In the fall of 2024, I began college with little direction, despite having dreams of pursuing psychology and law. That summer, I had a petty argument with my mom and, as a result, hadn’t spoken to my father, Richard Johnson, in three months. Time is cruel that way; you don’t realize how valuable it is until it’s too late. On move-in day, I finally apologized to my mom and called my dad. That was when I learned that being corrected doesn’t mean you’re not being heard. It simply opens you up to new perspectives that make you think. Unbeknownst to me or my family, my father had been silently battling diabetes and other serious health issues. Still, he supported me emotionally and financially, never letting on that anything was wrong. My first semester was tough. I often felt ignored, argued constantly, and felt invisible. But through it all, my father reassured me that I was on the right path. At the end of the semester, I told him I didn’t want to come back home to New Orleans. I felt like there was nothing left for me there. I couldn’t have been more wrong. My father fell into diabetic ketoacidosis, essentially a diabetic coma, and was found on the floor of his apartment by one of my older cousins. I was devastated. I sat on the bathroom floor for hours, crying and wondering what I would do without the one person who I felt truly understood me. He was dying, and I didn’t want to accept it, even when everyone else had hope. I asked my mother to come get me on Sunday, December 22, 2024. From that day on, I stayed with him in the hospital, day and night, asking nurses and doctors countless questions. His chances of survival were less than 25 percent. Still, I held onto hope. Miraculously, he woke up, but he was different. He spoke about family and how my brother and I should have spent more time with him. I realized I had been too caught up in my own life to make time for simple things, like lunch with my dad. And though I had reason, memories of being stood up as a kid, I still regret not trying harder. I stayed with him the entire winter break because all he wanted was time. He was discharged with a 75 percent survival rate, and I felt hopeful. Sometimes I think a higher power gives us one last chance to say the things we never got to say. He turned 40 on January 11. That same day, I returned to LSU to prepare for the spring semester. I texted him several times, thinking he was just resting. My first day of class was January 13. He passed away on January 14, while I was watching The Lion King, his favorite movie. I didn’t cry right away. I didn’t feel pain. A part of me had expected it. But in time, I began to miss my mom and my family more deeply. My dad taught me to love and honor family, no matter what. He showed me that grudges only make time slip away faster. If I had reached out during those three months before college, maybe I wouldn’t feel so empty sometimes. I hope to honor him by extending grace to others, even those who’ve hurt me, because sometimes pain is not worth letting time slip away. Not before it’s too late.

Growing up in New Orleans, I’ve always had a deep connection to my community and a natural drive to help others. Watching the people around me navigate life’s challenges, often with limited resources or support, inspired me to pursue a career in human services. My motivation is rooted in personal experiences and a desire to be a source of hope for those who feel like they’ve run out of options. One of the biggest influences in my life was witnessing the struggles within my own family. Addiction, financial hardships, and emotional challenges were common themes that shaped my upbringing. At just 16, I struggled with my own battle with alcohol, despite vowing to take a different path than some of my relatives. It was a tough realization that I was working against myself while trying to escape the pain. Yet, through self-reflection and perseverance, I found strength in addressing these issues head-on. That journey showed me the importance of understanding, compassion, and the ability to guide others through their darkest moments. My decision to work in human services stems from this personal growth. I know how it feels to be overwhelmed, and I want to be the person who steps in and says, “You’re not alone in this.” Helping others work through their struggles—whether emotional, behavioral, or situational—gives me a sense of purpose and fulfillment. I also understand that change isn’t immediate and that progress can be slow. However, patience and dedication are at the heart of this work, and I embrace those challenges because I’ve seen the rewards. In terms of community service, I’ve made it a priority to give back in meaningful ways. Growing up in a city that thrives on culture and community, I’ve volunteered at food drives and local resource fairs that provide support to underserved families. One of my favorite experiences was mentoring younger students during my time in high school. Many of them were dealing with challenges at home or within themselves, and being someone they could trust and confide in made me realize how small actions can create a big impact. At LSU, my involvement continues to grow. Attending events like Greekwide Bible study has not only strengthened my faith but has also shown me how important spiritual and emotional support is to human services work. I plan to expand this involvement by creating programs that uplift youth, especially in areas where resources are scarce. Ultimately, what motivates me is knowing that I can contribute to breaking cycles of struggle, just as I’ve worked to break my own. My path is driven by a desire to rewrite the narrative—not just for myself but for others who feel stuck. Working in human services allows me to blend my passion for understanding human behavior with my deep need to help others feel seen, heard, and valued. It’s not just a career path; it’s a mission to show that even in the toughest times, hope and healing are possible.

