For a long time, I didn’t realize how much my childhood would shape the direction of my life. I grew up around addiction. When you’re a kid in that environment, you see things other kids don’t see and you learn quickly that people struggling with addiction are often judged more than they are helped. Back then I didn’t fully understand what addiction was, but I knew that the people around me were hurting and that the system meant to help them often didn’t feel very compassionate. Those experiences stayed with me and ultimately led me to study psychology in college. Today, I work as a Behavioral Health Technician at a nonprofit inpatient addiction recovery center for women. Every day I get to work with women who are fighting one of the hardest battles of their lives. Many of them arrive feeling ashamed, judged, or convinced that they’ve already failed too many times to start over. Being part of their recovery journey has completely changed the way I see impact. Sometimes making a positive impact isn’t about doing something huge or world-changing. Sometimes it’s sitting with someone during a really difficult moment and reminding them that they are still worthy of healing and support. At the nonprofit where I work, I see firsthand how powerful compassion, patience, and community can be. Recovery is rarely a straight line, but when people feel supported instead of judged, it can completely change their outlook on life. My goal is to continue working in the mental health and addiction recovery field where I can advocate for people who are often misunderstood. Too often, addiction is treated as a moral failure rather than a health issue. I want to be part of shifting that perspective by helping create systems that focus on healing, education, and support instead of stigma. I also believe that making a positive impact starts with small actions that ripple outward. The way we treat people in their hardest moments matters. Showing empathy, listening without judgment, and helping someone believe they still have a future can change the course of their life. Being a mother has strengthened this motivation even more. Raising my children has made me think deeply about the kind of world I want them to grow up in. I want them to see that kindness matters and that helping people through their struggles is something worth dedicating your life to. I may not change the entire world overnight, but I believe meaningful change happens person by person. Through my education, my work in behavioral health, and my commitment to helping individuals affected by addiction, I hope to contribute to a world that responds to pain with compassion rather than judgment. If even a few people leave treatment believing in themselves again and ready to rebuild their lives, then I know I’m making the kind of impact that truly matters.

Losing my parents is something that still hits me in ways I don’t always expect. It wasn’t some big movie moment where everything changed at once. It was more like this slow realization that I didn’t have them anymore and I’d never get the chance to fix things or say the things I should’ve said. My childhood with them wasn’t easy. There was addiction. Chaos. A lot of things kids shouldn’t have to see or deal with. But even with all that, they were still my parents. And when they were gone, it felt like someone just cut the last tie I had to where I came from. With my mom, I carried so much anger for so long. And then when she died, it felt like I wasn’t allowed to be angry anymore, but I still was. I didn’t know what to do with all that. Becoming a mom myself made it even harder because I kept thinking about all the ways she struggled and all the ways I wished things had been different. It made me look at myself differently. It made me pay attention to the little things with my kids because I know exactly how it feels when no one pays attention to you, even when they love you. Losing my dad was different. It was more like this heavy silence. There were things we never talked about. Things I didn’t ask. Things he didn’t say. And suddenly all of that just stayed unfinished forever. It felt like another door closing that I wasn’t ready for. And honestly, it made me feel kind of alone in the world. Not in a dramatic way, just in a practical way. Like, okay, it’s really just me now. I have to figure everything out. I don’t get to call my parents for anything. Their loss shaped me mostly because it forced me to grow up earlier than I should have. I didn’t have a fallback option. I didn’t have parents guiding me into adulthood. So I had to become that person for myself. And now for my kids. I learned to be independent out of necessity, not personality. I learned to break cycles because I was tired of living in them. And I learned to be more patient and understanding because I know what it’s like to grow up around people who are struggling with their own demons. I think the biggest way their deaths changed me was by giving me perspective. Not the positive, motivational kind. More like the real kind where you understand how messy people are and how fast life can flip upside down. It made me want stability. It made me want to build something solid for my kids. It made me want to be present in a way my parents couldn’t always be. I don’t talk about them all the time. And I don’t have perfect memories to look back on. But their absence is part of why I push so hard now. Not because I’m trying to make some inspirational story out of it, but because when you lose both your parents, you realize real quick that you have to create the life you want, because no one else is going to do it for you.

