Legacy, to me, is about creating a lasting impact that extends beyond my own lifetime, particularly in bridging the gap between healthcare and people of color. This understanding is deeply rooted in my personal history and aspirations, shaped by my upbringing as the child of a Colombian immigrant mother and a family dedicated to working in healthcare. My journey towards becoming a Physician Assistant specializing in gynecology was crystallized during a pivotal moment in my grandmother's hospitalization. As we sat in the sterile, bustling emergency room, I watched my abuela's face contort with pain and confusion. The rapid-fire English of the doctors might as well have been an alien language to her. In that moment, I became her voice, her advocate, her lifeline to understanding her own medical care. Translating complex medical jargon into simple Spanish, I witnessed firsthand how language barriers can create fear, mistrust, and potentially dangerous misunderstandings in healthcare settings. This experience illuminated the glaring gaps in our healthcare system for non-English speaking patients, particularly in sensitive areas like women's health. I realized that for many women of color, these barriers could mean the difference between receiving proper gynecological care and suffering in silence. This realization, coupled with my understanding of the historical and ongoing struggles of women of color in America concerning reproductive rights and healthcare, has reinforced my determination to become a physician assistant in gynecology. As a future PA, I aim to bridge these divides. I envision providing linguistically appropriate and culturally competent care to patients with limited English proficiency, ensuring they receive accurate information about their reproductive health. I want to be the healthcare provider I wish my grandmother had – someone who understands not just the medical aspects of care, but also the cultural nuances and lived experiences of my patients. My upbringing has taught me the value of perseverance, cultural understanding, and the power of education in effecting change. As a first-generation college student, I've experienced how higher education can broaden one's worldview and illuminate injustices. This exposure has deepened my awareness of the political and socioeconomic reforms necessary to bring about equity in healthcare. I plan to continue the positive aspects of my family's legacy in healthcare while breaking the cycle of disparities in women's health for future generations. This involves committing to antiracism, racial justice, and culturally responsive practices in my future career. I envision a healthcare system that is truly inclusive, where women of color receive the respect and care they deserve, and where language is never a barrier to quality gynecological care. [Here's a picture attached of my abuela and I.]

As a young child, I grappled with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), unaware of its destructive nature until my early twenties. My parents dismissed my recurring urges to touch objects a certain number of times or repeatedly check locked doors as "normal" childhood behaviors that I would eventually outgrow. These seemingly benign actions became unbearable during college, profoundly dictating my every step. The "phase" I was expected to outgrow intensified with age, alongside the demands of academics and athletics. Consumed by the irrational fear that something traumatic would occur if I walked a certain path to class, I compulsively sought out new routes every day. This exhausting fear drained my energy and heightened my anxiety, as the constant worry of being late loomed over me. My hyper-vigilance invaded my nights, keeping me awake until sunrise, with my mind racing relentlessly over uncertainties beyond my control. On the rare occasions when I managed to fall asleep, those precious hours offered no solace. Nightmares and sleep paralysis left me feeling imprisoned, as my mind and body were trapped in an inescapable void. The persistent headaches upon waking were stark reminders of the toll this strain took on my body. As a student-athlete, I understood the importance of sleep for both my academic and athletic performance. Yet, I struggled to stay awake during lectures, and the hours I should have dedicated to assignments were spent catching up on sleep after practice. This fatigue followed me onto the field, where my mind raced with thoughts of unfinished tasks, trapping me in an endless cycle of exhaustion and anxiety. Crumbling under the weight of distress, I broke down in my coach's office, overwhelmed by the relentless cycle of compulsions that seemed to have no end. It was then that my coach took the initiative to call the school's therapist office and schedule an appointment for me to seek professional guidance. In my sophomore year, I was diagnosed with OCD, which felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Coming from a Black and Hispanic household where mental health was often considered "taboo," identifying this so-called "phase" was liberating. It allowed me to break the silence surrounding mental health and challenge the notion that I would simply "grow out of it." Looking back at the scared girl who anxiously sat in my therapist's office, the space that once felt intimidating transformed into a sanctuary for healing and growth. I've learned that vulnerability is not a limitation but a profound source of connection and strength. My diagnosis was a turning point. It was not just a medical label but a gateway to understanding myself and the broader systemic challenges faced by minority communities regarding mental health. My broken silence symbolized a movement toward dismantling generational cycles of silence and misunderstanding. My experience with OCD has opened doors to my professional aspirations to become a physician assistant in psychiatry. This goal extends beyond personal achievement; it is about creating meaningful change in a field that needs diverse representation. By entering psychiatric healthcare, I aim to be part of dismantling systemic disparities that have long marginalized minority health experiences. Thank you to the Concrete Rose Scholarship for providing me with the opportunity to share my story and the chance to win a scholarship. This scholarship would profoundly impact my career goals by alleviating the financial burden associated with pursuing higher education and specialized training. Coming from a low-income background, affording textbooks and prerequisite classes for physician assistant school is challenging for my family. This scholarship wouldn't only support my journey, but also contribute to increasing diversity in the mental health workforce.