In Olivia Rodrigo’s lyric, “And every night, I wake up from this one recurrin’ dream / Where I’m drivin’ through the city and the brakes go out on me / I can’t stop at the red light, I can’t swerve off the road / I read somewhere it’s ’cause my life feels so out of control,” she put into words something I’ve felt but couldn’t quite express. That dream of driving without brakes is such a perfect picture of how teenage life feels to me right now—like I’m speeding forward, but I can’t shake the feeling that things aren’t fully in my control, even when I’m the one at the wheel. There’s this tension between wanting to plan everything out and realizing that life has its own twists, and no matter how hard I try to steer, something always feels off, like I’m just hanging on and hoping I don’t crash. Then she hits on the complexity of relationships with, “And I tell someone I love them just as a distraction / They tell me that they love me like I’m some tourist attraction.” I get that. There’s this weird thing that happens when I’m feeling overwhelmed—it’s easier to look for comfort in someone else than to sit alone with my own thoughts and insecurities. I recognize the temptation to dive into relationships just to feel less alone, to give myself something else to focus on. But like Rodrigo says, sometimes that “love” feels more like a surface-level attraction than a real connection. It can leave me feeling more on display than understood, more like I’m being looked at than actually seen. And deep down, that’s what I really want—to be understood and not just admired from a distance. The final lines—“They’re changin’ my machinery and I just let it happen / I got the things I wanted, it’s just not what I imagined”—capture a hard truth I’ve felt too. I’ve set goals, chased things that I thought would make me happy, only to get there and realize they didn’t quite hit the way I thought they would. It’s like checking off boxes that should feel like victories, but instead, they leave me wondering if I even know what I’m aiming for. Rodrigo’s lyric speaks to me because it captures that raw feeling of reaching for something, hoping it will fill some gap, only to realize the journey is way more confusing than I ever imagined. It’s the essence of being a teenager—feeling both thrilled and lost, driven but uncertain, and constantly searching for a sense of control and understanding in a world that keeps shifting beneath me.

My experience with mental health has been a journey through shadows, slowly finding my way toward the light and clarity that now shape my goals, relationships, and understanding of the world. It’s as if each struggle, every low point, was a lesson designed to teach me resilience and reveal layers of myself that I didn’t even know existed. I’ve learned that mental health isn’t just about the mind—it’s about the whole person and the constant balancing act between strength and vulnerability. And that balance has become my north star. For a long time, I felt trapped in cycles that weren’t mine to break, weighed down by family history and generational struggles I didn’t choose but somehow inherited. I’d tell myself I’d never be like those around me, that I’d escape the things that plagued my family. But as much as I wanted to, life had other plans. I found myself turning to habits and patterns that felt painfully familiar, trying to numb the stress and silence the anxiety that had become a constant in my life. In a way, those moments taught me about control—the illusion of it and the reality of losing it. Facing those parts of myself, I began to understand that breaking cycles isn’t a one-time act of courage; it’s an ongoing commitment to rewriting my story, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s lonely. These experiences changed my relationships too. I became more aware of how fragile we all are, even the people who seem the strongest. It gave me an empathy that I didn’t have before, a patience I had to first learn to extend to myself. I realized that so many people carry invisible burdens, things they don’t talk about but feel deeply. Now, when I connect with others, I’m intentional about creating spaces where people can just be themselves—no masks, no pretenses. I want the people I love to feel safe to talk about what’s on their minds without judgment. I know what it feels like to carry something alone, and I never want to be a person who adds weight to someone else’s load. Mental health also changed the way I define success and happiness. I used to think it was all about accomplishments, reaching milestones, and making others proud. But I see now that real happiness isn’t in checking off boxes; it’s in the moments of growth, in the small victories over battles that others might never know I fought. Success, to me, is about creating a life that’s true to who I am, even if it looks different from what others expect. I’m proud to be someone who can hold space for both joy and struggle, who can celebrate the light while acknowledging the darkness that made me who I am. This journey has given me a lens through which I see the world now, one that’s rooted in compassion and a desire to help others find their way, just as I’m finding mine. I want to be someone who not only improves her own life but leaves an impact, who helps others feel seen and understood. I want to be a part of breaking cycles, especially within my own family, and prove that there’s a path forward, even when it feels impossible. My struggles have shaped my purpose, my drive, and my understanding of what it means to truly live. Every step, no matter how small, is a victory over the shadows. And every day, I’m rewriting my story—one of resilience, growth, and a commitment to become not just the blueprint for myself but a light for others too.

