I learned what nursing meant long before I ever wore scrubs. I learned it in a hospital room, watching machines breathe for my father while I prayed he would wake up. My dad’s first suicide attempt left him in a coma, and for a while, none of us knew if he would come back to us. But he did. He woke up. In those days and weeks, I watched the nurses who cared for him, not just the way they monitored his body, but the way they treated him as a whole person, and the way they treated us, his terrified family, with patience and tenderness when we had nothing left to give. They didn’t flinch at the hard parts. They stayed. That has never left me. My father’s struggle didn’t end there, and eventually I lost him. Grief like that changes you. But somewhere inside that pain, I found a purpose I couldn’t ignore. I saw how much a compassionate caregiver can mean to someone in their darkest moment, and I knew I wanted to be that person for others, the steady presence in the room when everything feels like it’s falling apart. For over five years, I’ve worked as a CNA and caregiver in hospice, home health, and private homes. I’ve sat with people through their final breaths and held space for families walking through unbearable loss. That work didn’t break me, it confirmed exactly who I’m meant to be. I understand suffering from the inside, and I refuse to let anyone feel as alone as my family once did. This is also why my heart is set on pediatric nursing, specifically hematology and oncology. Children facing life-threatening illness deserve someone who sees their fear and meets it with gentleness. Having loved someone who fought so hard just to keep living, I carry a deep reverence for life and a fierce determination to protect it. I want to be the nurse who fights for kids who can’t yet fight for themselves, and who reminds exhausted parents that they aren’t carrying it alone. My dad’s story is painful, but it’s also the reason I refuse to look away from other people’s pain. He taught me-through his survival and through his loss, that every life is worth fighting for, and that compassion can be a lifeline. I’m not pursuing nursing to escape his story. I’m pursuing it to honor it. Every patient I care for, every frightened family I comfort, every child I help heal, that’s how I carry him with me. That’s how I turn the hardest thing I’ve ever lived through into something that helps others survive theirs. I learned about this scholarship through Bold and I appreciate the chance to tell my story. Thank you for the opportunity. Have a blessed day!

Nutrition isn’t a side note in healing, it’s the foundation everything else is built on. As a future pediatric nurse, I see food not just as fuel, but as one of the most powerful tools I’ll have to help kids grow stronger, recover faster, and live healthier lives long after they leave my care. In over five years as a CNA and caregiver, I’ve already seen how much nutrition shapes a person’s health. I’ve watched patients struggle to heal because their bodies weren’t getting what they needed, and I’ve seen how something as simple as a better meal plan can change someone’s energy, mood, and recovery. In pediatric hematology and oncology especially, nutrition becomes critical, kids going through treatment often battle appetite loss, nausea, and weight changes, and a nurse who understands their nutritional needs can make a real difference in how they tolerate treatment and bounce back. Here are the steps I plan to take to encourage healthier eating habits: First, I’ll meet families where they are. I won’t lecture parents about “perfect” diets, I’ll listen to their realities, like tight budgets, busy schedules, and picky eaters, and offer small, doable changes that actually fit their lives. Second, I’ll make nutrition education simple and judgment-free. I want to teach kids and parents in plain language, using practical tips instead of complicated rules, so healthy eating feels possible instead of overwhelming. Third, I’ll connect families to resources. Many people in my Houston community don’t know what support exists; food assistance programs, WIC, community gardens, or hospital nutrition services. I’ll help bridge that gap so no child goes without proper nutrition because their family didn’t know where to turn. Fourth, I’ll lead by encouragement, not shame. Especially with children, I want to make healthy choices feel positive and even fun, building habits that stick because they’re tied to good feelings rather than guilt. Finally, I’ll advocate within the healthcare system to make sure nutrition is treated as essential care, not an afterthought, pushing for dietitian referrals, education, and follow-up whenever a patient needs it. Good nutrition is one of the kindest, most lasting gifts we can give someone’s health. As a nurse, I won’t just treat illness, I’ll help families build the everyday habits that prevent it. One meal, one conversation, one small change at a time, I want to help my community grow healthier from the inside out. That’s what it’s all about!