Thank you to the Elizabeth Schalk Memorial Foundation for providing me with the opportunity to share my story and the chance to win a scholarship. As a student from a low-income household, receiving this scholarship would alleviate the financial burdens associated with my education and empower me to continue pushing through my studies and personal development. As a young child, I grappled with obsessive-compulsive disorder, unaware of its destructive nature until my early twenties. My parents dismissed my recurring urges to touch objects a certain number of times or repeatedly check locked doors as "normal" childhood behaviors that I'd eventually outgrow. These seemingly benign behaviors became unbearable during college, profoundly dictating my every step. The "phase" I was expected to outgrow intensified with age, alongside the demands of academics and athletics. Consumed by the irrational fear that something traumatic would occur if I walked a certain path to class, I compulsively sought out new routes every day. This exhausting fear drained my energy and heightened my anxiety, as the constant worry of being late loomed over me. My hyper-vigilance invaded my nights, keeping me awake until sunrise. My mind raced relentlessly, meticulously ruminating over uncertainties beyond my control. On the rare occasions when I managed to fall asleep, even those precious few hours offered no solace. Nightmares and sleep paralysis left me with feelings of imprisonment, as my mind and body were trapped in an inescapable void. The persistent headaches when waking up were a stark reminder of the toll this strain took on my body. As a student-athlete, I understood the importance of sleep for both my academic and athletic performance. Yet, I struggled to stay awake during lectures, and the hours I should've dedicated to assignments were spent catching up on sleep after practice. This fatigue followed me onto the field where my mind raced with thoughts of unfinished tasks, trapping me in an endless cycle of exhaustion and anxiety. Crumbling under the weight of distress, I broke down in my coach's office, overwhelmed by the relentless cycle of compulsions that seemed to have no end. It wasn't until my coach took the initiative to call the school's therapist office and schedule an appointment for me that I began to seek professional guidance. In my sophomore year, I was diagnosed with OCD, which felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Coming from a Black and Hispanic household where mental health was described as "taboo," identifying this so-called "phase" was liberating. It allowed me to break the silence surrounding mental health and challenge the notion that I would simply "grow out of it." My diagnosis was a turning point. It wasn't just a medical label, but a gateway to understanding myself and broader systemic challenges. My broken silence symbolized a broader movement of breaking generational cycles of silence, shame, and misunderstanding around mental health in minority communities. Looking back a year ago at the scared girl who anxiously sat in my therapists office, the space that once felt intimidating has transformed into a safe space for healing and growth. I've realized vulnerability isn't a limitation, but a profound source of connection and prosperity. My experience with OCD has opened doors to my professional aspirations to become a physician assistant in the psychiatry field. This extends beyond my personal career achievements because it's about creating meaningful change in a field that needs diverse representation. By entering psychiatric healthcare, I aim to be a first step in dismantling the systemic disparities that have long marginalized minority health experiences and barriers that have long prevented meaningful support for our communities.

As a young child, I grappled with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), unaware of its true nature until my twenties. My parents dismissed my recurring urges to touch objects a certain number of times or repeatedly check locked doors as "normal" behaviors that I'd eventually outgrow. However, these seemingly benign behaviors became increasingly unbearable during college, profoundly dictating my every step. The "phase" I expected to outgrow only intensified with age, as the demands of academics and athletics increased. Consumed by an irrational fear that something bad would occur if I walked a certain path to class, I compulsively sought out new routes every day. This exhausting fear drained my energy and heightened my anxiety, as the constant worry of being late loomed over me. My hyper-vigilance invaded my nights, keeping me awake until dawn. My mind raced relentlessly, meticulously ruminating over uncertainties beyond my control. On the rare occasions when I managed to fall asleep, even those precious few hours offered no solace. Nightmares and sleep paralysis left me feeling imprisoned, my mind and body trapped in an inescapable void. The persistent headaches I experienced upon waking were a stark reminder of the toll this mental strain took on my body. As a student-athlete, I understood the importance of sleep for both my academic and athletic performance. Yet, I struggled to stay awake during lectures and labs. The hours that should've been dedicated to completing assignments were spent catching up on sleep after lacrosse practice. This fatigue followed me onto the field, where my mind raced with thoughts of unfinished tasks, trapping me in an endless cycle of exhaustion and anxiety. Crumbling under the weight of my distress, I broke down in front of my coaches, overwhelmed by the relentless cycle of compulsions that seemed to have no end. It wasn't until my coach took the initiative to call the school's therapist's office and schedule an appointment for me that I began to seek guidance. In my sophomore year, I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, which felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Coming from a Black and Hispanic household mental health was often dismissed, so identifying this so-called "phase" felt liberating to break the silence and challenge the notion that I would simply "grow out of it." Since my diagnosis, I've incorporated strategies to prioritize my mental health. My weekly therapy sessions have opened my eyes to the complexities of my mental health journey, allowing me to confront the underlying causes of my compulsions. Incorporating exercise and listening to music has been transformative for me, providing an outlet for stress and a soothing escape for my mind. Reading has also become a powerful coping mechanism. As a child, I always had a book in hand—whether in the car or at the dinner table. When I immerse myself in a book, I can momentarily escape my surroundings and find respite from racing thoughts. I gravitate toward books that focus on the mental health of Black women and lifestyle changes that can help with OCD, which provides the reassurance that I'm not alone. As I sit here typing this with a book beside me, I've learned that this is more than just a "phase." Living with OCD feels like navigating a never-ending story, but I have the power to rewrite it—word by word, page by page. While it's not an easy process, I want to show Black female student-athletes that it's okay to be selfish when prioritizing your mental health. I'm the only person who can truly rewrite my story, and I'm committed to making each chapter better than the last.