When we talk about mental illness, we often discuss what it feels like to live with it. We talk about the symptoms, the diagnoses, the medications, and the struggle to get through each day. But how many people talk about the people you lose along the way? I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder during college. Learning to navigate the highs and lows was difficult, but one of the most painful parts of my experience was losing people I loved. I made friendships that I genuinely believed would last a lifetime. We shared memories, dreams, and pieces of ourselves that I thought would always keep us connected. Eventually, however, some of those friendships ended for the same reason: I was “too much.” Friends told me that my periods of high energy followed by emotional lows had become exhausting. I understood that relationships require emotional capacity, and I never expected anyone to have unlimited energy to support me. Still, understanding someone's reasons for leaving does not make their absence hurt any less. Initially, I felt angry. I wondered how people who had once promised to be there for me could walk away when I was struggling. I felt abandoned at a time when I already had difficulty managing my emotions. Their departures reinforced a fear that my mental illness made me fundamentally difficult to love, that the parts of me I struggled to control would eventually overshadow everything else I brought to a relationship. Over time, my anger gave way to a more complicated understanding. The people in my life had their own struggles, responsibilities, and emotional limits. They were not necessarily cruel for reaching those limits, just as I was not wrong for experiencing a condition that made certain aspects of life more difficult. Two things could be true at once: I could be deeply hurt by losing those relationships, and the people who left could have been struggling in ways I did not fully understand. Accepting that has not erased the grief, but it has taught me that compassion must extend in every direction, including toward myself. A mental health diagnosis does not excuse every action, but neither should it define someone's entire character. I am still responsible for learning about my condition, recognizing my needs, and developing healthier ways to navigate relationships. At the same time, I deserve the opportunity to grow without believing that my diagnosis makes me unworthy of connection. These experiences have influenced the person I want to become. As a nursing student preparing to enter the healthcare profession, I have become especially aware of how much of a person's suffering can remain invisible. Patients are more than their diagnoses, and people experiencing mental illness need more than symptom management. They need to be treated with dignity, listened to without judgment, and supported as whole human beings. I also hope to challenge the assumption that people with mental illness are inherently burdensome. Support systems matter, but so do boundaries, education, and honest communication. We need a culture in which people can acknowledge their struggles without shame and loved ones can discuss their limitations without cruelty. Mental illness has taken things from me that I once thought I would never lose. It has also taught me to recognize pain that other people may carry quietly. I cannot make every friendship last, and I cannot control how others understand my experiences. What I can do is continue growing, extend compassion to others and myself, and work toward a world where fewer people feel that they must hide their suffering to be worthy of love.

Of all the plans I had for my future, I never imagined I would be diagnosed with diabetes. I had always considered myself a healthy person, and although diabetes ran in my family, I believed I could avoid it. College challenged that assumption in ways I did not expect. When I began struggling with severe depression and anxiety, my world gradually shrank to the 100 square feet of my dorm room. I ordered takeout to avoid social interaction, became increasingly inactive, and slept to escape the emotional pain. Meanwhile, I experienced symptoms of insulin resistance, including acanthosis nigricans, constant hunger, and excessive thirst. This summer, I received a diabetes diagnosis. I was surprised, but part of me was not. I had watched my parents and grandparents struggle with diabetes, yet I had never fully understood how genetics, mental health, environment, and daily habits could interact to influence metabolic health. I had once viewed type 2 diabetes primarily as a consequence of lifestyle choices. My own experience taught me how incomplete and unfair that perspective can be. Depression made it harder to care for myself, and the resulting changes in my activity, eating patterns, and sleep further complicated my health. I began to understand how chronic illness can develop through interconnected factors that are rarely addressed in isolation. This experience has strengthened my commitment to preventative, whole-person healthcare. For my nursing capstone, I researched the bidirectional relationship between depression and type 2 diabetes, exploring how mental health conditions and metabolic dysfunction may influence one another. I became increasingly interested in the biological mechanisms connecting the two and in why healthcare so often treats these conditions separately. I will graduate with my