Long before I understood my sexuality, I understood that something about me made the world uncomfortable. As a child, I was teased, bullied, and treated differently for reasons I could not yet name. Before I even knew what the word “gay” meant, I had already absorbed the message that I was somehow wrong. I grew up hearing that because of who I might become, I would never truly be accepted, valued, or worthy of love. In some spaces, I was taught that people like me would never even be welcomed into heaven. Those messages shape a person. For many years, I carried shame quietly. I learned how to make myself smaller, softer, and more acceptable to others. At the same time, I also experienced discrimination tied to my identity as a queer indigenous American Latino man. There were moments where I felt reduced to stereotypes, treated as less intelligent, less worthy, or less human because of my ancestry, my sexuality, or simply because I chose to move through the world differently than others expected me to. Mental health struggles do not always arrive loudly. Sometimes they arrive through isolation. Through constantly questioning your worth. Through feeling like belonging is something reserved for other people. What changed my life was finding theatre. Theatre became the first place where I felt fully seen. It was a place where emotion was not weakness, where difference could become art, and where people were encouraged to tell the truth about who they were. Through storytelling and performance, I discovered community, self-expression, and eventually, self-acceptance. For the first time, I encountered people who believed that vulnerability could be powerful instead of shameful. That experience profoundly shaped my understanding of mental health and the world around me. I began recognizing how many people are silently carrying pain while trying to survive systems, communities, or environments that tell them they are unworthy of love or belonging. I realized how dangerous silence can become, especially in communities where conversations surrounding mental health, identity, grief, and trauma are stigmatized or ignored. Those realizations ultimately led me toward pursuing Drama Therapy at Lesley University. I want to help create spaces where individuals, especially LGBTQIA+ youth and marginalized communities, feel seen, heard, and valued in ways they may never have experienced before. I believe healing can happen through creativity, storytelling, movement, and authentic human connection. Sometimes people need more than advice; they need spaces where they are finally allowed to exist fully and safely. My experiences with mental health have shaped every part of who I am: my relationships, my worldview, and my future aspirations. They taught me the importance of compassion, representation, and community. They taught me that survival itself can become a form of resistance. Most importantly, they taught me that the people who are often made to feel “other” are still deeply deserving of joy, dignity, healing, and love. Today, I try to move through the world to the rhythm of a different drum, one rooted in empathy, acceptance, and the belief that every person deserves to feel that they belong here and that they serve a beautiful purpose.

As a first-generation graduate student, pursuing a career in healthcare once felt like a journey though a dark woods with no map to me. I grew up understanding the value of hard work, community, and resilience, but higher education often felt like a world I had to learn to navigate alone. Financial barriers, uncertainty, and a lack of guidance made the path intimidating. Despite those challenges, I continued moving forward because I discovered a field that fundamentally changed the way I understand healing: drama therapy. For nearly a decade, I worked in children’s theatre programs directing productions and mentoring young artists. Initially, I believed I was simply teaching performance and storytelling. Over time, however, I began witnessing something much deeper. Young people who struggled with anxiety began finding confidence. Students who felt isolated discovered belonging and connection. Rehearsal spaces became environments where emotions could safely exist and identities could be explored without judgment. Those experiences transformed my understanding of healthcare. I chose to pursue graduate studies in Drama Therapy at Lesley University because I believe mental healthcare should be accessible, affirming, and creative. Drama therapy integrates psychology and the expressive arts to support emotional growth, trauma recovery, communication, identity development, and community healing. For many individuals, especially children, LGBTQ+ individuals, and marginalized communities, traditional talk therapy can feel intimidating or inaccessible. Creative arts therapies offer another doorway into healing. As a queer Latino man, I also understand how difficult it can be to seek support in environments where mental health is stigmatized or misunderstood. Many communities, particularly those impacted by financial hardship or systemic inequities, lack access to culturally responsive mental healthcare services. Too often, people only receive support after reaching a crisis point. I want to help change that reality by creating spaces where individuals feel seen, heard, and valued before they reach that level of distress. In the future, I hope to use my degree to serve underserved communities through trauma-informed and community-based mental health programs. I want to work with young people, LGBTQ+ populations, and individuals navigating grief, identity struggles, anxiety, and social isolation. I also hope to advocate for greater recognition of expressive therapies within healthcare systems and schools, particularly in communities where access to mental health resources remains limited. Beyond clinical work, I want to continue building spaces that encourage connection and radical self-expression. I have seen firsthand how creativity can help people process experiences that words alone cannot hold. I have watched theatre become a lifeline for young people who felt invisible. That work inspired me to continue my education and dedicate my future to mental healthcare. Being first-generation means that every step forward carries both responsibility and hope. I pursue this degree not only for myself, but also for the communities I hope to serve. My goal is to help create a healthcare system where emotional well-being is treated with the same urgency, compassion, and dignity as physical health.

