From a young age, I have been fascinated by biology and how science explains the world around us. As a Black student pursuing STEM, I’ve faced challenges including financial barriers and a lack of representation. But the experience that shaped me most deeply was personal grief. Losing my childhood best friend and a grandfather I never truly knew left me emotionally overwhelmed. During that time, I didn’t have the courage or energy to lead big groups—I was still learning to manage my emotions. However, I’ve always played my role in supporting my community, proving that leadership isn’t only about being in the spotlight but also about consistent care and impact. Balancing academics, athletics, work, and extracurricular passions has been demanding but rewarding. As a varsity track and cross-country athlete, I trained intensely while maintaining straight A’s, demonstrating discipline and time management. I also worked a job to support myself and my family. Outside of school and work, I have played classical piano for over a decade, which has taught me grace and emotional expression. Despite my busy schedule, I prioritized attending meetings for clubs like the Black Student Union and Beta Club and volunteered to help others whenever possible. I’ve contributed to my community by supporting donation drives, helping peers and families, and standing quietly but reliably as a source of support. Recently, I joined the NAACP Gwinnett Chapter to deepen my commitment to activism and service. Though new to formal leadership roles, I am eager to grow and advocate for change. These experiences will help me develop the leadership skills I’ve been building in quieter ways for years. Choosing to attend Florida A&M University to study biology is a deliberate step toward my future goals. My passion for dermatology was inspired by watching my cousin live with lupus—a disease that has profoundly impacted her and our family. This showed me how crucial it is to have dedicated professionals who understand and address the specific needs of Black communities. While I’m still learning about this field, I am committed to becoming a compassionate expert who serves my community. My biology degree will also allow me to participate in research and community education. I plan to create workshops that raise awareness about skin health and empower Black students interested in STEM, showing them that their dreams are achievable and necessary. This scholarship would alleviate financial burdens so I can focus fully on my studies and community involvement. It will bring me closer to my dream, not only for myself but for those I aim to uplift. My journey is about resilience, growth, and quiet leadership. Even when my impact isn’t always visible, it is real. Pursuing STEM at FAMU will help me transform my passion into meaningful action, inspire others, and create lasting change.

Growing up in a community where stories of resilience are often shadowed by struggles with health disparities, I’ve witnessed firsthand how chronic illnesses like lupus can silently shape lives. My cousin’s journey with lupus opened my eyes to the complex challenges faced by Black families when seeking care for skin conditions and autoimmune diseases. This personal connection ignited a passion in me, not only to become a dermatologist but to serve as an advocate for culturally competent healthcare that truly meets the needs of underserved communities. From that moment, I knew my path would be about more than medicine; it would be about healing bodies and empowering communities. I am committed to using my education in biology at Florida A&M University as the foundation for a career that bridges medical science with community wellness, ensuring that care is accessible, compassionate, and culturally aware. My journey toward wellness and service began well before college. I have always believed that true leadership is grounded in serving others. I have volunteered extensively with the Black Student Union and local community organizations, collecting and distributing essentials such as clothing and school supplies to students and families in need. These experiences taught me the value of giving without expectation and the power of community care. In 2025, I took an important step by joining the NAACP Gwinnett Chapter. While I am new to this organization, my commitment to becoming an active member and leader is unwavering. I plan to engage in advocacy, participate in voter registration drives, and collaborate with local chapters to raise awareness about health disparities and social justice issues. Joining the NAACP has given me a platform to amplify my voice and the voices of those in my community who often go unheard. Leadership for me is not a title—it is action. Throughout high school, I opened my home to friends who had no safe place to stay, gave up my room and time to support those facing hardship, and worked quietly behind the scenes to organize donation drives and support school initiatives. These experiences have taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of community support systems. I believe that no one should have to face their battles alone, and I am dedicated to building networks of care wherever I go. At Florida A&M University, I plan to immerse myself fully in the campus community—joining student organizations focused on health and wellness, securing internships in dermatology clinics, and seeking mentorship from professors and professionals who share my passion. I also look forward to joining a sorority and engaging in service projects that will expand my leadership skills and deepen my understanding of systemic health inequities. My vision extends beyond personal achievement. I aspire to open a dermatology clinic that not only provides high-quality medical care but also offers community education programs on lupus, skin health, and wellness tailored to Black and Brown families. This clinic will be a safe space where patients can learn, heal, and feel genuinely supported. I want to partner with schools, churches, and community centers to host free workshops, breaking down barriers to knowledge and care. Receiving this scholarship will ease the financial burden of higher education and allow me to dedicate myself fully to both my academic and community goals. It will bring me closer to a future where health equity is not just an ideal but a reality, where every person can access the care and support they deserve. My journey is about more than finishing first—it is about finishing strong and carrying others with me. I am committed to serving my community with humility, passion, and purpose, and I will work tirelessly to make sure that healing is not the exception, but the expectation, for all.

