Life has never been easy, but I have come to see that adversity does not have to be the end of our story; it can be the very thing that shapes it. Living with a blood disorder has brought on many challenges: hospitalizations, surgeries, and physical challenges that forced me to face my limits early on in life. Yet even in my weakness, I discovered strength and determination to keep moving forward in faith, education, and service. One of the greatest heartbreaks of my life was losing my father. Grief is its own kind of adversity, one that lingers long after the moment of loss. His passing left an ache that I still carry, but it also instilled in me a deeper compassion for others who are hurting. Walking through both illness and grief taught me resilience—not the absence of pain, but the courage to keep going despite it. I know what it feels like to feel fragile, uncertain, and overwhelmed, and because of that, I feel called to walk with others in their hardest moments. Despite the challenges I’ve faced, I earned my undergraduate degree in Psychology and chose to pursue my master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Every step has been a testament to resilience and hope. In the spring, I will begin my unpaid practicum and internship, a demanding commitment that I welcome because I know how deeply mental health support can change lives. My own struggles and losses have given me a unique perspective: pain is real, but so is healing, and no one should have to walk through it alone. Currently, I serve as a Guidance Advisor for TK–8th grade students in my community. Every day, I have the privilege of helping children and families navigate academic, social, and emotional challenges. The students I serve inspire me to continue in my studies, and it has become my mission to make sure they feel seen, supported, and valued. I know from experience that a kind word, a listening ear, or a helping hand can shift the course of someone’s life. My service also extends to my church, where I’ve poured into the lives of our youth. Whether mentoring, leading, or simply showing up for them, I see these moments as opportunities to give back the kind of support I once longed for. Investing in young people, reminding them they are loved, capable, and never alone, has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Through every hardship, I have held onto the belief that adversity can refine us instead of define us. These experiences have fueled my passion for counseling and service. They have taught me to meet pain with empathy, to face struggle with determination, and to turn personal trials into opportunities to uplift others. I am proud of how far I’ve come, but more than that, I am grateful. Grateful that my struggles have not only strengthened me, but also prepared me to serve others with authenticity and compassion. My hope is that through counseling, ministry, and community work, I can continue turning hardship into hope, not just for myself, but for every life I have the privilege to touch.

“I have nightmares each week about that Friday in May / one phone call from you and my entire world was changed.” – Olivia Rodrigo, “the grudge” This lyric takes me right back to a moment that changed me forever—one I still think about even now. I was 14 years old when a friend I cared for deeply reached out to say goodbye. They told me they were planning to take their life. That conversation didn’t feel real in the moment. Everything slowed down. My body went cold. I remember grasping for words. I wasn’t a trained professional. I was a scared teenager. But I showed up the best I could—with compassion, urgency, and presence. Thankfully, that friend didn’t follow through on their plan. I’m endlessly grateful for that. I’m grateful they trusted me enough to reach out, and grateful I was able to help guide them through that terrifying moment. But even in that relief, I was changed. Because once you’ve faced the reality of how close someone came to ending their life—especially at that age—you never forget it. Rodrigo’s lyric reminds me of that moment because it captures the disorientation and weight of receiving news that changes your world in a second. There’s a particular kind of grief that comes when your innocence is taken not by something you did, but by something someone else is going through. That phone call woke me up to the reality that people—especially young people—are often silently carrying unimaginable pain. And that sometimes, all it takes is a single moment for everything to shift. But in time, that trauma transformed into purpose. I now know that I wasn’t powerless—I was present. And that presence may have saved a life. That phone call didn’t just break my heart; it built a fire in me to make sure no one else has to feel that alone. It’s what sparked my passion for mental health advocacy and what eventually led me to pursue a career in counseling. Adolescence is often portrayed as carefree, but for many—including me—it was a time of emotional survival. Olivia Rodrigo’s lyrics resonate so deeply because she gives voice to the complicated, unspoken parts of being young: the grief, the guilt, the feeling that your world can change in a single breath. That lyric, in particular, echoes the beginning of my journey to becoming someone who doesn’t just understand the importance of mental health—but dedicates her life to protecting and uplifting it. Looking back, I can see how that moment shaped the rest of my life. It was the beginning of a passion for mental health advocacy that’s only grown stronger with time. That experience taught me how powerful presence can be. It also taught me that while I may not have had all the answers then, I could learn. I could become someone who others could turn to in those moments—not just by instinct, but by training, preparation, and care. Today, I’m pursuing a master’s degree in counseling. I want to walk alongside others in the way I did for my friend that day—but now with the education and tools to offer deeper support. Olivia’s lyric captures the weight of moments that alter us. For me, that moment at 14 gave me direction, purpose, and a lifelong mission: to ensure no one feels alone in their suffering.