I’ve always been drawn to Wicked for its unique way of flipping a familiar story on its head, but hearing that Ariana Grande will play Glinda in the upcoming movie has me more excited than ever. Ariana has this talent for bringing depth and emotion to her roles, and I can already picture her putting her own twist on Glinda’s character. Glinda is one of those characters who seems simple and a bit shallow at first, all glitz and glam, but over time, you realize how complex and genuine she really is. Beneath her sparkly personality, there’s this real struggle with loyalty, friendship, and self-discovery, which I think Ariana is going to capture beautifully. And then, of course, there’s Elphaba—the character that truly defines Wicked. Her journey is so powerful because she starts as the outcast, someone constantly misunderstood and rejected for just being herself. But instead of giving in or changing to fit in, she fights back and embraces her differences. Her story is all about defiance, resilience, and learning to stand tall in a world that tries to push her down. That’s what makes her so inspiring to me. She’s a reminder that it’s okay to be different and that sometimes, choosing your own path, even when others don’t understand, is the bravest thing you can do. The dynamic between Glinda and Elphaba is what really makes the story magical. They’re total opposites in almost every way—Glinda’s all about charm and popularity, while Elphaba’s misunderstood and “unpopular.” But as they go through this crazy journey together, they start to understand each other and see beyond the labels. By the end, they’ve both grown so much from the friendship they never expected to have. That’s what makes Wicked so special to me: it’s about how friendships can open our minds, challenge us, and ultimately change us “for good,” as the song goes. Part of why Wicked means so much to me is because my mom’s favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz. Growing up, we’d watch it together, and I got to see all the magic of that world through her eyes. Watching Wicked feels like stepping into a world I already know so well but with a whole new perspective. It’s like discovering the untold stories behind the characters I grew up with—the ones my mom loved. Seeing the story of the Wicked Witch of the West, or Elphaba, from a totally different angle is such a powerful experience. It’s not just a story about “good” and “bad” anymore but a reminder that everyone has a backstory, a reason for why they are the way they are. The fact that Wicked builds on this classic story my mom loves brings us closer, and it makes me appreciate both The Wizard of Oz and Wicked on a whole new level. With Ariana Grande stepping into the world of Oz as Glinda, I feel like it’s a full-circle moment, blending a piece of my childhood with a new take on a story that’s impacted both me and my mom.

I’ve always been fascinated by people—the way we think, the reasons behind our actions, and how our earliest experiences shape us. Choosing to study psychology and child development with a focus in pre-law isn’t just a career choice for me; it’s a calling rooted in my own story. Growing up, I saw how mental health struggles and family dynamics impact lives. In my own family, I watched people I love turn to alcohol to cope, and despite telling myself I’d never go down that path, I found myself following a similar cycle by age 16. I drank to numb things I couldn’t face, and before I knew it, I was in the middle of a struggle I’d promised to avoid. That turning point didn’t just teach me about my own resilience; it made me realize how important it is to have someone who understands, who knows how to help you work through the tough stuff without judgment. I knew then that I wanted to be that person for others, especially for kids and teens who might be going through similar battles. I chose psychology because I’m committed to creating safe spaces where people feel heard, supported, and empowered to find healthier ways forward. I want to work with children and families, helping them to break out of cycles, find strength in themselves, and understand their emotions on a deeper level. But my goals go beyond individual support. With a pre-law focus, I’m setting myself up to advocate for bigger changes in mental health resources, especially for communities where support is limited or out of reach. I want to impact not just lives but systems, pushing for policies that give everyone—regardless of background—access to the tools they need to thrive. To me, psychology and law together are the perfect mix: they give me a way to work directly with people while also amplifying their needs on a larger scale. This mission isn’t just about academics or career ambition; it’s personal. I’m motivated by the opportunity to rewrite my own story and prove that where we come from doesn’t have to define where we’re going. My goal is to be the example my younger siblings and my community can look to, showing that resilience is possible and that cycles can be broken. I want to make mental health support accessible, compassionate, and powerful enough to change lives and generations. In this field, I’m not just reaching for a job—I’m building a blueprint for a better future.

My name is Kanye Everfield, an 18-year-old psychology and child development major with a pre-law focus at Louisiana State University. Growing up in New Orleans, I’ve been surrounded by the beauty of my city but also by challenges that inspired me to pursue something greater. Coming from a family with a history of struggles, I’ve always felt the weight of generational cycles, whether it’s financial hardship, addiction, or the limitations set by others. Yet, rather than letting these cycles hold me back, I see them as fuel, a challenge to rewrite the narrative of what’s possible for myself and those who come after me. My path to college and beyond is as much about breaking generational curses as it is about achieving personal success. My journey toward this goal hasn’t been easy. When I was 16, I began using alcohol to cope with the stress of significant life events. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t go down the same road as some family members who struggled with addiction, I found myself following a similar path, drinking to handle things I didn’t know how to face otherwise. I realized that I was battling my depression by turning to unhealthy coping mechanisms, which only deepened my struggles. This experience gave me firsthand insight into the complexities of mental health, which strengthened my resolve to help others find healthier ways of handling life’s challenges. Now, as a psychology and child development student, I am committed to understanding human behavior and providing support to those facing similar struggles. At LSU, I’m dedicated not only to academic success but to personal growth. My goal is to spend all four years of college on the Dean’s List, a commitment that reflects both my passion for learning and my drive to succeed. But it’s not just about the grades; it’s about proving to myself, my family, and anyone who doubts me that I can overcome obstacles and reach the goals I’ve set. Education is a personal mission for me—it’s about defying expectations, setting a new standard, and showing my younger siblings and my community that there’s another way forward. Receiving this scholarship would be transformative. College costs are high, and financial uncertainty has been a constant weight on my shoulders. Despite my determination to push through, the reality is that managing tuition, books, and living expenses has been a struggle. This scholarship would lift some of that burden, allowing me to focus on what matters most: my education, personal development, and involvement on campus, including programs like Greekwide Bible study. I’m driven not only by the knowledge I’ll gain but also by the chance to become a support system for others, helping them heal, find strength, and develop healthier lives. Ultimately, this scholarship would mean the chance to pursue my dreams fully, without the constant worry of how I’ll make it all work financially. It would allow me to continue transforming my story from a “blacksheep” to the “blueprint”—someone who doesn’t just break cycles but builds a legacy of resilience, determination, and success that others can follow.