When I look at the Black and Brown communities I’ve grown up in—rich with resilience, creativity, and culture—I also see something else: exhaustion. Emotional fatigue, chronic stress, and generational burnout run deep. I’ve felt it myself. That’s what drives my commitment to health and wellness—not just as a career path, but as a way to heal, especially through dermatology and lupus care, where skin becomes the visible marker of so much more beneath the surface. My wellness journey didn’t start with a trendy diet or fitness routine. It began in quiet moments of grief, losing my childhood best friend, mourning a grandfather I never truly knew. I was overwhelmed, trying to keep up at school with a smile while carrying invisible burdens. My GPA slipped—not from lack of ability, but from emotional exhaustion no one saw. I became the person others leaned on, even when I was barely standing. But through that pain, I found my purpose: to focus on wellness that acknowledges the whole person, especially those living with conditions like lupus, where skin health is not just about appearance but about survival and dignity. Wellness isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity too often out of reach for my community. True wellness goes beyond kale smoothies and yoga—it means mental health support, accessible nutrition, community care, and the healing power of being seen. It means recognizing that skin, especially for those with lupus, tells a story of resilience, pain, and hope. This belief will guide my next steps. I’m committed to pursuing dermatology, specializing in lupus care, while creating free, community-centered wellness workshops focused on stress management, affordable nutrition, emotional health, and skin wellness tailored for Black and Brown families. I’ll collaborate with chefs, counselors, and healthcare providers to build safe spaces where healing is possible without shame or stigma. Globally, I want to work with organizations tackling health disparities and food insecurity, launching a nonprofit that blends wellness education, culturally rooted healing practices, and skin health advocacy. Whether a pop-up wellness event or an online resource hub, I’ll use wellness and hospitality to break barriers and build up lives. Hospitality, to me, is more than food and service—it’s about care, comfort, and dignity. And that’s exactly what my community deserves. With the support of the FLIK Hospitality Group, I’ll turn this vision into a lasting impact. Their commitment to racial equity and empowering Black and Brown leaders aligns perfectly with my goals. I don’t just want a seat at the table—I want to set the table for others, serving wellness, opportunity, and hope. This is bigger than a scholarship. It’s about reshaping the spaces I come from—locally and globally—so healing becomes the expectation, not the exception. If I can help even one young person feel seen, safe, and strong in their mind, body, and skin, I’ll know I’ve made a difference. “Skin tells stories of survival; wellness is the gift of being truly seen, heard, and cared for.”