For a long time, I believed I was simply teaching theatre. For nearly a decade, I worked in children’s theatre programs directing productions, mentoring young artists, and creating spaces where students could express themselves creatively. Over time, however, I began to recognize that what was happening in those rehearsal rooms extended far beyond performance. Young people were processing grief, anxiety, bullying, loneliness, identity struggles, and family instability through storytelling and connection. Some students who barely spoke on the first day of rehearsal eventually stood center stage with confidence. Others found friendships and belonging for the very first time. Without fully realizing it, I had already begun witnessing the intersection between art and mental health. As a queer Latino man and first-generation graduate student, I understand how difficult it can be to navigate systems that were not built with your identity or experiences in mind. In many marginalized communities, mental health conversations are still surrounded by stigma, silence, or lack of access. Too often, individuals are taught to “push through” emotional pain rather than seek support. I have seen how this silence impacts young people, especially LGBTQIA+ youth who may already feel isolated or misunderstood. My own experiences with identity, community, and emotional survival have deeply shaped my beliefs about mental healthcare. I believe healing cannot happen without safety, representation, and human connection. I also believe that therapy should not force people to abandon culture, creativity, or authenticity in order to be understood. These experiences inspired me to pursue graduate studies in Drama Therapy at Lesley University. Through this work, I hope to provide trauma-informed, affirming, and expressive mental health services to underserved communities, particularly LGBTQIA+ individuals, young people, and communities of color. Drama therapy uniquely allows individuals to explore identity, emotion, and personal narratives through movement, storytelling, role-play, music, and creative expression. For many people, especially those who struggle to articulate pain verbally, the arts can become a bridge toward healing. My goal is not only to provide therapy, but also to advocate for broader accessibility and awareness surrounding mental healthcare. I want to help dismantle the belief that mental health services are only for certain people or certain communities. Everyone deserves access to compassionate, evidence-based care that honors who they are. Throughout my life, I have witnessed the transformative power of community. I have seen rehearsal rooms become safe spaces. I have seen young artists rediscover confidence after experiencing rejection or hardship. I have seen creativity become a lifeline for individuals struggling to feel seen. Those experiences continue to guide my activism, my education, and my future career aspirations. I want to help create a world where marginalized individuals no longer have to choose between authenticity and acceptance, and where mental healthcare is viewed not as a privilege, but as a human necessity.

Before entering graduate school, I believed healing mostly came from providing answers. As someone who spent years directing children’s theatre, I was used to stepping into leadership roles where I helped solve problems, build confidence, and guide young artists toward success. I entered my graduate training in Drama Therapy at Lesley University thinking that becoming a mental health professional meant learning how to “fix” emotional pain through the right interventions, techniques, or clinical knowledge. One experience fundamentally challenged that assumption. Several years ago, I worked closely with a young artist in a theatre program. To protect their privacy, I will keep identifying details general. At first, this artist struggled socially and emotionally. They often appeared withdrawn, uncertain, and disconnected from the group around them. Like many educators and emerging clinicians, my instinct was to focus on solutions: helping them engage more, participate more, and feel more confident. Then one evening, after growing concerned about his emotional well-being, I made the difficult decision to call for a safety check. I remember feeling terrified that I might say or do the wrong thing. I worried that I had failed them somehow or that I was unprepared to handle the weight of another person’s pain. What changed me most was not the intervention itself, but the conversation that followed with their father. Instead of discussing behavior or performance, we spoke honestly about fear, parenting, emotional isolation, and the difficulty of truly understanding what another person carries internally. That conversation forced me to confront an assumption I did not realize I held: that healing is something a professional does to someone else. In reality, healing often begins with presence. Over time, I watched this magical human slowly transform within the theatre environment. As trust developed, so did their confidence, communication, and sense of self. They began building relationships and expressing parts of themselves that previously remained hidden. Watching that process unfold taught me that meaningful care is not rooted solely in diagnosis or intervention plans. It is rooted in human connection, safety, curiosity, and consistency. That experience deeply shaped the type of mental health professional I hope to become. As I continue my graduate training, I no longer view patient care as simply identifying problems and applying solutions. I believe ethical and compassionate healthcare requires humility: the understanding that we are not experts on another person’s lived experience. Instead, we are witnesses, collaborators, and guides who help create spaces where healing becomes possible. Drama therapy has reinforced this belief for me because it recognizes that healing can occur through storytelling, creativity, embodiment, and relationship. Sometimes people cannot immediately verbalize grief, trauma, fear, or identity struggles. Sometimes connection begins through play, movement, metaphor, or shared imagination. This experience taught me that technical knowledge matters, but human connection matters equally. The kind of medical professional I hope to become is one who never loses sight of the person behind the symptoms, diagnosis, or crisis. I want to provide care that honors dignity, complexity, and the deeply human need to feel seen.