Imagine trying to run a marathon with weights tied to your ankles—each step harder than the last, each breath feeling heavier. That’s what life feels like when your mental health is out of balance. For me, mental wellness isn’t just an afterthought; it’s the foundation of everything. When my mental health is in check, I can handle the demands of school and life with confidence. But when it’s off, everything starts to crumble, making even the simplest tasks feel overwhelming. That’s why I believe my mental health is so important—it’s the key to how I function, succeed, and maintain healthy relationships. I’ve learned that when my mental health suffers, everything else follows suit. My academic performance takes a hit because I can’t focus, and my motivation drops. Studying becomes a chore, and I find myself procrastinating because I just don’t have the energy. It’s not just about school, though. My personal life is impacted too. I pull away from friends, struggle to engage in conversations, and feel distant even when I’m surrounded by people. It’s a chain reaction, and once it starts, it’s hard to stop. That’s why I make it a point to prioritize my mental health—it’s the glue that holds everything else together. To maintain my mental wellness, I’ve had to develop a few habits that keep me grounded. First and foremost, I’ve learned the power of setting boundaries. As a college student, it’s easy to get caught up in the idea that I need to do everything—take on every opportunity, attend every event, say yes to every social invitation. But I’ve realized that constantly saying yes leads to burnout. So, I make sure to give myself permission to say no when I need to, creating space to recharge and focus on what really matters. I also make time for myself, even when it feels like there’s no time to spare. Whether it’s journaling, meditating, or simply taking a walk, I prioritize moments where I can just be with myself. These small acts of self-care help me process my emotions and clear my mind, especially when school becomes overwhelming. It’s in these moments that I reconnect with what’s important and regain a sense of control. Another key factor in maintaining my mental wellness is talking about how I’m feeling. I’ve realized that bottling up emotions only makes things worse, so I’ve made it a habit to check in with friends or seek professional support when I need it. Just having someone to listen can make all the difference. It’s not about solving every problem immediately; it’s about not carrying the weight alone. Lastly, I pay attention to the basics—sleep, nutrition, and exercise. These might seem small, but they have a huge impact on how I feel mentally. When I’m well-rested, eating balanced meals, and moving my body, I notice an immediate improvement in my mood and focus. It’s easy to overlook these things when life gets hectic, but I’ve learned that taking care of my body is just as important as taking care of my mind. At the end of the day, I know that my mental health is the key to everything else in my life. It affects how I perform academically, how I maintain relationships, and how I handle stress. By setting boundaries, practicing self-care, talking about my feelings, and taking care of my body, I’m able to keep my mental health in check. Prioritizing it allows me to show up as my best self, ready to take on whatever comes my way.

My mental health plays a major role in how I show up academically and personally while I’m in school. When I’m not in the right headspace, it’s like trying to study with a cloud hanging over me. I can stare at the same assignment for hours and feel like I’m getting nowhere because my mind is distracted. Stress, anxiety, and feeling overwhelmed can make it hard to focus, and that definitely affects my grades and motivation. It’s not that I don’t care about school—it’s that my mental state sometimes makes it hard to give 100% to everything on my plate. Personally, it’s the same struggle. If I’m not doing well mentally, it affects how I interact with the people around me. I tend to withdraw and get lost in my thoughts, which makes it harder to stay connected to friends and family. It’s frustrating because I want to be there for them and be involved, but my mind feels so heavy that even simple conversations can feel draining. My mental health can make everything feel like too much, even when I know I’ve handled tougher situations before. To make sure I keep my mental health in check, I’ve had to put a few steps in place. The first thing I do is set boundaries for myself. It’s so easy to get caught up in saying yes to everything—whether it’s extra responsibilities at school or social plans—but I’ve learned that I can’t do it all. I need to know when to step back and prioritize myself. If I feel overwhelmed, I take a break. That might mean stepping away from my books for a while or even skipping a social event if I need to recharge. Another thing I do is talk about how I’m feeling. Whether it’s with a close friend or a counselor, I’ve learned that getting my thoughts out of my head makes a huge difference. It helps to hear someone else’s perspective or even just to be reminded that I’m not alone in what I’m going through. I also make time for things that make me feel good, whether that’s writing, working out, or just spending time outside. It’s those small acts of self-care that keep me grounded. At the end of the day, I’ve realized that mental health isn’t something I can ignore or put off. It impacts everything I do, so I make it a point to check in with myself regularly and adjust where I need to. By putting my mental health first, I’m able to handle the demands of school and life in a healthier way.

