When most people think of military service, they picture dramatic combat stories or moments of heroism on a battlefield. My father, Command Sergeant Major Jefferson Varner III, built a remarkable 30-year career in the United States Army — but the story that matters most to me isn’t about a single event. It’s about the standard he continues to set every single day. My dad retired as a Command Sergeant Major, the highest enlisted rank in a brigade. That title reflects decades of leadership, discipline, and earned trust. Soldiers followed him not just because of his rank, but because of his competence and integrity. He is, without question, the smartest man I know — not only intellectually, but strategically. He understands people, structure, and responsibility at a level that commands respect without ever demanding attention. Growing up, I didn’t hear exaggerated war stories or dramatic retellings of his service. Instead, I witnessed how his military foundation shaped our home. There was structure. There were expectations. There was accountability. If I committed to something, I was expected to follow through. If I started something, I was expected to finish it. Effort mattered. Character mattered more. At the time, those standards felt normal. Now I recognize they were rooted in decades of military leadership. One of the most powerful lessons my father has taught me is that leadership is not about volume — it is about consistency. He never had to raise his voice to command a room. His presence alone communicated discipline and steadiness. Despite the accolades attached to his name, he carries himself with humility. Intelligence, in his example, is paired with responsibility. Authority is paired with service. Even after retiring from active duty, his leadership did not stop. He continues to mentor, guide, and hold those around him — including me — to a higher standard. Watching him transition from military leadership into civilian life reinforced something important: service is not confined to a uniform. It is a mindset that influences every role you step into. That mindset has shaped how I approach my own goals. As I pursue higher education and work toward building a career rooted in leadership and service, I often reflect on the discipline I learned from him. When coursework feels overwhelming or responsibilities compete for my attention, I remember that perseverance is not optional — it is expected. When I am tempted to settle for “good enough,” I think about the excellence he modeled for over three decades. I may not have a single dramatic story that defines my experience as the daughter of a soldier. Instead, I have something more enduring — a living example of strength, integrity, and drive. My father’s military career did not just earn him rank; it built a foundation that continues to influence my ambition and the way I strive to impact others. His story is one of service. Mine is still being written — but it is built on the discipline, resilience, and leadership he demonstrated long before I understood what those words truly meant. And for that I am forever grateful.

One of the most pressing social issues in our communities today is the lack of equitable systems for individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities and the families who support them. While awareness around disability has grown, access, inclusion, and sustainable support structures still lag behind. I am actively working to address this gap through advocacy, leadership, and education. As a mother of a child who is nonverbal and on the autism spectrum, I have personally navigated therapy systems, educational planning, funding barriers, and community accessibility challenges. Through these experiences, I quickly realized that many families are overwhelmed not by a lack of love or effort, but by systems that are difficult to understand and even harder to access. What began as personal advocacy for my child evolved into a broader commitment to serve other families facing similar barriers. I currently serve as a Connect Group leader for the Autism Support of Alabama, where I help create supportive spaces for parents and caregivers. In this role, I facilitate conversations about early intervention, educational rights, emotional resilience, and resource navigation. Caregivers often feel isolated and unsure where to begin. By building community, sharing knowledge, and normalizing honest dialogue, I work to reduce stigma and empower families with practical tools and encouragement. I also plan to address this social issue through education. I am pursuing a degree in business with plans for graduate studies in Human Resource Management because I believe systemic change requires strategic leadership. Disability inclusion is not solely a medical or educational issue — it is a public service issue that affects employment, policy, and community development. My goal is to influence workplace practices so that individuals with disabilities have equitable access to meaningful employment and caregivers are supported through flexible and inclusive policies. Addressing disability inclusion is about more than compliance; it is about justice. When communities fail to build accessible systems, families bear the burden alone. I am committed to reshaping that reality by combining lived experience with academic preparation. Through leadership, education, and public service, I aim to build systems that reflect dignity, equity, and opportunity. Jeannine Schroeder worked to make the world more beautiful through service and advocacy. That is the kind of community I am committed to helping create — one where equity is intentional and opportunity is accessible to all. I strive to do the same by ensuring that individuals with disabilities and their families are not overlooked, but empowered to thrive within communities designed with them in mind.

There was a season in my life when everything felt heavy at once. I was balancing motherhood, higher education, financial pressure, and the emotional weight of raising a child with significant developmental needs. My daughter’s diagnosis brought clarity, but it also brought fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of whether I would be enough, and fear of navigating systems I didn’t fully understand. I remember one particular week when the challenges felt overwhelming. Therapy schedules were demanding. Financial strain was real. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I questioned whether continuing school was realistic. I questioned whether I could sustain the pace. And in the quiet moments after everyone was asleep, I questioned myself. It was in that season that my faith became more than something I professed, it became something I leaned on daily. Instead of trying to solve everything at once, I began to surrender what I could not control. I prayed for clarity, strength, and endurance. I reminded myself that God had entrusted my daughter to me for a reason, not by accident. I stopped viewing the obstacles as punishments and started seeing them as preparation. Faith shifted my perspective from “Why is this happening to me?” to “How is this shaping me?” There were days I opened my Bible before opening my textbooks. Days when I prayed in the car before walking into appointments. Days when I whispered scripture under my breath just to steady myself. My faith did not remove the challenges, but it gave me peace in the middle of them. Through that season, I learned that resilience is spiritual before it is practical. I continued my education even when it felt difficult. I advocated for my daughter even when systems felt intimidating. I showed up to therapy sessions informed and prepared. I learned the language of advocacy. I grew stronger in ways I did not anticipate. Faith also reminded me that my journey was not only about survival; it was about purpose. My daughter’s life has deepened my calling to serve families navigating intellectual and developmental disabilities. My pursuit of higher education is no longer just about career advancement; it is about influence. It is about positioning myself to help build systems that support families like mine. There are still challenging days. But now, when obstacles arise, I do not panic the way I once did. I pray first. I move with trust instead of fear. I have learned that faith is not passive, it is active. It requires obedience, discipline, and courage. Relying on my faith did not make the path easier, but it made me stronger. It taught me that God does not waste pain. He uses it to refine, redirect, and prepare us for greater impact. Because of that season, I am more grounded, more determined, and more committed to walking boldly in the purpose He has placed on my life.