There aren’t words to fully describe the irreparable loss that’s felt when someone takes their own life. The silence that follows, the unanswered questions, and the aching what-ifs can linger for a lifetime. I’m all too familiar with this pain. As someone who has both witnessed and personally experienced the impact of mental health struggles, I carry with me not only deep empathy but an unwavering commitment to becoming a source of support and change. My experiences with mental health have shaped my beliefs, transformed my relationships, and clarified my calling: to become a counselor who holds space for others in their darkest moments and advocates for a culture that values healing, presence, and connection. At 14, I had my first real encounter with the gravity of mental health when a friend confided in me about their suicidal thoughts. I didn’t have the language of psychology yet or the techniques I would later study, but I knew how to listen. That moment showed me the life-altering power of being seen. It also awakened a quiet but persistent desire to be someone others could safely turn to. Even as a teenager, I recognized how fragile life can be and how many people are carrying invisible pain. Years later, while working as a youth mentor and studying psychology, I met Brad, a kind-hearted, thoughtful, and joyful young man who quickly became more than just one of the students I worked with. He became a friend. Brad lived with Tourette syndrome and struggled with depression, but he always led with compassion and care. He would message me encouraging words when I was hospitalized for my blood disorder, Hereditary Spherocytosis. He called to share service project ideas. On the day he was baptized, he didn’t forget to wish me a happy birthday. That was who Brad was—selfless, funny, and full of light, even while privately battling his own darkness. Two days after a youth group outing we attended together, Brad took his own life. I will never forget the call from his mother, the sound of my brother crying after realizing he had a missed call from Brad that morning, or the look in his little sister’s eyes when I picked her up to stay with us. There was nothing in the textbooks that could prepare me for this loss. Brad’s death shattered me—and it rooted me even deeper in my belief that mental health care must be prioritized, de-stigmatized, and deeply humanized. His story, and the stories of so many like his, is what fuels me. I now work as a Guidance Advisor in a school setting where I advocate for students who are often quietly carrying burdens of anxiety, depression, identity confusion, and family trauma. I don’t just see my role as an educator—I see it as someone who must speak up when systems are failing students. Whether it’s helping a parent understand their child’s emotional needs or fighting to ensure mental health isn’t ignored in academic planning, I bring my full heart and lived experience into every conversation. Today, I am pursuing my Master’s in Clinical Counseling with the goal of becoming a counselor who actively walks with people through their emotional and developmental growth. My vision is to create spaces where people can feel seen, supported, and empowered—especially those from marginalized communities who are often overlooked. As a woman of color living with a chronic illness, I understand what it’s like to be dismissed or misunderstood, and I carry that awareness into my approach to care. I want to be the kind of counselor who makes others feel safe being fully themselves, without shame, without masks, and without fear of judgment. Mental health is not just a professional interest—it’s personal. It touches every part of who I am: the way I love, the way I lead, and the way I serve. It has taught me that presence is powerful, that healing is non-linear, and that even the smallest acts of care can become lifelines for someone else. It has shaped my relationships, making me more compassionate, patient, and attuned to the silent battles people may be fighting. It’s made me a better wife, sister, and friend. I carry Brad’s memory with me every day. His life and legacy remind me why I do this work and why I must keep showing up—even when it’s hard. He showed me that sometimes the people who give the most are the ones hurting the deepest. I hope to honor him—and others like him—by making it my life’s work to ensure I continually show up and help others know they are not alone.