For much of my life, I did not realize that I was already working in healthcare. I thought I was simply directing theatre. For nearly a decade, I worked with young artists in children’s theatre programs, helping students find confidence, connection, and belonging through storytelling and performance. Over time, however, I began noticing something much deeper happening in those rehearsal spaces. Young people who struggled with anxiety slowly found their voices. Students who felt isolated began forming friendships and community. Artists who had experienced bullying, grief, family instability, or feelings of not belonging suddenly had a space where they felt seen. That realization changed the course of my life. The national health issue I care most deeply about is the mental health crisis, particularly among young people and marginalized communities. Mental health challenges continue to rise across the United States, yet access to affirming and affordable care remains deeply unequal. In many communities, especially those shaped by poverty, stigma, or rigid cultural and religious expectations, individuals are often taught to suppress emotion rather than process it. As a queer Latino man raised in environments where vulnerability was not always welcomed, I understand firsthand how dangerous silence can become. What deeply concerns me is that many people still do not view mental healthcare as healthcare. We recognize a broken bone as worthy of treatment, but emotional wounds are often ignored until someone reaches a crisis point. Too many individuals suffer without support because therapy is inaccessible, unaffordable, stigmatized, or simply unavailable in forms that feel culturally and emotionally safe. This is why I chose to pursue graduate studies in Drama Therapy at Lesley University. I believe expressive therapies can help bridge gaps in mental healthcare by reaching people who may struggle to communicate through traditional talk therapy alone. Theatre, movement, music, storytelling, and role-play can create opportunities for expression, identity exploration, emotional regulation, and community building. Research increasingly supports the connection between creative expression and psychological well-being, yet arts-based mental healthcare remains underfunded and misunderstood. My goal is to serve communities that often lack access to evidence-based and affirming mental healthcare resources. I want to create spaces where young people, LGBTQ+ individuals, and underserved populations can experience healing without shame. I believe healthcare must address not only the body, but also the emotional, social, and creative parts of being human. Pursuing graduate education has come with significant financial sacrifice, but I continue forward because I have witnessed what happens when people are finally given permission to be seen. I have watched theatre save lives in quiet ways. I have watched connection interrupt loneliness. I have watched creativity become survival. That is why this work matters to me. Mental healthcare is not optional care. It is life-saving care.