My decision to pursue a career supporting the intellectual disability community was not born from a classroom lecture or a single moment of inspiration — it was born in my home, in the quiet and often unseen moments of motherhood. As the mother of a daughter with autism who is nonverbal and experiences significant developmental delays, I have witnessed firsthand how the world is not always designed with neurodivergent individuals in mind. I have sat in therapy sessions, learned the language of behavior analysis, navigated insurance barriers, celebrated communication breakthroughs, and endured overwhelming days that required strength I did not know I possessed. Through it all, one truth became clear: families navigating intellectual and developmental disabilities need leaders who understand both the emotional and systemic sides of support. My daughter has reshaped my entire worldview. She has taught me patience in a culture that demands speed. She has taught me to celebrate progress rather than perfection. She has shown me that intelligence is not defined by traditional academic standards, but by resilience, creativity, and the ability to experience joy in its purest form. Because of her, I no longer see disability through a deficit lens. I see potential that flourishes when given the right environment. Watching her grow within structured, supportive settings (particularly through ABA therapy and homeschooling) opened my eyes to how life-changing early intervention and consistent support can be. It also exposed me to the barriers families face: long waitlists, funding challenges, misinformation, burnout, and a lack of inclusive community systems. I realized that advocacy cannot stop at awareness. It must extend into leadership, policy, and sustainable change. This realization directly influenced my educational path. While I am pursuing a degree in business and preparing for graduate studies in Human Resource Management, my long-term vision is rooted in disability advocacy/services. I believe systemic change requires individuals who understand both compassion and structure — both heart and strategy. I want to help build organizations, programs, and workplace environments that prioritize inclusion, accessibility, and equitable opportunity for individuals with intellectual disabilities. Supporting the intellectual disability community, to me, means more than providing services. It means reshaping systems. It means advocating for inclusive hiring practices so that individuals with intellectual disabilities have access to meaningful employment. It means ensuring families are not navigating support systems alone. It means training leaders to value neurodiversity as an asset rather than an accommodation. My relationship with my daughter, Ariana, has also strengthened my resilience and purpose. Balancing motherhood, advocacy, and higher education has required discipline, sacrifice, and unwavering commitment. Yet every milestone she achieves reminds me why I continue. My academic goals are no longer solely about career advancement; they are about influence. They are about positioning myself to sit at tables where decisions are made and ensuring that the voices of families like mine are represented. I hope to make a difference by bridging the gap between compassion and infrastructure by using my education to create sustainable systems that support individuals with intellectual disabilities across education, employment, and community life. I want to contribute to policies that expand access, mentor families who are just beginning their journey, and lead initiatives that normalize inclusion in every space. My daughter’s life has not only inspired my career path; it has refined my purpose. She is the reason I believe advocacy must be proactive, not reactive. She is the reason I pursue leadership not for status, but for impact. And she is the reason I will continue working toward a future where individuals with intellectual disabilities are not merely accommodated, but seen and empowered

Sustainability must be a priority in business because business decisions shape nearly every aspect of daily life; from the products families use to the policies that govern workplaces. As a business management student preparing to pursue my MBA with a concentration in Human Resource Management, I believe sustainability is no longer optional. It is a leadership responsibility. For decades, organizations have measured success primarily through profit margins and growth metrics. However, long-term success requires a broader lens. Environmental sustainability impacts supply chains, employee health, operational costs, and even company reputation. In human resources specifically, sustainability intersects with workplace culture, talent attraction, and corporate responsibility. Today’s workforce increasingly values employers who demonstrate environmental accountability. Companies that ignore sustainability risk not only environmental harm but also talent loss and reputational damage. Through my business studies, I’ve learned that sustainable practices are not just ethically sound — they are strategically smart. Reducing waste, investing in energy-efficient operations, and implementing remote or hybrid work models can significantly lower a company’s carbon footprint while also reducing overhead costs. Sustainable supply chain management improves resilience against global disruptions. These are not abstract ideas; they are practical strategies that protect both the planet and organizational longevity. As a mother and community advocate, I view sustainability not just through a corporate lens but through a generational one. I am raising a child in a world facing climate uncertainty, resource depletion, and environmental health challenges. Business leaders play a critical role in shaping the environment those children will inherit. That reality strengthens my commitment to responsible leadership. In my future career in human resources and disability services, I plan to advocate for sustainable organizational policies that go beyond compliance. I envision implementing green workplace initiatives such as digital documentation systems to reduce paper waste, energy-conscious office practices, and employee engagement programs centered on environmental responsibility. I also hope to contribute to corporate social responsibility initiatives that invest in community sustainability projects, particularly in underserved areas. Additionally, HR leaders have influence over training and organizational culture. I want to integrate sustainability education into employee development programs so that environmental awareness becomes embedded in decision-making at every level of the organization. When employees understand how their daily actions contribute to a company’s environmental impact, sustainability shifts from a policy to a shared value. Long term, I aspire to hold a strategic leadership role where I can influence executive decision-making. At that level, sustainability must be integrated into performance metrics and strategic planning processes. Organizations should measure environmental impact alongside financial performance. When sustainability is treated as a core business objective rather than a marketing initiative, real progress becomes possible. Sustainability in business is about stewardship such as resources, communities, and future generations. As I continue my education and prepare for leadership, I am committed to championing sustainable practices that strengthen organizations while protecting the environment. By aligning profitability with responsibility, I believe business leaders can drive meaningful change that lasts far beyond quarterly reports. The Future Green Leaders Scholarship would support my academic journey and strengthen my ability to become a leader who understands that sustainable success is not just about growth — it is about leaving systems better than we found them.