Mental health has never felt like a distant topic for me—it’s been the undercurrent of my story for as long as I can remember. Growing up with Hereditary Spherocytosis, a blood disorder that caused my skin and eyes to be jaundiced and left me physically exhausted much of the time, I was constantly aware of how “different” I looked and felt. As a child, I was often met with stares or confused comments, and even moments of rejection. These experiences didn’t just impact my body—they impacted my sense of self-worth. I carried an unspoken loneliness and often tried to mask it with perfectionism and performance. Then, at fourteen, something happened that changed my understanding of life and mental health forever. A friend confided in me about their thoughts of ending their life. I remember that conversation—two kids, really—staring down the weight of something neither of us fully understood. I didn’t have formal training or the right words, but I had empathy, presence, and urgency. That conversation—and the fear of what might have happened if they hadn’t spoken up—cemented in me the belief that mental health support isn’t optional. It’s life-saving. That moment didn’t just open my eyes to the brevity of life—it stirred something in me. I realized how many people suffer in silence, unsure if they’ll be met with judgment or care. I knew then that I wanted to be someone others could trust with their pain. Today, I’m working toward my Master’s in Clinical Counseling so I can become that person with the knowledge, skills, and compassion to walk alongside others through their darkest moments. As a woman of color with a chronic condition, I’ve often had to fight to be seen—both in medical spaces and everyday life. These experiences have shaped my commitment to creating inclusive therapeutic environments where clients don’t have to explain or defend their lived experiences. I want to specialize in working with adolescents and young adults navigating identity, trauma, and systemic pressures. I know firsthand how critical early intervention can be. Mental health care must be more than symptom management—it should be a space of safety, reflection, and empowerment. I am passionate about increasing access to culturally responsive, faith-sensitive, and trauma-informed services. I hope to work within both clinical and school-based settings, as well as advocate in faith communities where stigma around mental health still lingers. Ultimately, I want to use my voice and story to invite others to feel safe in theirs. That moment at 14 didn’t just ignite my advocacy—it taught me how sacred it is to be entrusted with someone’s pain. This scholarship would not only support my education, but equip me to continue honoring that trust in every space I step into.

I’ve tried rewriting this dozens of times trying to strip it of self-deprecating cynical humor but it’s all but ingrained in me now. I have Hereditary Spherocytosis, and you should see the faces of people when I tell them that. I try not to define myself by it, for the most part I have had a life full of amazing blessings. However, as a little girl I would often get sick, every month or so I’d be in the hospital for something that for most kids would just require a couple days of rest. My mother insisted there was something wrong, and she was absolutely right, turns out it’s in my blood. Growing up it was also in my skin and eyes, I had extreme jaundice and the clever kids at the playground came up with great names for it. Alien eyes was my personal favorite. In a way I was an alien, I felt on the outside. My least favorite question was, are you okay? I hated how often I had to convince other people just how fine I was; my version of fine was just different from theirs. Sure I couldn’t do contact sports or any strenuous activities but I preferred reading anyways. That is the thing about children, they are mighty resilient if given the chance. There would be many other challenges my condition would cause, major surgeries and hospitalizations included, but I can honestly say I have nothing but gratitude. I’ve worked with adults with disabilities in group homes and children with autism and their parents, I’ve coordinated 504 plans for students with disabilities and met with families. I am constantly humbled and in awe of the people I serve. Throughout all these experiences I’ve discovered a special power, which is empathy. I understand what it’s like to be in their shoes because I am one of them. I see their parents, and I see my own. There is so much fear wrapped up in your child being diagnosed with something you can’t save them from. It’s a part of them and it’s lifelong, there is a lot of heaviness that accompanies that realization. However, I don’t give them that face of pity that I always dreaded receiving as a child, and I don’t coddle them either because these children are warriors. They give me purpose, and I am inspired by their grit, determination, and kindness. I am proud to be one of them, and while I may never meet someone with my particular condition, I am inspired by the children and families I serve. I used to hold so much shame and resentment, but I can see now that all the hardships I faced were for a greater purpose. I am now studying to become a Licensed Mental Health Counselor. I want to serve our future generations and help them know that they are never alone. I strive to help them feel heard and valued and find their strength within, to be their source of safety that I always longed for. I’d like to think that children with disabilities have a stubbornness to them, at least that is true for me. When I set my mind on something, I don’t care how much is holding me back. So I am reaching out to you because I need help. My masters program requires internship hours that will keep me out of a full-time job for quite some time. I appreciate the existence of this scholarship and the help that it offers; I truly could use its assistance. Thank you very much for listening to my story.

