For over 15 years, I have worked tirelessly as an unordained pastor (a position established within Korean churches) to teach, guide, and counsel children, youth, and their families on coping with many challenges of life. Many challenges were related to abuse, neglect, and/or behavioral issues of the children. Students and parents alike came to me because they needed someone to listen, empathize with their suffering, and help them find a way out of the situation. As I spent time counseling those who were suffering, I realized that I needed more than my theology training to offer more responsive and accurate help; I needed more in-depth knowledge in mental health counseling. Several years ago, I lost my dear mother to cancer abruptly. I was not given a proper time to grieve the loss, but was forced into obliging the demands of the family members and ministry needs. I was told that serving others would help me overcome grief quickly than taking a break. I spiraled into such bitterness and despair that I had to seek professional counseling. My counselor was the lifeline that offered a voice of reason and empathy. I could not have recovered as fully as I did without her. Through my own experience, I came to discover the critical importance of having access to professional mental health services. As I sought to receive counseling from a therapist, there were obstacles I had to overcome. One was religious and cultural stigma, and the other was the cost. I am of Korean heritage and come from a fundamental Christian background. Although the public opinion towards mental health among Asian communities has improved over the years, there is still an unspoken disdain towards those who suffer from illnesses of the mind because it is seen as a weakness, a flaw. To combat such hindrances, I want to pursue persistent public exposure to increase awareness of the importance of maintaining mental health by connecting with various communities of color and religion. Furthermore, mental health counseling costs are not often covered by insurance. Additionally, insurance filing can be extremely complex, and this drives many therapists to not accept insurance. Patients are left to cover the cost out of their pockets or rely on a strenuous process of government subsidies, if available, to receive treatment. If such resources are not available, patients are left with no option but to suffer without any treatment. I desire to participate in further research to link accessibility issues to insurance availability, so that public policies can be adjusted to meet the needs of those who are suffering. Telehealth prevailed quickly as an alternative form of treatment during the pandemic. Telehealth offers the convenience of receiving treatment at home and saves the cost of traveling to the physician’s office. Especially for rural patients, this can make a difference in receiving care because there are far fewer physicians and therapists available. With fewer options available, patients must travel further to receive treatment, which can result in fewer visits and decreased inclination to receive treatment. Teletherapy can make treatments more accessible for patients who have difficulty finding a therapist and traveling a distance to meet in person. However, if patients are unfamiliar with technology and do not own a device to access the teletherapy platform, it can be challenging for patients to receive treatment. To resolve such disadvantages, a more streamlined and simplified platform can be helpful. Also, through various organizations designed to facilitate accessibility, simple devices can be loaned to patients in need to facilitate treatment. Overall, telehealth can increase accessibility for patients who otherwise may not receive treatment.

I am a Korean American. I was born in Korea and spent the first 11 years of my life there. While living in Korea as a young child, I was able to absorb cultural expectations of a collectivistic society that had deep roots in Confucianism, mixed in with western influences. Although Korea boast of 5,000 years-old heritage, Korea has a complicated modern history. Its transition from a hermit kingdom to the modern democratic republic was a turbulent one. The end of a 518 years-old kingdom came in the form of Japanese Occupation that lasted for almost 35 years. The occupation destroyed the nation with its extreme violence and cruelty. Only 5 years after the hard-won independence, the fragile nation had to face Korean War. Through the turbulent years, the leaders of Korea came to prioritize economy as its imperative goal to resurrect the frail nation. As a byproduct, socioeconomic elevation became one of the greatest standards of success, sacrificing other important factors such as harmony and unity. In its spiraling effort to raise the nation in a growing global economy, the topic of mental health became a taboo subject. Those who showed signs of depression and anxiety were considered weak and useless. Anyone with a mental disorder were cast aside or shunned from the society as a deficiency. This tendency was carried on through the immigrant communities here in the U.S. There are large Korean American diasporas throughout the major cities of the U.S., but the number of mental health professionals of Korean culture are still disproportionate to the population and the need. I, myself, have experienced this dire need after losing my dear mother to cancer abruptly. Immigrant experience itself is traumatic. When my family moved to the U.S., we experienced family separation, fraud, poverty and scorn. My mother became a single parent who had to work menial jobs receiving minimum wages at best, despite her having a college-degree and experience as a piano teacher. I also had to work as a young teen to help our family feed and clothe ourselves. Needless to say, we were survivors of a very harsh reality. This experience brought my mother and I very close. So, when she passed away only 3 weeks after her diagnosis of cancer, I was devastated. My faith kept me grounded, but those who were around me demanded that I return to the normal activities of life right away because wallowing in sadness would not be helpful. This was the general response from my Korean community, because to them, achieving socioeconomic stability was much more important than grieving. Without consideration for the depth of my grief, they forced me to meet their demands. Around this time, I was feeling utterly hopeless and profoundly angry. It was not until I finally saw a counselor that I began to understand what I was going through. The counselor was a woman of faith that understood Korean culture well, despite her being a different ethnicity. She helped me make sense of the emotions and thoughts I was experiencing. I also finally understood the importance of drawing boundaries and prioritizing myself over others. Through this, I realized that my experiences can be helpful for those who suffer from similar experiences. Many immigrants feel isolated and misunderstood. I want to be the ear that listens and the voice that offers guidance. Many minorities are afraid to seek out counseling because of the judgment of being labeled as a deficiency. I want to share my story; it's okay to feel that way and I am here to listen because I know. I've been there.

