On November 19, 2020, I woke up in unimaginable pain. I could barely move out of bed and remember calling my husband on my cell phone because I couldn't even get down the stairs to tell him what was happening. I managed to get to the local urgent care and was given the news that would forever change my life, "You have COVID." Like many, my experience with the virus included losing my taste and smell, having body aches, and having moderate respiratory issues. These primary symptoms subsided within a month, but it felt like new issues developed daily. I started to become severely depressed and anxious and developed tinnitus. Upon going to my primary care provider, I was prescribed an antidepressant and steroids to help with inflammation in my sinuses. The depression slowly got better, but the ringing in my ears only became worse, and I started to develop debilitating headaches. My primary doctor explained that she felt I should go to an ears, nose, and throat specialist because she didn't understand what was happening. This led to countless appointments, CT scans, MRIs, and referrals to other specialists, where I ultimately was connected with the Survivor Corps at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital in November of 2021. After going through a litany of more and more tests, I was finally diagnosed with Long COVID. My neurologist at UPenn explained that the research on Long COVID was showing that in some people, the effects of the virus were creating autoimmune disease-like responses that they were unsure how to treat. I was put on a typical nerve pain medication for my headaches, which did help in the beginning but ultimately led to antidepressant discontinuation syndrome, as this medication is also used for depression. What seemed to be happening was that the world was acknowledging that Long COVID was a problem, but no one knew what to do. This is when I had to decide whether to let my new label of being a "long hauler" define me or not. After allowing myself the time to grieve and figure out my new routine, I was determined not to let this disease take my joy. Before COVID, I was a hospice social worker who would spend long hours traveling between patients' homes. After contracting the virus, though, I was unable to sit in a car for long periods as it would cause great pain in my joints, so I knew I had to find a job where I could work from home and have the freedom to move as I needed. I was able to use my professional skills and my love for technology to find my current position, where I can now help students become practitioners in the needed fields. I may not be able to do social work like I used to, but I can prepare future students to do the job and excel in it through teaching and education. I've also decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work to continue to teach students at the collegiate level. Long COVID may have changed the trajectory of my "dream job," but what it has taught me is that dreams may vary, but what we must never stop doing is the dreaming itself.

When I was three years old, my mom went back to school at the age of forty. Not only do I remember the long nights she stayed up studying or how she would play with us while navigating her textbooks, but I distinctly remember the look on her face when she graduated with her bachelor's degree and master's degree. I've always admired her dedication and routinely said, "I don't know that I could've done that!" And yet here I am, with a seven-year-old of my own, going back to school just as she did. When I think of the challenges that arise from balancing work, caregiving, and going to school, I always think of the impact my actions will have on my son. Am I playing with him enough? Will he remember me attending his activities and being present, even if I was doing homework during some games? Will he see that the times I had to work or go to school were well worth the experiences we had later on down the road? I think what is also challenging is that my son receives intensive in-home therapy every day for multiple hours a day. Yes, the therapy is aimed at helping him, but to truly reap the benefit, I must also be present and learn what to do at home when his therapist isn't around. Being a mother of a neurodivergent child means I am always "on." Whether it's going to doctor's appointments, learning new therapy techniques, meeting with teachers and administrators, or advocating for services in school, there is never a time when I can truly shut off. As I write this, my son is currently sitting with me, while we both work on his homework and behavioral strategies that his therapist will be using with him in the next hour. I'm also preparing dinner and on hold with the Medicaid office to ensure his therapies are paid for in full. Not only have these experiences shaped who I am as a person, but they've also shaped my career goals. The main reason I decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work was to research and advocate for the support needed for parents of neurodivergent children. My husband and I attend a local support group for parents who have children with a neurodivergent diagnosis, and I've seen firsthand the impact this group has had not only on us but also on the other group members. Many changes are being developed regarding the services for neurodivergent children, and I want to find a way to create a space that supports parents of neurodivergent children at the same time. For example, what is being done to follow up with parents after their child receives their diagnosis? Is anyone holding space for them to vent about their grief and loss of not having a neurotypical child? Who is helping them access resources in the community? How are they learning to navigate their insurance coverage for needed therapies? Changes can only happen in our society if we truly review, edit, and promote policies for individuals and families in need. My hope is to one day be part of the team that creates the support parents of neurodivergent children need so that they feel a little less lost in this world.