Bachelor of Science in Nursing this December, and I plan to pursue a Doctor of Physical Therapy degree. As a certified personal trainer, I already understand the value of movement in supporting physical health. Nursing has expanded that understanding by teaching me to consider the patient beyond a diagnosis: their emotional well-being, medical history, environment, resources, and ability to manage their condition. My long-term goal is to combine nursing knowledge, physical rehabilitation, and evidence-based exercise to help people with chronic conditions improve their health and quality of life. I want to help patients understand their bodies, develop sustainable movement habits, and recognize that meaningful progress does not require perfection. I also want to advocate for healthcare that addresses barriers to self-management instead of simply instructing patients to eat better, exercise more, or take their medications. For people living with chronic autoimmune conditions, the same principle of whole-person care matters. A diagnosis can affect far more than physical health; it can change someone's identity, independence, and relationship with their body. Healthcare professionals must recognize those challenges and provide compassionate, individualized support. My diagnosis did not end my ambitions. It gave them greater purpose. I want to become a provider who helps people feel capable rather than ashamed, supported rather than judged, and empowered to participate in their own care. By bridging healthcare and physical activity, I hope to contribute to a future in which chronic illness management includes not only treating disease, but also helping people live fuller, healthier lives.

I had never truly understood the gravity of dementia until my first clinical rotation in a memory care unit. Learning about Alzheimer's disease in a textbook is one thing, but witnessing it firsthand is something entirely different. The moment I stepped onto the unit, my perspective changed forever. Every day I walked into clinical, my heart sank. I watched people who had lived full, vibrant lives struggle to recognize where they were or remember the people who loved them most. Before this experience, I feared illnesses that affected the body, not the brain. After memory care, dementia became the disease I hoped I would never face. The thought of losing the memories that define who we are felt more devastating than any physical diagnosis I had imagined. What struck me most was the loneliness. Even when residents could no longer recognize their family members, it often seemed as though they still sensed that something was missing. There was a longing they couldn't always put into words. My heart broke every time a resident pleaded to "go home," even though they were already living in a place designed to keep them safe. During episodes of sundowning, I saw fear, confusion, and distress that no one should have to experience. The families left an equally lasting impression on me. I watched spouses, children, and grandchildren visit faithfully, holding onto every remaining connection with someone they loved. They would smile, tell stories, hold hands, and comfort a person who no longer recognized their face. Yet they kept showing up. Their love did not disappear simply because the memories did. Witnessing that kind of unconditional devotion changed the way I think about caregiving and what it means to truly support another person. Those experiences made me realize how precious our memories really are. Our memories shape our identities, our relationships, and our understanding of the world. They allow us to celebrate milestones, learn from hardships, and connect with the people around us. Watching dementia slowly take those pieces away led me to ask a question that has stayed with me ever since: Who are we without the life experiences and memories that have shaped us? After my memory care rotation ended, I found myself wanting to understand more. I spent time reading about Alzheimer's disease, the biology behind neurodegeneration, and the ongoing search for treatments that could slow or prevent its progression. My curiosity wasn't new. Before deciding to pursue nursing, I had originally planned to major in neuroscience because I was fascinated by the brain and how it influences every aspect of our lives. Although I ultimately chose nursing so I could provide direct patient care, my passion for neuroscience never disappeared. If anything, caring for patients with dementia strengthened it. As a future registered nurse, I hope to combine compassionate patient care with a commitment to lifelong learning and evidence-based practice. Alzheimer's disease reminds us that there is still so much we do not understand about the brain. Continued research is essential, not only to develop better treatments and, one day, a cure, but also to improve the quality of life for patients and the families who walk this journey alongside them. My memory care rotation taught me that healing is not always about curing disease. Sometimes it means preserving dignity, offering reassurance during moments of fear, and treating every patient as the person they have always been, even when their memories begin to fade. Those lessons have shaped the kind of nurse I aspire to become and reinforced my belief that advancing dementia research is one of the most meaningful ways we can honor the lives of those affected by these devastating diseases.