Breast health and breastfeeding education is really personal to me because I went through my own struggles with it, and honestly, it changed me in ways I’m still dealing with. When I had my babies, I thought breastfeeding would just… happen. People make it sound so natural and easy, and no one ever tells you how confusing, painful, overwhelming, and emotional it actually is when you don’t have the right support or knowledge. I didn’t know anything about latch, supply, pumping schedules, clogged ducts, nothing. I had nurses handing me my baby and saying “just get him to latch” like it was the simplest thing in the world. But it wasn’t. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever tried to do. Not having education or real support made me feel like I was failing at something that was supposed to be “instinct.” I kept telling myself everyone else could do it, so why couldn’t I? My nipples hurt, my baby cried, I cried, and every feeding turned into this stressful thing that made me feel worse about myself as a mom. I didn’t understand what was normal or what wasn’t, so instead of getting help, I just blamed myself. Eventually, I stopped breastfeeding because I mentally couldn’t do it anymore. But stopping didn’t fix anything. If anything, it made me more depressed. I felt guilty, like I wasn’t giving my baby what he deserved. I felt like my body failed me. I felt like I failed him. The postpartum depression hit hard, and it took a long time for me to even talk about it without crying. Looking back, I realize now that the issue wasn’t me. It was the complete lack of education and support around breastfeeding. No one prepared me. No one explained the challenges. No one told me that so many moms struggle. And because of that, I went through all of it alone, confused, ashamed, and overwhelmed. I carried that guilt for way too long. That’s why breast health education matters so much to me. I don’t want other moms to go through what I did. Something as important as feeding your baby shouldn’t come with this much shame or confusion. It shouldn’t depend on whether a nurse on shift has time to help you or not. It shouldn’t be something moms have to figure out in the moment when they’re exhausted, hormonal, and scared. I want to be someone who actually helps moms understand their bodies, their options, and their mental health during breastfeeding or chestfeeding. I want to help create spaces where moms feel supported instead of judged. I want to help them know that struggling doesn’t make them a bad mom. And I want to be educated enough to give real guidance, not the vague “just keep trying” comments I got. My own experience showed me how much we need more people in breast navigation, lactation education, and women’s health who actually get it. People who have lived it. People who know how emotionally heavy postpartum can be. People who don’t make moms feel like something is wrong with them when they’re struggling. Breast health education is important to me because it could’ve changed my entire postpartum experience. It could’ve saved me from weeks of crying, guilt, and depression. It could’ve helped me feel supported instead of alone. And now that I know better, I want to be part of making sure other moms don’t go through the same pain silently

I have lost both of my parents to drug addiction by age 20. In those 20 years I faced a lot of the second hand consequences of addiction. The worst being watching my parents promise their kids, and themselves that they would not ever relapse again. It was a vicious cycle that ended in heartbreak every single time. I wanted so much more for my parents, especially my mom. She was a light in this life, just weighed down by her disease. She had so much potential academically, and personally had she not struggled with addiction for the majority of her life. She died when I was in the middle of my college experience and I had to step away due to mental health issues. I have returned to my studies for myself, my kids, and my parents. I want to show my children that no matter what type of financial situation, mental health sufferings, trauma or ptsd, they can do anything they set their minds to. I want to pave the way for my younger sisters who have also been impacted by drug abuse and mental health issues their whole lives. I want to be a first generation college student. I want to use my degree in Psychology to help other children in the community to strive and to reach their full potential. Specifically through being their mental health advocate in child protective services. My sisters and I have experience with social services in many traumatic and good ways. My advisors and counselors through the community and schools are a very big reason I made it through those adolescent years. I want to be the children light in the darkness and show them that they can make it out of the life they feel stuck in. I am 25 now and am just starting to heal my inner wounds and trauma fully. What a beautiful thing it is. I could use this money to pay for my summer courses and graduate sooner than expected. Being a stay at home mom and full time college student is extremely challenging. This money could help me tremendously and I hope you will consider me. Thank you for your time and consideration. To whomever it may be reaching and concerning, I am sorry for your loss or experiences with addiction. It is a wonderful and beautiful thing you are doing for college students near and far. Sincerely, Kayla Brooks and family.