One healthy habit I’m going to adopt in school to manage my mental and emotional health is setting clear boundaries. Coming from New Orleans, where life moves fast and everyone’s always got something going on, I’m used to juggling a lot at once. But I’ve learned that I need to protect my own space and not let the hustle take over. Whether it’s saying no to extra commitments or carving out time just for myself, I’m going to make sure I have room to breathe. In college, it’s easy to get wrapped up in everything—there’s always something happening—but I’ve realized that if I don’t prioritize my own mental health, I’ll end up burned out. Boundaries will help me stay focused on what matters and give me the time I need to recharge, so I can show up as my best self. When it comes to creating a safe space for my friends and other students to manage their mental and emotional health, I think it’s all about bringing that sense of community I grew up with in New Orleans. Down here, we look out for each other, and I want to carry that same energy into my relationships at school. I’ve been through my own ups and downs with mental health, so I know how important it is to have someone who listens without judgment. I plan to be that person for my friends—a safe space where they can vent, cry, or just talk about what’s on their mind without feeling like they’re being judged or brushed off. One thing I’ve learned is that people don’t always need you to fix their problems; they just need to feel heard. So I want to be intentional about checking in on the people around me and making sure they know they don’t have to carry their burdens alone. Whether it’s encouraging someone to take a break when they’re overwhelmed or just being there when they need to talk, I want to create an environment where it’s okay to not be okay. I’ll remind my friends that taking care of their mental health isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s a sign of strength. At the end of the day, we’re all in this together. College is stressful, life is stressful, but that doesn’t mean we have to go through it alone. By being there for each other and fostering open, honest conversations about mental health, I hope to create a space where my friends and classmates feel supported.

Mental health has been one of those things that’s always lingered in the background of my life, shaping my beliefs, the way I connect with people, and ultimately, what I want to do with my career. For the longest time, I thought I had to carry my burdens in silence. I believed that if I just kept moving, kept pushing through the rough patches, I’d eventually be okay. But my own struggles with depression and addiction taught me that pretending everything is fine only digs a deeper hole. Facing those issues head-on has completely changed how I see the world and my place in it. My experience with mental health has shifted my beliefs in ways I never expected. For one, I’ve learned that vulnerability isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength. It takes courage to admit when you’re struggling, to open up and ask for help. Growing up, I always thought I had to be the strong one, the one who held it all together. But I’ve realized that real strength lies in being honest about your pain and allowing others to be there for you. That’s a belief I carry with me now, and it’s become a core part of who I am. When it comes to relationships, my mental health journey has completely reshaped how I approach them. I used to feel like I had to take on everyone else’s problems, like I needed to be the one fixing things for the people I cared about. But as I started to work through my own stuff, I realized that’s not how healthy relationships work. Supporting someone doesn’t mean losing yourself in their struggles. It means showing up, being there, and offering love, but also setting boundaries. I’ve learned how to hold space for others while still protecting my own well-being, and that’s changed everything for me. These lessons are what drive me to pursue a career in mental health. I’ve seen firsthand how tough it can be to navigate your own mind, especially when it feels like the world doesn’t understand what you’re going through. I want to be someone who helps change that. In too many communities—especially in Black communities—mental health is still a taboo topic. People don’t talk about it, or if they do, it’s with a sense of shame or secrecy. I want to break that cycle. I want to be part of a movement that normalizes talking about mental health, asking for help, and getting the support we all need. Through my studies in psychology and child development, I’m working toward becoming a counselor or therapist, with a focus on children and teens. I want to create spaces where young people can feel safe to express themselves, where they don’t have to carry the same weight I did. My goal is to help them realize that their struggles don’t define them, and that there’s always hope on the other side of whatever they’re going through. I also want to be an advocate for mental health education, pushing for more resources and programs that make mental health care accessible to everyone, no matter their background. At the end of the day, I just want to make a difference. If I can help even one person feel less alone, more understood, and more equipped to handle their mental health, then I’ll know I’m on the right path.

Addiction for me started in a way I didn’t expect—slow, subtle, and almost unnoticeable at first. I was sixteen when I started drinking, and in the beginning, it was just something I did to cope with the big moments—the stress, the overwhelming feelings I couldn’t quite put into words. I told myself I had control. I wasn’t going to end up like some of my family members, stuck in the same cycle of alcoholism that I’d seen growing up. But the truth is, addiction doesn’t care about your promises to yourself. What started as a way to get through tough days quickly became a habit. Before I knew it, I wasn’t just drinking when things were bad. I’d reach for a drink when I was bored, or even just because a high school crush didn’t text back. It was no longer about dealing with stress; it became my way of avoiding everything. It’s strange looking back, realizing how easily I let alcohol slip into my life. I thought I was handling it, but I was only digging myself deeper. It wasn’t until I took a hard look in the mirror that I saw what was happening. I wasn’t just using alcohol to cope—I was using it to escape. And the more I drank, the further I got from the person I wanted to be. It was like I was running from my own shadow, but the more I ran, the more I became the very thing I was afraid of. I realized if I didn’t stop, I would end up following the same path I swore I’d never go down. Since getting sober, my life has changed in ways I never imagined. Sobriety isn’t just about not drinking; it’s about learning how to face life head-on without needing an escape. I’ve learned to sit with my emotions, no matter how uncomfortable they are, and that’s been one of the biggest shifts for me. Instead of numbing the pain, I’m working through it. I’ve rediscovered my passions, like writing and poetry, and those have become my new outlets. Every day sober is a step toward becoming the person I always wanted to be but was too afraid to confront. I know now that my journey with addiction has given me a deeper understanding of struggle, and that’s why I want to use my education to help others. Studying psychology and child development has opened my eyes to how mental health and addiction are intertwined. I want to work with people who are fighting their own battles, whether it’s addiction, mental health issues, or both. I know how hard it can be to break free from the cycle, and I want to be that person who helps others see that they can choose a different path. I want to help people understand that they’re not defined by their addictions or their lowest moments. There’s so much more to life beyond those dark places, and I’m living proof that you can come out on the other side. Using my education, I hope to guide others toward their own versions of sobriety and healing, showing them that it’s never too late to rewrite their story.

