My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I didn’t feel like I could talk about my grief or mental health struggles with any of my friends or community members. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I also want to destigmatize grief and mental health in society. Grieving adolescents and young adults with stigmatized losses like overdose, homicide, and suicide losses are less likely to receive support form their communities, friends, and even families. This is an injustice to the millions of people impacted by these struggles. Grief is one of the few universal experiences and by ignoring those in need, we are failing all those who want and need support and connection during some of the worst times of their life. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. Last fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of others who have experienced big losses and mental health struggles. There is much work to be done and this will be a lifetime project, but I am committed to changing things in the hopes that future generations won’t have to experience the same stigma around loss and mental health that I did.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. I struggled to find support in the school system but found comfort and safety in my church community at the time. Several members of the church would regularly take my mom and I out to lunch or invite us to attend community events with them. I always knew that they would support me no matter what, and that my mom and I could rely on them in our times of need. In the years after I began to find more comfort in the weekly ritual of church and more meaning in the scriptures discussed. I’ve also always had a love for choir and music. Getting to hear the thunderous organ and the mighty voice of the choir was a thing of wonder for me as a child. My father was also one the best baritones my small Mississippi church had ever heard, and our shared love of music continues to connect us and was one of the things that got me through his death. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation and grief. We had also moved and hadn’t found a church that worked for us yet and it was difficult for me to get through a school day. It was during this time that I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I’ve been a volunteer for 5 years now and plan to continue working with the organization for many more. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I also know that mental health struggles can be so vast and should be treated very holistically. A mental health journey is one that will last a lifetime, and combinations of therapy, medication, spiritual support, etc. can all be needed to help effect lasting change. Finding and creating support networks is crucial. I want to be part of helping others find the balance of supports that works for them because there is no one size fits all path to recovery. With this in mind, I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I will admit, throughout all this I have had moments where I struggled to find the motivation to keep pursuing my goals. I felt like my grief and my own struggles with mental health would never end and it shook my faith. I didn’t know where to turn and so I looked inwards and began to reflect on the work I needed to do within myself. It was a very humbling experience, and I felt guilty for only turning to God when I was most in need. But it was comforting knowing that even in my weakest moments of doubt and hardships that I would be welcomed with open arms. Since that experience I’ve been able to find a community and continue developing my relationship with God. I’ve joined the Episcopal Student Fellowship group at my college and feel such a sense of joy knowing that during my continued work in the mental health field, that I will have a supportive, caring community. Through my experiences I have become a more empathetic and open person. I live my life in a way that serves others and I hope to foster more understanding and love within different communities. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children and those struggling with mental illness. Last fall I was able to testify before my state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work–improving the experiences of others who have experienced significant losses and mental health struggles, and I’m so grateful for the opportunity to answer my calling.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--using my future role in healhcare to improve the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, but I also know that I had a supportive mom and school counselor who advocated for me. Many kids do not have that, and so I'm dedicated to working with and serving them. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. So I became committed to being a leader in the field of childhood grief and started using my voice and experience to help others. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. The initial curriculum included assumptions of beach vacations and in-depth knowledge of Jon Kabat Zinn’s principles of mindfulness. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. Through my own and my volunteer experience, I've noticed it's especially hard for girls to advocate for their needs in a mental health setting. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children, especially young women. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children and transforming systems.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced losses and the stigma of mental health issues.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am now motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. Through my coursework I’m also interested in exploring how healthcare and other educational systems are structured. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. The initial curriculum included assumptions of beach vacations and in-depth knowledge of Jon Kabat Zinn’s principles of mindfulness. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

My father died by suicide when I was 5 years old. In the years that followed, I was bullied for that loss, told to get over it, and made to feel different. When my grandmother, with whom I was extremely close after my dad's death, died suddenly and traumatically when I was 13, I struggled with extreme anxiety and feelings of isolation. I connected with an equine therapy center that focused on working with children with loss, trauma, and abuse. I used to joke that I was going to "horse camp for traumatized kids." But I found incredible healing and acceptance, both from the staff and the horses there. A few years later I started volunteering with the center that had helped me so much through a very dark time in my life. I am deeply motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. The initial curriculum included assumptions of beach vacations and in-depth knowledge of Jon Kabat Zinn’s principles of mindfulness. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. I have come from a place where I had little hope to a place where I can be a source of hope for other kids and teens with death losses. The systems that exist, especially school systems, are not set up well to support bereaved children. This fall I was able to testify before our state legislative committee for families and children about my experiences and what help that I needed that didn't yet exist at the state and local level. I want to fight for others to get the help and supports they need, and I have already started using my voice at a state and national level to do that. I know that this is my life's work--improving the experiences of other children who have experienced big losses.

I've been bullied for having lost my father to suicide when I was 5. People told me everything from "Your dad is in hell because of how he died" to "You just need to get over it." I was lucky to have a mom who could support me and advocate for me, but not everyone who experiences loss gets that support at home. So my plan is to attend medical school, specializing in adolescent psychiatry. I am motivated by my own experiences as a child who lost her father at a young age. I had trouble finding the right therapeutic supports, as do many of the kids I work with. I volunteered with a young woman whose life I saw transformed by finding the right combination of medications. I was in awe at the positive change in her, and that experience has inspired me to become an adolescent psychiatrist. I’m very interested in the psychology of grief and how it presents in adolescents and young adults. I had the unique opportunity to be part of a national team developing a teen-led grief support curriculum. With a team that ranged from a social worker to a med student to three high schoolers, we tested the proposed curriculum. Though we all had a shared bereavement experience, each of us had access to different grief resources and tools that had led us on our own path. As someone who had experienced traumatic and stigmatized loss, I helped the group understand that losses can be perceived very differently and made sure the language and tone of the curriculum reflected that. One example of this was that instead of saying “your loved one,” I encouraged the team to change the wording to “your person who died” in order to acknowledge that stigmatized grievers may have a complicated relationship with the person who died. I also worked to make sure that the curriculum remained accessible to teens with rural backgrounds and fewer educational or socioeconomic resources. The original curriculum assumed that participants would have knowledge and experiences that reflected a privileged background. The initial curriculum included assumptions of beach vacations and in-depth knowledge of Jon Kabat Zinn’s principles of mindfulness. So, I advocated for language and concept changes that would better serve teens in Kentucky. Because I was included in this space, I was able to bring different perspectives that improve a resource and made it more accessible to an increased number of people who would benefit from it. This scholarship would benefit me by making college more affordable for me so I can save for medical school. I want to be able to help others, working especially with nonprofits and services focused on lower income and vulnerable children and teens who need mental health supports.