There are no words to fully capture the irreparable loss that comes when someone takes their own life. The endless what-ifs, the guilt that threatens to consume you, it’s a feeling I know all too well. During my time as a youth mentor and while studying psychology, I had the privilege of getting to know a remarkable young person. He was kind-hearted, thoughtful, and full of joy. He lived with both visible and invisible challenges, including Tourette syndrome and depression. But he carried them with quiet strength and remained focused on caring for others. When I was hospitalized for my blood disorder, he would reach out with encouragement. When he had a new idea for a service project, he would call and share it with contagious excitement. Even on the day of his baptism, he took the time to send me a birthday message. That was simply who he was. Even while facing his own battles, he never failed to uplift others. Just days before his passing, we had taken a youth group to see a movie. We laughed, shared theories about what Marvel might do next, and made plans for the upcoming week. That car ride home was the last time I saw him. Two days later, we lost him to suicide. I still remember the phone call. I remember the silence. I remember the weight of bringing his younger sibling home with me. He had always fought so hard and shown up for everyone else, and I felt determined to carry on his light through my service to others. Mental health matters to me not only as a student but as a friend, a sister, and a wife. None of us are immune to the struggles that live beneath the surface. That’s why I advocate so fiercely for mental health in the school where I work as a Guidance Advisor. As much as it is in my power, I never want any youth to feel as isolated as he must have felt. I am now pursuing a master’s degree in Clinical Counseling, determined to help create systems of support, safety, and hope for the next generation. This work isn’t easy. It takes hard conversations with administrators, teachers, and parents. But each conversation chips away at the stigma. Each small change helps create a more compassionate and loving culture where students can be seen, heard, and supported. I carry his memory with me in everything I do. His life reminds me that even the most joyful hearts can carry deep pain and that we must do better for our youth. His legacy lives on in my mission to help others find healing, support, and the belief that they are never alone. Thank you for permitting me the opportunity to share his story.

There are no words to fully capture the irreparable loss that comes when someone takes their own life. The endless what-ifs, the guilt that threatens to consume you, it’s a feeling I know all too well. During my time as a youth mentor and while studying psychology, I had the privilege of getting to know a remarkable young person. He was kind-hearted, thoughtful, and full of joy. He lived with both visible and invisible challenges, including Tourette syndrome and depression. But he carried them with quiet strength and remained focused on caring for others. When I was hospitalized for my blood disorder, he would reach out with encouragement. When he had a new idea for a service project, he would call and share it with contagious excitement. Even on the day of his baptism, he took the time to send me a birthday message. That was simply who he was. Even while facing his own battles, he never failed to uplift others. Just days before his passing, we had taken a youth group to see a movie. We laughed, shared theories about what Marvel might do next, and made plans for the upcoming week. That car ride home was the last time I saw him. Two days later, we lost him to suicide. I still remember the phone call. I remember the silence. I remember the weight of bringing his younger sibling home with me. He had always fought so hard and shown up for everyone else, and I felt determined to carry on his light through my service to others. Mental health matters to me not only as a student but as a friend, a sister, and a wife. None of us are immune to the struggles that live beneath the surface. That’s why I advocate so fiercely for mental health in the school where I work as a Guidance Advisor. As much as it is in my power, I never want any youth to feel as isolated as he must have felt. I am now pursuing a master’s degree in Clinical Counseling, determined to help create systems of support, safety, and hope for the next generation. This work isn’t easy. It takes hard conversations with administrators, teachers, and parents. But each conversation chips away at the stigma. Each small change helps create a more compassionate and loving culture where students can be seen, heard, and supported. I carry his memory with me in everything I do. His life reminds me that even the most joyful hearts can carry deep pain and that we must do better for our youth. His legacy lives on in my mission to help others find healing, support, and the belief that they are never alone. Thank you for permitting me the opportunity to share his story.