Grief is a strange companion to carry through hallways full of laughter, tests, and morning announcements. During my senior year of high school, I learned how heavy that burden could be. My grandfather died that year. Not the kind of grandfather I had stories with or a chair to crawl into as a kid, but a man whose name I carried without really knowing him. When he passed, I met cousins I never knew existed—family connected to a man who had never truly been there for me, for my father, or my grandmother. It was like uncovering a history book written without my name in it. Still, his death left something raw and heavy in my chest. It was grief, but also confusion—how do you mourn someone you never had? That same year, I finished high school without my best friend Amber. She passed away when we were in middle school, but we had always dreamed together, talked about prom, senior trips, and what colleges we’d go to. She never even made it to high school, but I did. I walked those halls every day with a smile that was half-forced, carrying the weight of knowing I was doing something she never got the chance to. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I began to fall apart. I started getting failing grades for the first time in my life. Not because I didn’t care, but because I couldn’t care in the way school demands you to. The world outside the classroom was loud with sadness and loss. Inside, it asked me to act like everything was fine. I was behind on assignments, too distracted to finish work, and too sad to ask for help. And yet, every day I showed up—smiling, dependable, the “responsible one” in friend groups, the one people could lean on. What they didn’t always see was that I didn’t have that same support back. I often felt like I was breaking in quiet ways, in bathrooms between classes, in the long walk home. But even amid all this darkness, I never let go of who I wanted to become. Science, especially biology, has always been a thread of light for me. I’m fascinated by the human body—how it heals, how it adapts, how it wears our stories in our skin. That’s why I want to pursue dermatology. There’s something powerful in helping people feel beautiful in the bodies they carry. In a world where so many women of color are told their features need fixing, where our skin is politicized or overlooked, I want to be a voice of affirmation. I want to help people—especially those who look like me—feel comfortable in their own skin, literally. Pursuing a STEM career as a young Black woman isn't always encouraged. Representation is limited, and funding is even more so. I've seen how financial barriers keep passionate students from opportunities they deserve. My family has always done the best they could, but we’ve faced hardships. My grandmother, who raised me in faith and prayer, is my anchor. My aunts have given me safe spaces to rest and reminded me I’m beautiful when the world tried to convince me otherwise. But money has always been tight, and affording college has felt more like a dream than a plan. Still, I push forward. Even when I felt lost in school, I found myself again through music—playing piano, joining the chorus, and auditioning for solos. Music became my sanctuary, a space where I could feel heard when I didn’t have words. That creative part of me reminds me why healing matters and why I want to work in a field where science meets care. Applying for this scholarship isn’t just about money—it’s about asking for belief. I believe that my pain didn’t disqualify me. The girl who cried herself through study sessions and still showed up for her friends has a future in STEM. That even though I lost people I loved and almost lost myself, I am still here, still working, still dreaming. I want to become a dermatologist not just to treat acne or prescribe creams, but to advocate for better representation in medical textbooks, more inclusive care, and greater access for marginalized communities. I want to open a practice that welcomes everyone but prioritizes those who’ve never seen their skin treated with respect in a medical setting. I want to mentor other girls like me, to be the example I never had. This scholarship would not only help fund my education, but it would also affirm that someone believes I belong here. That despite the grief, the failing grades, the days I wanted to give up, I am not just surviving—I’m striving. It would allow me to focus on my studies without constantly worrying about whether I can afford the books or tuition that are supposed to build my future. When I think of my grandfather now, I try to focus on what came after—how loss opened a window to a family I never knew, how that experience taught me to find value in people while they’re still here. When I think of Amber, I think of how I carry her with me—how I walk for both of us. And when I think of myself—bruised, grieving, but still going, I see a future dermatologist who has known suffering, who has seen the cracks, and who still believes in healing. That’s what I want to bring to STEM: not just intelligence, but empathy. Not just skill, but heart.

My friend died when we were in middle school. We always talked about how we’d get through high school together, but I ended up walking those halls alone. I finished senior year before she even got the chance to start. That loss stayed with me, but it was nothing compared to what I faced during my senior year. My grandfather passed away that year. I barely knew him, and he was more like a distant figure connected to cousins I didn’t even know I had. His death felt like losing another piece of my family, and I never fully understood until it was gone. The grief hit my family hard, and through them, those who wanted to hide it, especially my father, it hit me too. It wasn’t just sadness—it was heavy and crushing, a weight I couldn’t lift or even understand why it hurt me so much. For the first time in my life, I started failing classes. I got so far behind because I couldn’t bring myself to do any work. I was overwhelmed by sadness and distraction. Going to school felt impossible—being around all those people, having to keep up the act of being a responsible, accountable friend when I wasn’t always getting that same support back was exhausting and lonely. It was hard to pretend I was okay when inside I constantly felt and still often feel like I'm losing my mind. Music and chorus used to be my escape, but even they lost their light. The pain made me shut down, and I moved through life numb, struggling to keep up. For months, I was just there. Alive but not ever living. My grandma’s faith became my anchor in the chaos. My mom and aunts gave me a place to breathe and reminded me I mattered, even when I felt invisible. Their support was the only thing steady in a world that felt like it was crumbling. That experience taught me how fragile life can be and how important it is to show up for myself, even when I feel broken. Slowly, I started taking small steps to care for my mental and emotional health—talking more, leaning on family, and pushing myself to catch up in school. I asked for help, even when embarrassed, and I learned how important it is to be vulnerable at times and communicate. It's very possible to manage, I don't have to feel pressured or jealous of how someone else's life is playing out, mine is necessary for my journey, and in my time, I can make the most of it. Even when I'm not always so sure, I dream of a future where im at peace. This scholarship would help me keep that momentum going. It would give me the support I need to manage my health and focus on my future goals, especially my dream of studying biology and dermatology. Life has thrown a lot at me, but I’m determined to move forward and build a future where I can help others facing their struggles in silence.