When we talk about understanding the universe, we can’t just limit ourselves to science alone. There’s something deeper—something spiritual—that connects us to it in ways that facts and equations can’t always explain. I find it fascinating how astrology, spirituality, and even voodoo play a part in helping us explore the mysteries of the universe. These practices may not give us direct answers, but they remind us that there’s more to the universe than what we see, and that sometimes, it’s about feeling our way through it. Take astrology, for instance. Some might see it as just a fun way to read horoscopes, but it’s more than that. It’s this belief that the stars and planets, these cosmic giants, have some kind of influence on our lives. It’s like looking up at the night sky and thinking, “Maybe there’s something bigger guiding me.” Now, I don’t see astrology as a hard science, but it does connect us to the universe in a personal way. It makes us feel like we’re part of this massive, cosmic story, not just floating here alone. There’s comfort in that, in knowing that the universe is vast, yet still finds a way to speak to us, even if it’s through the stars. Spirituality adds another layer to this understanding. For me, spirituality isn’t about rigid religious rules, but about finding a connection to something bigger—whether that’s through prayer, meditation, or simply looking up at the stars and wondering why we’re here. It’s that quiet moment where you realize there’s more to the universe than just matter and energy. It’s about believing that there’s a purpose, that the universe has a rhythm, even if we don’t fully understand it yet. And honestly, trying to grasp the vastness of the universe feels like a spiritual experience in itself. It humbles you, makes you feel both small and important at the same time. Voodoo, on the other hand, is something that people often misunderstand, but it’s deeply rooted in the idea of connection. It’s not about magic or superstition; it’s about acknowledging the unseen forces around us. In voodoo, everything has energy—people, nature, even the stars. It’s a belief that the physical world and the spiritual world are intertwined. That perspective makes you think twice about what you know and what you don’t. Sometimes, it feels like voodoo challenges the idea that we can explain everything through logic and science. It’s a reminder that some things, like the universe itself, are beyond human control, and that’s okay. There’s power in the mystery. When we combine these different perspectives—astrology, spirituality, and voodoo—they all point to the same thing: we’re connected to the universe in ways we don’t always understand. Whether it’s through energy, the alignment of planets, or spiritual practices, they all serve as reminders that we’re part of something bigger. It’s not just about what we know, but also about what we feel. It’s that feeling that pushes me to keep asking questions, to keep wondering, and to stay open to the idea that the universe is more complex and more magical than we could ever imagine. And honestly, that’s what makes the journey of understanding it so powerful.

Addiction crept into my life at a time when I thought I had everything under control. I was just sixteen when I started drinking, telling myself I’d never follow the same path as my family—my grandmother, uncles, and even my grandfather had all battled with alcohol. Yet, before I knew it, I was right there with them, caught in the same cycle I swore I’d avoid. It didn’t happen all at once. At first, I was just drinking to cope with the big stuff—the overwhelming stress, the heartbreaks, the anxiety. But it wasn’t long before I found myself reaching for a drink over something as simple as a text that didn’t come through. What started as a way to numb the pain became a crutch, something I relied on more and more until I realized it was controlling me. The thing about addiction is that it sneaks up on you. You think you’re in charge, that you can stop whenever you want. But then you wake up one day and realize that the drink has become a part of your routine, something you need to get through the day. That was me. I was working so hard to beat my depression that I didn’t even notice how I was working against myself. It’s a strange feeling when you realize that you’re the one standing in your own way. But that realization is also what saved me. Once I saw how far I’d fallen into this habit, I knew I had to pull myself out. It wasn’t easy, and it’s still not. Addiction isn’t something you just shake off—it’s something you live with, something you have to actively fight against every day. But I was determined not to let it define me. I started taking small steps to get clean, focusing on my mental health and finding healthier ways to cope with stress. Writing and poetry became huge outlets for me. It was a way to pour all the emotions I was drowning in onto paper, to make sense of the chaos in my mind without turning to alcohol. Now, breaking the cycle is about more than just staying sober. It’s about understanding why I turned to alcohol in the first place and making sure I don’t end up back there. I’ve had to learn how to deal with my emotions head-on instead of burying them under a bottle. I’m working on building a life where I can face my challenges instead of running from them. Going to college has been a big part of that process. It’s given me a new focus and a sense of purpose, something to look forward to that’s bigger than just surviving the day. I’m surrounding myself with people who support my goals, attending Bible studies like Greekwide, and leaning on faith to guide me. Living a clean and sober life is a journey. It’s not about being perfect or pretending I have it all figured out. It’s about staying committed to the process, to choosing myself and my future over the temporary escape that alcohol used to offer. I’m breaking the cycle not just for me but for the generations that come after me. The Blacksheep turning into the blueprint.