Most people choose a career. Nursing chose me before I even knew what to call it. Long before I stepped into a classroom at Galen College of Nursing, I was already doing the work, just without the title. For over five years, I’ve been a CNA and caregiver across hospice, home health, and private homes, learning the parts of this profession that no exam can measure. I’ve sat with people in their final hours and helped children in foster care believe, even for a moment, that they were safe. Somewhere in those quiet, ordinary, sometimes heartbreaking moments, I stopped seeing caregiving as something I did and started seeing it as who I am. I’m choosing nursing because I’ve already lived the difference it makes. I’ve watched a frightened patient relax because someone finally spoke to them like a person instead of a problem. I’ve learned that healing isn’t only about medication schedules and vital signs, it’s about presence, patience, and the willingness to stay when staying is hard. Nursing is the rare profession where science and compassion aren’t competing forces; they’re partners. I want a career where my hands can be skilled and my heart can stay soft, and nursing is the only place I’ve found that lets me be both. Pediatric nursing, specifically hematology and oncology, is where my calling sharpens into focus. There is something uniquely powerful about caring for children who are facing battles most adults never will. Kids fighting cancer don’t lose their wonder, they still want to laugh, play, and be treated like the children they are, even on their worst days. I want to be the nurse who protects that part of them. I want to be the steady, gentle presence in a room full of fear, the one who explains a scary procedure in words a child can understand, and the one who reminds an exhausted parent that they aren’t carrying this alone. My years of working with vulnerable children, especially those in the foster care system, taught me to lead with trauma-informed care. I’ve seen how deeply children absorb the emotions around them, and how much a calm, trustworthy adult can shift the entire experience. Pediatric oncology demands exactly that kind of nurse, clinically sharp, emotionally grounded, and fiercely devoted to the small human in the bed. I’m not pursuing nursing for a paycheck or a comfortable schedule. I’m pursuing it because I believe some people are built to show up on the hardest days, and I’m one of them. I want to spend my career being the reason a sick child still smiles, one brave kid, one frightened family, one act of fierce, tender care at a time.

The first time I sat with a child too sick to play, I realized nursing wasn’t a job I wanted, it was a calling I couldn’t walk away from. For over five years, I’ve worked as a CNA and caregiver across hospice, home health, and family homes. I’ve held hands during last breaths and helped kids in foster care feel safe when their whole world felt uncertain as a qualified mental health professional (QMHP). That work taught me something my textbooks can’t: people don’t just need care, they need to feel seen. I’ve watched how a gentle voice or a moment of patience can change someone’s entire day, and I’ve learned that the smallest acts, remembering a name, noticing fear behind a brave face, often matter most. My BSN from Galen College of Nursing will give me the clinical skills to back up the compassion I already carry. I’m pursuing pediatric nursing because children fighting deserve more than medicine, they deserve a nurse who shows up for them as a whole person, not just a diagnosis. So much of what these kids endure is frightening and isolating, and I want to be the one who makes the hospital feel a little less scary. In my community here in Houston, that means being the steady presence for families on the hardest days of their lives, advocating for kids who can’t always advocate for themselves, and bringing trauma-informed care to children who’ve already survived too much. It also means looking beyond the hospital walls. I want to help families navigate a system that can feel overwhelming, connect them to resources they didn’t know existed, and make sure no child falls through the cracks because their parents didn’t know what to ask. Houston is full of families doing their best with too little support, and I want my degree to be something I give back to the community that shaped me, not just credentials I keep for myself. I don’t want to just treat patients. I want to be the reason a scared kid smiles in a hospital room, and the reason an exhausted parent finally feels like someone’s in their corner. I want to be living proof that good care isn’t just about what you know, it’s about how deeply you’re willing to show up. That’s how I’ll use my degree, one child, one family, one hard day at a time. My motto is we leave this earth with only the souls we touch and not materialistic things and I hope to touch as many souls as I can and leave an impact on this world.

Margaret A. Briller knew what it meant to chase a nursing degree when the world wasn’t making it easy. As a single mother without financial means, she enrolled in nursing school anyway, graduated in 1978, and spent thirty-two years caring for oncology patients at University Hospital in San Antonio. When I read her story, I didn’t just admire her, I recognized her. She is the blueprint for the nurse I am fighting to become. Like Margaret, I am a woman who decided that financial hardship would not have the final word over my purpose. A few years ago, I lost my father, the person who made my education financially possible. His death didn’t just shatter my heart; it removed the only safety net I had. Suddenly, I was navigating nursing school while calculating whether I could afford gas to get to my clinical rotations. Margaret faced that same impossible math as a single mother and still chose to show up. That resilience is not just something I admire in her, it is something I live every single day. I work CNA shifts between classes, stretch every dollar past its limit, and show up to clinicals no matter how exhausted I am because quitting was never an option Margaret accepted, and it’s not one I’ll accept either. This scholarship would directly change the trajectory of my education. Right now, every semester is a gamble. I am one unexpected expense away from having to pause my program, and pausing often means never returning. Financial stress doesn’t just threaten my enrollment, it compromises my ability to be fully present for my patients during clinical rotations. Receiving this scholarship would lift that weight. It would allow me to invest completely