There was a time I believed that pouring into others was the same as taking care of myself. As a theatre director/educator, I spent years holding space for young artists, encouraging their voices, nurturing growth, and reminding them that they mattered. What I did not realize was that I was doing all of this while quietly neglecting my own mental and emotional well-being. When the pandemic brought everything to a halt, I was left in stillness for the first time in years. Without the rehearsal rooms and performance spaces, I was confronted with burnout, grief, and emotional exhaustion I had carried but never acknowledged. In silence, I had to make a choice: continue pushing through, or ask for help. Choosing help was not easy. It required vulnerability, patience, and persistence, especially in systems that can feel overwhelming to navigate. But that choice became an act of self-advocacy. I began attending therapy, setting boundaries, and allowing myself to say, “I’m not okay.” In doing so, I learned that self-advocacy is not a single moment, but an ongoing practice of choosing to show up for yourself, even when it feels uncomfortable or uncertain. As a proud, Mexican-Native American Latino and first-generation college student, I have also witnessed how mental health is often stigmatized within my community. Conversations around emotional well-being and suicide are frequently silenced, leaving individuals to struggle alone. Through my work with youth, I have seen the consequences of that silence, young people navigating overwhelming emotions without the language or support to process them. Before I had clinical training, theatre became a bridge. Through storytelling, movement, and creative expression, I saw young people begin to externalize what they could not say. I witnessed confidence grow, connections form, and a sense of belonging take root. These experiences, alongside my own journey, led me to pursue a master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling with a specialization in Drama Therapy. Today, I approach suicide awareness and prevention through connection, presence, and cultural understanding. I believe that prevention begins by creating spaces where individuals feel safe enough to be seen and heard without judgment. It means reducing stigma, meeting people where they are, and honoring their lived experiences with empathy and respect. Self-advocacy remains central to my life. I continue to prioritize my mental health through therapy, creative expression, and community. I understand now that caring for myself is not separate from my work, it is essential to it. I am committed to serving underrepresented communities, particularly BIPOC and LGBTQ+ youth, by offering culturally responsive, expressive arts-based therapy. I aim to challenge stigma within Latino communities and create pathways to care that feel accessible, familiar, and empowering. Through this, I hope to contribute to a more compassionate mental health landscape, one where seeking help is seen not as weakness, but as strength. My journey has taught me that healing begins when we allow ourselves to be seen. I intend to spend my career ensuring others are not left to navigate that journey alone.

I am a first-generation college student, proudly gay, Mexican, and Native American. I carry these identities like a lighthouse, beaming with warmth, visibility, and direction, so that those who feel unseen might find their way home within themselves. My lived experience informs the therapist I am becoming: one who leads with radical empathy, cultural humility, and deep creativity. I didn’t grow up with access to therapy. What I had was theater. It became my sanctuary, the stage, a space where emotion was safe, identity could be explored, and pain could be expressed through character, rhythm, and breath. I didn’t have the vocabulary for mental health literacy at the time, but I had embodiment. I had growth. I had story. As a theater director and educator, I later brought this same space to hundreds of young artists, many from low-income, BIPOC communities, who, like me, lacked access to traditional therapy. I watched them flourish as they stepped into characters, crafted their own narratives, and found voice in song and movement. I didn’t yet have clinical training, but I knew we were building something sacred. We were building healing. Today, as a graduate student in drama therapy, I’m learning the language and techniques to deepen this work, and I’m committed to being a culturally competent provider who offers a glitter-covered bridge between mental health care and creative self-expression. If I could change one thing about our mental health system, it would be expanding access to culturally responsive, community-based care that honors the voices of the underserved. I am deeply moved by the trauma faced by young people separated from their families currently, especially in immigrant and Latinx communities. In cultures where therapy has long been stigmatized or misunderstood, it’s critical we create offerings that feel familiar, welcoming, and reflective of the communities they serve. I want to bring drama therapy into spaces filled with color, music, storytelling, and joy, into places where gritos and dance are not distractions from healing, but powerful pathways into it. Teletherapy, in my own experience, has been life-altering. After COVID, it opened doors I didn’t even know could exist, especially for those living in rural or under-resourced areas. As I attend graduate school in a hybrid format, I’ve begun exploring ways to make expressive arts therapy more dynamic and inclusive in virtual spaces. Can games, embodiment, and theatrical techniques flourish through a screen? I believe they can. The challenge now is accessibility, how we ensure language justice, tech equity, and community-building across digital platforms. But the potential excites me. The next generation of therapy doesn’t have to be sterile. It can be alive. My vision is to open a healing arts center that centers BIPOC youth and LGBTQ+ voices. I want it to be loud and soft, joyful and tender. A place where children and adults alike can scream, dance, cry, paint, and play their way toward wellness. A place where no one feels too broken to belong. This scholarship would allow me to continue my graduate studies with more capacity to serve. I am not just studying therapy. I am living it, offering it, reshaping it into something more inclusive, liberatory, and culturally alive. My goal is not only to become a licensed mental health counselor, but to help others know, without a doubt, that they are not alone.