Wicked is my personal anthem. Growing up with Hereditary Spherocytosis caused yellowing in my skin and eyes as a young girl, so it didn’t take people very long to notice something was ‘wrong’ with me. Much like Elphaba, I felt the judgments in people’s stares and whispers. For a while that was just life, until I learned popularity was something I craved. Like Glinda, I longed for love and acceptance, to stand out for the right reasons instead of the wrong ones. This journey sent me down a path that evoked many profound lessons and realizations, and as I walked through each season the songs and story of Wicked became more and more impressed on my heart. The first time I listened to the Wicked soundtrack I felt transported. I found solace in knowing that these concepts of goodness, wickedness, popularity, and acceptance were complex and demanded further introspection and discovery. When I first saw Wicked on the Broadway stage, I was deeply moved when Elphaba entered, her experience mirroring my own. While I had understood most of the story through the music, it was the gasps and stares of Elphaba’s green skin that struck a deep chord within me. I realized I knew that feeling all too well. While we both knew how to play it off, it was a constant reminder that I was different. While I may have looked fine, maybe even strong to some, what I truly wanted desperately was to not feel alone. In Elphaba I found that I wasn’t. Much like Glinda, I tried to mask my insecurities and strove for praise and acceptance. Over time, however, I realized even the best masqueraders conceal their brokenness. No one has it all together. In fact, some spend whole lives hidden behind carefully constructed facades. Yet, my visible weakness could not be disguised and that difference became my strength. In embracing my vulnerability, I learned I wasn’t limited by pretentious hierarchies of appearance. I was free from that, instead I was a place of refuge for those that felt out of place. They saw me and they saw that they weren’t alone, somehow I was their source of hope. If I could brave this world with my limitations, they had no reasons to clench onto their masks. Through Elphaba and Glinda, I was able to better connect with myself and the world around me. To know I wasn’t alone and that I held a great power to connect and instill hope in others. I also learned the importance of meeting people where they’re at, just as in Defying Gravity in spite of the two choosing different paths from one another they still rooted for the other's success. In For Good, they acknowledged that they have been changed for life because of each other’s impact. It isn’t that we need to change one another or morph into someone we are not, but instead that we take the good and bad and hopefully form something better from the two. This is why I have also chosen to pursue a degree in Clinical Counseling. I want to continue instilling hope in others, to meet them wherever life has taken them and walk with them. Wicked taught me that embracing both imperfections and strengths leads to authenticity. Inspired by Elphaba and Glinda’s impact on one another to achieve beyond society's expectation, I strive to empower the next generation to do the same. With your support, I hope to carry forward the transformative lessons Wicked instilled in me and embrace my role as a source of hope and change for good.