I come from a long line of strong women. My maternal grandmother was a survivor of the Japanese occupation in Korea and the Korean War. The latter claimed the life of her first husband. When she remarried my grandfather, she was a widow who was admired for her elegance and was respected as a journalist at a time and in a culture where women had no rights. My mother was the eldest child of 5 siblings. Though she was always the smallest in stature, she was always the most confident and the boldest. She was a proud college graduate in English literature at a prestigious university in Korea and also a piano teacher. She was known for her generosity as well as her intelligence. These women taught me that a woman can make her own way as long as she dedicates herself to rise higher. Education, they also taught me, was the strongest weapon a woman could yield to make her own way. My grandmother and my mother both taught me that resilience comes from not only the desire to survive, but from the desire to thrive. To merely survive would not fulfill the purpose of our creation; we, as human beings, should always seek and work towards achieving higher goals. However, life was harsh for my mother as a single immigrant parent with no financial support from my estranged father. Our life in the U.S. was filled with poverty and despair. Our financial situation slowly and slightly improved as years went by, but we still lived in poverty. My mother's college degree and piano skills meant nothing in the U.S., and she could only work minimum wage jobs. I also had to work full-time right out of high school to ensure that we had some kind of a saving. College was just a dream. Even then, our tiny saving was quickly depleted for fixing our car or to pay for a necessary medical care. It was hard for me to imagine how I would thrive when no matter how hard we worked, we were just surviving. But I kept dreaming, hoping and fighting. I truly believed that as long as I kept striving to go on higher, doors would open and I would be going higher, even if tiny steps at a time. Then an opportunity came years later that I could actually go to college, thanks to the generous scholarships and the financial aid available for students like me. It was truly a dream come true. At this point, I was a wife and a mother to a 7 years-old boy. I now how a family of my own. We are still not financially stable; we work hard to meet our daily needs despite the limitations that surround us. But because I am in school to earn a degree in psychological science, I know I have a better future. Not only am I gaining a greater knowledge, but I am gaining a greater perspective. My ultimate goal is to earn a master's degree in marriage and family therapy to help those who struggle with the difficulties and challenges of life. Sometimes, it is impossible to walk the journey of life alone; we all need someone to help us. Without the scholarships and the financial aid, it would have been impossible for me to keep dreaming and fighting. I want to be there for those who need someone. I can help with tools that I will have through higher education; it is the weapon with which I fight against hopelessness and limitations, as the women before me have.

When my mother passed away abruptly in 2020, I was devastated. I am the only child of a single mother. My mother and I immigrated to the United States when I had just turned 12. Because my estranged father never financially supported us, we were left to survive on our own. Though my mother spoke sufficient English, was a piano teacher, and had a college degree in English Literature, these skills were meaningless. We were able to barely survive with meager wages. As time went on, things were starting to get a little bit better. But this is when a terminal cancer struck my mother. From the official diagnosis and to her death was only three weeks. Of the three weeks, she spent two weeks in the hospital bed, never able to return home. We are a people of faith, a Christian faith. Our faith helped us cope with the sudden tragedy. We were comforted in the words of the Scriptures and many in our faith community who stepped up to help us in any way. However, after some time passed, I finally began to process the grief and the reality of my mother's absence. It was also during this time that I began to struggle with some negatively demanding intrapersonal relationships. Although my significant other was very supportive through this and I had close friends who were incredibly helpful, I was profoundly depressed and did not know how to cope with the surge of emotions. It began to impact my daily life: I was perpetually upset but I forcefully put on a happy facade because others demanded it. This constant paradox was driving me mad but I still refused to seek help because I thought I was strong enough to 'deal' with it. Those who were telling me to be stronger and to be more abiding to their demands were Korean men who were my elders. They told me that it is only 'right' that I must abide because one, I am still a Korean who should live to keep the Korean tradition alive, and two, I must do so to be still part of a Korean community; nobody respects a rebellious female who has a mental condition because it is a sign of damaged person. However, there came a breaking point where my significant other noticed that I needed help. I could not sustain myself anymore. I finally connected with a mental health counselor and was diagnosed with an adjustment disorder. Although adjustment disorder is a temporary, common and mild diagnosis, while I was in the midst of it, I felt the destructive power it held within. Finding a counselor to help me through the journey of coping with the disorder was a lifesaver for me. I was able to navigate through the turbulent emotions and illogical thinking with guidance to find the right way to deal with them. Without the counselor's help, I am not sure I would be here now. The stigma and the shame of having a mental disorder or a disability can be debilitating in Asian communities. One can be shunned away for simply seeking help. I want to shatter this stigma and offer more accessible help for those who are suffering as a marriage and family therapist. I did not stop being a Korean simply because I was going through difficult times and I needed help. Having a mental disorder or a disability is not a mark of a damaged person; it builds us to be a stronger person as it becomes a part of who we are.