My plans for the future are clear, but full of passion and purpose. I want to study biology at Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University and eventually become a dermatologist. My dream career is to help people feel confident in their skin by improving their skin health. I believe that skin care is more than just appearance—it’s about wellness, self-esteem, and feeling comfortable in your own body. I want to combine science and compassion to make a real difference in people’s lives. Growing up, strong women in my family have inspired me to aim high and stay grounded. My grandma has been my spiritual guide, teaching me the importance of faith and resilience. My aunts have always been there with advice, encouragement, and a safe space to express myself. Their support has helped me build confidence and believe in my potential. I also find strength and joy in music. I’ve been playing piano for over ten years, and during my senior year, I joined the chorus, auditioned for solos, and pushed myself to get out of my shell. Music is where I find peace and creativity, and it reminds me to stay balanced even as I work hard toward my career goals. Attending FAMU feels like the perfect next step for me because it offers both strong academic programs and a supportive community where I can grow. I want to take advantage of the biology courses and research opportunities, as well as stay involved in music and campus life. I believe this environment will prepare me well for medical school and a future career in dermatology. Winning this scholarship would mean a lot to me because it would ease the financial burden of college and allow me to focus more on my studies and extracurricular activities. Paying for school is one of the biggest challenges I face, and this support would help cover books, supplies, and other costs that add up quickly. It would also motivate me to keep working hard, knowing that someone believes in my potential. In the end, this scholarship isn’t just about money—it’s about helping me reach my dreams and giving back to my family and community. I want to use my education and skills to serve others, especially those who might not have access to proper skin care or medical resources. I’m determined to make a positive impact on people’s lives and show that with dedication and support, anything is possible.

My healthcare journey began not in a classroom, but by my cousin’s side. I watched her navigate life with lupus—an invisible illness that brought exhaustion, pain, and constant appointments where she often wasn’t believed. I saw how much strength it took for her to advocate for herself in a system that too often dismissed her symptoms or misunderstood her reality as a Black woman. That experience didn’t just leave an impression—it gave me purpose. I don’t just want to work in healthcare. I want to make it better, more inclusive, and more human. This fall, I’ll begin studying biology at Florida A&M University, with the long-term goal of becoming a dermatologist. I’m especially passionate about serving communities that have been historically overlooked, particularly patients of color who face barriers to diagnosis and care. Far too often, skin conditions go misdiagnosed in Black and brown patients or aren’t taken seriously. In some cases, the lack of representation in medical training puts lives at risk. I want to be part of changing that—from the inside. I know this is a nursing scholarship, and while I’m not entering a nursing program, my goals and values closely align with those of the nursing profession. Like nurses, I am called to serve with compassion, cultural humility, and fierce patient advocacy. Whether in scrubs or a white coat, we’re part of the same mission: to care for and uplift others. If awarded this scholarship, I would use the funds to ease the financial burden of starting college. As a first-year student beginning a demanding science program, I’m facing the high cost of textbooks, lab materials, and campus living expenses. I discovered this scholarship while actively searching for ways to fund my education—I’m determined to succeed, but I know I’ll need financial help to get there. Every dollar matters, not just for tuition, but to open up opportunities like shadowing healthcare providers, attending pre-med workshops, and building real-world experience as early as possible. This scholarship wouldn’t just support my education—it would help shape the kind of healthcare provider I will become. One who shows up for people who’ve been overlooked. One who reflects the diversity of the patients I’ll serve. One who doesn’t just treat symptoms, but sees the whole person. Not just for their physical health, but mental health, creating the image of the person they want to be and supporting a healthy journey to wellness and joy. I’m pursuing a future in medicine not just to treat skin, but to help people feel safe and confident in it. I believe that representation and empathy are powerful forms of healing. That’s the kind of impact I want to make. I discovered this scholarship through Bold.org while searching for financial aid to support my education.