The most meaningful relationship in my life is with my daughter. That may sound simple, but the way our relationship has shaped me is anything but ordinary. My daughter has autism, and parenting her has transformed how I understand connection not just as a mother, but as a human being navigating the world. When she was first diagnosed, I worried about communication. Would she be able to express her needs? Would others understand her? Would the world make space for her differences? I quickly realized that connection is not limited to spoken language. It is built through patience, observation, and intentional presence. With her, I had to slow down. I learned to notice the subtle cues like a shift in body language, a glance toward a preferred item, the early signs of sensory overload. I learned that connection sometimes means sitting quietly beside someone instead of filling the silence. It means celebrating small victories that others might overlook. It means meeting someone exactly where they are rather than expecting them to meet you halfway. That relationship rewired how I interact with everyone else. Before becoming her mother, I thought communication was about clarity and confidence. Now I understand it is about empathy and adaptability. When I meet new people whether in academic spaces, community groups, or professional environments, I always lead with listening first. I ask better questions. I pay attention to what is not being said. I have learned that many people, not just those with disabilities, are navigating internal struggles that aren’t immediately visible. My daughter has also taught me vulnerability. There were moments early on when I felt isolated and unsure how to explain our reality to others who did not understand developmental differences. Instead of withdrawing, I chose to speak openly about our journey. That decision unexpectedly deepened my connections. When you share honestly, you give others permission to do the same. As a result, my relationships are now rooted in authenticity rather than performance. This has influenced how I build community. I became involved in support networks for families navigating disability services, where I intentionally create spaces where people feel safe to ask questions and share fears without judgment. I understand how powerful it is to feel seen, because I remember what it felt like not to be. Connection, I have learned, is not about sameness. It is about respect. In a culture that often prioritizes speed, productivity, and surface-level interaction, my daughter reminds me daily that meaningful relationships require time and attention. She has strengthened my patience, expanded my compassion, and challenged me to view differences not as barriers, but as invitations to grow. Even outside of parenting, this mindset influences my long-term goals. I plan to work in behavioral health and disability services, where connection is foundational. Professional competence matters, but without relational understanding, care becomes transactional. My relationship with my daughter ensures that I approach future clients, families, and colleagues with humanity first. The truth is, she has shaped me more than I will ever shape her. Because of her, I am more observant. More patient. More courageous in difficult conversations. More intentional in my friendships and professional relationships. I understand that real connection requires presence, flexibility, and the willingness to learn from the person in front of you. The most meaningful relationship in my life did not just change how I love, it changed how I lead, how I listen, and how I build lasting connections in every space I enter.

My day does not begin with checking email or reviewing assignments. It begins with routines. Visual schedules. Therapy bags. Transition warnings. Preparing my daughter, who has autism, for a world that does not always understand her needs requires intention before the sun is fully up. As both a full-time student and the primary caregiver of a child on the autism spectrum, my life operates on structure, patience, and flexibility — often all at once. Caring for a child with autism has reshaped every part of who I am. There was a time when I thought caregiving meant simply attending appointments and following professional recommendations. I quickly learned it meant much more. It meant learning the language of behavioral therapy, sensory regulation, and communication development. It meant tracking progress in small but meaningful ways like a new functional word, improved eye contact, smoother transitions. It meant celebrating victories that others might overlook but that represent enormous growth for her. Autism has taught me to see the world differently. Caring for my daughter requires constant advocacy. I coordinate therapies, collaborate with providers, and ensure that her environment supports her sensory and communication needs. There are days filled with breakthroughs and days filled with meltdowns. Both require calm leadership. Both require emotional resilience. Balancing higher education while serving as her primary caregiver has required sacrifice. There are assignments completed after bedtime routines and study sessions that happen in therapy waiting rooms. Social opportunities are sometimes replaced with structured routines at home. Financial planning requires careful consideration, as therapies and specialized supports are ongoing needs. Yet these challenges have not discouraged me; they have strengthened my determination. Caring for a child with autism has sharpened my empathy. I understand what it feels like to navigate systems that can be complex and overwhelming. I know the uncertainty of long waitlists and the relief of finding professionals who truly understand neurodiversity. These lived experiences have shaped not only my character, but my career aspirations. My academic path is directly connected to my caregiving journey. I am pursuing higher education with the intention of working in behavioral health and disability services. I want to support families who are navigating similar diagnoses and ensure they feel informed rather than intimidated. I want to contribute to systems that value inclusion, accessibility, and dignity. Perhaps most importantly, autism has taught me resilience. It has taught me that progress is not linear and that comparison is unproductive. It has taught me to celebrate effort, to adapt quickly, and to remain steady in the face of uncertainty. These skills carry into my academic life; strengthening my time management, focus, and commitment to long-term goals. When I look at my daughter, I do not see limitation. I see intelligence expressed differently, strength developed uniquely, and potential unfolding at its own pace. Caring for her has expanded my capacity to lead with compassion and to pursue purpose with urgency. I am earning my degree not only for personal growth, but to build a future shaped by the empathy, resilience, and advocacy that autism has cultivated in me.

My “Pie in the Sky” dream is to build a space where families navigating autism and disability feel equipped instead of overwhelmed — and to become a voice that shifts how support systems show up for them. Saying that out loud still feels big. Almost too big. This dream was sparked the day I sat in a small evaluation room and heard the word autism connected to my child’s name. I walked in as a hopeful mother looking for clarity. I walked out holding a diagnosis, a stack of papers, and more questions than answers. What I needed most in that moment was not just information; it was guidance, reassurance, and someone who understood both the system and the heart behind it. Instead, I had to figure it out piece by piece. That season ignited something in me. What began as survival, researching late at night, learning terminology, navigating therapy systems, slowly transformed into purpose. I realized I didn’t just want to navigate these systems; I wanted to improve them. I wanted to create resources that speak plainly. I wanted to build community spaces where parents don’t feel intimidated. I wanted to combine professional training with lived experience. My dream is multi-layered. Professionally, I want to work in human resources and disability services, helping families access ethical, compassionate, evidence-based care. But beyond that, I want to build something bigger such as educational programs, digital resources, maybe even books that help parents during the waiting season after diagnosis. I want to bridge the gap between clinical language and everyday life. It feels just out of reach because it requires stepping fully into leadership. It requires finishing my degree with excellence. It requires advanced training and credentials. It requires financial sacrifice, long nights, and the humility to keep learning. It requires courage to speak publicly about hard things and to build platforms that amplify voices often overlooked. I have learned that big dreams are built in small, consistent steps. Right now, my steps look like continuing my education, leading community support groups, mentoring other women navigating similar journeys, and sharpening my communication skills so I can translate complex systems into accessible guidance. I am building credibility through study and building empathy through lived experience. Community is essential to this dream. I cannot and do not want to build it alone. I believe growth happens when women speak their goals out loud and allow others to hold them accountable. When we share our “too big” dreams, they begin to feel possible. My dream is not about recognition. It is about impact. It is about reducing fear in that evaluation room for the next mother. It is about ensuring families feel supported rather than isolated. It is about showing my daughter and other women watching that it is never too late to pivot, to grow, and to build something meaningful. My “Pie in the Sky” may feel bold, but it is rooted in service and I am willing to take the next courageous step toward it even if the whole staircase isn’t visible yet.