When I was three years old, my mom went back to school at the age of forty. Not only do I remember the long nights she stayed up studying or how she would play with us while navigating her textbooks, but I distinctly remember the look on her face when she graduated with her bachelor's degree and master's degree. I've always admired her dedication and routinely said, "I don't know that I could've done that!" And yet here I am, with a seven-year-old of my own, going back to school just as she did. When I think of the challenges that arise from balancing work, caregiving, and going to school, I always think of the impact my actions will have on my son. Am I playing with him enough? Will he remember me attending his activities and being present, even if I was doing homework during some games? Will he see that the times I had to work or go to school were well worth the experiences we had later on down the road? I think what is also challenging is that my son receives intensive in-home therapy every day for multiple hours a day. Yes, the therapy is aimed at helping him, but to truly reap the benefit, I must also be present and learn what to do at home when his therapist isn't around. Being a mother of a neurodivergent child means I am always "on." Whether it's going to doctor's appointments, learning new therapy techniques, meeting with teachers and administrators, or advocating for services in school, there is never a time when I can truly shut off. As I write this, my son is currently sitting with me, while we both work on his homework and behavioral strategies that his therapist will be using with him in the next hour. I'm also preparing dinner and on hold with the Medicaid office to ensure his therapies are paid for in full. Not only have these experiences shaped who I am as a person, but they've also shaped my career goals. The main reason I decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work was to research and advocate for the support needed for parents of neurodivergent children. My husband and I attend a local support group for parents who have children with a neurodivergent diagnosis, and I've seen firsthand the impact this group has had not only on us but also on the other group members. Many changes are being developed regarding the services for neurodivergent children, and I want to find a way to create a space that supports parents of neurodivergent children at the same time. For example, what is being done to follow up with parents after their child receives their diagnosis? Is anyone holding space for them to vent about their grief and loss of not having a neurotypical child? Who is helping them access resources in the community? How are they learning to navigate their insurance coverage for needed therapies? Changes can only happen in our society if we truly review, edit, and promote policies for individuals and families in need. My hope is to one day be part of the team that creates the support parents of neurodivergent children need so that they feel a little less lost in this world.

David Warlick once said “We need technology in every classroom and in every student and teacher’s hand, because it is the pen and paper of our time, and it is the lens through which we experience much of our world," and I truly couldn't agree more. Being a millennial I've been lucky enough to live in the times before the technology boom, while still growing up with it as a daily part of life. Being a student and educator, I've seen just how life changing online platforms and tools can be in creating equitable learning opportunities for students around the world. As a professional, I've seen the immense benefit of different continuing education platforms like continued.com that help connect us to experts in the field to further our own learning and deepen our skill set. For example, by using continued I've not only been given the chance to learn about evidence based practices, but also how to expand my cultural humility when using these practices with individuals from varying communities. I'm also extremely grateful that online continuing education platforms provide opportunities for learning twenty four hours a day. Being a working mother, sometimes I only have time to do courses late at night or early in the morning. Having this flexibility allows me to not only engage during a time that works for me, but it gives me the opportunity to go back and truly review content I may have questions on down the line. As an educator, an online platform I use the most with my students is simucase.com to help bridge what they learn in her classroom to what they will practice in the field. Before using computer-based simulations like the ones available on Simucase, students would have to engage in live role plays to demonstrate skill attainment. Now, though, students can practice these skills in a non-judgmental environment, receive immediate feedback, and utilizing different learning strategies to understand clinical skills and behaviors they will need to use in the field. Technology is not only the way of the future, it's the way of life as we know it, especially since the COVID-19 pandemic. And as students and educators, we can either embrace it and learn to see it as a tool that enhances life or be run over when there is no other option but to use it. I'm so grateful that I have the opportunity to use these platforms and be a part of a generation that changes the world.