Being a first-generation college student means walking into every room without a map, and learning to trust that your compass is enough. It means carrying the hopes of your family on your shoulders while forging a path no one has walked before. For me, it has meant honoring where I come from while daring to dream bigger than what I was told was possible. I’m a queer, Latino, first-generation graduate student currently studying Drama Therapy in New York. My parents worked hard and sacrificed deeply, but no one in my immediate family had navigated higher education before. That meant I had to learn how to fill out the FAFSA, decode syllabi, advocate for accommodations, and balance full-time work with full-time school, all without a guide. There were many moments I doubted if I belonged, but each time I reminded myself: I am not just doing this for me. I am doing this for every young person who thinks their dreams are too far away. Before graduate school, I worked with nonprofit arts organizations helping youth, many from underserved backgrounds, use theatre to process trauma, explore identity, and build confidence. I saw firsthand how healing begins when someone finally feels seen. It was in those rehearsal rooms that I discovered my calling, not just to teach or direct, but to help people heal through creative expression. That’s what led me to pursue licensure as a mental health counselor with a specialization in drama therapy. One of the most difficult decisions I’ve made as a first-gen student was leaving Texas. My partner and I relocated to New York to escape political hostility toward LGBTQ+ individuals. We gave up the comfort of community for the promise of safety, equity, and a better future. I now work full-time while balancing a rigorous graduate program, and my partner works as well to support us on this journey. Every day is a balancing act, but we move forward with purpose. My dream is to open a bilingual, LGBTQ+ affirming expressive arts therapy practice for young people, artists, and families navigating mental health challenges in underserved communities. I want to create a space where language, culture, identity, and creativity are seen as sources of strength, not barriers to care. I want others to know that healing can look like dancing, drawing, crying, laughing, or telling your story on stage. This scholarship would relieve some of the financial pressure of tuition, housing, and clinical training expenses. But more than that, it would be a powerful reminder that people like me, first-generation students of color, artists, healers, and bridge-builders, belong in higher education. I’m proud to be the first in my family to walk this road. I won’t be the last.

My name is Jason Robert Villarreal, and I am a first-generation queer Latino graduate student studying Drama Therapy in New York. I recently relocated from Texas, where I spent over a decade mentoring and directing youth in nonprofit performing arts organizations. Today, I’m pursuing licensure as a mental health counselor with a specialization in drama therapy, with the long-term goal of opening a healing-centered practice that uses the expressive arts to support historically marginalized communities. My career has always been rooted in service. I’ve worked across educational and nonprofit settings, helping young artists grow as storytellers, leaders, and whole human beings. One of the most impactful roles I held was as a youth director volunteer with BridgeBuilders in Dallas, TX. There, I worked with young people from under-resourced communities to produce theatrical performances that uplifted their voices, honored their cultures, and invited their families and neighbors to engage in the arts. These performances weren’t just shows, they were affirmations of identity, healing, and community connection. What began as a creative career quickly revealed itself to be a calling to care, advocate, and heal. It was in rehearsal rooms, during quiet talks with students, where I first saw the power of mental health support, and also the devastating gap in who gets access to it. When the political climate in Texas became increasingly dangerous for LGBTQ+ individuals and people of color, my partner and I made the painful decision to leave. We left behind family, jobs, and the young artists I’d mentored for years because safety and dignity became non-negotiable. Starting over in New York has been both a blessing and a challenge, but one we’ve met together. I now work full-time while attending graduate school, and my spouse also works to support us as we take on this next chapter with determination and shared purpose. Mireya TJ Manigault’s legacy speaks to me deeply. Like her, I believe that innovation, compassion, and equity must guide the work we do. Her commitment to empowering nonprofits and mission-driven initiatives mirrors my desire to build a therapy practice that is not only artistically expressive but socially just. I hope to one day serve organizations that center mental wellness in BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ communities, expanding mental health access through partnerships, workshops, and trauma-informed group work. Receiving this scholarship would ease the financial weight of this transition and allow me to continue pursuing my studies with focus and momentum. More importantly, it would affirm the work I’ve dedicated my life to, the kind of work Mireya championed: deeply personal, rooted in community, and committed to lasting impact. Thank you for considering my application. It would be an honor to carry Mireya’s spirit of creativity, compassion, and purpose into my journey as a therapist, artist, and advocate for change.