I was in fourth grade, and she was in third, the day Amber moved into the house across the street. From that moment on, we were inseparable. We weren’t bound by blood, but by something even stronger — time, love, memories, laughter. She was my sister. My person. My always. I didn't know she was sick. I didn’t know the seizures could come so suddenly, so violently. One day, she was laughing. The next, she was gone — a seizure sent her into cardiac arrest right across the street from the home I grew up in. My entire childhood, that street was a place of comfort. Now it’s a place I can hardly look at without remembering the ambulance, the flashing lights, the silence after. Her loss split me open. I didn't process it, not really. I still haven't. I push people away now, not because I don’t care, but because I do. I’m terrified of ever letting someone that close again. The grief lives in me. Sometimes loudly, sometimes in whispers. It doesn’t go away. It waits. Amber left behind two younger brothers — sweet, silly, bright boys. One is on the autism spectrum, and it’s begun to show up more in his school life. I babysit them often. They feel like mine — like the little brothers me my sister and never had. I’m not their mom or their sister, but I am there. Help when her parents need it. I show up to celebrate them. I do what I can. I have to. It’s my way of keeping Amber alive — showing up for who she loved most. Amber also has a baby sister now, Nazeena. She’s the most beautiful little thing — soft, brown skin just like Amber’s, eyes wide with wonder. She’s my god-sister now. Holding her feels like touching a second chance. I once visited Amber, and she offered to make me ramen. Not the microwave kind. She cracked the egg, stirred it right into the pan with a fork, and grinned like she was teaching me magic. She was always like that — a spark in motion. In high school, I wrote a poem called “The Things I Carry.” It still holds. I’m a lady of many bags, Bags, I’ve come to believe, complete me. From my purse to my track bag, My book bag to my duffel bag. My tea bags to eye bags from the raft of restless nights. I carry two planners… not for organization, but for control. I’m scared of the unknown. I carry a tattered orange scrunchie — Amber’s spirit. She said we’d go to high school together. Now, it’s just me and the scrunchie. In my wallet is a picture of my older sister — A reminder that I am never alone. I carry advice, memories, and love. What I face today won’t erase who I come from. I am grounded, supported, and loved forevermore. I didn’t plan to grow up with grief, but here I am — still growing, grieving, loving. It doesn’t end. It becomes part of the story you carry, and part of how you love what’s left. This scholarship wouldn’t just honor Amber. It would help me keep showing up — for her siblings, for our story, for the dreams she didn’t get to chase. I was always so angry that a spirit so bright and deserving was taken. I wanted to quit. But look at me now. I’ll carry that honor, and her, for the rest of my life. I'll live the way she always wanted me to be bold and unapologetic.