I always tell my son I make video games for social workers. Not only does this make me an exceptionally cool mom, but it usually opens the door for people to ask precisely what he means when he introduces me and my career choice. Not many people equate social work/mental health with technology, but I am lucky enough to be able to bridge these two endeavors every day to expand the knowledge and skill set of social work students around the world. The one technology that inspires me daily is the use of computer-based simulations. When I went to school, simulations were not an option for us to use. We had paper case studies that we would discuss in class, but nothing truly bridged what we were learning in the classroom to how we would practice in our field experiences. As an adjunct professor, I love using this newer technology to support my students learning and truly empower them to be the best clinicians they can be. The simulations I create daily bring to life real-world experiences that students will likely encounter after graduation. They provide a safe place to ask uncomfortable questions, make mistakes, and reflect on personal biases. Computer-based simulations also allow students of all programs, regardless of location, to have equitable learning opportunities they may not receive in their physical locations. Advocating for equity is at the heart of social work, and if we want students to be able to advocate for the equity of their future clients, we must first advocate for equitable learning experiences for them. I often hear from students around the country about how grateful they are that they have the opportunity to practice clinical skills in a simulation before entering the field. The old additive of sink or swim is how most of us learned our skills, but we need to do better in today's world. Using Computer-based simulations prepares students to practice proficiently and helps create future colleagues who we know will be ready to support us in our work.

In America, success is often associated with how much money a person makes or the amount of "goods" they've acquired. We are considered successful if we live in a big house with several vehicles. We are successful if our social media posts go "viral" and receive a certain number of likes. We are successful only if the world says we are. Nelson Mandela reminds us, though, that success isn't about the end result; it's about all the times we fall down and get back up. As I reflect on my own life experiences, I can see all the times that I was knocked down were the times when I grew and became more successful in my endeavors. One of the most difficult times in my life was when I acquired my "dream job" after graduating with my master's degree in social work. I had always wanted to work with mothers and babies and was given the opportunity to work for a local agency that did just that. I was ecstatic and put everything I had into that job, but everything I had wasn't enough. I was constantly told how I wasn't performing as they wanted me to; I wasn't meeting my numbers, I wasn't living the company values, and so on. What it came down to was I wasn't afraid to challenge policies and procedures that weren't meeting the needs of our clients. I was put on a performance improvement plan for advocating for the needs of others. I was being knocked down for doing what my professional code of ethics told me to do. Mostly, though, my dream job was turning into a nightmare, and I wasn't successful at the one thing I had gone to school for. I'd be lying if I said none of this impacted me because it did. I was knocked down and heartbroken, but instead of staying down, I moved forward. I believed in myself and my skill set and papered my town with my resume. I wasn't going to let the beliefs of a few individuals define who I was. Whether it was by divine intervention, luck, or a combination of both, I was able to interview with a local hospice agency and was hired on to be their bereavement coordinator. I had no experience in end-of-life care and, frankly, was terrified of talking about death. The hiring manager believed in my skills, though, and I was able to not only re-vamp the entire bereavement program, I also created one of the most successful art-inspired grief support groups in our city. I successfully turned what others thought were my downfalls into a way to meet the needs of our community. This experience has taught me so much about success but mostly affirms my belief that it's not going to be easy. We must put in the work to achieve the results, and I know that this scholarship will help me achieve my next goal of becoming a social work faculty member so that I can support future students in obtaining their own goals. At this current time, our family is being faced with having to choose if I continue with my academic program or postpone it so that my son can receive the therapies he needs. This scholarship would allow us to do both. It would allow us both to be successful on the paths we are on. It would show him that just because our family faces challenges and gets knocked down doesn't mean we stay down and give up our dreams.