My name is Jason Robert Villarreal, and I’m a queer, first-generation Latino graduate student currently pursuing a master’s in Drama Therapy in New York. My journey into mental health was not a straight path, it was lived, felt, and slowly discovered through years of caregiving, artistic mentorship, personal healing, and hard-earned resilience. Before entering the clinical world, I spent over a decade directing youth theatre. Those rehearsal rooms became spaces of radical honesty where young people could express pain, joy, identity, and growth. I worked with many LGBTQ+, neurodivergent, and BIPOC youth who came into the room carrying burdens they had no words for. Theatre became more than storytelling; it became therapy before I even knew what to call it. What I didn’t realize at the time was that while I was caring for others, I was also avoiding caring for myself. Like many who grow up navigating marginalized identities, I had internalized the belief that my worth was tied to my output, my usefulness to others. I ignored my own anxiety and emotional exhaustion. It wasn’t until the pandemic stripped away the structure of my work and community that I had to face my own mental health with honesty. That year, I made the brave choice to begin therapy. I learned what it meant to sit with discomfort, to ask for help, and to value my emotional well-being as much as I had always valued others’. That internal shift restructured everything: my beliefs, my relationships, and my purpose. I began to understand that true care, whether for others or ourselves, is not about fixing, but about witnessing, listening, and offering presence. This realization led me to graduate school and to the field of drama therapy. I am now studying to become a licensed mental health counselor, with a dream of opening a bilingual, LGBTQ+ affirming expressive arts therapy practice. I want to provide care to those who often feel unsafe or unseen in traditional therapy settings, especially queer youth, artists, and communities of color. My lived experience informs everything I do. I know what it’s like to grow up in silence, to feel like therapy is not “for you,” and to feel unseen in systems that were not built for your story. That’s why I’m committed to creating culturally responsive, identity-affirming therapeutic spaces. Healing is not one-size-fits-all, and I want to be part of a new generation of clinicians who recognize that. Through my work, I hope to not only offer therapy, but also advocacy, education, and joy. I believe deeply that art heals. Language heals. Story heals. And above all, love heals. My career in mental health isn’t just a job, it’s a calling. It’s the life I wish someone had made possible for me, and now I have the privilege of making it possible for others.

I am a queer Latino graduate student pursuing a degree in Drama Therapy, and my life has been shaped, quietly, painfully, and eventually purposefully, by the intersection of mental health and LGBTQIA+ identity. For a long time, I didn’t know I was navigating both. I just knew I felt different, and that difference made me quiet in rooms I wanted to scream in. Growing up in South Texas, there weren’t many visible role models who looked or loved like me. Queerness was rarely spoken about, and when it was, it often came with shame or silence. I learned to perform, a smile, a joke, a version of myself that made people feel comfortable. I buried the parts of me that were soft, curious, or afraid. For years, I existed like this, present but disconnected, expressive but guarded. I was praised for my leadership, my work ethic, my care for others, and no one noticed I was disappearing under it all. I didn’t have the language to name what I was experiencing until much later: anxiety, depression, dissociation. I just thought this is what growing up felt like. I poured myself into theatre, where I could safely embody other people’s truths while hiding my own. Eventually, I became a director, working with youth across the gender and neurodiversity spectrums. I offered them the safety I never had. And I began to realize: I wasn’t just drawn to storytelling, I was drawn to healing. My relationship to mental health shifted dramatically during the pandemic. When the theatre shut down and I could no longer distract myself with rehearsals, I was left with the version of myself I had ignored. The depression became louder. The fear became sharper. But something new emerged, too, curiosity. I started therapy. I joined online spaces for queer healing. I began writing and speaking and letting my voice tremble without shame. One of the most pivotal decisions I made was leaving Texas with my partner and relocating to New York. We left behind family, jobs, and a community we loved because it no longer felt safe to live authentically in a state actively working against LGBTQIA+ rights. The choice was painful, but it was also healing. It was a declaration that we deserved better, not just to survive, but to live fully, freely, and safely. Today, I am studying to become a licensed mental health counselor. I hope to open an expressive arts therapy practice that centers LGBTQIA+ youth, BIPOC communities, and those who feel too “othered” to walk into a traditional therapy room. I want to be the kind of presence I once needed: someone who says, “You don’t have to shrink here. You can take up space.” My life has been touched by friends and students who have struggled with suicidal ideation and by stories that ended too soon. I carry those memories into every room I enter. My healing journey is ongoing, but it is no longer silent. It is spoken, shared, and grounded in purpose.