Orange and green have colored my dreams for as long as I can remember. My dad is a proud Florida A&M Rattler, and even before I fully understood what that meant, I felt it pulling me in. FAMU feels like home before I’ve even started—it’s where I see my future, my people, and my purpose. It’s not just a college to me—it’s the dream I’ve carried since childhood. I plan to major in biology and become a dermatologist, focusing on skin conditions that impact Black communities. My cousin lives with lupus, and watching her strength through flare-ups, fatigue, and invisible battles opened my eyes to the kind of care our communities deserve but often don’t receive. I’ve walked beside her at lupus events in Piedmont Park, not just to raise awareness, but to show up for someone who’s shown up for me all my life. Before high school even began, I had already run in several 5 Ks, earning medals and plaques—not because I was chasing trophies, but because I was learning endurance. In 2017, I placed first in my age group in a Halloween 5K, and I’ve been running ever since. I also danced throughout my early years and middle school, and while I no longer perform on stage, I carry the rhythm of that discipline in everything I do. Music has been my constant companion for over a decade. I’ve played classical piano since I was young, and performing has taught me more than just notes—it’s taught me grace. People often tell me they feel the emotion and strength in my playing, even when I make mistakes. I’m never perfect, but the love and passion I put into every performance always shine through. My commitment to community is personal. I’ve volunteered with Black Student Union, Beat Club, and Target, helping collect essentials like clothing and school supplies for students in need. When my friends didn’t have a place to stay, they stayed with me. I gave up my room, my time, and my energy—because that’s what love and leadership mean. I’ve helped parents navigate hard holidays, supported the school nurse with donation drives, and worked quietly in the background to make sure others didn’t feel alone. Most recently, I joined the NAACP Gwinnett Chapter to become more active in long-term change. At FAMU, I see myself deeply involved in service, in a sorority, in student organizations, internships, and every space where I can grow and give. I want to open a dermatology clinic focused on inclusive care, rooted in access, research, and love for the people I come from. This scholarship would bring me closer to that dream. I don’t have to finish first to finish strong—and I will cross that line, no matter how long it takes. I will help others if it's the last thing I do, I must. I don't care about being remembered, but my actions my work will have an everlasting impact at every stage in life.

Every step I take toward becoming a dermatologist is fueled by watching my cousin bravely manage lupus and my passion for helping those whose struggles often go unseen. If selected for this scholarship, I would use the funds to deepen my hands-on experience in healthcare by shadowing medical professionals, attending workshops, and expanding my knowledge about skin conditions and autoimmune diseases. This will prepare me to better serve underserved communities, especially Black women, who face unique health challenges. The scholarship would also help cover the costs of textbooks and lab supplies for my biology classes, ensuring I can stay at the top of my studies while gaining the skills I need to make a real impact. By investing in my education, you’re not just supporting me—you’re investing in a future healthcare leader dedicated to making a difference.

Growing up in Georgia, I’ve always believed that community is more than just the place you live—it’s the people you lift along the way. Whenever friends or their families faced tough times—whether their parents had to leave town or they needed a safe place—I opened my home and heart to them. I gave up my room, my time, and my space to make sure they had somewhere to feel cared for. Sometimes, all someone needs is a listening ear or a safe place to just be. That’s the kind of community I want to build: one where we look out for each other, no matter what. Beyond my home, I’ve been actively involved in organizations like the Black Student Union and BETA Club, where I worked alongside others to support our school community. Volunteering for Target as well with my family and helping local schools, I’ve made sure nurses, parents, and children by providing gifts, clothing, and essentials, especially for families who couldn’t afford them, felt loved. I’ve also reached out to help the homeless and other vulnerable groups in my community, knowing that even small acts can spark big change. My community—primarily Black families—faces unique challenges, from economic struggles to limited resources, but I see strength and hope everywhere I look. That’s why I want to dedicate my life to creating spaces where everyone feels valued and supported. I imagine future programs that offer mentorship, affordable access to health and wellness resources, and education on how to build financial stability and confidence. I believe by empowering young people and their families today, we can build a stronger, more resilient community for generations to come. The drive to serve comes from understanding firsthand how much impact a little kindness and dedication can have. I’m motivated not just by the challenges but by the possibilities—knowing that through education and community effort, we can create lasting change. This scholarship would help me continue that journey by supporting my education, giving me the tools to make an even bigger impact in the future. To me, community is a circle—when you lift one person, you lift us all. I want to keep that circle growing wider, stronger, and more inclusive every day.