I was a freshman in college when I first started going to counseling to take care of my own mental health. I wasn't prepared for the university lifestyle, and my family was falling apart. I felt lost and ashamed that I needed counseling because no one in my family had ever "needed" to talk to a stranger about their problems before. What I learned, though, was that by supporting my mental health, I was supporting all of me. I was utilizing the strength of asking for help, which since then has helped me make my own mental health a priority. At this time, the aspects of my mental health that impact my academic performance and personal life the most are probably how much I worry and ruminate about splitting my time between school and my family. Anxiety and depression feel like two little devils on your shoulders that remind you of either how you're not doing enough or how what you're doing isn't up to par with the caliber of how you usually function. As a mother, wife, student, and working professional, it's important for me always to remember that I am doing the best I can and that is good enough. I don't have to be perfect in each area of my life; I just need to be present. To prioritize my mental health, I first make sure I get enough sleep. I feel like I've always needed more sleep than most people, and if I don't sleep enough, I know my mood will quickly shift, and thoughts of ineptitude will quickly come in. I also have done a lot of work in finding what recharges my battery. Even though most people would say I present as an extrovert, I am really an introvert who has to recharge by having alone time. Whether that is taking a bath, reading a book, or taking a nap, having that time alone is one of the best ways for me to fill my own cup. Since I also live on the East Coast, in the winter, I actually use a UV lamp to help boost my mood when we may not see the sun for several days on end. I have found this to be extremely helpful! As a mental health professional, I also find it important not only to take care of my own mental health but to teach students how to take care of their mental health. In the field I work in, students often report that they hear about self-care but don't know exactly what that means besides getting a massage or going on vacation. Self-care doesn't have to be extravagant; it's about the little things we do each and every day to make the next day easier. For many of us, self-care involves creating better boundaries so that we don't take work home with us; it involves getting some fresh air and moving our bodies each and every day; it involves asking for more help and remembering we don't have to have all of the answers.

My family never talked about mental health. Both of my grandfathers were in WWII and experienced immense trauma, but neither ever received any therapy. When I was younger, my paternal grandfather finally agreed to take anti-depressants after my aunt begged him to see a psychiatrist. He diligently took his medication until my grandmother decided he was "better" and stopped giving him the medicine. And so began the cycle of self-medicating in my family. The cycle continued with my father, who chose to mostly self-medicate with alcohol. He never once went to see a mental health professional and rarely spoke about his feelings. My mother was the first person in our family to seek professional support after experiencing a major depressive episode when my older brother was married. Again, though, therapy wasn't discussed, and we half-jokingly commented on how we knew if Mom had taken her "happy pills" that day or not. What indeed spurred me into wanting to work in the mental health field, though, was when my younger sister, who was adopted from a Russian orphanage, was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Her maladaptive coping strategies threatened to tear our family apart, so when I was in my first year of college, I told my mom that I needed to talk to someone before I fell into a bottomless pit that I couldn't climb out of. That was the first time I knew how life-giving counseling could be. That was the first time anyone in our family had chosen to talk about their pain and proactively seek the support needed to work through the darkness. This experience led me to pursue my Master of Social Work degree. Though my professional career was soaring, my personal life was spiraling. During my master's program, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome and was told that getting pregnant would be very challenging. My husband and I pursued all the fertility treatments recommended, which included pumping my body so full of hormones that I became suicidal. I remember sitting in the car with him, crying and screaming with rage that life wasn't worth living anymore and that I just wanted to die. He held me and decided then and there that we were done experimenting with my body and that my mental health was far more critical than becoming pregnant. When we told the fertility clinic my experience, all they said, "Oh, that's too bad. Well, if you ever decide to try again, give us a call." And I was yet again reminded that mental health is not a priority in our country and the support we need is not available. I've decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work at this time to help prepare the next generation of practitioners to be the advocates society so desperately needs. Going to therapy should be as normal as going to the doctor when you have a cold. Having a therapist shouldn't be taboo. Knowing your needs and getting them met should be a strength we are all celebrated for having. My goal is to prepare future mental health clinicians to be the life-givers of all those in need.