Sabrina Carpenter reminds me to be unapologetically true to who I am. Life has many seasons, and throughout all of them I have found her example to be a shining light in a world filled with confusion. In her breakout role as Maya Hart, I found her sincerity and emotive honesty to be very compelling. She exemplified what a true friend and advocate should look like. Later I would find myself replaying one of her early songs "Can't Blame a Girl for Trying" because it reminded me that relationships can be complex and hard, especially in our youth, and that's okay. I didn't need to have it all figured out; I had to have grace in recognizing that sincerely trying my best was more than enough. These memories make me nostalgic for childhood, that in spite of all of the hurts and heartbreaks that would come I wasn't alone. As I grew older, she emerged with her Emails I Can't Send album which deeply resonated with me. I found myself tearful in her song about her father and the disappointment in his infidelity to her mom. Again in my adulthood, I was grateful to find her vulnerability has the power to give my comfort through my own past devastations and hurts. When her reputation and integrity was attacked, she released "Because I Liked a Boy." She truthfully recounted her experience receiving death threats and public ridicule by the truckloads. It was inspiring to see how these devastating blows would not stop her from her artistry. She would lean in to what was being said and flip it on its head, show the public she would not shrink back. I admired her cavalier and confident nature. These songs released during a time of deep grief in my life, and I found her strength in adversity to be stabilizing to my spirit. I faced devastating health challenges and the sudden loss of my father, and while nothing can take a way the pain or grief that accompanied these experiences I was grateful to find an outlet through her music. In spite of feeling every devastating blow that came my way, I couldn't allow myself to be swept away by it. Finally, in her Sweet N' Sour album, it contained my most replayed song. This was "Please, Please, Please," while there were many songs I listened to incessantly I found this one to be both fun and sincere. In committing yourself to someone, you want to be sure your judgement was sound and such an honest fear in that is that you don't want to be embarrassed in learning you were wrong. I found that concept to be so relatable. This is who Sabrina Carpenter is to me, she feels like a friend that picks me up and helps me move forward. I find that when most people discover I am a fan of Sabrina Carpenter, their perception is what is on the surface. Of course, she loves herself some blush and sparkly outfits but her artistry cannot be doubted. When listening to her music I can find myself safe to be transparent, laughing from one track and sobbing in the next. I am honored to be her superfan because she lets down her walls. In truly listening to her and seeing how she captivates with her honesty and humor I find myself a little braver to be myself. Yes, there will be many pitfalls and turns, but life goes on and I refuse to be taken down by it. Thank you Sabrina for the light you carry and the courage you instill!

I’ve tried rewriting this dozens of times trying to strip it of self-deprecating cynical humor but it’s all but ingrained in me now. I have Hereditary Spherocytosis, and you should see the faces of people when I tell them that. I try not to define myself by it, for the most part I have had a life full of amazing blessings. However, as a little girl I would often get sick, every month or so I’d be in the hospital for something that for most kids would just require a couple days of rest. My mother insisted there was something wrong, and she was absolutely right, turns out it’s in my blood. Although growing up it was also in my skin and eyes, I had extreme jaundice and the clever kids at the playground came up with great names for it. Alien eyes was my personal favorite. In a way I was an alien, I felt on the outside. My least favorite question was, are you okay? I hated how often I had to convince other people just how fine I was, my version of fine was just different from theirs. Sure I couldn’t do contact sports or any strenuous activities but I preferred reading anyways. That is the thing about children, they are mighty resilient if given the chance. There would be many other challenges my condition would cause, major surgeries and hospitalizations included, but I can honestly say I have nothing but gratitude. I’ve worked with adults with disabilities in group homes and children with autism and their parents, I’ve coordinated 504 plans for students and facilitated their meetings. I am constantly humbled and in awe of the people I serve and throughout all these experiences I’ve discovered a special power, and that is empathy. I understand what it’s like to be in their shoes because I am one of them, I see their parents and I see my own. There is so much fear wrapped up in your child being diagnosed with something you can’t save them from. It’s a part of them and it’s lifelong, there is a lot of heaviness that accompanies that realization. However, I won’t give them that face of pity that I always dreaded receiving as a child, and I won’t coddle them either because these children are warriors. They give me purpose, and I am inspired by their grit, determination, and kindness. I am proud to be one of them, and while I may never meet someone with my particular condition I am inspired by the children and families I serve. I used to hold so much shame and resentment, but I see that all the hardships I faced were for a greater purpose. I am now studying to become a School Counselor. I want to serve our future generations and help them know that they are never alone. I want to help them feel heard and valued and to find their strength within. I’d like to think that children with disabilities have a stubbornness to them, at least that is true for me. When I set my mind on something, I don’t care how much is holding me back. So I am reaching out to you because I need help. My masters program requires eight-hundred unpaid internship hours that will keep me out of a full-time job for quite some time. I appreciate this scholarship existing and the help that it offers and I would never dream of applying for it if I did not truly need the assistance. Thank you so very much for listening to my story.