in my education, purchase the resources I need without guilt, and honor my father’s belief in me by finishing what he always knew I could accomplish. Once I earn my nursing degree, I plan to specialize in pediatric psychiatric nursing. This isn’t an abstract goal, it’s rooted in years of direct experience. I’ve worked as a mental health professional for foster children, volunteered at the Oasis Center serving families through soup kitchens and food drives, and completed clinical rotations on a pediatric behavioral health unit at Houston Behavioral Hospital. I’ve seen firsthand how children in the foster care and mental health systems are chronically underserved. I intend to be the nurse who bridges that gap who treats children as whole human beings rather than diagnoses, and who advocates fiercely for trauma-informed care in every setting I enter. Margaret Briller spent her life making her mark on every patient she touched, and her compassion didn’t stop at retirement, it extended to her family, her church, and her entire community. That is exactly the kind of nurse I aspire to be. Not one who clocks in and clocks out, but one whose caregiving is woven into the fabric of who she is. This scholarship wouldn’t just help me become a nurse. It would help me continue Margaret’s legacy, proving that a woman with limited resources but unlimited determination can change lives, starting with her own.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My drive to become a nurse was born long before I ever stepped into a classroom. It was built in soup kitchens at the Oasis Center, where I served families who hadn’t eaten a warm meal in days. It was sharpened in group homes, where I held space for foster children battling trauma that no child should ever have to carry. It was solidified during my time as a CNA, where I watched nurses make decisions that changed the trajectory of someone’s life in a single shift. I wanted that ability, not for power, but for purpose. Every role I’ve held has shown me the same truth; compassion without clinical knowledge has a ceiling. I’ve hit that ceiling too many times. Advanced education in nursing is how I break through it, so that the next time a child is discharged or a patient is overlooked, I have the credentials and the competence to intervene, not just the desire. When I lost my father a few years ago, I didn’t just lose the person I loved most, I lost my financial safety net. He was the one who made education feel possible, who ensured that money never became the reason I couldn’t succeed. Without him, every semester has become a calculated risk. I work CNA shifts between clinicals, skip meals to cover supply costs, and carry a constant low hum of anxiety about whether I can afford to finish what I started. This scholarship would silence that noise. This scholarship will help me grow into the person I envision for myself. It would allow me to stop surviving my education and start thriving in it. It would mean showing up to clinical rotations rested instead of running on fumes. It would mean purchasing the resources I need without guilt. Most importantly, it would mean honoring my father’s investment in me by finishing what he believed I could accomplish. My father was my biggest supporter and finishing my degree is something I want to do in honor of his faith in me and my belief in myself. This isn’t just about a degree. It’s about a girl who lost her foundation and chose to build a new one, not just for herself, but for every patient, every foster child, and every overlooked family she’s committed to serving. This scholarship doesn’t just benefit me. It benefits every life I’ll touch once I’ve earned the right to call myself a nurse.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I should be chosen for this scholarship not because my story is tragic, but because it’s unfinished, and I refuse to let the hardest chapter be the final one. A few years ago, I lost my father. He wasn’t just my parent; he was my financial foundation. He was the person who made sure tuition was possible, who quietly covered the gaps I didn’t even know existed until he was gone. His death didn’t just leave an emotional void, it dismantled the financial infrastructure that was holding my future together. Overnight, I went from focused student to someone calculating whether I could afford both textbooks and groceries in the same month. The grief alone was paralyzing. Coupling it with sudden financial instability made every step toward my nursing degree feel like walking uphill in the dark. But I kept walking. I picked up shifts as a CNA. I stretched every dollar until it screamed. I showed up to clinicals exhausted and still gave my patients everything I had because they deserved it, and because my father raised someone who doesn’t quit when things collapse. My financial need is not abstract, it’s the difference between completing this program on time and being forced to pause a dream that’s already survived more than it should have had to. This scholarship would directly eliminate the barrier between where I am and where I’m headed, allowing me to focus fully on becoming the nurse my patients deserve rather than worrying about whether I can afford to stay enrolled. And once I’m established, I plan to pour everything back out. My career will not exist inside a vacuum. I’ve already spent years serving others, volunteering at the Oasis Center, feeding families at soup kitchens, providing mental health support to foster children who had no one else in their corner. Nursing will amplify that work exponentially. My goal is to serve underserved populations, particularly children in the foster care and behavioral health systems who are chronically overlooked by mainstream healthcare. I want to be the nurse who treats the whole person, not just the chart, because I know from experience that healing begins when someone finally feels seen. My father believed in my potential enough to invest in it while he was alive. This scholarship would allow that belief to continue bearing fruit even in his absence. I’m not asking for a handout. I’m asking for the bridge that carries me from loss to legacy, because the communities I serve are counting on me to make it across.