On Mothers Day in 2019, my world was turned upside down. My mother was involved in a severe car accident that left her in a vegetative coma. A state she has been in for seven years. I was only twelve years old. Overnight, I was forced to grow up and take the role of the parent. I had to navigate a level of grief and responsibility that should never have been placed on a child. To this day, I cannot look at my mother without crying. I know that my mom isn’t “really gone”;she is physically there, but can not hug me, talk to me, or tell me how proud she is of me. That is a feeling no young girl should have to go through. As I tried to cope with everything, my mental health deteriorated, but the adults and peers around me completely dismissed what I was going through. During a severe breakdown I vividly remember being told by the people who should have comforted me that they “Didn’t have time for me.” I recall my own father telling me that depression wasn’t real or claiming that my behavior from being depressed meant I didn’t love my mom. I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep, dreaming of having a mother to comfort me, while feeling invisible. The isolation became so suffocating that during the 2020 quarantine,I struggled with severe suicidal thoughts. I had no one to talk to, and because of that, I learned to lock my feelings away. A habit that makes communication difficult for me even today. These painful experiences are what have inspired me to enter the mental health field. I know firsthand what it feels like to have your feelings completely ignored and to live in an environment where mental health is not taken seriously. My ultimate career aspiration is to become a child and adolescent psychiatrist. I want to build a career dedicated to giving children a safe space to talk, one that I desperately needed and never received. In the field of suicide prevention, I believe I can make a profound difference by using my own lived experience to foster deep, authentic empathy. Despite what people believe, children and teenagers can easily detect when an adult really understands their pain versus just reading from a textbook. By being open about my journey, I can show struggling youth that they are not alone, that their pain is real, and valid. I want to show them that on the other side of that dark cloud is a rainbow. I want to be the clinician who listens without judgment, who believes children when they say they are hurting, and who helps them find their voice when they have a hard time using it.

Growing up in the Mississippi Delta, I learned early that life doesn’t slow down just because things get hard. My story isn’t unique where I’m from, but it’s mine, and it’s shaped me in ways I’m still figuring out. Before my mom’s car accident on Mother’s Day, she walked to work every single day. It didn’t matter if it was raining, cold, or too hot she went anyway. She’d come home exhausted, but we never went without what we needed. She didn’t complain. She just kept going. After the accident, everything changed. My mom is now in a vegetative state, and my dad doesn’t work because he is disabled. We rely on food stamps and government assistance, and some months are harder than others. I’ve experienced what it feels like to not know if there will be enough food. Now, I volunteer at the Salvation Army. When I’m sorting donations or helping families, I don’t see strangers, I see people who are trying, just like my mom did. That experience changed how I see everything. It’s not just volunteering to me. It’s personal. It shaped how I want to live my life, and my goals. Living in poverty in the Mississippi Delta comes with challenges people don’t always see. It’s hard to focus on school when basic needs aren’t met. It’s hard when the people around you didn’t have access to opportunities either, so they have no advise to give you. But those challenges forced me to grow up quickly. They taught me how to keep going, even when things feel uncertain and hard. I want to do better not just for myself, but for my community. I've seen people stuck in cycles they didn't create, and I don't want that to be my life. I want to better for myself, my family and my community, and education is my way forward, but I'm not leaving to forget where I come from. I want to come back and help the people who need it the most. The Mississippi Delta made me who I am. It taught me to work hard, to understand people, and to want something better for myself and the people around me. I don't know exactly what that's gonna look like yet, but I know I'm gonna try. The people in my community deserve better, and I want to be someone who helps make that happen. If my story can inspire even one person, then it's worth it.