Some of my earliest memories of service came from watching my father put on his uniform. He is a veteran, and growing up, I didn’t fully understand the weight of that word. I just knew that service meant sacrifice. It meant long hours, discipline, quiet strength, and a willingness to protect something bigger than yourself. My father rarely spoke about recognition. He spoke about responsibility. He taught me that character is revealed in how you show up for others, especially when it costs you something. When I learned about Sgt. Albert Dono Ware’s life and sacrifice, I immediately thought of that same quiet courage. Service is not always visible, but its impact echoes long after the uniform is folded away. For me, service did not begin on a battlefield. It began in waiting rooms and therapy offices as I advocated for my child. Navigating developmental evaluations and behavioral health systems required a kind of bravery I had not anticipated. There were moments when I felt small in rooms filled with professionals and unfamiliar terminology. But I remembered the example set before me — that responsibility does not shrink when circumstances feel overwhelming. Instead of retreating, I leaned in. What started as advocacy for my family gradually became advocacy for others. I became involved in community support efforts, helping families access resources, understand processes, and feel less alone in complex systems. I listened to parents who felt unheard. I connected them with services. I shared what I had learned, not because I had all the answers, but because I understood the weight of navigating systems without guidance. Through this work, I began to see patterns that extend beyond individual experiences. Within the African diaspora in the United States, many families face layered challenges such as limited access to quality healthcare, gaps in educational resources, stigma surrounding mental health, and economic instability that complicates everything else. These challenges are not abstract statistics; they are lived realities. Service, sacrifice, and bravery take on new meaning in this context. Service means showing up consistently for communities that are often overlooked. Sacrifice means investing time, education, and emotional energy into work that may not always be easy or immediately rewarded. Bravery means speaking openly about inequities while also building solutions rooted in collaboration rather than division. One of the most pressing challenges facing the African diaspora today is trust. Generations of inequity have created understandable skepticism toward institutions meant to provide support. Rebuilding trust requires more than programs, it requires people who reflect the communities they serve and who approach their work with empathy and integrity. Education plays a critical role in this change. As I continue my academic journey, I do so with the intention of serving at the intersection of behavioral health, education, and community advocacy. I want to be part of strengthening systems from within ensuring that families receive not only services, but dignity. I want to help cultivate environments where children with special needs are not viewed through a deficit lens but are supported as individuals with potential. Community reform, in my view, begins locally. It begins with mentorship programs that guide young people toward opportunity. It begins with faith leaders and community organizers normalizing conversations about mental health and emotional wellness. It begins with parents feeling empowered rather than intimidated in educational settings. And it begins with professionals who listen before they prescribe solutions. The African diaspora has always demonstrated resilience. But resilience should not be the only strategy for survival. Communities deserve equitable opportunity, accessible support, and leaders who understand both the history and the hope of the people they serve. My father’s service taught me that bravery is not loud. It is steady. It is consistent. It is choosing responsibility even when no one is watching. Sgt. Albert Dono Ware’s life represents that same spirit of commitment. His legacy challenges me to ensure that my own path reflects courage rooted in purpose. Whether through education, advocacy, or community engagement, I am committed to serving in ways that strengthen the lives of others. Service is not confined to a uniform. It lives in daily decisions to show up, to advocate, to build, and to uplift. Inspired by the example of those who came before me, I intend to continue that legacy in the communities I serve.

The first time I realized how inaccessible our systems can be for individuals with special needs was not in a classroom; it was in a waiting room. I was sitting with my daughter, surrounded by intake paperwork, therapy referrals, and insurance authorizations, trying to decode language that felt clinical and overwhelming. What should have been a straightforward process of accessing support felt like navigating a maze. That experience opened my eyes to a truth many families quietly face: while advocacy has advanced the conversation around disability, access and equity still lag behind. I am a stay at home mom, undergrad student, homeschool teacher, and a community volunteer pursuing a career dedicated to improving services for individuals with special needs. My journey into this field began personally, but it has grown into a professional mission. Through my daughter’s therapy experiences and my leadership as a Connect Group Leader for Autism Support of Alabama, I have witnessed both the transformative power of effective intervention and the systemic gaps that prevent many families from receiving timely support. The special needs community needs more than awareness — it needs action. It needs trained professionals who are not only clinically competent but also compassionate and culturally responsive. It needs advocates who understand the realities families face: long waiting lists, funding barriers, inconsistent school resources, and limited rural access to services. These experiences have shaped my academic path and clarified my career goals. Through my studies, I am preparing to work directly with children and families in disability services. My goal is to combine evidence-based practice with family-centered care. I want to help design intervention plans that prioritize independence, dignity, and long-term skill development. Beyond direct service, I aspire to contribute to broader systems-level change by advocating for expanded funding, improved professional training, and stronger community partnerships. Social impact, to me, means creating sustainable change that outlives individual sessions or programs. I plan to contribute by supporting early intervention initiatives, particularly in underserved communities where access to specialized services is limited. Early support can dramatically alter developmental trajectories, yet many families wait months — sometimes years — for assistance. Reducing that gap is essential. Additionally, I hope to expand parent education and empowerment programs. Families often feel intimidated in clinical or educational settings. By offering clear communication, workshops, and accessible resources, I want to help caregivers feel confident and informed. When families understand their rights and options, advocacy becomes collaborative rather than adversarial. My lived experience has taught me that individuals with special needs do not need to be “fixed.” They need environments that recognize their strengths and accommodate their differences. Building those environments requires professionals who are resilient, informed, and willing to challenge outdated systems. Kathleen Lehman’s legacy reflects the importance of investing in those who choose this path. I am committed to entering this field not only as a practitioner, but as a changemaker. Through continued education, community leadership, and service, I plan to help build a future where accessibility is not an afterthought, but a foundation. The work ahead is significant — but so is the impact.

I did not return to school because it was convenient. I returned because staying the same felt impossible. In my thirties, I found myself at a crossroads. I was a mother navigating therapy appointments, developmental evaluations, and systems I had never anticipated needing to understand. My days were filled with advocating, researching, learning terminology, and sitting in rooms where professionals made decisions that shaped my child’s future. Somewhere in the middle of that journey, I realized something profound: I did not just want to navigate these systems; I wanted to help improve them. After becoming a stay at home mom, returning to school was not a spontaneous decision. It was layered with doubt, financial considerations, and the quiet fear that perhaps I was “too late.” Many of my peers had already established careers. I was starting over. But motherhood has a way of clarifying purpose. Watching my child grow, adapt, and work through challenges with determination forced me to confront my own hesitation. If I was teaching resilience at home, I had to model it. The courage to return came from necessity and conviction. I chose to pursue higher education as part of a career shift into HR and disability services. What began as personal advocacy evolved into professional ambition. I wanted to combine lived experience with academic knowledge. I wanted to sit at decision-making tables not only as a parent, but as a trained professional equipped to influence policy, therapy access, and family support systems. Balancing coursework with family life has required discipline and sacrifice. There are evenings when assignments are completed after bedtime routines and early mornings when I review material before the day begins. Returning to school later in life means juggling responsibilities that traditional students may not carry. It means understanding the weight of tuition payments and long-term financial planning. It means choosing growth even when comfort would be easier. Yet returning to school has also strengthened me. I approach learning with purpose. I ask deeper questions. I connect theory to real-world application immediately. My academic work is not abstract but personal and future-focused. Courage, I have learned, is not the absence of fear. It is the decision that something else matters more. For me, that “something else” is impact. I am not pursuing education simply for advancement; I am pursuing it to create change. I want to help families navigating diagnoses feel supported rather than overwhelmed. I want to contribute to ethical, evidence-based intervention practices. I want to advocate for equitable access to services, particularly in underserved communities. Returning to school in my thirties required stepping away from comfort and stepping toward calling. It required trusting that growth is not limited by age, and that reinvention is not a sign of failure but of courage. Susie Green reshaped her future with determination and grit. In my own way, I am doing the same. I returned to school because purpose demanded it — and because I believe that with resilience and conviction, it is never too late to build a life of meaningful impact.