I do not believe health is isolated. A patient's health is not determined solely by what happens inside a hospital room or doctor's office. It is influenced by the air they breathe, the food they can access, the environment they live in, their education, their financial circumstances, and even the health of the animals and ecosystems around them. This belief is what led me to pursue nursing and what fuels my passion for preventative healthcare. One of the global health issues I care most deeply about is our tendency to treat illness only after it occurs rather than addressing the factors that contribute to it in the first place. Healthcare systems around the world spend enormous resources managing chronic diseases, responding to public health crises, and treating preventable conditions. While these interventions are necessary, I believe we must place greater emphasis on prevention if we hope to create healthier communities. My perspective has been shaped by both my nursing education and my experiences outside the classroom. Before nursing school, I worked as a physical therapy technician, where I saw firsthand how education and early intervention could improve outcomes. Patients who understood their conditions and actively participated in their care often experienced better results. Through nursing school, I have become increasingly aware that many health challenges stem from factors beyond medicine alone. Access to nutritious food, safe housing, clean environments, quality education, and preventive services often have as much influence on health outcomes as medical treatment itself. This understanding has also drawn me to the One Health approach, which recognizes the connection between human, animal, and environmental health. Whether it is the spread of infectious diseases, the health impacts of climate change, or environmental factors that contribute to chronic illness, the well-being of people cannot be separated from the world around them. My involvement in animal welfare and environmental conservation has reinforced this belief and strengthened my commitment to addressing health from a broader perspective. As a future nurse, I want to be part of a healthcare system that empowers people before they become critically ill. I hope to focus on patient education, health literacy, and preventive care because knowledge is one of the most powerful tools we can provide. When people understand their health, recognize risk factors, and have access to resources that support healthy living, they are better equipped to prevent disease and improve their quality of life. I chose nursing because I want to help people, but I also chose it because I believe healthcare can be proactive rather than reactive. Health is not isolated, and neither are the solutions to our greatest health challenges. By addressing the environmental, social, and educational factors that influence well-being, we can create healthier individuals, stronger communities, and a more sustainable future. That is the kind of impact I hope to make throughout my career.

My name is Kaiyn and I am a nursing student at Pacific Lutheran University. My passion for healthcare comes from a belief that many illnesses and hospitalizations can be prevented when people have access to education, resources, and compassionate care. I chose nursing because I want to help bridge the gap between healthcare knowledge and the communities that need it most. Before entering nursing school, I worked as a physical therapy technician, where I guided patients through exercises, monitored their progress, and helped them understand their treatment plans. It was my first experience seeing how education empowers people to take control of their health. I learned that patients are more likely to succeed when healthcare professionals take the time to explain, listen, and advocate for them. Throughout my education, I have continued seeking opportunities to serve others. I have volunteered at animal shelters, helping care for animals and giving them opportunities to exercise, socialize, and find loving homes. I have also participated in environmental conservation efforts and community service projects because I believe caring for people also means caring for the communities and environments in which they live. These experiences have taught me that service takes many forms, but all meaningful service shares a common goal: improving the lives of others. As a future nurse, I hope to make a positive impact by focusing on preventative healthcare and health literacy. One of the biggest challenges facing healthcare today is that many people do not fully understand their health conditions, medications, or available resources. This often leads to preventable complications and hospital admissions. My goal is to help patients feel informed, confident, and supported in managing their health. Whether I am educating a patient about a new diagnosis, helping a family navigate a difficult situation, or advocating for underserved populations, I want to ensure that every person feels heard and respected. If awarded this scholarship, it would reduce the burden and allow me to focus more fully on my studies, clinical experiences, and service opportunities. More importantly, it would serve as encouragement to continue pursuing a career dedicated to helping others. Addie James Hamerter dedicated her life to justice, education, and human rights. Her commitment to creating opportunities for others is deeply inspiring. I hope to honor that legacy through a nursing career centered on compassion, advocacy, education, and service. By helping individuals gain the knowledge and support they need to thrive, I believe I can contribute to a healthier and more equitable future for my community.

