My mother is like a porcelain tea cup on a high shelf - delicate, graceful, and always catching someone's eye. But one wrong move, one microscopic stress, and she risks shattering. On the outside, my mother is an amazing school district therapist, known for her kindness and generosity. She helps children after they have been abused, and teachers after they lose a loved one. But each heartbreaking story paid for another drink and each broken teacher laid the foundation for another depression pill. My mother glowed with kindness, but it often came with a cost. Sometimes a compliment leads to a smile, other times it sparks a storm of insults, self-hatred, and paranoia. She overworks herself for love and acceptance but lashes out when it doesn’t come fast enough. Still, she is not a villain - she’s a superhero, who doesn’t know she’s the one in need of saving. She lives in a constant battle of self-sacrifice and self-loathing, unsure whether to love or hate those who love her. Knowing the state of my mother’s mental health I always wondered why she chose therapy as a career path. So asked my mom “Why therapy?” she answered by telling me about her mom. My grandmother, a Trinidadian immigrant, loved my mother but never said it out loud. She expected perfection from my mother but offered little praise. My grandmother overlooked important cries for help. But the worst example of this is when my mom was abused by an adult that she trusted. My grandmother did not start to look at my mother or give her the attention she needed until she started to display signs of brokenness. To my mother when she was thriving she was invisible and when she showed that she was hurting - through eating disorders, excessive drinking, or breakdowns, she got the love she craved. My mother learned to cope by collapsing. My grandmother’s guilt and pride led her to lie to my mother. Telling her that she had no mental illness and that her depression didn’t exist. My mother believed her lies and started to repeat them to herself. Eventually, she convinced herself that she was perfect and that the rest of the world was flawed. But deep down she knew the truth. My mother knew that the trauma she endured as a child changed her mental health forever. But instead of allowing this to take over her life, she decided to turn it into something positive. She made a vow to help children and adults whose mental health had been shaped by trauma, just like hers. Her commitment to helping others, even while she was struggling herself, has helped shape so many aspects of my life. Her story taught me to look beyond appearances and recognize pain where others may only see strength. It has made me gentler with others and with myself. I have learned the importance of building loving, deep, and trusting relationships. Most of all, her resilience inspires my path in dentistry. I want to be more than just a healthcare provider. I want to be someone who makes others feel seen, safe, and cared for. My mother's mental health journey has been filled with not only beauty but also suffering. It has not only shaped my goals but also my outlook on the world. Because of her, I see the work as not just a place filled with broken people, but a place full of superheroes - all secretly waiting to get saved.

I almost watched my future slip out of my hands when I was hit in the head during a sports game. Everyone knows that playing sports comes with risks, but no one expects that risk to apply to them—especially when you have big dreams. From the first day I stepped foot into high school, I knew I wanted to become a dentist. To achieve that, I had to be accepted into Cambridge, the highest program at my school, which would provide me with the scholarship I needed to pay for college. I also knew I’d need to participate in clubs like HOSA and the National Honor Society, which aligned with my healthcare aspirations, and I’d have to work to support myself and cover my commute to school. Balancing good grades, extracurriculars, and a job was challenging, but I knew it was all necessary. However, I also realized that I needed a way to release stress and unwind from the pressures of school and work. That’s when I turned to sports. I found joy in competing and excelling in four different sports over my high school years. Whether it was sacking a quarterback, stopping a penalty kick, lifting over 260 pounds, or crossing the finish line first in hurdles, sports were my escape. Everything seemed perfect—until the playoff/senior night football game during my senior year. During the game, I made one of the hardest hits in my school’s history, but in doing so, I forgot one of the most important rules in sports: to keep my head up. I woke up on a gurney with a concussion. Although I was told that I won the game for my team, I was devastated to learn that I couldn’t play again for the rest of the season. Thankfully, my recovery was quick enough, and I was back on the field in time for soccer season. However, my sports injuries didn’t end there. Later in the year, while diving for the final shot during our soccer team’s semi-championship round, I was kicked in the head. The game ended, and I was rushed to the hospital. The doctors confirmed I had sustained another concussion, and this one was far more severe. The recovery was brutal. I experienced migraines and nausea for days. Worse, the timing couldn’t have been worse—I was scheduled to take my final Cambridge exam the following Monday, the exam that would determine my eligibility for the scholarship I so desperately needed for college. Just when I was ready to give up, the people who cared about me stepped in to support me. My coach, who was also an athletic doctor, gave me specific instructions on how to minimize the effects of the concussion. My parents, worried but determined, made sure I had everything I needed and drove me to the exam, ensuring I arrived safely. Finally, my Cambridge coordinator and guidance counselor went above and beyond to help me. They made sure I was okay, provided an ice pack for my head, and even gave me a garbage can in case I needed it during the exam. If it weren’t for these people, my life might have taken a very different turn. Their support and encouragement allowed me to push through and take the exam. With their help, I was able to continue on my path toward higher education and my dream of becoming a dentist. This experience has taught me the importance of resilience, support, and never giving up, no matter the odds. It also taught me that I will always have people in my corner pushing me to succeed.

Being alone and feeling alone are two completely different things. For black students around the country, this is the reality they experience everyday. Attending a school that is predominantly made up of people that don’t look like you can be isolating, even when you have friends. The sense of isolation is even more pronounced when you are academically gifted. This means being the only African American in an AP class when the topic of slavery is brought up, or being the only black player on the soccer team when one of your teammates feels it’s okay to say the N word. These are just examples of what I encountered on a daily basis. However, everything changed when I came to Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University. Now, I can describe some food my mom cooked, or music I listen to, without the fear of experiencing confusion and judgment being directed towards me by my peers. I can describe my goals and aspirations to someone who looks like me, without the fear of being ridiculed. Going to my HBCU was one of the best decisions I have made. And despite the fact that there will be times where I have to face challenges alone, I know I will never feel lonely again.