When the government shuts down, most headlines focus on furloughed employees and delayed paychecks. What receives far less attention is the invisible psychological toll on individuals already living with mental illness and on the families working tirelessly to maintain stability in fragile systems. As a parent navigating behavioral health and therapy services for my child, I have experienced firsthand how even minor administrative delays can create overwhelming stress. Insurance approvals, service authorizations, and funding determinations often require precise timing. When systems stall, families are left in limbo. For individuals managing anxiety, depression, PTSD, bipolar disorder, or other mental health conditions, that uncertainty can be destabilizing. The impact of a government shutdown extends far beyond finances. Federally funded community mental health centers, disability benefit processing, housing assistance programs, Medicaid approvals, and research initiatives can face delays or reduced operations. For someone who depends on routine therapy sessions, medication coverage, or disability income, interruptions can disrupt carefully maintained treatment plans. Mental illness often requires consistency. Stability in appointments, medication access, and structured support can mean the difference between progress and crisis. When shutdowns introduce uncertainty, anxiety increases. Missed appointments or delayed prescriptions may trigger symptom escalation. The stress of not knowing whether services will continue can intensify depression, panic disorders, or trauma-related symptoms. Although shutdowns are typically temporary political events, their consequences can create long-term effects. Research shows that service interruptions increase the likelihood of emergency room visits and psychiatric hospitalizations, which ultimately raise long-term healthcare costs. Additionally, individuals who experience instability in public systems may lose trust and disengage from seeking help altogether. Rebuilding that trust can take far longer than reopening government offices. The effects also extend beyond the individual. Caregivers absorb the strain of navigating delayed funding, confusing communication, and uncertain timelines. Heightened household stress can worsen symptoms for those already vulnerable. Mental health does not exist in isolation; it is deeply influenced by environmental stability. Addressing these impacts requires intentional policy solutions. First, essential mental health services should be legally protected from interruption during government shutdowns. Behavioral health clinics, crisis hotlines, medication assistance programs, and disability benefit processing should operate under mandatory continuity provisions similar to emergency medical services. Second, states should establish emergency behavioral health contingency funds to prevent therapy disruptions during federal funding pauses. Public-private partnerships with nonprofit mental health organizations could provide temporary bridge funding when necessary. Third, telehealth infrastructure should be maintained independently of federal shutdown cycles. Virtual therapy access can preserve continuity of care and reduce crisis risk during periods of instability. Finally, transparent communication must be prioritized. Clear updates about which services remain operational can reduce panic and prevent misinformation. For individuals managing anxiety disorders, uncertainty itself can be triggering. Reliable communication can serve as a preventive mental health intervention. The impact of a government shutdown on those living with mental illness is not solely financial, nor is it purely short term. It affects stability, trust, and health outcomes. Protecting behavioral health services during periods of federal disruption is not just a political decision; it is a public health responsibility. Stability supports recovery. When we protect access to care, we protect lives.

The first time I struggled to use my voice was during my daughter’s autism evaluation. I remember sitting in a small, quiet room while professionals observed her behaviors, asked questions, and took notes that felt heavier than they should have. I had walked in as a hopeful mother looking for answers. I walked out carrying a diagnosis that would change our lives. When the evaluator began explaining the results, I felt frozen. Words like “developmental delays,” “adaptive deficits,” and “severity level” filled the air. I nodded politely, but internally I was overwhelmed. I had questions — so many questions — but I was afraid to ask them. I did not want to seem defensive. I did not want to appear emotional. I did not want to look like a mother in denial. So for a few minutes, I stayed quiet. But as the conversation continued, I realized something important: this report would shape my daughter’s access to therapy, services, and support. If I did not understand, I could not advocate. If I did not ask, I would leave with confusion instead of clarity. My voice was not steady when I finally spoke. I asked the evaluator to slow down. I asked what each recommendation meant in practical terms. I asked how we could begin services quickly and what early intervention would realistically look like. The more I asked, the more confident I became. The evaluator’s tone shifted from clinical explanation to collaborative planning. That moment reshaped me. I learned that using your voice is not about having all the knowledge in the room — it is about being willing to seek it. I learned that professionals expect and respect informed questions. Most importantly, I learned that silence does not protect you; clarity does. That evaluation was the beginning of my advocacy journey. Since then, I have continued to use my voice — sometimes boldly, sometimes nervously — to ensure my daughter receives appropriate therapy and support. I have also stepped into leadership as a Connect Group Leader for Autism Support of Alabama, where I help other parents navigate similar conversations. Many families walk into evaluations feeling intimidated and unsure of what to ask. I share my experience openly, reminding them that their questions matter and that their lived experience carries value. Through this journey, I have learned that communication requires both courage and compassion. It means asking hard questions while remaining open to guidance. It means balancing emotion with evidence. It means understanding that advocacy is not confrontation — it is collaboration. In the future, I hope to use my voice professionally within disability services, helping families feel informed rather than overwhelmed during the early stages of diagnosis. I want to create spaces where parents do not feel small in clinical settings, and where children with special needs are supported with both expertise and dignity. The day I found my voice in that evaluation room was the day I realized confidence is not something you wait for. It is something you build the moment you choose to speak.