The decision to pursue a degree in healthcare isn’t just about securing a future; it’s deeply personal and rooted in my experiences, values, and dreams. From a young age, I’ve always felt drawn to professions that prioritize helping others. I grew up in a family where the women, particularly my grandmother and mother, were always the ones who took care of everyone. They nurtured, they healed, they supported—and I watched them with awe, absorbing their patience and resilience. Yet, it wasn’t just their ability to care that shaped me; it was also their struggles. As a Black woman, I’ve seen firsthand the disparities in healthcare and the unique challenges my community faces when it comes to accessing quality medical care. My drive to enter this field comes from a deep desire to change that narrative. The decision to study healthcare is also fueled by my passion for mental health and child development, which are major components of my academic focus. Throughout my life, I’ve witnessed how untreated mental health issues can ripple through generations, particularly in communities of color. We often carry the weight of past traumas without having the proper tools or resources to heal. Pursuing a degree in healthcare allows me to be part of a solution to that problem. I’m not just interested in the clinical side of healthcare, but also in its broader, more human dimension—how to help people heal emotionally, how to provide a space for their voices to be heard, and how to work towards preventing cycles of neglect and misunderstanding that plague so many families. As a Black woman in healthcare, I also recognize the importance of representation. So often, patients from minority backgrounds feel misunderstood or neglected by the healthcare system. They may feel like they’re not being heard, that their concerns are dismissed, or that they’re just another number in a long line of cases. Being someone who looks like them, who understands their cultural context, and who can advocate for their specific needs, can make all the difference. I hope to not only provide compassionate care but to also inspire other young Black women to pursue careers in healthcare, showing them that their presence in this field is needed, valuable, and powerful. I know that healthcare is a challenging and demanding field. The road to becoming a professional in this area is long, and the work itself can be exhausting. Dealing with patients in pain, in distress, or even at the end of their lives takes a toll, but it also brings incredible fulfillment. For me, the goal is not only to alleviate physical pain but also to create a space where patients feel safe, seen, and cared for beyond their diagnoses. My hope is to practice medicine in a way that blends science with humanity, where patients know that they’re not just numbers on a chart but people whose stories and experiences are valued. As a woman in healthcare, I want to see myself as both a healer and an advocate, someone who will work tirelessly to ensure that my patients, no matter where they come from, receive the care and compassion they deserve.

Recovery, to me, is about reclaiming control over my life. It’s not just about quitting something destructive like alcohol—it’s about understanding the reasons I turned to it in the first place. When I was 16, I thought drinking would numb the pain of my depression, but all it did was create more problems. Recovery means facing those deeper issues head-on, acknowledging the struggles I was trying to escape, and finding healthier ways to cope. It also means accepting that recovery is a process, not a destination. There are days when I feel strong, and there are days when I feel like I’m slipping, but recovery has taught me that setbacks don’t define me. It’s about progress and learning how to navigate life’s challenges without turning to the habits that used to hold me back. More than anything, recovery is about growth. It’s about becoming the person I always wanted to be—someone who doesn’t rely on alcohol to handle stress, but instead faces problems with clarity and strength. Recovery is freedom. It’s my way of proving to myself that I can break the cycle and create a future that looks different from the one I thought I was stuck in. Ultimately, recovery means showing up for myself, every day, no matter how hard it gets.

I chose to pursue higher education for the bragging rights, plain and simple. I spent most of my high school years watching people underestimate me, assuming I wouldn’t make it or that I was destined to fail. Now, I’m here in college, doing what many of those same people couldn’t. And that gives me a deep sense of pride. Yes, I love learning and I have a passion for education, but knowing I’ve proved the doubters wrong drives me in a way nothing else can. Every day that I wake up on a college campus, I remind myself that I’m doing something that many people assumed I wasn’t capable of. That sense of accomplishment fuels me to keep going, even when things get tough. For me, college isn’t just about academics—it’s about breaking generational curses. I’m the first in my family to take this step, and that alone pushes me forward. I’m not just earning a degree; I’m setting a new standard for myself and for those who come after me. Growing up, I saw the limitations that come with not pursuing higher education. I knew that if I wanted to break out of those cycles and create new opportunities, I had to be the one to make a bold move. That’s what college represents to me—it’s my way of creating a new path for my family and proving that we can do more than just survive; we can thrive. I also know there are people who wish they had made the same decision I did, and the fact that I’m here, making people proud, makes me happy. Being away from home, taking on the challenges of college life, and knowing I’m carving out a future that looks different from the one expected of me gives me a deep sense of purpose. It’s not always easy, but the satisfaction of knowing I’m changing the narrative for myself and my family keeps me going. Financially, I’m struggling, and that’s a reality I can’t ignore. But when I made the decision to go to college, I always assumed I would figure that part out along the way. I didn’t let the fear of money stop me from going after what I wanted. That’s how determined I was to make this happen. Yes, the financial side of college is stressful, and there are times when I wonder how I’ll manage, but I’ve never let it hold me back. I’m here, and I’m happy, and that’s what matters most to me. I’ll handle the financial challenges as they come because I know this journey is worth it. I’m confident that I’ll find a way to make it work because, for me, not going wasn’t an option. In the end, going to college isn’t just about what I can achieve academically; it’s about proving to myself and others that I can overcome obstacles, change the narrative, and rise above the expectations placed on me. I’ve already accomplished what many thought was impossible, and I intend to keep going. That’s what keeps me motivated every day—knowing that I’ve defied the odds and that I’m creating a future that’s entirely my own. For me, this is just the beginning.