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I didn’t fall in love with nursing in a lecture hall or while watching a medical drama. I fell in love with it on a linoleum floor, cross-legged beside a ten-year-old foster child who had just torn apart a room because nobody had ever taught him that anger could be spoken instead of thrown. In that moment, I wasn’t a nurse. I wasn’t even a student. I was just someone who refused to walk away, and that instinct is exactly why nursing chose me before I ever chose it. My path has never been conventional. I started as a CNA, where I quickly discovered that healthcare isn’t sterile or predictable. It’s raw. It’s holding a trembling hand during a bed bath while someone tells you they’re afraid of dying alone. It’s learning that the most clinical skill you can develop is the ability to be fully human with another person. That work cracked something open in me, an understanding that the body and the mind are never suffering separately, and that real healing requires someone willing to tend to both. Working as a mental health professional with foster children sharpened that understanding into something urgent. I watched kids cycle through medications, diagnoses, and placements without anyone stopping long enough to ask them what they actually needed. I became that person. I learned to read the language beneath behavior, that aggression is often grief wearing armor, and that silence can scream louder than any outburst. I realized I wanted to do more than advocate from the sidelines. I wanted clinical authority. I wanted to be the professional in the room who could assess, intervene, and fight for a patient with both compassion and competence. That’s what nursing offers me, not just a career, but a fusion of everything I’ve already been doing with the knowledge and credibility to do it at a higher level. I’m not pursuing nursing because it’s noble or stable. I’m pursuing it because I’ve already lived its core principles in soup kitchens, in group homes, and at bedsides, and I’m tired of reaching the limit of what I can do without the letters behind my name. Nursing isn’t a detour from my life’s work. It’s the destination I’ve been walking toward through every meal I’ve served, every child I’ve steadied, and every patient I’ve refused to treat as just a task. I’m not becoming a nurse. I’m finally becoming the fullest version of what I’ve always been.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My desire to work in the nonprofit sector didn’t begin with a single defining moment, it grew quietly through years of showing up in spaces where people needed help the most. From ladling soup into styrofoam bowls to sitting with a foster child through a meltdown, every experience has reinforced the same belief: meaningful change happens when ordinary people commit to serving their communities with consistency and heart. My journey into service began at the Oasis Center, where I first experienced the power of grassroots community work. Volunteering at the soup kitchen taught me something no classroom ever could, that hunger is not just physical. The people who came through those lines carried stories of job loss, displacement, domestic violence, and systemic neglect. Serving them a warm meal was important, but what mattered just as much was looking them in the eye, learning their name, and treating them like they belonged. That experience expanded when I began participating in food drives, where I saw firsthand how logistical coordination, community partnerships, and dedicated volunteers could transform donations into tangible relief for families struggling to make it through the week. I learned that nonprofits function as the connective tissue between resources and the people who desperately need them. My work with foster children deepened my understanding of service in an entirely different way. These were young people caught in a system that, despite its best intentions, often left them feeling invisible. My role was to provide stability, emotional safety, and advocacy, to be the adult who didn’t leave. I witnessed how trauma reshapes a child’s ability to trust, and I learned that impact in this space isn’t measured in grand gestures but in small, repeated acts of reliability. Showing up mattered. Listening mattered. Believing in a child’s potential when the world had written them off mattered more than anything. These experiences collectively led me to nursing school, where I’m now training to merge my passion for service with clinical expertise. Nursing, at its core, is nonprofit work in spirit, it is the act of prioritizing human welfare above all else. My clinical rotations have shown me that healthcare disparities disproportionately affect the same communities I’ve been serving: the underfed, the underhoused, the overlooked. I’ve seen how a lack of access to mental health resources devastates families and how preventive care can transform outcomes for vulnerable populations. As a nurse, I will carry the nonprofit mindset into every patient interaction, advocating not just for treatment but for equity. I want to pursue a career in the nonprofit sector because I’ve lived the work long enough to know it’s not optional for me, it’s essential. I’ve seen what happens when communities are invested in, and I’ve seen what happens when they’re ignored. My hope is to bridge healthcare and community advocacy, creating programs and partnerships that address not just symptoms but root causes. Whether I’m organizing a food drive, mentoring a foster youth, or caring for a patient, the mission remains the same: to build a world where no one is invisible, and everyone has access to the care and dignity they deserve.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My sense of purpose has always been rooted in one simple truth: I was made to serve others. This isn’t something I discovered overnight, it’s a conviction that has been shaped by every patient I’ve bathed, every child I’ve comforted, and every moment I’ve chosen to show up for someone at their most vulnerable. As a CNA, I learned that caregiving is sacred work. It taught me that dignity isn’t something people earn, it’s something they deserve, especially when illness or circumstance has stripped away their independence. That understanding deepened when I worked as a mental health professional for foster children. These were kids navigating a world that had already failed them in profound ways, and my role was to be a steady, safe presence in the chaos. I learned that healing doesn’t always look dramatic; sometimes it’s just sitting with someone in their pain without flinching. Now, as a nursing student, every clinical rotation reinforces what I’ve always known, this is where I belong. Nursing isn’t just my career goal; it’s the natural extension of a life built around showing up for people. Service isn’t what I do. It’s who I am, and it always has been.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ I’ll be sure to use this scholarship to achieve that goal.