I come from a family of strong women: a mother and three sisters. My mother shaped my heart, Jessica gave me my sense of humor, Jenny made me adventurous, and Katie told me I could fly. Our home was marked by domestic violence. My father was a Vietnam veteran who suffered from PTSD and bipolar disorder at a time when mental health disorders were rarely discussed or treated. My sisters and I united to support our mother. The divorce spanned my middle school to college years, and we lived under the enormous weight of my father’s debt, predatory collection fees, and expensive legal bills. I majored in Women’s Studies at Loyola Chicago, seeking to understand how class, gender, and violence intersected in ways that felt personal, political, and global. I volunteered at a refugee organization and visited weekly with a Burmese family seeking asylum. The mother made chai while I helped her children with homework. After they went to bed, we practiced her adult-ESL coursework. During that time, I learned refugees only receive a one-time $900 resettlement check from the US government. This mother was on her own - despite little language proficiency, savings, or job prospects. Witnessing this brave Burmese mother and my own mother struggle to keep their families afloat convinced me that access to capital could address many obstacles women face around the world. My conviction led me to Kiva and then the Gates Foundation, where I travelled to India to work with a women’s microfinance group. The youngest member was a thirteen-year-old bride, the oldest an eighty-year-old widow. The women were wheat farmers and had pooled their money to create a community bank. An abusive husband had squandered one woman’s loan, and the entire group rallied around her. Halfway around the world, I saw my mother’s experience refracted through a new cultural lens; the familiar power of women discovering their collective agency. I knew my heart was in direct service. A year later, I moved to a border community in West Texas. Van Horn is beautiful but resembles the developing world in many ways; 30% of people live below the poverty line and 87% hold only a high school diploma. I sought to contribute to institutions essential to the community’s well-being. I founded a venture to connect local non-profits with funding, started working in the local school to improve student outcomes, and ran for City Council. I began mentoring a resilient high school senior who worked thirty hours a week to support her family. Inspired by Blue Origin rockets launching on the horizon, she dreamed of becoming an aerospace engineer. We pored over scholarship essays, and when she doubted her future as a first-generation college student, I told her what Katie told me: we can fly. When I encouraged her to study for the SAT, I came home and studied for the LSAT. After we finished drafting her first resume, I stayed to update mine. In encouraging her to chase her dreams, she inspired me to chase my own. I can only tell my story through the stories of these strong women. Their stories ask pressing questions about the consequences of imperfect policy. Do domestic violence victims deserve affordable legal counsel? Can we imagine better assimilation programs for refugees? Is it a failure of financial policy that women need to create informal banks to access credit? Is it unjust that a student should be victim to an underfunded education system? The "yes" to these questions resounds in me, motivating me to become a fierce legal advocate for the services, programs, and laws Texas women deserve.

The pandemic has impacted all of us in profound and often devastating ways, but no group has been more vulnerable than students from Black, Indigenous, Hispanic, and low-income backgrounds. I work as a Program Specialist in a Title I school district in a rural West Texas town, population 2,245. 78% Hispanic, Van Horn, Texas is bilingual and multigenerational, resolute in its efforts to maintain the bonds that hold the community together. Like many rural towns, our population is declining, and low wages make it difficult for anyone to support a family on one job alone. Even though many students want to stay in town after graduating from high school, most see little economic opportunity at home. Pre-pandemic, our town was struggling under the weight of these truths. Post-pandemic, increased unemployment and mounting medical expenses have crippled our community. Motivated to change the trajectory of our students, I helped design and implement my community's first early college (dual-enrollment) high school program so students could graduate with associate degrees in the same four years they earned their high school diploma. To ensure these degrees would be at no cost to students or their families, I founded the Van Horn Education Foundation and built a multi-million-dollar endowment to sustain the program for generations of students to come. Despite school closures and frequent contact tracing, our district team persisted in opening the doors to our early college high school in Fall 2020 for remote and in-person classes. With 100% participation from our first 9th grade cohort, we anticipate stronger academic and economic outcomes as students graduate with tuition-free associate degrees in high-demand, high-paying local fields. During this challenging year, I began mentoring a resilient high school senior who worked thirty hours a week at Subway to contribute to her family's income. Inspired by Blue Origin rockets launching in our desert county, she dreamed of becoming an aerospace engineer. We spent the school year poring over essays and scholarship applications, and her courage motivated me. When I encouraged her to keep studying for the SAT, I came home and studied for the LSAT. After we finished drafting her very first resume, I stayed at the office to update mine. In encouraging her to chase her dreams, she inspired me to chase my own. My experience working to serve low-income students during the pandemic has clarified that I want to commit my life to centering Texas communities living on the margins. I am pursuing law school at the University of Texas at Austin to become an impactful leader for this region and across the state of Texas. Post-graduation, I plan to establish my county’s first legal clinic to represent the thousands of people that have suffered from under-inclusive policies and mounting legal barriers — a detained woman denied access to reproductive care or a rancher suffering the adverse effects of fracking. Through hands-on legal work, I intend to provide direct, affordable legal support to West Texas communities, ultimately reinventing policy in this region through legislative action and advocacy. If the pandemic has showed us one thing, it is that we cannot return back to our 'normal' lives. The inequities exposed and exacerbated by the pandemic have revealed that we must fight for a more kind, more equitable, more just future that we all deserve.