What inspires me to get involved in my community stems from my personal experiences and the challenges I’ve witnessed with mental health. Growing up, I saw how untreated issues like depression and anxiety can break down a person, ripple through a family, and even affect an entire community. It left me with a deep understanding that sometimes people just need someone who’s willing to listen—someone who won’t judge or rush to give advice, but will sit with them in their struggle. That realization drives me to be that person, not only in my own relationships but also within my community. One of the biggest ways I’ve tried to influence change is by being that go-to person for others. Whether it’s family or friends, I’ve always felt a strong sense of responsibility to offer my time and my ear when someone needs to talk. It’s not just about hearing what they’re saying but also about making them feel heard, giving them the space to feel like their struggles matter. Sometimes, that’s all people need to feel less alone—to know that someone understands, or at least is willing to try. That’s the role I’ve stepped into because I know firsthand how isolating mental health challenges can be. Writing has also been one of my biggest ways of influencing change, even in subtle ways. I’ve always turned to poetry as a way to process my emotions and reflect on the experiences that have shaped me. Through my poetry, I’ve written about mental health, trauma, and the weight of feeling misunderstood. I’ve found that sharing those pieces can open up conversations that might not have happened otherwise. When people read my words and say they relate to what I’m writing, it reminds me of the power of simply expressing what we feel. Sometimes, just knowing someone else is going through the same thing can give people the courage to speak up or seek help. My writing has become more than just an outlet for me—it’s a way to reach others and let them know they’re not alone in what they’re dealing with. On a more personal level, I’ve worked to break cycles within my own family by focusing on empathy and patience. Growing up in a family where mental health wasn’t always talked about, I realized how much silence can harm relationships. I’ve taken it upon myself to start those tough conversations, to ask how people are really doing, and to be open about my own struggles. It’s not always easy, but I believe that by showing others that it’s okay to talk about these things, we can start breaking the stigma that keeps so many people from seeking help. At the end of the day, what inspires me to stay involved in my community is knowing that the small things add up. Whether it’s listening to someone vent, sharing a poem that resonates with someone’s experience, or just being there when someone feels alone, I know that those moments matter. My personal experiences with mental health have taught me that real change doesn’t always happen in big, sweeping movements—it happens in the quiet moments where people feel seen, heard, and understood. That’s where I hope to keep making a difference, one conversation and one connection at a time.

I remember the first time I realized how serious mental health issues could be—I was just a kid, watching someone I loved struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts. It was a moment that shook me and made me see the world differently. From that point on, I knew mental health was something I couldn’t ignore. The impact of those early experiences stuck with me and became a driving force in shaping who I am and what I want to do with my life. Growing up, I saw how untreated mental health problems can destroy relationships and push people to their breaking point. Watching those I care about suffer in silence made me determined to be someone who listens and offers support without judgment. I’ve learned how crucial it is to be there for others, to really hear them when they say they’re not okay. It’s this understanding that has shaped the way I interact with everyone around me, making empathy and patience a central part of my life. These experiences are why I chose to pursue a degree in Psychology and Child Development at LSU. I want to make sure that no one has to face their mental health struggles alone, and I’m passionate about breaking the stigma around asking for help. I’ve seen how early intervention and open conversations can make a difference, especially in preventing suicide. My goal is to work with children and adolescents to help them develop healthy ways to cope with their emotions before things reach a critical point. Being part of Greekwide Bible study at LSU has helped me reflect on my experiences with mental health, allowing me to understand how faith and community can play a role in healing. Through this group, I’ve learned that offering compassion and being present for someone can be the most powerful support. It’s strengthened my resolve to be the kind of professional who makes people feel seen, heard, and valued. On a personal level, writing and poetry have been my lifeline. It’s how I process everything I’ve witnessed—how I make sense of the emotions that come with seeing mental health struggles up close. Writing has helped me connect with others who may be dealing with similar challenges but don’t know how to express it. It’s made me realize how important it is to openly talk about mental health and suicidal thoughts, because silence only makes things worse. In my journey, I’ve come to understand just how important early intervention is in mental health care. It’s not enough to wait until someone reaches a breaking point; we need to start these conversations early and provide the support they need before it’s too late. That’s why I’m so committed to this field and why I know I can make a difference. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education and work toward becoming a professional who helps people find their way out of the darkness. I’m determined to help break the cycles of silence, stigma, and untreated mental health issues that have affected my own life and the lives of so many others. With this opportunity, I will be better equipped to make a lasting impact on those who are struggling with mental health and suicidal thoughts, providing them with the support and understanding they need to heal.