The day I first heard the word autism connected to my daughter’s name, I felt both fear and clarity at the same time. Fear of the unknown but clarity that my life was about to take on a deeper purpose. That moment did not just shape my daughter’s journey. It shaped mine. I am a mother, undergrad student, homeschool teacher, and a Connect Group Leader for Autism Support of Alabama. My path into serving individuals with special needs did not begin as a career decision. It began as a parent learning how to navigate therapy appointments, insurance approvals, waitlists, and the emotional weight that comes with a diagnosis. Along the way, I encountered professionals such as speech therapists, occupational therapists, and ABA therapists who profoundly impacted my daughter’s quality of life. They did more than teach skills; they built confidence, independence, and dignity. Watching their work inspired me to pursue this field professionally. Today, I am continuing my education with the goal of working directly with children and families affected by autism and developmental disabilities. In addition to my studies, I serve as a Connect Group Leader for Autism Support of Alabama, where I support families who are navigating similar journeys. In this role, I facilitate discussions, share resources, encourage parents during difficult seasons, and help create a space where families feel seen and understood. I have learned that sometimes the most powerful form of support is simply reminding a parent that they are not alone. Through my leadership and lived experience, I have learned that progress in the special needs community is rarely linear. Growth may come in small but meaningful victories — a new word spoken, a successful transition, or a moment of connection. I have learned the importance of patience, collaboration, and evidence-based intervention. I have also learned that advocacy matters. Families need professionals who listen, who educate ethically, and who see ability before limitation. My goal is to continue my graduate education and work in disability services, where I can combine clinical knowledge with compassionate care. I want to help families access early intervention services, reduce barriers to support, and feel empowered rather than overwhelmed. I also hope to expand community education initiatives so that individuals with special needs are not only accommodated but truly included. Financially, pursuing advanced education while supporting a family requires careful planning and sacrifice. As a student and parent, I balance coursework, leadership responsibilities, and home life daily. Scholarships like this one make it possible for me to continue preparing for a career dedicated to serving others without placing additional strain on my family. Wesley Beck’s life is a reminder that individuals with special needs leave a lasting impact on the world around them. I am committed to honoring that legacy by dedicating my career to strengthening the physical, emotional, and intellectual quality of life for the families and individuals I serve. My journey began as a mother but it has grown into a mission.

The journey that led me to advocate for individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is deeply personal. My daughter’s autism diagnosis reshaped my world and set me on a path of learning, understanding, and unwavering advocacy. As a parent, I quickly realized that navigating life with an autistic child meant facing barriers that many others never have to consider—accessing quality therapies, securing educational accommodations, and finding inclusive spaces where she could thrive. More than anything, it meant becoming her voice in a world that often does not fully understand neurodiversity. At first, my advocacy was focused on my daughter alone. I immersed myself in research, sought out the best therapies, and learned how to fight for the resources she needed. But as I connected with other parents facing similar challenges, I realized that my voice could be used to help more than just my own child. I saw families struggling to access early intervention services, parents overwhelmed by the complex systems of support, and children who weren’t receiving the accommodations they needed to succeed. It was then that I knew I had to do more. I became a Connect Group leader for the Autism Support of Alabama, a non profit organization where I support and guide other parents who are navigating the world of autism. Through this role, I provide resources, encouragement, and a safe space for parents to share their experiences. Advocacy is not just about raising awareness—it is about action. I work to ensure families know their rights, understand the services available to them, and feel empowered to advocate for their children. Beyond direct advocacy, I also focus on fostering inclusivity and acceptance in the broader community. Society often misunderstands autism, focusing only on its challenges rather than recognizing the unique strengths and potential of autistic individuals. I strive to change this narrative by promoting autism acceptance, educating others, and encouraging inclusive environments where autistic individuals are valued for who they are. Looking ahead, I plan to expand my advocacy efforts by working more directly with organizations that support autistic individuals and their families. I want to contribute to policy changes that improve access to early intervention, therapy services, and inclusive education. Additionally, I hope to work with schools and community programs to create spaces where autistic individuals can flourish without barriers. Eventually, I plan to transition from advocacy into a professional role that allows me to make an even greater impact. My goal is to work in the disability services field, ensuring that individuals with autism and other developmental disabilities receive the support they need to reach their full potential. This scholarship would not only help me continue my work as an advocate but also allow me to further my education and take my efforts to the next level. Being the parent of an autistic child has been a transformative experience. It has given me a purpose far greater than myself. I am committed to ensuring that every individual with autism has the opportunity to thrive, and I will continue to be a voice for those who need it the most.

The Basic Principle my parents taught me is that if I demand honesty from others, I first need to be honest with myself and the people around me. My true character shines through my values and actions, as well as the smiles of others I've encountered along the journey. Honesty has enabled me to envision a future founded on my history without having to keep the repeat button pressed. Only people who benefit from their mistakes will not be bound to repeat them. And I hope I never go back to pointing fingers because I needed a scapegoat to relieve my paranoia. Personal responsibility is defined by honesty. And as a human being, I am liable for the future I shape, because even a single individual may affect the world, just as a solitary seed releases the existence of a tree, which can foster or even restrict the growth of other seedlings through excessive shade. When I look in the mirror, I see myself. Each of us is a seed with potential, and together we can select what sort of trees we would become. Whatever negative circumstances you are now experiencing, each one has a purpose. It's tough for most of us to comprehend that a child's death or being given a cancer diagnosis is a blessing. I'm speaking from personal experience. I was sexually abused when I was eight years old. It took some time for me to see it as an educational moment. The way you approach hardship can either set you free from grief, confusion, guilt, and dread, or it will negatively impact every element of your life. You will be at a fork in the path after an unfortunate tragedy. You may either look at it as a gift or let your past rule the remainder of your life. When you're in an emotional condition, it's critical to encircle yourself with individuals who are encouraging and supporting. Humans conform to their surroundings. Conformity is defined as a behavioral change caused by another individual or a group of people. When faced with difficulty, it is critical to surround oneself with individuals who embrace your flaws, blunders, and defects. Doing everything can be difficult; however, if you have a supporting team behind you, it is much simpler to embrace yourself. My dream career is to be a human resource manager who specifically deals with making sure inclusion and diversity is throughout the workplace. I feel like lack of diversity, equity, and inclusion is a real world problem. While many organizations have increased their emphasis on diversification, equality, and inclusion in recent years, there is still substantial opportunity for improvement. Hiring people from various backgrounds and pushing diversity programs are just the beginning. Equality, diversity, and inclusion all go hand in hand, and in order to see true organizational change, businesses must create a truly accessible work culture. This entails extending activities beyond the employment process and offering equal opportunity and respect at all points of contact with employees. While inclusion, diversity, and equity are at danger during a crisis or downturn, businesses must realize the critical role they play in future betterment, resilience, and overall success. Effective techniques such as mixing up your teams, being aware of unconscious bias, communicating the importance of managing bias, pay equality, acknowledge holidays of all cultures, etc. will improve employee support, foster culture, and foster a thriving organization. Staff will be more engaged if they arrive at work each day, whether it be in person or online, feeling secure, connected, and heard.