I used to believe that being quiet was the same thing as being respectful. Growing up, I learned to observe first, speak second, and avoid creating tension. As I entered nursing school, however, I began to understand that silence can sometimes cost more than discomfort. One moment that shaped me deeply happened during a clinical rotation. I was assigned to a woman of color who repeatedly expressed that her pain was worsening. She described it clearly and consistently, yet her concerns were brushed aside as anxiety. I remember standing in the room feeling tension build in my chest. We had learned about disparities in pain management and how patients of color are often undertreated or dismissed. I recognized what might be happening, but I hesitated. I was a student surrounded by experienced nurses. I questioned myself. What if I am overthinking this? What if I speak up and I am wrong? So at first, I stayed quiet. But the patient continued advocating for herself, and I saw frustration in her eyes. In that moment I realized I could not say I wanted to serve my community if I was unwilling to use my voice when it mattered. Respect does not mean silence. Advocacy requires courage. I approached my clinical instructor privately and shared my concerns, explaining what I had observed and referencing what we had learned about disparities in pain management. She listened. The situation was reassessed, and the patient’s concerns were taken more seriously. It was not dramatic. There was no confrontation. Yet internally, it changed me. I learned that using your voice does not require being loud or confrontational. It requires being informed, composed, and willing to accept discomfort. Confidence is not the absence of fear. It is action despite fear. As an African American student in healthcare spaces where I am often underrepresented, I have had to grow into my voice. There have been classrooms where I was one of the only students who looked like me. During discussions about health disparities, I sometimes hesitated to contribute because I did not want to be seen as overly emotional or biased. Over time I realized that my lived experience is not something to minimize. It is something to value. Communication in healthcare is power. The ability to articulate concerns clearly, educate patients, and advocate within complex systems can directly influence outcomes. I want to become the kind of nurse who empowers patients to speak up, especially those who have historically been unheard. I want to model calm, confident advocacy so others feel safer doing the same. In the future, I hope to use my voice beyond the bedside. I am passionate about addressing gaps in health education within underserved communities. Too often, information about prevention, nutrition, and early detection fails to reach the people who need it most. I want to communicate complex medical information in ways that are culturally aware, accessible, and empowering. That clinical moment taught me something lasting. My voice is not an interruption. It is a responsibility. When used with intention, it can advocate for safety, equity, and dignity. I no longer equate silence with strength. I understand now that leadership sometimes begins with a steady but nervous sentence: I have a concern. And I plan to keep speaking.

What inspired me to pursue nursing was watching the people I love struggle with their health, and often in ways that felt preventable. I grew up seeing family members battle diabetes, high cholesterol, and even pancreatic cancer. What stood out to me was not just the diagnoses themselves, but the lack of education that surrounded them. In nursing school, we learn about the levels of prevention and how health promotion is the very first step in protecting health. Yet it became clear to me that prevention does not reach every community equally. Conversations about nutrition, early screenings, and lifestyle changes were things I learned in class, not at home. Simple knowledge, like understanding how certain foods affect blood sugar or cholesterol, was foreign in my family. Preventive care often felt like a luxury tied to wealth, access, or being part of communities that are consistently poured into. In many communities of color, healthcare is reactive instead of proactive. We seek help when something is already wrong. And on top of that, there is stigma and mistrust. Many people of color hesitate to seek medical care because they fear being dismissed, unheard, or misunderstood. And too often, when they do advocate for themselves, their concerns are minimized. I have seen it. I have felt it. That is why I want to be a nurse. I want to be the bridge between healthcare systems and the communities that feel disconnected from them. I want to be the friendly, familiar face that makes someone feel safe enough to ask questions. I want to provide the kind of education my own family never received and deliver care that is culturally aware, unbiased, and rooted in advocacy. Nursing, to me, is not just about treating illness, it is about restoring trust. If I had the opportunity to create something fun to make the world a better place, I would create a traveling Community Health & Culture Festival that brings prevention directly into underserved neighborhoods. It would combine music, food, and art with free health screenings like blood pressure checks, glucose testing, and cholesterol monitoring. There would be culturally relevant cooking demonstrations that show families how to adjust traditional meals in healthier ways without sacrificing flavor or identity. Mental health professionals would host open conversations to reduce stigma, and children could learn about the body through interactive games. Healthcare should not only exist within hospital walls. It should exist in parks, churches, schools, and community spaces; places where people already feel comfortable. By blending celebration with education, we can make prevention feel empowering instead of intimidating. We can normalize taking control of our health before crisis strikes. Mighty’s story really reflects the power of generosity and belief. He invested in his daughter’s education so she could fulfill her dream of becoming a nurse. That kind of sacrifice is transformative. And like Mighty, I believe education changes lives. This is not just the life of the student, but the lives of everyone they will one day serve. So despite financial burdens, private loans, and working while attending nursing school full time, I continue pushing forward because this dream is bigger than me. It is for my family. It is for my community. It is for the patients who deserve to feel heard, respected, and cared for without bias. Through this, I hope to become the kind of nurse who turns knowledge into empowerment and care into trust. That is how I hope to honor the spirit of generosity this scholarship represents.