Driving down the Texas interstate from San Antonio to El Paso, thousands of travelers stop through Van Horn to grab a few gallons of gas and a cup of coffee to fuel the last leg of their drive. Others pass by at 80 miles per hour, taking only a few seconds to absorb the snapshot of far West Texas whizzing by their windshield. These drivers might register the aging houses, the vacant storefronts on main street, or a Border Patrol truck surveying the barren desert, 30 miles from the US-Mexico border. Van Horn is located in the Chihuahuan desert. 78% Hispanic, this small city is bilingual and multigenerational, resolute in its efforts to maintain the bonds that hold the community together. Van Horn is remote, but it’s also at the intersection of national conversations around immigration, income inequality, rural healthcare, and education. Like many rural towns, Van Horn’s population is declining, and low wages make it difficult for anyone to support a family on one job alone. Even though many students want to stay in town after graduating from high school, most see little economic opportunity at home. When I moved back home to Texas to pursue development work three years ago, I had a vision of revitalizing the community. I wanted to stir economic development, create local opportunities for our students, and support senior citizens. I ran for City Council on that platform, knocking on every door, campaigning in Spanish and English. I won my race by thirteen votes and became the only alderwoman under thirty in far West Texas. I contributed to institutions essential to my community’s well-being. I founded a venture to connect non-profits with funding, passed critical public health policy during the pandemic, and started working in the school district to improve student outcomes. In 2019, I designed and implemented Van Horn’s first early college (dual-enrollment) high school program so students could graduate with associate degrees in the same four years they earned their high school diploma. To ensure these degrees would be at no cost, I founded the Van Horn Education Foundation and built a multimillion-dollar endowment to sustain the program for generations of students to come. With 100% participation from our first 9th grade cohort, my team anticipates stronger academic and economic outcomes as students graduate with tuition-free associate degrees in high-demand, high-paying local fields. During my time at the school district, I began mentoring Valeria, a resilient high school senior who worked thirty hours a week contribute to her family’s income. Inspired by Blue Origin rockets launching in our desert county, she dreamed of becoming an aerospace engineer. We spent the spring poring over essays and scholarship applications, and her courage motivated me. When I encouraged her to keep studying for the SAT, I came home and studied for the LSAT. After we finished drafting her very first resume, I stayed at the office to update mine. In encouraging her to chase her dreams, she inspired me to chase my own. Just last year, Valeria graduated from Van Horn with her high school diploma and associate’s degree from Odessa College. Today, she is studying aerospace engineering as a first-generation college student. I am pursuing law school to become an impactful leader for this region and across the state of Texas. Post-graduation, I plan to establish my county’s first legal clinic to represent the thousands of people that have suffered from under-inclusive policies and mounting legal barriers. Through hands-on legal work, I intend to provide direct, affordable legal support to West Texas communities, ultimately reinventing policy in this region through legislative action and advocacy.