I’ve tried rewriting this dozens of times trying to strip it of self-deprecating cynical humor but it’s all but ingrained in me now. I have Hereditary Spherocytosis, and you should see the faces of people when I tell them that. I try not to define myself by it, for the most part I have had a life full of amazing blessings. However, as a little girl I would often get sick, every month or so I’d be in the hospital for something that for most kids would just require a couple days of rest. My mother insisted there was something wrong, and she was absolutely right, turns out it’s in my blood. Although growing up it was also in my skin and eyes, I had extreme jaundice and the clever kids at the playground came up with great names for it. Alien eyes was my personal favorite. In a way I was an alien, I felt on the outside. My least favorite question was, are you okay? I hated how often I had to convince other people just how fine I was, my version of fine was just different from theirs. Sure I couldn’t do contact sports or any strenuous activities but I preferred reading anyways. That is the thing about children, they are mighty resilient if given the chance. There would be many other challenges my condition would cause, major surgeries and hospitalizations included, but I can honestly say I have nothing but gratitude. I’ve worked with adults with disabilities in group homes and children with autism and their parents, I’ve coordinated 504 plans for students and facilitated their meetings. I am constantly humbled and in awe of the people I serve and throughout all these experiences I’ve discovered a special power, and that is empathy. I understand what it’s like to be in their shoes because I am one of them, I see their parents and I see my own. There is so much fear wrapped up in your child being diagnosed with something you can’t save them from. It’s a part of them and it’s lifelong, there is a lot of heaviness that accompanies that realization. However, I won’t give them that face of pity that I always dreaded receiving as a child, and I won’t coddle them either because these children are warriors. They give me purpose, and I am inspired by their grit, determination, and kindness. I am proud to be one of them, and while I may never meet someone with my particular condition I am inspired by the children and families I serve. I used to hold so much shame and resentment, but I see that all the hardships I faced were for a greater purpose. I am now studying to become a School Counselor. I want to serve our future generations and help them know that they are never alone. I want to help them feel heard and valued and to find their strength within. I’d like to think that children with disabilities have a stubbornness to them, at least that is true for me. When I set my mind on something, I don’t care how much is holding me back. So I am reaching out to you because I need help. My masters program requires eight-hundred unpaid internship hours that will keep me out of a full-time job for quite some time. I appreciate this scholarship existing and the help that it offers and I would never dream of applying for it if I did not truly need the assistance. Thank you so very much for listening to my story.

My father used to always say, “a good leader knows that they are servants to their people.” Growing up I remembered this, if I wanted to lead I had to be ready to serve. Truly my intention growing up was never to be a leader, but I learned very quickly that if you want to enact change and drive improvement you need to step up and embrace the discomforts that come with leadership. The changes I wanted were toward helping our youth shine and find empowerment from within. This was my goal when I served as a youth mentor for four years in my church, helping our youth achieve their goals and find inner strength that comes from God. Later I would work as an ABA therapist working with children with autism helping them find empowerment in their social skills and blossom their skills. These roles challenged me in learning how to advocate for the children I served, speaking with caregivers and parents on what their children need most from them and helping them identify the areas they were causing more harm than good. Later I would work in the school environment in various capacities; food service worker, instructional aide, recess supervisor, front desk administrator, substitute teacher, and the list goes on. I learned to wear many hats and embrace the all hands on deck mentality in the spirit of supporting our students and school community. This stretched me and helped me embrace leadership in teaching a classroom, helping a student, speaking with parents, and presenting a social emotional learning curriculum. Finally I would gain the job I have today, working as a Guidance Advisor. I serve my community by acting as a liaison between teachers, student support staff, parents, and administrators to help ensure every student is receiving the best education possible. I comb through our student data, find and create tailored interventions, and schedule countless meetings. The work can be tiring but I am reminded of my late father and his encouragement that if I truly want to implement change and lead I need to be ready to serve. I am now hoping to gain my masters degree in school counseling to continue growing in my skills and knowledge to better serve our school communities in Southern California. I hope to continue helping students achieve their goals and advance to better things, and to do so I need assistance. It is not easy to be a first generation American with low income and high aspirations, but it is important that our student sees someone like them. It is important for them to have someone that can readily speak their native language, that can relate to their hardships, and that gives them hope that they can achieve more. I hope that my leadership will reap a beautiful harvest of young minds hoping to achieve even greater success.