My journey toward nursing was shaped by observing how powerful a nurse’s presence can be. Beyond clinical skill, it was the nurses who listened, advocated, and treated people with dignity who made the most lasting impact. I was inspired by the idea that nursing allows you to care not only for the body, but for the person as a whole. At this stage in my education, I am particularly interested in hospice, oncology, forensic nursing, and mental health. While these specialties may appear different on the surface, they are united by the need for deep empathy, trust, and the ability to look beyond the chart to truly see the individual. These are areas where patients often carry fear, grief, trauma, or stigma, and where nursing care extends far beyond physical treatment. Hospice nursing speaks to my belief that comfort, dignity, and presence are just as important as cure. Supporting patients and families at the end of life requires emotional intelligence, patience, and the ability to hold space during moments of profound vulnerability. Oncology nursing similarly demands both technical expertise and compassion, as patients navigate uncertainty, loss of control, and long-term treatment. I am drawn to the opportunity to build meaningful relationships and support patients through some of the most challenging periods of their lives. My interest in forensic nursing and mental health stems from a desire to advocate for individuals whose stories are often complex or silenced. These fields require nurses to approach care without judgment, to recognize the impact of trauma, and to provide safety and support during critical moments. I am motivated by the role nurses play in restoring a sense of agency, trust, and dignity to those who have experienced violence, crisis, or psychological distress. My philosophy of care is grounded in empathy and presence. I believe that healing begins when patients feel heard and understood. This means approaching each individual with curiosity and compassion, recognizing how social, emotional, and environmental factors influence health, and adapting care to meet patients where they are. I strive to practice with cultural humility and an awareness of my own biases, understanding that every patient’s experience is shaped by their unique background and circumstances. Through my nursing education and experiences serving others, I have learned that meaningful care often occurs in the small moments: taking time to explain a procedure, sitting with someone in silence, or advocating for their needs when they cannot speak for themselves. These moments have reinforced my desire to work in specialties that require emotional presence and resilience, as well as strong clinical judgment. Now is the time for me to pursue nursing fully because I feel prepared to meet the emotional and professional demands of these fields. As healthcare continues to evolve, nurses are essential advocates for compassionate, trauma-informed, and patient-centered care. I am committed to becoming a nurse who not only delivers excellent clinical care, but who consistently looks beyond the chart to see the person, their story, and their humanity.

