From an early age, instilled within me was the belief that anything is possible, and that limitations are illusions. This was prefaced by the reality that setbacks and disappointments aren’t failures -- they are simply part of the journey. Every “no” is a stepping-stone closer to a “yes”. Thanks to my father's insight, in knowing that motor skills develop before verbal ones - At eight months old, I was taught to express myself through sign language before I could speak. He wanted me to feel empowered in my ability to express myself. That early investment in my voice was the foundation for unlocking my Marvel Hero potential. It was clear to me that I mattered, my voice mattered, and my dreams had no ceiling. At age 11, I found inspiration in the heroic medical professionals of Grey’s Anatomy. I was completely fascinated by each medical case and the doctors' efforts to save their patients. My childhood whimsy of resuscitating stuffed animals like the patients on television turned into a serious, purpose-driven ambition: a career in research and/or medicine. Fast forward, the COVID-19 pandemic deepened my passion for medicine, as it exposed the fragility of our health system and highlighted the glaring inequities within it. The pandemic revealed how easily communities of color were disproportionately impacted by health disparities. I was shocked to learn that African Americans, especially Black women, face not only poorer health outcomes but also bias within the medical community. For instance, a study in the American Journal of Emergency Medicine revealed that African Americans are 40% less likely to be prescribed pain medication than other groups, even though they are more likely to suffer from chronic pain. These inequities are not just statistics—they represent real lives, and they are unacceptable. We’re not just born—we’re built, shaped, and sometimes even reshaped by the world around us. While reading Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome by Dr. Joy DeGruy, I was introduced to the theory that trauma—especially racism and systemic oppression—can leave biochemical marks on our DNA, passed down through generations. That idea lit a fire in me, because for the first time, I could see a bridge between the struggles my community has faced and the science that explains why those struggles don't simply disappear over time." "Imagine your DNA like a coloring book. The outlines—the genes—are already drawn. But how each page is colored? That’s shaped by the world around you. Your environment, your experiences, your emotions—they're the crayons. They highlight certain traits, they shade others, and sometimes they even leave parts untouched. And it’s not just about us. How one generation colors their story can leave marks on the next. Epigenetics shows that trauma, stress, healing, and resilience don’t just change individuals—they can actually influence how genes are expressed across generations. As a biochemistry major, this discovery changed everything for me. I realized that chronic stress in Black communities—from racism, economic hardship, and even maternal stress during pregnancy—could physically impact health for generations. But I was also inspired by research showing that mindfulness, nutrition, and targeted interventions could actually reverse some of those effects. For the first time, science didn’t feel distant—it felt personal. It wasn’t just data and graphs anymore. It was a biological echo of generational trauma, and a blueprint for hope. Learning about epigenetics doesn’t just motivate me academically. It fuels my dream of becoming a scientist who empowers underrepresented communities—using compassion, research, and innovation to rewrite the story for generations to come. We aren’t locked into the pages we inherit. We have the power to color a brighter, bolder story.