One of the distinctive aspects of nature is whether it draws us into sensory awareness vs being tangled up in our thinking. Whenever your senses are attracted by the elegance and wonder of a natural scene, all the clutter of intellectual chatter that ordinarily clutters our attention slows down. Consider that having a tranquil mind based in the senses represents a significant leap in perception from how most contemporary individuals spend their time. This happens to anyone who takes adequate time outdoors nature with the purpose of expanding their perspective of life. Personally, I think this is among the best approaches to acquire a flood of new ideas. I may begin feeling worried or uncertain, but as I roam and sit in silence in beautiful areas, I begin to feel better, which clears my thoughts and allows me to discover new opportunities that I had not previously considered. I adore how we have an endless supply of wisdom, inspiration, and creativity right at my fingertips. As I started to invest additional time outdoors, I realized that, aside from the obvious professional and personal benefits, being around by natural things simply makes me happy. Nature seems to be less about me attempting to improve myself and more about simply appreciating how much I adore songbirds, forests, flowers, sunlight, puffy clouds, mountains, and meadows. When you give it a chance, I think you'll feel the same way I do about nature as well.

Generosity - the attribute of being kind and sympathetic, as well as the readiness to give others valuable goods — is frequently described as the act of selflessness. Generosity is a gift that actually keeps on giving. Every day, we are presented with thousands of chances to be kind; by making generosity a lifestyle, we can do a world of good for ourselves and others. We feel much better about ourselves when we are generous. Generosity is a natural boost of confidence as well as a natural repellent of self-hatred. We establish a more outward attitude toward the world by concentrating on what we give rather than what we receive, which changes our attention away from ourselves. While it is necessary to retain a high degree of self and sensitivity to oneself, we all too frequently look at ourselves through a negative lens. When we are generous, we may give items or money away or put others ahead of ourselves. But there is much more to charity than money and possessions. We demonstrate generosity of spirit when we are forgiving, modest, and gentle to others. Giving others respect and assistance demonstrates generosity. The world would undoubtedly be a brighter place if we were much more giving than we are now.

Being a military brat means being exposed to cultures and so many different places that most people would never see or experience. This exposure to other cultures and people instills in military children a greater awareness for variety and encourages open-mindedness. Meeting new people, going to other parts of the world, beginning a new lifestyle and journey, and being able to assist your parents and attend their promotions are all fantastic aspects of being a military child. These are the pinnacles of my upbringing as a military kid. I'm grateful for how military life sculpted, molded, and formed me into the person I am today. I was a timid, quiet youngster from the start. Although my siblings were gregarious, I struggled with social anxiety when we moved to new places. However, as I grew older, I saw myself becoming bolder with every new address. I had grown accustomed to the environment I was raised into, and it instilled in me the confidence that I could undertake tough things, even if they worried me. This attribute has remained with me throughout my adulthood—even when change occurs, I know I can handle it gracefully. Those are the moments I cherish the absolute most that helped shaped the woman I am today.  Being a military child means spending a lot of time with other military families, especially if you reside on base. Now that I'm an adult, I recognize how unusual and unique this is. Many military children are socially savvy as a result of frequent travels and exposure to other cultures. This benefits them throughout all stages of their lives, but notably when it comes down to work possibilities and performance. While many people regard members of the military as remote members of our Military Forces, I viewed them as individuals. I viewed them for what they were: average men and women infused with bravery and a sense of responsibility, not superheroes. Life on base is a unique experience. Considering the fact that it is only  temporary and individuals arrive and go, there will always be a sense of belonging—of being part of a bigger military family. Other families came forward to help even though my father was deployed. When other families' needs were met, we did the same. Let's also not overlook how our parents are living heroes who fight for our liberty and our country. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have my father as a hero, as well as the role he performs in safeguarding our freedoms and privileges.

A happy life necessitates good mental health. It influences our feelings, thoughts, and behaviors by embracing our psychological, physical, and sociological well-being. Of course, prioritizing mental wellness is crucial. There are frightening statistics to illustrate that mental health is a major concern in the United States. Unfortunately, there is also a notable stigma associated to anything mental health related, which is why it is critical that we recognize improved mental health tasks and resources to remove the challenges that have been erected that prevent us from acknowledging mental performance in a positive, constructive way. You should give yourself time to check in with yourself and assess your mental wellbeing on a frequent basis so that you can adequately address your requirements. My mental state is much more vital than ever; it affects all aspect of our life. Everything that we do, feel, or say is influenced by our mental health. Sustaining positive mental health and managing any mental health disorders are critical for me in order to stabilize constructive actions, emotions, and thoughts. Concentrating on mental care has increased my productivity, improved my self-image, and strengthened my relationships. Having those difficult conversations and acknowledging there is an issue means we can find a solution. We can begin to dispel the shame and anxiety that are frequently linked with mental health issues. This increases the possibility of someone seeking out for help when they need it, which is a sign of confidence. Working together helps us to provide the groundwork for a foundation that recognizes and values the value of healthy mental health. One of the most convincing arguments for its importance is the connection among mental health and relationships. Mental illness may affect how we connect with our family and friends. Passive-aggressiveness, antagonism, and an inability to contribute to the community are all common symptoms of mental diseases. This may lead to disagreements with our relatives and friends. For no apparent reason, mental disorder has the capacity to force us to destroy our loved ones. Self-care and, if necessary, medicines for mental health can result in healthier existence while also sustaining our relationships. Another advantage of concentrating on mental health awareness is that it might raise awareness of specific illnesses' signs and symptoms. A diseased mind might drive us to lose pleasure in the activities we previously enjoyed. It can cause highs and lows and overburden us to the point where we are unable to do even the most basic activities. Undiagnosed mental health is frequently associated with emotions of hopelessness, melancholy, worthlessness, shame, stress, fear, and a seeming lack of control. It is critical to recognize these signs and get mental health advice from a qualified practitioner now before it's too late. Early intervention predicts the success of mental health treatment for many illnesses. The sooner someone can be diagnosed and receives therapy, the better their chances of recovery. We can improve support services for those dealing with mental diseases if we aggressively promote the importance of mental health awareness. It has the ability to create a more compassionate and caring global society, increasing the odds of survival in cases of mental illness. Understanding about mental illnesses and educating others about it can help us effect needed changes and heal the earth – an individual at a time!