The most memorable outdoor experience of my life was a hike to Snow Lake in Washington. Born and raised in Texas, I had never ventured on a trail with significant elevation gain. When I read reviews claiming the hike was “easy,” I felt confident in my abilities and underestimated the challenge that awaited me. That assumption quickly dissolved as I began the trek, realizing the journey ahead would test my endurance, mental strength, and determination. The hike began with excitement, surrounded by lush evergreens and the crisp, cool air of the Pacific Northwest. But as the trail steepened, my body—unused to the elevation—began to feel the strain. My lungs burned, my legs ached, and I couldn’t help but think of turning back. Yet, with every step, I encountered other hikers who encouraged me, assuring me the view at the top was worth the effort. Their words stuck with me as I wrestled with my discomfort, placing one foot in front of the other despite the mounting fatigue. Finally, after hours of pushing through physical pain and self-doubt, the lake came into view. Its crystal-clear waters shimmered under the sun, reflecting the surrounding snow-capped peaks like a perfect mirror. The sight took my breath away. I stood in awe, feeling deeply connected to the beauty and power of nature. The exhaustion faded as I dipped into the cold, pristine water, an experience unlike any other. For the first time, I felt truly alive and one with the natural world. That hike to Snow Lake taught me resilience and the value of perseverance. I could have turned back when the trail became difficult, but I kept moving forward, motivated by the promise of something greater. That lesson has stayed with me and influenced how I approach challenges in my life. Whether it’s balancing work, school, and personal goals or navigating the complexities of relationships, I’ve learned to push past discomfort and trust that the effort will lead to growth and reward. Since that hike, I’ve also developed a deeper appreciation for nature and its ability to transform us. Spending time outdoors is now a vital part of my self-care routine, whether it’s a walk in the park or a new trail to explore. I’ve learned to seek out moments of beauty and mindfulness, knowing they help ground me during life’s challenges. Snow Lake was more than just a hike; it was a metaphor for life. The journey reminded me that the most rewarding experiences often come with struggle and perseverance. Now, when I face obstacles, I remember the feeling of stepping into that icy lake after hours of hard work and know I have the strength to endure and emerge stronger. This experience shaped me into someone who values persistence, cherishes nature, and embraces the journey, no matter how daunting it seems. If given the chance, I would tackle that hike all over again, not because it was easy, but because it taught me that the hardest climbs lead to the most beautiful views.

My desire to pursue a career in nursing stems from both personal experiences and a deep commitment to making a meaningful difference in people’s lives. One of the most defining moments in my life was losing my grandmother to stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Witnessing her journey opened my eyes to the vital role that nurses play—not only in providing medical care but also in offering compassion and emotional support during life’s most challenging moments. The nurses who cared for her didn’t just manage her symptoms; they became a source of comfort and strength for our family. Their dedication inspired me to follow a path where I could provide that same level of care and connection to others. My work as a physical therapy technician further solidified my commitment to nursing. In this role, I developed a passion for working directly with patients and saw how rewarding it is to be part of their healing process. Helping patients regain their mobility and confidence after injuries or surgeries allowed me to witness their resilience and strength. It also taught me the importance of empathy, patience, and encouragement in fostering recovery. These experiences deepened my desire to expand my impact by pursuing a nursing career, where I could provide holistic care that addresses not just physical needs but emotional and mental well-being as well. As a nurse, I hope to contribute to my community by being an advocate, a healer, and a source of education. I am particularly passionate about addressing mental health care and breaking the stigma that prevents so many people from seeking help. My own experiences with mental health challenges have shown me the importance of compassionate, nonjudgmental care, and I want to create a safe space where patients feel supported and understood. Whether through one-on-one patient interactions or community outreach programs, I want to empower individuals to prioritize their mental health and access the resources they need to thrive. Additionally, I aim to bring a holistic perspective to nursing, focusing on preventative care and education. I believe that empowering patients with knowledge about their health is one of the most impactful ways to improve outcomes. By providing resources and fostering open communication, I hope to help my community take proactive steps toward healthier lifestyles and reduced health disparities. Ultimately, nursing is more than a career for me—it is a calling to serve others in their moments of need. I look forward to combining my personal experiences, technical skills, and passion for patient care to contribute meaningfully to my community. As a nurse, I hope to not only care for patients but also inspire others to view health care as a partnership built on trust, empathy, and empowerment.