My family never talked about mental health. Both of my grandfathers were in WWII and experienced immense trauma, but neither ever received any therapy. When I was younger, my paternal grandfather finally agreed to take anti-depressants after my aunt begged him to see a psychiatrist. He diligently took his medication until my grandmother decided he was "better" and stopped giving him the medicine. And so began the cycle of self-medicating in my family. The cycle continued with my father, who chose to mostly self-medicate with alcohol. He never once went to see a mental health professional and rarely spoke about his feelings. My mother was the first person in our family to seek professional support after experiencing a major depressive episode when my older brother was married. Again, though, therapy wasn't discussed, and we half-jokingly commented on how we knew if Mom had taken her "happy pills" that day or not. What indeed spurred me into wanting to work in the mental health field, though, was when my younger sister, who was adopted from a Russian orphanage, was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Her maladaptive coping strategies threatened to tear our family apart, so when I was in my first year of college, I told my mom that I needed to talk to someone before I fell into a bottomless pit that I couldn't climb out of. That was the first time I knew how life-giving counseling could be. That was the first time anyone in our family had chosen to talk about their pain and proactively seek the support needed to work through the darkness. This experience led me to pursue my Master of Social Work degree. Though my professional career was soaring, my personal life was spiraling. During my master's program, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome and was told that getting pregnant would be very challenging. My husband and I pursued all the fertility treatments recommended, which included pumping my body so full of hormones that I became suicidal. I remember sitting in the car with him, crying and screaming with rage that life wasn't worth living anymore and that I just wanted to die. He held me and decided then and there that we were done experimenting with my body and that my mental health was far more critical than becoming pregnant. When we told the fertility clinic my experience, all they said, "Oh, that's too bad. Well, if you ever decide to try again, give us a call." And I was yet again reminded that mental health is not a priority in our country and the support we need is not available. I've decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work at this time to help prepare the next generation of practitioners to be the advocates society so desperately needs. Going to therapy should be as normal as going to the doctor when you have a cold. Having a therapist shouldn't be taboo. Knowing your needs and getting them met should be a strength we are all celebrated for having. My goal is to prepare future mental health clinicians to be the life-givers of all those in need.

My family never talked about mental health. Both of my grandfathers were in WWII and experienced immense trauma, but neither ever received any therapy. When I was younger, my paternal grandfather finally agreed to take anti-depressants after my aunt begged him to see a psychiatrist. He diligently took his medication until my grandmother decided he was "better" and stopped giving him the medicine. And so began the cycle of self-medicating in my family. The cycle continued with my father, who chose to mostly self-medicate with alcohol. He never once went to see a mental health professional and rarely spoke about his feelings. My mother was the first person in our family to seek professional support after experiencing a major depressive episode when my older brother was married. Again, though, therapy wasn't discussed, and we half-jokingly commented on how we knew if Mom had taken her "happy pills" that day or not. What indeed spurred me into wanting to work in the mental health field, though, was when my younger sister, who was adopted from a Russian orphanage, was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Her maladaptive coping strategies threatened to tear our family apart, so when I was in my first year of college, I told my mom that I needed to talk to someone before I fell into a bottomless pit that I couldn't climb out of. That was the first time I knew how life-giving counseling could be. That was the first time anyone in our family had chosen to talk about their pain and proactively seek the support needed to work through the darkness. This experience led me to pursue my Master of Social Work degree. Though my professional career was soaring, my personal life was spiraling. During my master's program, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome and was told that getting pregnant would be very challenging. My husband and I pursued all the fertility treatments recommended, which included pumping my body so full of hormones that I became suicidal. I remember sitting in the car with him, crying and screaming with rage that life wasn't worth living anymore and that I just wanted to die. He held me and decided then and there that we were done experimenting with my body and that my mental health was far more critical than becoming pregnant. When we told the fertility clinic my experience, all they said, "Oh, that's too bad. Well, if you ever decide to try again, give us a call." And I was yet again reminded that mental health is not a priority in our country and the support we need is not available. Currently, I work for an innovative company that creates computer-based simulations for undergraduate and graduate social work students to bridge what they learn in the classroom to what they will practice in their field experiences. As an adjunct faculty, I've seen time and time again how those going into the mental health field are not nearly prepared enough to have the tough conversations, particularly around suicide. One of the simulations I'm most proud of is one where students receive practice in screening clients in real time for suicidal ideation and move past their uncomfortable feelings to truly meet the needs of the individual they are working with. I've decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work at this time to help prepare the next generation of practitioners to be the advocates society so desperately needs. Going to therapy should be as normal as going to the doctor when you have a cold. Having a therapist shouldn't be taboo. Knowing your needs and getting them met should be a strength we are all celebrated for having. My goal is to prepare future mental health clinicians to be the life-givers of all those in need.