I grew up with a single mother. My mother was an educated woman that came from an educated family. My mother and the maternal grandparents always taught me to place the highest value on knowledge because knowledge is the greatest treasure one can have. I was born in Korea and was about 12 when we moved to the U.S. to live with my dad's sister. My aunt and her husband were extremely amoral people. They stole everything we owned and ran away to another state. We were left with almost nothing. From there, we had to fight very hard just to survive. When one lives in poverty, education is not at the top of the list of things; bare necessities such as food, shelter and clothing are. I was going through very turbulent teenage years and I felt completely lost. All I wanted was a glimpse of hope that our family would somehow escape the cruel reality of poverty. During high school years, I began to improve. I had friends and teacher who helped me to navigate through school. I was volunteering at church more, and I was gaining confidence by teaching children at Sunday School. By the time I graduated high school, I was teaching and leading youth groups, helping other struggling youths to find themselves and a sense of hope. Then I gradually began to be more involved in church work. Eventually, I became an unordained pastor, a position unique to Korean churches. I was greatly blessed because I had never gone to college. Our family could not afford college with our meager wages despite working full-time. Yet, I realized that I had gained so much knowledge through whatever opportunities I had and this had opened a door for me to gain a position to help even more people. I continued this path for years until I ran into a realization that I needed more; I needed higher learning to be more impactful at what I do. So with what little savings I had, I applied to Seattle Pacific University and was accepted in 2008. However, the little savings ran out as fast as Kool-Aid on a hot, sunny day. After taking 3 classes, I could not afford to be in school anymore. I had to put college on pause. It was not until 2023 that I was able to return to SPU. By this time, I was married and had a family of my own. My mother passed away in 2020 after a short but strong battle against cancer. Her legacy challenged me to go higher in life. It is extremely difficult to balance full-time school, part-time ministry and family life. I am constantly drained and stressed, but I also find unexplainable joy in making advances towards my goals, which are to graduate with a BA in psychology, then to progress to graduate school to earn a master's in marriage and family therapy. Coming from a broken family, I came to understand first hand the struggles and challenges that these families have to face. I want to help them to cope with difficulties by providing them with not only comforting words but specific tools; I believe as a counselor, I can provide them with these tools. I believe everything that I went through, it was to help those who are going through similar struggles, or any kind of hardship. I have gained empathy and a knowledge where I can help people in more effective ways. I am determined that this is my calling and my purpose; I will persist and pursue these goals with all my might.

I grew up with a single mother. My mother was an educated woman that came from an educated family. My mother and the maternal grandparents always taught me to place the highest value on knowledge because knowledge is the greatest treasure one can have. I was born in Korea and was about 12 when we moved to the U.S. to live with my dad's sister. My aunt and her husband were extremely amoral people. They stole everything we owned and ran away to another state. We were left with almost nothing. From there, we had to fight very hard just to survive. When one lives in poverty, education is not at the top of the list of things; bare necessities such as food, shelter and clothing are. I was going through very turbulent teenage years and I felt completely lost. All I wanted was a glimpse of hope that our family would somehow escape the cruel reality of poverty. During high school years, I began to improve. I had friends and teacher who helped me to navigate through school. I was volunteering at church more, and I was gaining confidence by teaching children at Sunday School. By the time I graduated high school, I was teaching and leading youth groups, helping other struggling youths to find themselves and a sense of hope. Then I gradually began to be more involved in church work. Eventually, I became an unordained pastor, a position unique to Korean churches. I was greatly blessed because I had never gone to college. Our family could not afford college with our meager wages despite working full-time. Yet, I realized that I had gained so much knowledge through whatever opportunities I had and this had opened a door for me to gain a position to help even more people. I continued this path for years until I ran into a realization that I needed more; I needed higher learning to be more impactful at what I do. So with what little savings I had, I applied to Seattle Pacific University and was accepted in 2008. However, the little savings ran out as fast as Kool-Aid on a hot, sunny day. After taking 3 classes, I could not afford to be in school anymore. I had to put college on pause. It was not until 2023 that I was able to return to SPU. By this time, I was married and had a family of my own. My mother passed away in 2020 after a short but strong battle against cancer. Her legacy challenged me to go higher in life. It is extremely difficult to balance full-time school, part-time ministry and family life. I am constantly drained and stressed, but I also find unexplainable joy in making advances towards my goals, which are to graduate with a BA in psychology, then to progress to graduate school to earn a master's in marriage and family therapy. Coming from a broken family, I came to understand first hand the struggles and challenges that these families have to face. I want to help them to cope with difficulties by providing them with not only comforting words but specific tools; I believe as a counselor, I can provide them with these tools. I believe everything that I went through, it was to help those who are going through similar struggles, or any kind of hardship. I have gained empathy and a knowledge where I can help people in more effective ways. I am determined that this is my calling and my purpose; I will persist and pursue these goals with all my might.