The decision to pursue a career in nursing was not the result of a single defining moment, but rather a journey shaped by personal experiences, a passion for connecting with people, and a deep desire to make a meaningful difference in their lives. One of the most profound experiences that inspired me was the passing of my grandmother from stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Watching her battle this devastating illness was heartbreaking, but it also opened my eyes to the vital role nurses play in providing not just medical care, but also emotional support and dignity to patients and their families. The compassion and dedication I witnessed from her nurses made an indelible impact on me, and I knew I wanted to be able to provide that same care and comfort to others in their most vulnerable moments. This passion for patient care deepened when I began working as a physical therapy technician. In this role, I had the privilege of working closely with patients recovering from injuries or surgeries, helping them regain strength and mobility. What stood out to me most was not just the physical progress they made, but the emotional connections formed during their recovery journeys. I saw firsthand how the smallest acts—listening to their concerns, celebrating their milestones, or simply offering words of encouragement—could make a significant difference in their outlook and recovery. These interactions showed me how rewarding it is to be a part of someone’s healing process, and they reaffirmed my desire to pursue nursing, where I could have an even greater impact on patients’ lives. My own experiences with mental health challenges have further shaped my perspective on the importance of empathy and holistic care in nursing. Struggling with bipolar disorder, I have encountered both the stigma surrounding mental health and the profound impact of compassionate care. There were moments when I felt misunderstood or dismissed by healthcare providers, but there were also nurses who took the time to listen, validate my experiences, and advocate for me. Their support was life-changing, and it inspired me to specialize in psychiatric nursing. I want to be a nurse who creates a safe, welcoming space for patients, breaking down the stigma around mental health care and showing that everyone deserves support and understanding. Nursing appeals to me because it combines the intellectual challenge of understanding complex medical conditions with the deeply human aspect of forming meaningful connections. Each patient is unique, requiring not just clinical knowledge but also empathy, adaptability, and a genuine desire to help. I am drawn to the idea of being a steady presence for patients and their families, offering both expertise and compassion. My experiences with loss, patient care, and personal challenges have solidified my commitment to nursing. I look forward to advancing my education, gaining hands-on experience, and ultimately specializing in psychiatric nursing, where I can make a difference for patients both physically and emotionally. For me, nursing is more than a career—it is a calling to heal, to connect, and to serve others in their moments of greatest need.

Free expression is a foundational pillar of effective healthcare, as it fosters trust, understanding, and patient-centered care. In the medical field, ensuring that patients feel comfortable sharing their concerns is vital for improving patient outcomes. When patients can openly communicate their symptoms, fears, and preferences, healthcare providers are better equipped to develop treatment plans that align with individual needs. This open exchange can lead to more accurate diagnoses, improved treatment strategies, and a stronger therapeutic relationship between patients and providers. As a nursing student, I have come to deeply appreciate how empowering patients to express themselves freely is not just a matter of treating their physical health but also their emotional and psychological well-being. However, while free expression is an essential aspect of patient care, there are disparities in how patients from different racial, ethnic, and socioeconomic backgrounds experience being heard in the healthcare system. Historically, marginalized groups, particularly people of color, have faced barriers to being taken seriously in medical settings. Research has shown that people of color, especially Black patients, are often dismissed or ignored when expressing pain or discomfort, leading to underdiagnosis, misdiagnosis, and inadequate treatment. These disparities are rooted in systemic racism and implicit bias within healthcare, where the voices of people of color are not valued the same way as those of their white counterparts. This creates a healthcare environment where, even when patients freely express their concerns, they may not be listened to or respected in the same way. I believe that free expression is not just about speaking up but about creating a culture where every patient feels valued, regardless of race or identity. This is particularly important for people of color, who often face cultural and systemic barriers to fully expressing their needs in medical settings. For example, studies have shown that Black patients are more likely to have their pain underestimated by healthcare professionals compared to white patients, leading to inadequate pain management and poorer health outcomes. To help bolster free expression and address these disparities, healthcare providers must prioritize cultural competency and actively work to recognize and confront their own biases. This starts with educating future healthcare professionals about the importance of recognizing racial and cultural differences and ensuring that all patients, particularly those from marginalized communities, feel comfortable speaking up. It’s essential to create a healthcare environment where patients feel safe to express their concerns without fear of judgment or dismissal. This can be achieved through training programs, improving communication skills, and advocating for policies that promote equitable care for all patients, regardless of race or background. As a nursing student, I am committed to fostering a healthcare environment where free expression is encouraged and valued, particularly for people of color. I believe that addressing these disparities and promoting inclusive, patient-centered care will help bridge the gap in healthcare inequality. It is through a commitment to listening, learning, and advocating for those who have been historically marginalized that we can truly transform healthcare into a more inclusive, equitable system.

