Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that I wanted to go into healthcare. No matter the medical setting I remember always being eager to look around, desperately hoping to see a black woman with curly hair like mine proudly serving patients, those times were rare. Rare enough that I can count on my hand the number of times I’ve seen a medical doctor or mid-level practitioner that looked like me. Discouraged isn’t the word that I felt, more so debilitated. This significant lack of representation of black professionals in the medical field always made my dreams seem far-fetched as a low-income, first generational black student. I have struggled with mental health issues throughout my childhood and early adulthood as many minorities do due to the unique challenges faced as one tries to remove the shackles of generational traumas, racial discrimination, and poverty. My pain was met by white psychiatrists and psychologists that did not have the capacity to truly understand what I was facing because they simply did not live in my world. I never felt “seen” by these healthcare professionals, and so it felt like I was screaming for help for many years, without anyone ever noticing. Instead, I was met with the same three robotic questions asked over and over, “How has your eating been?”, “Have you been sleeping well?”, and “Any changes in your medication?”. So, I ended up being on extra psychiatric medications that I never needed, and truly suffered until I found another provider. What I needed was some kind of support for my recovery, the support I knew that I would never receive, that is until I met a psychiatric nurse practitioner years later. I remember the first telehealth appointment that I had with her online, and she asked me about my general history and background, the patterns of my mental health, and my experience of previous psychiatric treatment. She allowed me to have a voice, and instead of typing in a prescription right away, she approached my situation with genuine care and consideration. It is because of her I now know that the issues I faced were never depression (which was diagnosed by all previous psychiatrists), but chronic anxiety that turned into depression because it was never treated. Shortly after a few months of my new medication, I began to see significant improvement in myself and saw potential in myself that I had not seen before. My grades improved tremendously, I worked out regularly, and I had support. My experience with a black nurse practitioner confirmed my belief that health cannot be improved with the same scripted questions. Instead, it must be treated holistically, which is what I love about the nursing model. Towards the end of my first college degree, I realized that I wanted to be a psychiatric nurse practitioner. I then went on and completed the needed prerequisites all while completing my degree at the same time. I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in interdisciplinary science, emphasis in biology. One month later I started nursing school, and I am ecstatic over my choice of pursuing this career. I aspire to be the “safe place” for black patients and other minorities. I know that I will be able to stand beside them in ways that others cannot, and I know that I can be the representation for little black girls that I had always hoped to see as a child. Racial diversity means creating possibilities that some couldn’t have imagined, as well as improving the care for patients entirely as statistics show the truth of black patient care.

I remember being woken up at my grandma’s house at four years old, ecstatic, and joyous to head to the hospital in the early hours of the morning on a foggy day. I always heard her Dansko shoes clicking against the cold, white floor of the unit, always approaching with a grin. She would pick me up and let me fall asleep on her shoulder as we headed back to the car after her night shift as an LPN on the medical surgical unit. No matter how tired she was, she usually tucked me in to sleep and sang, “You Are My Sunshine”, before leaving my room. The warmth of her sweet lullabies would follow into my school lunches with handwritten notes and X’s and O’s followed by packed treats she knew I liked, there was no doubt she had loved me with everything in her. Unfortunately, that love she had for me did not follow suit into herself until much farther down the line, but her resiliency and determination are the reasons why she helped me discover my full potential. My mom grew up in an unstable household, having to deal with many emotional tolls on her own. Her father passed away from a drug overdose when she was only nine years old and that understandably shattered her life for a long time. She gave birth to me at only nineteen years old and did her absolute best to provide a good life for me and my sisters. She was an LPN for over 10 years and is one of the most intelligent and hardworking people I know. Tragically, my mom lost her nursing license to her opioid addiction and had to stop practicing. Nonetheless, her story did not end there. She never gave up and went on and sought out treatment for herself. Today, my mom is a peer recovery specialist that works for and represents an entire county in the state of Virginia. She advocates for individuals suffering from addiction and works to help those in need of treatment, counseling, and further services from the county. She goes out into underprivileged areas and educates individuals on Narcan, substance abuse stigmas, and additional programs. She is a hero and well-respected individual in her field and has a true passion for helping others. She was my number one support throughout me completing my bachelor’s degree in interdisciplinary science. She was incredibly proud of me as my family struggled financially throughout my childhood, as I was the first to go to college on both sides. She was there for me in all the times when all I wanted to do was give up in all capacities. I had struggled with mental health issues due to pressure to succeed and because of my family background. She always believed in me and helped me along the way. She was there when I had to go buy a new car because my car had broken down and I had no way to get to school. It was through God and the grace of my mother’s love I was able to graduate college. I realized toward the end of my degree that I wanted to become a nurse just like her. She saw me for who I am before I saw my own potential. It is because of her I am now pursuing my dream of becoming a nurse. I plan to continue with my education and pursue a master’s in nursing and become a psychiatric nurse practitioner. I plan to help others that come from similar backgrounds as me and my mom’s.