Weekly I sit in the back of a small dimly lit corner of a modest campus office, where the scent of metal and cardboard lingers in the air. Surrounded by shelves stacked with an assortment of canned goods – soup, beans, vegetables – alongside piles of pasta, rice and toiletries. These items are a lifeline for students who walk through the door of my university food pantry. Every person who enters with a quiet sense of urgency, seeking basic sustenance. Food insecurity is not a new concept to most; I have personally dedicated countless hours volunteering with the Atlanta Food Bank, preparing meals for individuals and families in the community who were struggling with hunger. However, food insecurity isn’t something most people associate with college students. Many students on campus, especially from marginalized backgrounds, struggle not just to afford tuition but also basic necessities like food. As I watched students walk into the pantry, some hesitating at the door, eyes lowered in embarrassment as they silently sought help, a deeper realization began to settle in. It wasn’t just hunger I was witnessing—it was the toll that food insecurity took on their entire well-being a barrier that prevents students from fully thriving. I could see the weight of stress etched into their faces as they carefully selected what they needed. The stress was not just from hunger, but because from trying to survive, often in silence, without others knowing the struggle they faced. The statistics are alarming: according to a 2023 report from the National Postsecondary Student Aid Study found that 23% of undergraduate students and 12% of graduate students experienced food insecurity, affecting over 4 million students nationwide. The issue further compounds and disproportionately affects students from marginalized backgrounds—those facing the challenges of financial instability, limited resources, and systemic inequities. The more I witnessed while volunteering in the food pantry, the more I knew I wanted to do something more than just man the store. I wanted to find a way to actively help raise awareness and provide resources to my peers who were struggling. That’s when I heard about the JCS Project, an organization that partners with students to deliver care packages filled with food, toiletries, and other essentials to help students in need. The mission behind the JCS Project resonated deeply with me, and I knew this was the perfect opportunity to make a bigger impact. The JCS Project has been working primarily with historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs) to combat food insecurity and offer essential support to students. Through this partnership, I aimed to fundraise enough money to provide care packages and other essentials to students who were facing hunger or financial instability. The JCS Project’s emphasis on building a community of care really struck a chord with me. Their work goes beyond providing food; it’s about making sure students feel supported. Students who worry about where their next meal is coming from are not just hungry; they’re exhausted, stressed, and distracted, unable to fully focus on their studies or succeed academically. I learned that food insecurity is linked to lower GPA scores, higher dropout rates, and increased mental health struggles. I’m proud to be part of a movement that helps ensure all students, regardless of their background, have the resources they need to thrive—not just survive—through their academic journey. It’s a reminder that, no matter where we come from, we all deserve the chance to succeed.

At age 11, I found inspiration in the heroic medical professionals of Grey’s Anatomy. I was completely fascinated by each medical case and the doctors' efforts to save their patients. My childhood whimsy of resuscitating stuffed animals like the patients on television turned into a serious, purpose-driven ambition: a career in research and/or medicine. Fast forward, the COVID-19 pandemic deepened my passion for medicine, as it exposed the fragility of our health system and highlighted the glaring inequities within it. The pandemic revealed how easily communities of color were disproportionately impacted by health disparities. I was shocked to learn that African Americans, especially Black women, face not only poorer health outcomes but also bias within the medical community. For instance, a 2019 study in the American Journal of Emergency Medicine revealed that African Americans are 40% less likely to be prescribed pain medication than other groups, even though they are more likely to suffer from chronic pain. These inequities are not just statistics—they represent real lives, and they are unacceptable. Today, my academic focus is on biochemistry. I read an article referring to the book 'Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome: America's Legacy of Enduring Injury & Healing.' The article explores how slavery has affected black behaviors and perspectives beyond personal experience. Slavery trauma continues to be passed down intergenerationally, manifesting as behaviors and attitudes unique to African Americans. One possible explanation for this phenomenon is epigenetics. Reading this sparked a new thought - a realization that science and social justice are connected. Science and social justice are linked through epigenetics: the environment, stress, and lived experiences can activate or silence genes. Each cell has the same genes, but epigenetics determines how it responds. Epigenetic theory suggests that the environment influences DNA expression, which can then be passed down. Over the last several decades, researchers have accumulated evidence that Black people experience higher rates of chronic diseases such as diabetes, hypertension, heart disease, and cancer. These physical ailments disrupt everyday activities. As individuals deal with traumas like poverty and more recent mass traumas like a health epidemic, police brutality, and divisive political rhetoric, additional layers of complexity are added in comparison to other races. Epigenetics helped me see health disparities not just as statistics but as a biological echo of generational trauma. It inspired me to imagine solutions that blend molecular science with compassion." This realization strengthened my desire to pursue a career that would allow me to first address the systemic need for increased awareness and education to ensure that all individuals receive equitable healthcare. Second is to develop initiatives that focus on prevention and create access to care. My dream is not only to achieve academic and professional success but to create access and opportunity for others. I want to open doors for the next generation of African American youth interested in science, healthcare, and innovation. I want them to know they belong in every room they step into—and that faith and gratitude can carry them through any challenge. I am not just asking for scholarship assistance—I’m asking for partnership in purpose. Supporting my education is an investment in a young woman who is driven to serve and to innovate.