As I look to the future, I see myself becoming a nurse who makes a real difference in the lives of my patients, especially those who are often overlooked or misunderstood. My vision is to bridge the gap between people of color and healthcare. There are many stigmas and barriers that prevent people of color from receiving the care they need, and I want to be the friendly face someone sees and thinks, “She looks like me. I will be listened to and safe.” Growing up as a Black and Hispanic woman, I have seen firsthand how healthcare can feel distant and unwelcoming to people of color. There is often a lack of understanding and empathy, which can lead to mistrust and poorer health outcomes. I want to change that by being a nurse who listens, understands, and advocates for my patients. In my career, I aim to work in communities that are underserved and where healthcare disparities are most evident. I want to provide care that is not only competent but also compassionate and culturally sensitive. By doing so, I hope to build trust and create a safe space for my patients to express their concerns and needs. Education will be a big part of my role as a nurse. I want to educate my patients about their health and empower them to take charge of their well-being. This means explaining medical terms in ways that are easy to understand and helping them navigate the healthcare system. I believe that when patients understand their health conditions and treatment options, they are more likely to follow through with care and make informed decisions. I also see myself advocating for policy changes that address healthcare disparities. I want to be a voice for those who are often unheard and work towards creating a more equitable healthcare system. This could involve working with community organizations, participating in public health campaigns, or even pursuing further education to influence health policy. Mentorship is another important aspect of my vision. I want to mentor young people of color who are interested in healthcare careers. By sharing my experiences and knowledge, I hope to inspire and support the next generation of healthcare professionals. Representation matters, and I want to help others see that they too can pursue a career in nursing and make a difference. In addition to these goals, I am committed to lifelong learning. The field of healthcare is always evolving, and I want to stay up-to-date with the latest advancements and best practices. This will not only make me a better nurse but also ensure that I am providing the best possible care to my patients. Ultimately, my vision as a nurse is to be a bridge—a bridge between people of color and the healthcare they deserve. I want to be a nurse who listens, who cares, and who fights for her patients. By doing so, I hope to create a future where everyone, regardless of their race or background, feels valued and respected in the healthcare system. In summary, I see myself as a nurse who is dedicated to breaking down barriers and building trust within communities of color. I want to provide compassionate care, educate and empower my patients, advocate for policy changes, and mentor future healthcare professionals. Through these efforts, I hope to make a lasting impact and contribute to a more inclusive and equitable healthcare system.

My Ending I died the other day. The funeral was quite empty - me, the only attendee, waiting on mourning guests. So the corpse of my soul rotted away until there was no evidence of my existence. What made my existence? Maybe it was the fraudulent smile disguising my pain or all the words I never said, stagnant in my notebook. Did you ever truly know my existence - or did you only know the false skin I wore? Oh, joy, where did you run off to? If you gave me time, I would have found my way back to you. But don't worry because the waves of agony replaced your rainbow of color instead. It spread into a hostile numbness; The type of numbness that makes you forget who you are, The type of numbness that forces tears, but you are unsure why. Maybe you did not see my gradual death, or maybe you did but did not want to confront it. Did you see the pain behind my eyes screaming for help as I watched myself drift away? Maybe you never knew me. I stand next to you, but I do not feel you. I hear you talking to me, but I do not hear you. You look into my eyes searching for someone you will never find. I died the other day, but no one seemed to notice.