My name is Jason Robert Villarreal, and I am a first-generation Latino graduate student currently studying Drama Therapy in New York. Though my background began in the performing arts, my calling has always been caregiving. For over a decade, I’ve worked with young people in theatre, many of them navigating trauma, identity struggles, and emotional isolation. What began as directing shows evolved into something much deeper: creating safe spaces for growth, healing, and radical self-expression. That is what inspired me to move into healthcare, specifically, mental health care. Today, I am pursuing licensure as a mental health counselor with a specialization in drama therapy. My career goal is to open a bilingual, LGBTQ+ affirming expressive arts therapy practice that centers those who have long been underserved by traditional systems of care, BIPOC youth, neurodivergent individuals, and the LGBTQ+ community. I want to build therapeutic spaces that are not only clinically sound but culturally sensitive and artistically liberating. What brought me to this point was not just professional growth, but personal adversity. Earlier this year, my partner and I made the difficult decision to leave our home state of Texas due to increasing political hostility toward LGBTQ+ individuals and people of color. As queer Latinx residents, we no longer felt safe. We left our jobs, our home, and my beloved students behind to start over in New York, a place that offers greater dignity, protection, and equity. The financial toll has been steep, but the decision was a matter of survival. I also bring with me a very personal connection to caregiving, my experience helping care for my grandmother, who lived with Alzheimer’s and dementia. I watched someone I loved slowly lose pieces of herself, yet still respond with joy to music, to laughter, and to small acts of love. Some of my most cherished memories are of the two of us dancing and singing together to “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.” Even as her memory faded, those moments grounded us in something real. They reminded me that healing and connection are not always about words, they live in rhythm, touch, melody, and presence. That experience profoundly shaped my understanding of what it means to care for someone, not just physically, but emotionally, and with dignity. This scholarship carries great meaning because it honors someone who, like my grandmother, understood caregiving as a lifelong act of love. Although I work primarily in mental health, I see drama therapy as a bridge between the emotional, psychological, and relational aspects of healthcare. In the future, I hope to expand my practice into elder care and work with patients with Alzheimer’s and dementia, populations often forgotten but deeply in need of connection, creativity, and care. Sandy’s advocacy for Alzheimer’s patients inspires me to pursue this path not just as a clinician, but as someone who has been on the other side of that caregiving relationship. Thank you for considering my application. I carry Sandy’s spirit of caregiving with me as I walk this new path in New York. It would be an honor to receive this scholarship as I continue my journey to bring light, care, and healing to others.

There was a time I believed that pouring into others was the same as taking care of myself. As a theater director and educator, I dedicated years to lifting up young artists, holding space for their emotions, encouraging their growth, and being their biggest advocate. I didn’t realize that I was doing all of this while quietly neglecting my own mental and emotional well-being. When the pandemic shut down theaters and schools, I lost the structure that kept me moving, and in the stillness, I crashed. The isolation brought up unprocessed grief, self-doubt, and burnout I didn’t know I had. For the first time in years, I was forced to look inward. It wasn’t glamorous. It didn’t come with a big revelation. It came with therapy appointments, long walks, less screen time, and finally allowing myself to say, “I’m not okay.” I made the radical choice to prioritize my mental health, not for a job, not for productivity, but because I needed to survive and rebuild from the inside out. That decision changed everything. I started creating for the joy of it again. I joined a virtual group of drama therapists in training and found a language for the healing I’d been unknowingly facilitating for others. I returned to my roots, not just as a performer, but as a person worthy of care. That’s when I made the decision to pursue a master’s in Drama Therapy and become a licensed mental health counselor. Today, I view wellness as a practice, not a destination. I integrate it into my studies, where I advocate for trauma-informed, culturally responsive care. I carry it into my work with young people, encouraging them to honor their emotions and embrace radical self-expression. And I protect it in my personal life, through movement, music, journaling, rest, and connection. I’ve learned that when I show up for myself, I’m better equipped to show up for others in a meaningful, sustainable way. Making my mental health a priority helped me reclaim my purpose, not just as an artist or educator, but as a future clinician. My goal is to open an expressive arts therapy practice that invites people to feel, to heal, and to know that they’re not alone in their struggle. This scholarship would allow me to continue my graduate studies with less financial strain, and more capacity to serve my community from a place of grounded care. Self-care isn’t selfish. For me, it was the turning point, and the beginning of something more honest, more sustainable, and more whole.