Driving down the Texas interstate from San Antonio to El Paso, thousands of travelers stop through Van Horn to grab a few gallons of gas and a cup of coffee to fuel the last leg of their drive. Others pass by at 80 miles per hour, taking only a few seconds to absorb the snapshot of far West Texas whizzing by their windshield. These drivers might register the aging houses, the vacant storefronts on main street, or a Border Patrol truck surveying the barren desert, 30 miles from the US-Mexico border. Van Horn is located in the Chihuahuan desert, population 2,245. 78% Hispanic, this small city is bilingual and multigenerational, resolute in its efforts to maintain the bonds that hold the community together. Van Horn is remote, but it’s also at the intersection of national conversations around immigration, conservation, income inequality, rural healthcare, and education. Like many rural towns, Van Horn’s population is declining, and low wages make it difficult for anyone to support a family on one job alone. Even though many students want to stay in town after graduating from high school, for the love of their hometown or family, most see little economic opportunity at home. When I moved back home to Texas to pursue domestic development work three years ago, I had a vision of revitalizing the community. I wanted to stir economic development, boost tourism, create local opportunities for our students, and support our senior citizens. I ran for City Council on that platform, knocking on every door, campaigning in Spanish and English. I won my race by thirteen votes and became the only alderwoman under thirty in far West Texas. I sought to contribute to institutions essential to my community’s well-being. I founded a venture to connect local non-profits with needed funding and started working in the local school district to improve student outcomes. In 2019, I designed and implemented Van Horn’s first early college (dual-enrollment) high school program so students could graduate with associate degrees in the same four years they earned their high school diploma. To ensure these degrees would be at no cost to students or their families, I founded the Van Horn Education Foundation and built a multi-million-dollar endowment to sustain the program for generations of students to come. With 100% participation from our first 9th grade cohort, my team anticipates stronger academic and economic outcomes as students graduate with tuition-free associate degrees in high-demand, high-paying local fields. I am starting law school this year to become an impactful leader for this region and across the state of Texas. Post-graduation, I plan to establish my county’s first legal clinic to represent the thousands of people that have suffered from under-inclusive policies and mounting legal barriers — a detained woman denied access to reproductive care or a rancher suffering the adverse effects of fracking. Through hands-on legal work, I intend to provide direct, affordable legal support to West Texas communities, ultimately reinventing policy in this region through legislative action. My experiences in community development and public service have clarified that I want to commit my life to centering Texas communities living on the margins, and I can think of no better place to grow as a legal advocate than law school.

As a first time political candidate, I won an at-large election over two incumbents and three other candidates. Located in West Texas, Van Horn may be remote, but it's also in the middle of many important conversations around immigration, rural healthcare, sustainable development, and rural education. I had a vision of revitalizing the community- to stir economic development, boost tourism, create local opportunities for our students, and support our senior citizens. I ran on that platform, knocking on every door, campaigning in Spanish and English. I won my race and became the only alderwoman under 30 in far West Texas.

I come from a family of strong women: a mother and three sisters. My mother shaped my heart, Jessica gave me my sense of humor, Jenny made me adventurous, and Katie told me I could fly. Our home was marked by domestic violence. My father was a Vietnam veteran who suffered from PTSD and bipolar disorder at a time when mental health disorders were rarely discussed or treated. My sisters and I united to support our mother. The divorce spanned my middle school to college years, and we lived under the enormous weight of my father’s debt, predatory collection fees, and expensive legal bills. I majored in Women’s Studies at Loyola University Chicago, seeking to understand how class, gender, and violence intersected in ways that felt personal, political, and global. I volunteered at a refugee organization and visited weekly with a Burmese family seeking asylum. The mother made chai while I helped her children with homework. After they went to bed, we practiced her adult-ESL coursework. During that time, I learned refugees only receive a one-time $900 resettlement check from the US government. This mother was on her own - despite little language proficiency, savings, or job prospects. Witnessing this brave Burmese mother and my own mother struggle to keep their families afloat convinced me that access to capital could address many obstacles women face around the world. My conviction led me to Kiva and then the Gates Foundation, where I travelled to India to work with a women’s microfinance group. The youngest member was a thirteen-year-old bride, the oldest an eighty-year-old widow. The women were wheat farmers and had pooled their money to create a community bank. An abusive husband had squandered one woman’s loan, and the entire group rallied around her. Halfway around the world, I saw my mother’s experience refracted through a new cultural lens; the familiar power of women discovering their collective agency. I knew my heart was in direct service. A year later, I moved to a border community in West Texas. Van Horn is beautiful but resembles the developing world in many ways; 30% of people live below the poverty line and 87% hold only a high school diploma. I sought to contribute to institutions essential to the community’s well-being. I founded a venture to connect local non-profits with funding, started working in the local school to improve student outcomes, and ran for City Council. I began mentoring a resilient high school senior who worked thirty hours a week to support her family. Inspired by Blue Origin rockets launching on the horizon, she dreamed of becoming an aerospace engineer. We pored over scholarship essays, and when she doubted her future as a first-generation college student, I told her what Katie told me: we can fly. When I encouraged her to study for the SAT, I came home and studied for the LSAT. After we finished drafting her first resume, I stayed at the office updating mine. In encouraging her to chase her dreams, she inspired me to chase my own. I can only tell my story through the stories of these strong women. Their stories ask pressing questions about the consequences of imperfect policy. Do domestic violence victims deserve affordable legal counsel? Can we imagine better assimilation programs for refugees? Is it a failure of financial policy that women need to create informal banks to access credit? Is it unjust that a student should be victim to an underfunded education system? The yes to these questions resounds in me, motivating me to build upon the legacy of women who came before me and become a fierce legal advocate for the services, programs, and laws we all deserve.