Back in January, I successfully weaned my second child, just three weeks shy of her second birthday. Soon thereafter, I felt this pronounced shift in focus and desire: a small voice that grew louder with each passing day, urging me to sit and write, to return to my earliest passion, but, this time, with renewed confidence, clarity, and conviction. I love that writing is multi-purpose. It’s a home for healing. It’s an oasis, an escape from reality. It’s a best friend, waiting and listening and giving the advice that you already knew deep down but needed to hear from elsewhere. It’s a guiding light, illuminating the darkness for those who are lost or off-course while also piloting all vessels to their destination—to knowledge, newfound perspective, and empathy. These are things that I love about writing. I started my Substack, Human/Mother, in February of this year. Since I started my nightly writing practice, after tucking my little ones into bed, a magic has occurred between my fingertips and the keyboard. Although I haven’t written in years because of Life Happenings, it’s as though no time has passed. I feel right at home. I mostly write personal essays, wherein I recollect traumatic memories of my past, keenly observe my present, and contemplate the future, one that I dream is healthy, happy, and healed. I want to further my education because I want to sharpen my craft, to grow the seed, and to create what I believe I’m intended to create. In undergraduate and graduate school, I studied literature and composition. From dissecting prose and poetry to formulating a unit plan for the middle school English language arts classroom, I spent years trying to understand writers’ style, technique, and purpose. Now, I feel it is time to put that knowledge to the test, to play around with words, and to see what manifests. After I gave birth to my oldest child at the height of COVID (April 2020) in NYC, I said goodbye to the old me and hello to the new me. I was the proud mother of a beautiful daughter and also a broken human being. I struggled with postpartum depression and anxiety, and I was still grieving the tragic loss of my fourteen-year-old brother to suicide as well as the end of my parents’ thirty-year marriage. To say the time was intense would be an understatement. I desperately searched for literature—from personal essays to science journal articles—hoping to find help, hoping to find answers, hoping to find healing. And though I found encouraging and uplifting stories, I felt like there was a voice missing: my own. Evelyn, I am so inspired by you, your story, and your generosity. My hope is that you see in me what you saw in yourself and that you choose me for this mid-career scholarship. I promise your funds will not go to waste. I am eager to give myself a chance, to bet on myself, and to show you and the world that I’m not a case of beginner’s luck: I’m the real deal. Thank you.