My father used to always say, “a good leader knows that they are servants to their people.” Growing up I remembered this, if I wanted to lead I had to be ready to serve. Truly my intention growing up was never to be a leader, but I learned very quickly that if you want to enact change and drive improvement you need to step up and embrace the discomforts that come with leadership. The changes I wanted were toward helping our youth shine and find empowerment from within. This was my goal when I served as a youth mentor for four years in my church, helping our youth achieve their goals and find inner strength that comes from God. Later I would work as an ABA therapist working with children with autism helping them find empowerment in their social skills and blossom their skills. These roles challenged me in learning how to advocate for the children I served, speaking with caregivers and parents on what their children need most from them and helping them identify the areas they were causing more harm than good. Later I would work in the school environment in various capacities; food service worker, instructional aide, recess supervisor, front desk administrator, substitute teacher, and the list goes on. I learned to wear many hats and embrace the all hands on deck mentality in the spirit of supporting our students and school community. This stretched me and helped me embrace leadership in teaching a classroom, helping a student, speaking with parents, and presenting a social emotional learning curriculum. Finally I would gain the job I have today, working as a Guidance Advisor. I serve my community by acting as a liaison between teachers, student support staff, parents, and administrators to help ensure every student is receiving the best education possible. I comb through our student data, find and create tailored interventions, and schedule countless meetings. The work can be tiring but I am reminded of my late father and his encouragement that if I truly want to implement change and lead I need to be ready to serve. I am now hoping to gain my masters degree in school counseling to continue growing in my skills and knowledge to better serve our school communities in Southern California. I hope to continue helping students achieve their goals and advance to better things, and to do so I need assistance. It is not easy to be a first generation American with low income and high aspirations, but it is important that our student sees someone like them. It is important for them to have someone that can readily speak their native language, that can relate to their hardships, and that gives them hope that they can achieve more. I hope that my leadership will reap a beautiful harvest of young minds hoping to achieve even greater success.

There aren’t words to describe the irreparable loss that is felt when someone takes their own life. The endless what-ifs that swallow you up in a pit of guilt, I am all too familiar with this feeling. I worked as a youth mentor for four years and was studying psychology at the time, when I met this wonderful young man named Brad. Brad was the most kind-hearted, thoughtful, and joyful boy I had ever met and he quickly became someone I not only saw as one of the youth I served but as a friend. When I was hospitalized for my blood disorder and I didn’t know how I was going to make it through he would message me words of encouragement. When he had an idea for a service project for our group he would call me and excitedly share his vision for serving disadvantaged youth. On the day he was getting baptized he did not forget to message me to wish me a happy birthday. This is who Brad was, and he was not without his own struggles. He lived with Tourette syndrome and struggled with depression but in spite of all of it he loved bringing joy to others and showing care. On Sunday I organized an outing for our youth to go see the new Spiderman movie, and Brad and his little sister rode up with me. When we drove home we talked about our favorite parts and what new things Marvel might have in store and when I dropped them off at home I remember him saying thank you and that he would see me for our midweek event on Wednesday. Unfortunately this would be the last time I saw Brad, just two days after on July 11th he took his life. I remember his mother calling us, I remember driving to their home and taking his little sister home to stay with us, I remember holding my brother as he broke down realizing he had a missed call from Brad that morning. Let me be very clear, Brad was always a fighter and strong young man who dealt with challenges most people can never understand. I will always remember him this way, but my heart shattered to know that while he was giving to everyone else he was burdened in such a way. Mental health is important to me not just as a student but as a friend, sister, and wife. None of us are immune to suffering in our mental health and we need to bring greater awareness and advocacy. I advocate for mental health in the school I work for as a Guidance Advisor, because I never want a child to feel so isolated and alone in their suffering as Brad felt. I am studying to receive my masters degree in school counseling now because I want to help provide our youth with the resources and outlets they need to overcome. The work is not easy, there are many conversations had with admin and parents to help reduce the stigma associated with mental health. However, in doing so my hope is to help play my part in creating a safer and understanding culture for our next generation. I will always carry the memory of Brad to spur me on to doing the work necessary to help our youth find their healing and empowerment.