Losing my cousin was one of the most impactful moments of my life. He was more than family—he was a friend, a mentor, and someone I could always count on. His presence was a source of joy, guidance, and inspiration, and when he passed away, it left a hole that no one else could fill. Experiencing this kind of loss forced me to confront emotions I had never fully faced before, including grief, anger, and a deep sense of unfairness. It also challenged the way I viewed my goals, my relationships, and the kind of person I wanted to be. At first, it was difficult to focus on school, football, and the responsibilities I had in my life. I found myself questioning the world and my place in it, wondering why something so painful had to happen. But over time, I realized that while I could not change what had happened, I could choose how to respond. I started leaning on practices like journaling and meditation, which gave me space to process my grief and reflect on my emotions without being overwhelmed by them. Writing about my thoughts and feelings allowed me to acknowledge the pain while also identifying the ways I could grow from the experience. Meditation helped me slow down my racing thoughts and find moments of clarity and peace. These tools, paired with my faith, helped me start to rebuild a sense of purpose and resilience. This experience shaped my life in ways that go beyond just coping with loss. It taught me the importance of empathy, understanding, and being present for others who are facing struggles. I became more intentional about supporting friends and family members during their difficult times, knowing how much a listening ear and consistent presence can mean. It also strengthened my commitment to my education and personal growth. I realized that life is unpredictable, and the best way to honor the people we love is to live intentionally, pursue our goals, and use our experiences to help others. Losing my cousin was devastating, but it also became a turning point. It showed me that pain and growth are connected, and that even in loss, we can find lessons that shape who we are. Today, I carry his memory with me as motivation—to be resilient, compassionate, and purposeful in everything I do. His life and the impact he had on me continue to inspire me to become a person who uplifts others while striving toward my own goals.

Last year, I faced a challenge that completely changed how I view myself and my purpose. A serious back injury forced me out of football for an entire year, a sport that has always been central to my identity and future goals. Being sidelined was more than physically painful—it was emotionally and mentally exhausting. For the first time, I had to confront the reality that my control over my life was limited. I felt frustrated, angry, and unsure of my worth because I could no longer define myself through my performance on the field. It was a season that tested my patience, my discipline, and my perspective on what truly matters in life. During this time, I turned to my faith in a way I never had before. I realized that I had been placing a lot of my identity and confidence in things I could control, like football, grades, and recognition, rather than in God, who is unchanging. I began to spend more time in prayer, meditation, and reflection, seeking strength and guidance from God rather than validation from external achievements. Journaling became a tool to process my emotions, fears, and hopes. Writing allowed me to reflect on my frustrations and slowly see them as opportunities for growth. I learned to trust in God’s timing and to accept that setbacks are not the end—they are lessons meant to build resilience, humility, and faith. This season also helped me see the bigger picture of purpose. I realized that even in moments when I felt powerless, God was teaching me discipline, patience, and perspective. My faith became the lens through which I approached not only recovery but life in general. It showed me that my worth is not defined by achievements, and that true strength comes from relying on Him rather than relying solely on myself. I began applying these lessons in my daily life—focusing on school, mentoring younger athletes, and supporting my community in ways that are not tied to performance or recognition. Now, as I continue to recover and return to football, I carry this perspective with me. My faith guides how I approach challenges, setbacks, and opportunities. It has made me more disciplined, more empathetic, and more intentional in how I live and serve others. This experience taught me that trusting God is not passive; it requires action, patience, and reflection. Through this challenge, I grew in ways that extend beyond sports, giving me clarity about my priorities, my purpose, and how I want to impact the people around me.

I have a very deep relationship with loss. In just one summer, I lost five close friends. I’ve also lost family members and mentors who played huge roles in shaping my life. Each time, it felt like a piece of me was taken away. And while the pain was heavy, those experiences forced me to grow, reflect, and mature faster than most people my age. Loss introduced me to emotions I didn’t know how to process at first. Sadness, guilt, anger, even numbness. But I had no choice but to keep going. As a young Black man, there’s a pressure to stay strong, stay quiet, and keep everything in. I’ve lived that. I’ve smiled through it, pushed through it, and learned to survive while still carrying all that pain. But surviving isn’t healing and that difference is what pushed me toward the mental health field. I chose psychology because I don’t want others to feel like they have to suffer in silence. I’ve seen what happens when people feel isolated or unseen. I’ve lost people to suicide. I’ve seen how easily someone’s mental health can be overlooked, especially in our community where therapy is still taboo to many. I want to break that stigma. I want to be a psychotherapist who doesn’t just understand the science, but also understands the struggle. My goal is to create a space where young Black boys and girls can come and truly be heard. I want to talk about the things nobody talks about. The grief, the pressure, the confusion, and even the suicidal thoughts that some are too afraid to mention. I want to help them unpack what’s weighing them down, and show them that healing is possible, no matter how deep the pain goes. When it comes to suicide prevention, I believe I can make a difference by being someone real. Not just a professional with credentials, but someone who’s walked through the fire and made it out. I’ve felt the darkness, but I also found the light. And I want to be that light for someone else. This career isn’t just a job to me — it’s personal. My past shaped my purpose. Every person I’ve lost taught me something, and I carry them with me every step of the way. I want my story to help rewrite someone else’s. If I can help even one person choose to keep going, then I know I’m doing what I was called to do.

Going to a university means quite a bit to me and my family. As an emerging first-generation college student, I bear the weight not just of being a first-generation college attendee, but also of being the first collegiate athlete within my family. Since my childhood, it has been inculcated into my mind that I was unlike anyone else in my family and that I would bring about a change in our fortunes. I'd walk a journey molded in sacrifice, perseverance, and a burning desire to make it through, not just for my sake but for those who look up to me. One of the memories that has always stood in my mind is the one I had with my late grandmother when I was 13 years old. It was the last time I ever saw her, during the year COVID disrupted my eighth-grade experience. She dreamed of her death, and said God continued to let her stay with us in heaven watching over us, and that one day I would help little boys and girls, who looked just like me; and that my truest gift was just being able to uplift people. Two days later, she passed. That particular moment lingered in my mind, and right then and there, I fell deeply in love with psychology and the art of helping an individual in need for personal gains, because such persons needed it. Her words have been my guiding light, which has continued to fuel my need for change. Besides personal goals, joining a university is important to me because of the role that I play within my community. Growing up in the underprivileged side of Greenville, NC taught me that everything is earned. I have seen friends die from violence and some incarcerated before making it to adulthood, leaving their younger siblings behind and often with no one for guidance. I took it upon myself to be a big brother figure to them. I told them to keep focusing on their education and be good, not hanging on the streets. I set an example through academics and football because I want them to see that there is something better ahead of them. Sometimes it's one thing to say that, but it's another thing to live by it every single day. That is highly responsible, and I am the one who always sets high standards for everyone else as a leader. In return, it gave my family a newfound pride through my career as a student-athlete. Being given honors at conference and state levels in football and performing well in academics gave them something to boast about. They see a rare combination of discipline and talent in me, and for that reason, they hold me up to a different standard. For this, I am grateful as I know well that my triumphs are shared amongst my family, my community, and everyone who believes in me. Attending university fulfills my dream and my family's dream. Long before I was born, the odds were against my parents and me. Yet I have fought through every obstacle thrown in my way. My education will not only secure my future but will serve as proof that determination and resilience can break cycles within generations. I am not just pursuing a degree; I am paving a path for the ones who follow me. If I can change even one life—through my actions, my words, or my example then I will have done what I am supposed to have done. This journey is larger than me, and I'm ready for it.