Among the many functions performed by the human resource department of a successful company is the monitoring of the progress of other personnel management tasks. Studying human resources will provide me with the most secure path to pursuing it as a profession. As a matter of fact, obtaining a qualification in human resource management will not only help me climb the corporate ladder, but there are numerous other advantages to studying human resource management. When you study human resources, you open yourself up to a variety of opportunities at a variety of firms. Effectively managing various individuals in a corporate context is a critical component of achieving good performance, and this is one of the many characteristics of a human resource that can be applied in any industry. The subject matter you study will prepare me for a wide range of career paths and professional positions in human resource management and related fields. Administration, communication, multitasking, reporting, and presentations are some of the additional managerial abilities I will master that will be valuable in my day-to-day tasks. Interacting with new people on a daily basis is an important part of the job of a human resource officer, and thus understanding how people react to one another will be vital to your success in this field. The management of personnel affairs will become second nature as I gain business and real-world experience. From the hiring process to dispute resolution, I will become an expert in the field. Human resource specialists have a unique perspective on the companies for which they work. What distinguishes them from the competition is not only their in-depth awareness of an organization's aims and issues, but also their capacity to impact the future of the firm through their personnel selections. I intend to use my human resources degree in the hopes of motivating employees to perform at the maximum level possible and maintaining a high morale culture inside the firm. One of the most important ways that human resources provides value to a company is by persuading corporate executives to invest in training and development, as well as in rewarding outstanding performance with improved remuneration and regular promotions. This includes creating effective job designs and hiring the most qualified workers to fill those positions. This includes implementing effective interviewing and screening processes, preparing for orientation and training, creating effective employee evaluation tools, and developing motivating remuneration schemes that take use of all that your company has to offer.

I don't think of mental health as a vague idea. When I was in high school, a busy and very successful family member of mine had a major depressive episode. While my family tried to figure out what was going on, everything stopped. We had never even thought about mental health, let alone talked about it. I didn't know when I was a teen that mental illness is the same as a physical illness. We don't judge someone for being sick, so why do we when it comes to their mental health? I've learned that most people with depression keep it to themselves, even from themselves, and forget that it affects everyone around them. It would be an understatement to say that dealing with COVID-19 at work is stressful, especially if you work from home. There are many other things that can add to this stress, such as caring for children or elderly people, worrying about money, having health problems, and so on. If you're lucky, you might have a few trusted friends with whom you can talk about your feelings. However, most people don't think that bringing their feelings to work is the best way to get ahead. I'm always looking for ways to relate, connect, and make talking about mental health more normal, and it starts with me. If you ask me how I'm doing, I'll be honest: It's been hard to deal with the pandemic. I always hear a low-level hum of bad things going on in the background. I don't tell you this to make myself feel good; I tell you this to offer a lifeline, start a conversation, and connect with you. One that can save the day or even the life of someone. I do this by telling the people I care about that IT IS OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY. It improves not only health but also connection and staying power. People can do their best when they are at their best. By taking a more open, vulnerable, and caring approach to mental health and wellness, we can increase productivity, engagement, and retention. It also makes us better people.

Some of the challenges I have had to overcome throughout my life due to the color of my skin would have to be lack of diversity and/or inclusion. Diversity can be described as the "existence of difference in a specific circumstance," which is a straightforward definition. It depicts the portrayal of individual differences as well as the constellations of those diverse intersecting differences. Race, gender, sexual orientation, socioeconomic class, ability, and religion are just a few of the disparities that are frequently brought up in conversation. As well as representing social and group distinctions, diversity represents the representation of factors such as cultural capital, positional power, and privilege. What constitutes a difference is constantly growing and expanding in significance. It is necessary to undertake long-term efforts to recognize, engage with, and appreciate the differences that exist today and will exist in the future among the people who make up our communities. In its most fundamental application, variety is essentially a matter of makeup. This means that if you were to catalog or conduct a census of the participants in your program, you would discover a diverse range of different backgrounds and experiences represented. A number of critics, however, believe that this compositional approach to diversity is still an unfinished notion. It is true that there is representation; nevertheless, representation does not imply transformation or a sense of community. Inclusion is a process of constant engagement with differences (our individual and group differences). This interaction should have the explicit purpose of gaining a better understanding of how power works, as well as an acknowledgment of the positionality that exists amongst people of different backgrounds. Diversity has ramifications for the individual as well as for groups, institutions, and systems in terms of their historical, present, and future implications. An authentic environment that is accepting and committed to difference can be created through the conscious celebration of diversity, which includes the act of creating and honoring the space that both individuals and groups maintain.   Putting an emphasis on inclusion means going beyond simply recruiting for diverse populations or participants and instead rethinking systems in terms of how they interact with people who have marginalized identities, as well as how they practice and overcome barriers that both increase and decrease retention of people with marginalized identities. Inclusion is more than just a desire for or observation of variety; it is a pledge to remodel the community, the climate, and the physical environment into one that fosters constant transformation.

Don't doubt their abilities or abilities. For the first time, or after a long absence from college, it is necessary to take a leap of faith and enroll in college courses. You may help raise your loved one's confidence in their capacity to achieve as a student by expressing your belief and support. Do all you can to help out. Encourage others in person, by text, email, or even social media! Encouragement is contagious. "You can do it!" or "I'm so proud of you," or "Thanks for working so hard!" may sound insignificant, but if you encourage your loved one on frequently and with feeling, they will have no questions about your want to see them succeed. Make a big deal out of important anniversaries. Congratulations to your loved one on completing another semester of school! Give a hug, a high-five, or a cupcake to someone who has done well on a test. Become a part of it. Seeing your loved one move closer and closer to a college diploma should be a reason for happiness. Be motivated. In the face of obstacles, problems, or uncertainties, it is uplifting to witness someone you care about succeed in accomplishing a goal. It's not easy to go back to school, but it's just for a short time. A college degree lasts a lifetime. "Enjoy" the little victories. Is a Facebook acquaintance returning to school? Pay close attention to what's been posted on their timeline. A note of encouragement should be sent to everyone who mentions studying for an exam. The smallest of academic accomplishments, such as turning in a paper on time, to the largest, such as earning credit transfer, should be celebrated. Show your interest and concern for their well-being. Make sure to keep an eye on the young ones. You owe it to the people you care about, whether they're your significant other, your best friend, your brother or sister, or even your child, to be there often to assist out with the kids. The amount of work an adult learner can accomplish in just four hours of kid-free time on a Saturday morning may surprise you. Finally, pay attention. Your loved one may have days where they believe that obtaining a college degree is impossible. Listening may be all that matters on those days.