seen this happen in quiet, almost unnoticeable ways. Someone begins to speak and then stops halfway through their thought. Someone changes their tone, their posture, or their words depending on who is around them. It is easy to overlook these moments because they do not disrupt anything. Still, there is something deeply human being held back each time. Studying psychology has helped me understand that these patterns are not accidental. The way people present themselves is often shaped by their environment and their experiences. Concepts like social conditioning and self-presentation are not abstract ideas to me. They explain why people learn to filter themselves, even when it comes at the cost of their own comfort. Over time, that filtering creates distance between who someone is and who they feel allowed to be. The change I want to see in the world is a shift toward a space where that distance does not have to exist. I want people to feel that they can exist as themselves without constantly questioning how they will be received. That kind of freedom is often underestimated, but its absence is deeply felt. When people cannot fully be themselves, the effects are not always visible, but they are real. There is a kind of exhaustion that comes from constantly adjusting. There is self-doubt that builds without a clear source. People begin to question parts of themselves that were never meant to be questioned. It can slowly erode their sense of identity and make them feel disconnected from who they are. This does not remain contained within the individual. When people feel uncertain about themselves, it becomes easier to cling to rigid ideas or to define themselves in opposition to others. Judgment becomes more common, and differences begin to feel threatening instead of natural. In that way, something as personal as self-expression can influence how entire communities interact. I do not believe people are meant to live this way. Psychology has shown me that much of this behavior is learned, which means it can also be unlearned. Environments shape people, but they can also be reshaped. I want to contribute to a world where people are not constantly negotiating their identity just to feel accepted--a world where individuality is not something that has to be hidden or carefully managed. When people feel secure in who they are, there is less fear, less judgment, and more room for genuine understanding. That kind of change would not always be obvious, but it would be meaningful. It would exist in the way people speak, the way they connect, and the way they see themselves. It would allow people to feel whole without having to prove that they deserve to be. That is the change I want to see. A world where no one feels the need to become smaller just to be accepted, and where being yourself is no longer something you have to be brave enough to do.

Courtrooms are built to deliver verdicts, not to ask why. I have always been more interested in the why. Where others might see a case file neatly summarized in charges and outcomes, I find myself wondering about the invisible pressures that shaped the person behind it. That curiosity did not appear overnight. It grew out of my academic interests, my creative work, and my lived awareness that people are often reduced far too quickly to single narratives. I am pursuing a degree in the mental health field, intending to enter forensic psychology, because I want to work where psychological insight can meaningfully shape justice and rehabilitation. My path toward forensic psychology has been shaped by the way I naturally observe the world. As someone deeply invested in English and journalism, I have spent years studying how language frames perception and how stories can either humanize or flatten a person’s reality. Outside the classroom, I have planned and marketed more than thirty-eight photography-centered events, led collaborative shoots, and helped conceptualize a campus art gallery showcasing student work. These experiences taught me something that statistics alone cannot capture: people reveal their complexity in fragments. When I work with artists and students, I pay attention to hesitation, tone, and the quiet signals beneath the surface. That same attentiveness is what draws me to forensic psychology. The justice system often moves quickly, yet the human behavior within it is rarely simple. I am especially motivated by the reality that many individuals involved in the justice system have experienced significant and often untreated mental health challenges. Too often, mental health is treated as peripheral rather than central to understanding behavior. This gap has real consequences. Without proper psychological evaluation and support, cycles of incarceration, trauma, and recidivism continue to reinforce one another. I want to help interrupt that pattern through careful, evidence-based assessment and trauma-informed care. My goal is to contribute to environments where mental health is taken seriously in courtrooms, correctional settings, and rehabilitation programs. Even incremental improvements in how individuals are evaluated and understood can meaningfully change outcomes. My background has prepared me to approach this work with both precision and empathy. Studying English sharpened my attention to language, an essential skill when writing psychological reports where clarity and nuance matter deeply. My experience in journalism strengthened my ability to ask thoughtful questions and listen closely to complex stories. Leading large-scale creative initiatives on campus taught me how to coordinate across diverse groups and remain composed under pressure. Perhaps most importantly, my own experiences navigating spaces where identity and perception do not always align have made me deeply aware of how easily people can be misunderstood when context is ignored. I am pursuing the mental health field because I believe psychological insight can change life trajectories. When mental health is properly recognized and addressed, it can reduce harm, support rehabilitation, and restore dignity to individuals who are too often defined only by their worst moment. Through forensic psychology, I hope to bring analytical rigor, cultural awareness, and genuine human attentiveness into a system that urgently needs all three. I do not expect to transform the justice system overnight. What I do intend to do is contribute careful, compassionate work that helps ensure more people are seen in full context rather than in fragments.

Ink has always felt a little electric to me. Long before I called it journalism, I was the student who lingered over sentence structure in English class, the one who noticed when a single word choice shifted the entire mood of a paragraph. Language never felt ornamental. It felt infrastructural, the quiet framework that shapes how people understand the world and each other. Over time, that fascination sharpened into purpose. I am now pursuing journalism because I believe precise, humane storytelling has the power to make communities more visible, more accountable, and more connected. As a college student balancing academic ambition with real responsibility, I have learned to move through institutions with both curiosity and urgency. My academic interest in English gave me the technical foundation to think critically about voice, tone, and narrative architecture. Outside the classroom, I channeled that same energy into hands-on creative leadership. I have planned and marketed more than three dozen photography-centered events, organized collaborative shoots with student artists and models, and begun curating a campus art gallery designed to showcase student work to the public. Each of these experiences reinforced the same lesson: stories gain power when they are given structure, audience, and intentional care. Journalism, to me, is the natural extension of that work. My love of journalism is rooted in attentiveness. Living and working across different spaces has made me highly sensitive to the stories that hover just outside the spotlight. I am especially drawn to community-centered reporting that captures the textured realities of student life, emerging artists, and underrepresented voices. In both my writing and visual work, I gravitate toward moments that feel slightly off-center, the details that reveal larger systemic truths. I want my future reporting to reflect that same depth. Rather than chasing noise, I aim to produce work that is clear-eyed, ethically grounded, and genuinely useful to the communities it serves. Whether covering campus issues, local arts initiatives, or broader social trends, I intend to approach journalism with both rigor and empathy. In my career, I plan to create a positive social impact by amplifying voices that are often simplified, overlooked, or spoken for rather than listened to. I want to produce journalism that not only informs but also empowers readers to better understand their communities and the systems shaping their lives. My background in English gives me the analytical precision to craft careful narratives, while my creative leadership experience has taught me how to build platforms that invite participation and visibility. Journalism sits at the intersection of both. It is where my love of language meets my commitment to public-facing work. I am pursuing this path because I believe thoughtful reporting can expand who feels seen, who feels heard, and ultimately who feels that their story belongs in the public record.