Growing up as an African American girl in a working-class community, I learned early that justice isn’t something everyone is guaranteed—it’s something you have to fight for. I saw it in the tired eyes of neighbors working multiple jobs just to get by. I felt it in the quiet tension when someone in our community got pulled into a legal system that seemed built to punish rather than protect. But more than anywhere else, I understood it through the steady, patient love of my grandmother. She was the anchor of our family, a woman who held us together with wisdom, strength, and a deep understanding of the world we lived in. She never had the luxury of a college degree or a high-paying job, but she had truth in her voice and fire in her spirit. She taught me what resilience looked like, and more importantly, what it meant to believe in justice even when the world gives you every reason not to. My grandmother didn’t have access to legal help when she needed it most. I remember watching her struggle to navigate complicated paperwork, unjust housing laws, and decisions made by people who had never walked a day in her shoes. Those moments stuck with me, long after childhood, shaping the way I see the world and my place in it. They taught me that the law isn’t just about rules or verdicts—it’s about people. Real people. People like my grandmother, who deserve someone in their corner. Someone who understands. Someone who won’t give up on them. That someone, I know now, is me. I want to be an exceptional lawyer not for the prestige or title, but because I want to fight for those who are too often silenced or ignored simply because they don’t have the money, education, or access to defend themselves. I want to use the law as a tool of empowerment rather than punishment—to protect, uplift, and serve those who have been left behind. This dream is rooted not in theory, but in lived experience. I’ve felt what it’s like to watch someone you love be overwhelmed by a system that was never made with them in mind. And I’ve felt the fire of knowing I can change that—for them, and for so many others. Being African American in this country has given me a layered understanding of justice. It’s not abstract to me—it’s personal. I carry generations of struggle and survival in my blood. But I also carry hope, ambition, and a deep sense of responsibility. I know what it’s like to feel invisible. I also know the power of being seen, heard, and defended. That’s what I want to give to every client I’ll ever stand beside—dignity, strength, and the unwavering belief that they matter. My passion for law was born from pain, but it’s grown into purpose. I’m pursuing this career not just as a personal goal, but as a calling. I want to work with low-income clients because they are the ones most at risk of being swallowed by a system they can’t afford to understand or fight. I want to be the difference between someone losing their home and keeping it, between a child staying with their family or being taken away, between a life broken by injustice and a life rebuilt through advocacy and care.This is more than just a career path—it’s my heart’s work. I am becoming the advocate my younger self always needed to see. And I know that with every step I take, I am walking a path paved by love, struggle, and unshakable purpose.

Growing up as an African American girl in a working-class community, I learned early that justice isn’t something everyone is guaranteed—it’s something you have to fight for. I saw it in the tired eyes of neighbors working multiple jobs just to get by. I felt it in the quiet tension when someone in our community got pulled into a legal system that seemed built to punish rather than protect. But more than anywhere else, I understood it through the steady, patient love of my grandmother. She was the anchor of our family, a woman who held us together with wisdom, strength, and a deep understanding of the world we lived in. She never had the luxury of a college degree or a high-paying job, but she had truth in her voice and fire in her spirit. She taught me what resilience looked like, and more importantly, what it meant to believe in justice even when the world gives you every reason not to. My grandmother didn’t have access to legal help when she needed it most. I remember watching her struggle to navigate complicated paperwork, unjust housing laws, and decisions made by people who had never walked a day in her shoes. Those moments stuck with me, long after childhood, shaping the way I see the world and my place in it. They taught me that the law isn’t just about rules or verdicts—it’s about people. Real people. People like my grandmother, who deserve someone in their corner. Someone who understands. Someone who won’t give up on them. That someone, I know now, is me. I want to be an exceptional lawyer not for the prestige or title, but because I want to fight for those who are too often silenced or ignored simply because they don’t have the money, education, or access to defend themselves. I want to use the law as a tool of empowerment rather than punishment—to protect, uplift, and serve those who have been left behind. This dream is rooted not in theory, but in lived experience. I’ve felt what it’s like to watch someone you love be overwhelmed by a system that was never made with them in mind. And I’ve felt the fire of knowing I can change that—for them, and for so many others. Being African American in this country has given me a layered understanding of justice. It’s not abstract to me—it’s personal. I carry generations of struggle and survival in my blood. But I also carry hope, ambition, and a deep sense of responsibility. I know what it’s like to feel invisible. I also know the power of being seen, heard, and defended. That’s what I want to give to every client I’ll ever stand beside—dignity, strength, and the unwavering belief that they matter. My passion for law was born from pain, but it’s grown into purpose. I’m pursuing this career not just as a personal goal, but as a calling. I want to work with low-income clients because they are the ones most at risk of being swallowed by a system they can’t afford to understand or fight. I want to be the difference between someone losing their home and keeping it, between a child staying with their family or being taken away, between a life broken by injustice and a life rebuilt through advocacy and care.This is more than just a career path—it’s my heart’s work. I am becoming the advocate my younger self always needed to see. And I know that with every step I take, I am walking a path paved by love, struggle, and unshakable purpose.