Each week, a new patient or client asks about my family or parents. It’s such an innocent question, yet it gets under my skin. I always brace myself for the moment I hear the familiar phrase: "You're so young; I'm so sorry for your loss." It never gets any easier. Each time serves as a potent reminder that my mom is truly gone. I always respond graciously, "It's alright, thank you," but the reality is, it is not alright.
My mom passed away when I was only 18. She struggled with severe depression for the majority of her life. This led her down a path of alcoholism that took her away from us far too soon. Not a day goes by that I don't wonder: What if she had received the care she needed? Would she be there to see me graduate from physical therapy school and become a doctor? Is she smiling on my wedding day, holding my children one day, capturing special moments I wish to share with her? I would give anything for her return. But I know I can’t.
What I can do is transform my pain into something positive. I'm devoting my life to helping others heal- as a future doctor of physical therapy, as a mentor with the Big Brothers Big Sisters Foundation, and through my work with Gurfer Lady LLC, a surfing school for women that incorporates ocean therapy for women struggling with grief, trauma, and loss.
As a surf instructor for Gurfer Lady, I have observed many women recover from unimaginable pain. It may be from the death of someone they have lost, healing from abuse, or coping with mental illness. These ladies find strength from the sea and one another. In addition to sharing surf knowledge, I wish to assist them through their healing process and let them know they are never alone. In those moments, at the beach, with a surfboard in their hands, with tears streaming from their eyes, yet their determination firm—I have witnessed true strength.
Mental health challenges have taught me more than any textbook ever could. They’ve shown me what it is like to feel helpless and watch someone you love silently suffer. They have made me realize that mental illness often doesn’t look like what you expect, and how dangerous that can be. These lessons now shape how I approach my future patients. As an incoming Doctor of Physical Therapy student at the University of St. Augustine for Health Sciences, I treat all kinds of patients—some with physical ailments and many with emotional issues. I learned how to treat each individual without assumptions and with compassion, because pain is not always apparent.
This new knowledge has transformed the way I view healing. It requires strength, movement, and rehabilitation, but also respect, trust, and hope. I don’t only wish to repair injuries; I want to create a healing space where individuals can be listened to, heard, and loved—even those silently struggling with mental illness, such as my mom.
The suffering I have endured has strengthened my relationships. I love the people in my life more fiercely. I’ve become an advocate for open discussions about mental health among friends, coworkers, and patients. I have realized how vital it is to ask tough questions, listen without judgment, and check in with those who appear "fine." Sometimes, the greatest battles are masked by the best smiles.
In the future, I plan to open a nonprofit clinic that provides free or cheap physical therapy to underserved communities, especially those with unresolved mental health needs due to stigma or lack of resources. I want to incorporate emotional counseling into physical therapy to offer holistic care, rather than merely treating symptoms. This vision isn’t just a career goal; it’s part of my identity. It's rooted in the pain of losing my mother and the wish that no one else should have to face their struggles alone.
As I share my story, I stress that pain can have a purpose. I didn’t choose to battle mental health issues, but I have decided to act on those struggles. They have taught me to be a stronger friend, a better learner, and a more resilient future clinician. They have made me someone who won’t look away when others are in pain.
This scholarship would not only help me continue my education at the University of St. Augustine—it would honor my mother’s memory and bring me closer to making lasting, meaningful impacts in other people's lives. I wake up each day carrying grief, but also with hope that I intend to share that with all the people I come across.