My family never talked about mental health. Both of my grandfathers were in WWII and experienced immense trauma, but neither ever received any therapy. When I was younger, my paternal grandfather finally agreed to take anti-depressants after my aunt begged him to see a psychiatrist. He diligently took his medication until my grandmother decided he was "better" and stopped giving him the medicine. And so began the cycle of self-medicating in my family. The cycle continued with my father, who chose to mostly self-medicate with alcohol. He never once went to see a mental health professional and rarely spoke about his feelings. My mother was the first person in our family to seek professional support after experiencing a major depressive episode when my older brother was married. Again, though, therapy wasn't discussed, and we half-jokingly commented on how we knew if Mom had taken her "happy pills" that day or not. What truly spurred me into wanting to work in the mental health field, though, was when my younger sister, who was adopted from a Russian orphanage, was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Her maladaptive coping strategies threatened to tear our family apart, so when I was in my first year of college, I told my mom that I needed to talk to someone before I fell into a bottomless pit that I couldn't climb out of. That was the first time I knew how life-giving counseling could be. That was the first time anyone in our family had chosen to talk about their pain and proactively seek the support needed to work through the darkness. This experience led me to pursue my Master of Social Work degree. Though my professional career was soaring, my personal life was spiraling. During my master's program, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome and was told that getting pregnant would be very challenging. My husband and I pursued all the fertility treatments recommended, which included pumping my body so full of hormones that I became suicidal. I remember sitting in the car with him, crying and screaming with rage that life wasn't worth living anymore and that I just wanted to die. He held me and decided then and there that we were done experimenting with my body and that my mental health was far more critical than becoming pregnant. When we told the fertility clinic my experience, all they said, "Oh, that's too bad. Well, if you ever decide to try again, give us a call." And I was yet again reminded that mental health is not a priority in our country and the support we need is not available. I've decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work at this time to help prepare the next generation of practitioners to be the advocates society so desperately needs. Going to therapy should be as normal as going to the doctor when you have a cold. Having a therapist shouldn't be taboo. Knowing your needs and getting them met should be a strength we are all celebrated for having. My goal is to prepare future mental health clinicians to be the life-givers of all those in need.