My name is Jason Robert Villarreal, and I am a first-generation, bilingual, queer Latino graduate student pursuing a degree in Drama Therapy. I am studying to become a licensed mental health counselor with a deep commitment to creating inclusive, accessible, and culturally affirming care for historically excluded populations. As someone raised in a low-income household, and as a working artist and educator, I understand what it’s like to need help but not know where to find it, or worse, not see yourself reflected in the people offering it. Before entering the clinical world, I spent over a decade directing theatre for young artists. My rehearsal spaces quickly became more than performance hubs, they became sanctuaries for self-expression, emotional safety, and belonging. I worked closely with artists who were neurodivergent, gender-expansive, non-verbal, Spanish-speaking, or simply unsure how to speak about what they were going through. In those rooms, theatre became therapy before I even had the words for it. I often think of the students who came into rehearsal speaking only Spanish, just like my grandparents once did. These students sometimes carried shame for not knowing English “well enough.” But I made it a point to encourage them to speak their truth in their own language. I reminded them that a flag of many colors is what makes it beautiful. This early experience affirmed my belief that mental health care must meet people where they are, not only linguistically, but culturally, spiritually, and creatively. Drama therapy allows me to bring these values into clinical practice. It invites movement, metaphor, voice, and play into the room, tools that are especially effective for clients who’ve been marginalized or harmed by systems not designed for them. My goal is to open a practice that centers expressive therapy for BIPOC, LGBTQ+, neurodivergent, and immigrant communities. I also hope to partner with schools, community centers, and arts organizations to normalize mental health care as both a necessity and a right. I am committed to expanding research and advocacy around non-traditional modalities of care. I want to help diversify who we imagine as mental health professionals, not just by background, but by method. We need more healers of color, more bilingual providers, more practitioners who understand that identity and trauma are deeply intertwined, and more creativity in how we offer healing. This scholarship would provide vital financial relief as I complete my graduate training. But more than that, it would be a vote of confidence in a future where mental health care looks like all of us. I want to be part of building that future. Not just by offering therapy, but by helping others radically reclaim their voices, their stories, and their worth.

My name is Jason Robert Villarreal, and I am a proud first-generation graduate student studying Drama Therapy. While I may not be on the traditional path of medicine or law, my career lives at the intersection of healthcare, mental wellness, and social justice. I am pursuing licensure as a mental health counselor with the goal of opening a healing-centered practice that uses the expressive arts to serve those too often left out of the therapeutic conversation: Black, Brown, LGBTQ+, neurodivergent, and first-gen individuals like myself. My work began in rehearsal rooms and classrooms, where I witnessed the transformative power of theatre in young lives. I’ve seen children process trauma through storytelling, rediscover their voices through characters, and find belonging in spaces built on empathy and expression. During the pandemic, when the stage lights dimmed, I found myself leading virtual creative spaces that became lifelines for isolated teens. This blend of artistry and advocacy is what ignited my calling to pursue drama therapy. Like Catrina, I believe that communication is a bridge, not a barrier. English is my first language, but Spanish is the language of my grandparents, the only one they spoke. Learning Spanish was never just about grammar; it was about honoring my family, accessing deeper community, and helping others feel understood. In my years of working in youth theatre, I often welcomed young artists into the rehearsal room whose first, and sometimes only, language was Spanish. I made it my mission not only to communicate with them, but to affirm them. I encouraged them to celebrate their culture and heritage, reminding them that a flag of many colors is what makes it beautiful. Much like Catrina’s work at the U.S. Holocaust Museum, where she uplifted stories that history tried to silence, I believe in holding space for the voices often left out of dominant narratives. Whether through language, art, or connection, I strive to remind people that their identity is not a limitation, it is a strength. Catrina Celestine Aquilino’s legacy reminds me that justice is not a lofty concept, it’s something we do, every day, for one another. Like her, I believe that where someone comes from should never determine how much care or opportunity they receive. I am determined to build a future where expressive therapy is seen as valid, accessible healthcare, especially for those who have been told that their feelings are “too much” or their stories “don’t matter.” This scholarship would allow me to continue my studies full-time while serving communities in the Capital Region of NY, where I recently relocated. It would also bring me one step closer to creating a practice rooted in the belief that healing is a human right, not a privilege. Thank you for considering my application and for honoring Catrina’s enduring impact.