My family never talked about mental health. Both of my grandfathers were in WWII and experienced immense trauma, but neither ever received any therapy. When I was younger, my paternal grandfather finally agreed to take anti-depressants after my aunt begged him to see a psychiatrist. He diligently took his medication until my grandmother decided he was "better" and stopped giving him the medicine. And so began the cycle of self-medicating in my family. The cycle continued with my father, who chose to mostly self-medicate with alcohol. He never once went to see a mental health professional and rarely spoke about his feelings. My mother was the first person in our family to seek professional support after experiencing a major depressive episode when my older brother was married. Again, though, therapy wasn't discussed, and we half-jokingly commented on how we knew if Mom had taken her "happy pills" that day or not. What indeed spurred me into wanting to work in the mental health field, though, was when my younger sister, who was adopted from a Russian orphanage, was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Her maladaptive coping strategies threatened to tear our family apart, so when I was in my first year of college, I told my mom that I needed to talk to someone before I fell into a bottomless pit that I couldn't climb out of. That was the first time I knew how life-giving counseling could be. That was the first time anyone in our family had chosen to talk about their pain and proactively seek the support needed to work through the darkness. This experience led me to pursue my Master of Social Work degree. Though my professional career was soaring, my personal life was spiraling. During my master's program, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome and was told that getting pregnant would be very challenging. My husband and I pursued all the fertility treatments recommended, which included pumping my body so full of hormones that I became suicidal. I remember sitting in the car with him, crying and screaming with rage that life wasn't worth living anymore and that I just wanted to die. He held me and decided then and there that we were done experimenting with my body and that my mental health was far more critical than becoming pregnant. When we told the fertility clinic my experience, all they said, "Oh, that's too bad. Well, if you ever decide to try again, give us a call." And I was yet again reminded that mental health is not a priority in our country and the support we need is not available. Currently, I work for an innovative company that creates computer-based simulations for undergraduate and graduate social work students to bridge what they learn in the classroom to what they will practice in their field experiences. As an adjunct faculty, I've seen time and time again how those going into the mental health field are not nearly prepared enough to have the tough conversations, particularly around suicide. One of the simulations I'm most proud of is one where students receive practice in screening clients in real time for suicidal ideation and move past their uncomfortable feelings to truly meet the needs of the individual they are working with. I've decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work at this time to help prepare the next generation of practitioners to be the advocates society so desperately needs. Going to therapy should be as normal as going to the doctor when you have a cold. Having a therapist shouldn't be taboo. Knowing your needs and getting them met should be a strength we are all celebrated for having. My goal is to prepare future mental health clinicians to be the life-givers of all those in need.

My family never talked about mental health. Both of my grandfathers were in WWII and experienced immense trauma, but neither ever received any therapy. When I was younger, my paternal grandfather finally agreed to take anti-depressants after my aunt begged him to see a psychiatrist. He diligently took his medication until my grandmother decided he was "better" and stopped giving him the medicine. And so began the cycle of self-medicating in my family. The cycle continued with my father, who chose to mostly self-medicate with alcohol. He never once went to see a mental health professional and rarely spoke about his feelings. My mother was the first person in our family to seek professional support after experiencing a major depressive episode when my older brother was married. Again, though, therapy wasn't discussed, and we half-jokingly commented on how we knew if Mom had taken her "happy pills" that day or not. What truly spurred me into wanting to work in the mental health field, though, was when my younger sister, who was adopted from a Russian orphanage, was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. Her maladaptive coping strategies threatened to tear our family apart, so when I was in my first year of college, I told my mom that I needed to talk to someone before I fell into a bottomless pit that I couldn't climb out of. That was the first time I knew how life-giving counseling could be. That was the first time anyone in our family had chosen to talk about their pain and proactively seek the support needed to work through the darkness. This experience led me to pursue my Master of Social Work degree. Though my professional career was soaring, my personal life was spiraling. During my master's program, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome and was told that getting pregnant would be very challenging. My husband and I pursued all the fertility treatments recommended, which included pumping my body so full of hormones that I became suicidal. I remember sitting in the car with him, crying and screaming with rage that life wasn't worth living anymore and that I just wanted to die. He held me and decided then and there that we were done experimenting with my body and that my mental health was far more critical than becoming pregnant. When we told the fertility clinic my experience, all they said, "Oh, that's too bad. Well, if you ever decide to try again, give us a call." And I was yet again reminded that mental health is not a priority in our country and the support we need is not available. I've decided to pursue my Doctorate of Social Work at this time to help prepare the next generation of practitioners to be the advocates society so desperately needs. Going to therapy should be as normal as going to the doctor when you have a cold. Having a therapist shouldn't be taboo. Knowing your needs and getting them met should be a strength we are all celebrated for having. My goal is to prepare future mental health clinicians to be the life-givers of all those in need. I do understand that this scholarship is meant for individuals who are attending UNM. However, I ask for your consideration as I am a native New Mexican, am still licensed in New Mexico, and am an adjunct professor at New Mexico Highlands University. UNM does not have a DSW program, so I could not pursue the degree needed in the state, but I am utilizing the online DSW program through the University of Louisville.