Before I even started middle school, I was already running in local races. In 2017, I ran a Halloween 5K and came in first place, female in my age group. That moment wasn’t just about winning—it was the start of a journey that taught me about passion, resilience, and moving forward even when the road gets hard and people don’t always believe in me. Alongside running, dance has been a part of my life since before middle school. Moving to music helped me express emotions I couldn’t always put into words. Dance taught me discipline and grace, and it gave me a space where I could let go of stress and simply be myself. Those early years of dance shaped how I face challenges today, with strength and calm. Balancing school, work, varsity running, and my love for dance hasn’t been easy. There were mornings I woke up tired, weighed down by everything going on, but I still showed up, ready to put in the work. I wasn’t always the fastest on the team or the captain, but I stayed loyal and committed. Because of that, my teammates kept coming back too, motivated and happy to be there. I learned that being second best didn’t mean I wasn’t important—it meant I was steady, dependable, and always worthwhile. Being a female athlete in a space that often favors male sports taught me to find strength in quiet leadership and to never stop pushing. I created my own space on the team and in my life, using every challenge as a lesson and every setback as fuel. Running with my teammates showed me how to find my voice, my resilience, and my power. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is this: this race—my life—is mine to run. It doesn’t matter how long it takes or how many obstacles come up. What matters is that I keep moving forward, at my own pace, guided by my own heart. No matter the struggles or doubts, I will cross that finish line on my terms. Looking forward, I plan to keep running through college clubs or local leagues, carrying with me the strength and balance I’ve built from juggling school, work, and sports. This scholarship would help me take the next step toward my goals and keep breaking barriers, for myself and for all the women who keep running their races. In this race called life, strength isn’t about being first—it’s about running your race with heart, lifting others as you climb, and never forgetting who you are becoming.

I’ve always been the kind of person who notices what others might miss. The classmate who keeps their hoodie up to hide a breakout. The teacher who quietly mentions a health struggle but keeps pushing forward. The friend who needs someone to listen without judgment. Over time, I realized that this way of seeing people—not just what’s on the surface, but what they’re carrying underneath—is something I want to build my future around. My cousin has lupus, and her strength has taught me a lot. Watching how the illness affects her—some days more than others—made me want to understand more about autoimmune diseases, especially how they show up in the skin. I’ve walked in several lupus events at Piedmont Park, but more importantly, I’ve tried to learn what it means to be supportive, to show up, and to use my education to make a difference. That’s why I plan to study biology in college and pursue dermatology. I want to focus on bridging gaps in care, especially for communities that rarely see doctors who understand their skin, their stories, or their struggles. I don’t just want to be in medicine; I want to help reimagine it to be more accessible, compassionate, and inclusive. My journey hasn’t been picture-perfect. There were moments when I felt like the world kept turning without me, when grief, stress, and silence weighed heavily. But I’ve always had this quiet promise to myself: no matter what, keep moving forward with purpose. That’s what’s carried me—whether I was helping out at health fairs, balancing work and school, or encouraging classmates who felt invisible. I often think about the people who shaped me, including my childhood best friend, who passed away in middle school. She once told me I was like a sister. I didn’t fully understand how much that meant until she was gone. Now, I carry her with me—not in sadness, but as a reason to do better, love harder, and serve with intention. The Sweet Dreams Scholarship would help me take another step toward that vision. For me, “sweet dreams” means rest, hope, and healing—not just for myself, but for all the communities I want to care for. And I plan to spend my future making those dreams real.

My name is Kendall Pass, and I will become a dermatologist—not just because I’m interested in skin, but because I care about what people carry beneath the surface. I was born in Atlanta, Georgia, but raised in the suburbs. I graduated from Collins Hill High School, and I plan to major in biology with a specialization in dermatology. I have often been the observer—the friend who watches quietly, absorbing the world around me. I feel empathy so deeply that I make others’ pain my own. In middle school, I lost my childhood best friend, someone who called me her sister. She kept her illness private, but her strength became a quiet beacon for me. Later, during my senior year, my grandfather passed away, bringing unexpected changes and new connections to family I hadn’t known. These moments taught me resilience, patience, and the power of support. My cousin lives with lupus, a disease that affects both skin and immune health. I have watched her push through pain unseen by most, and she has been one of my strongest role models—steady and inspiring, supporting me through college and life. To honor her journey, I have participated in several lupus walks at Piedmont Park. Those experiences fuel my passion for focusing on skin conditions that affect Black women and other underrepresented communities. I have faced my battles, too. Wrestling with depression and anxiety while trying to keep my head above water has shaped how I see the world. It has made me more grounded, more patient, and more determined. Even when the weight feels heavy, I keep moving—maintaining a 4.2 GPA, working nearly full-time at Burlington, and competing on varsity cross-country and track. I don’t always feel okay, but I always show up. Music has also been my refuge. For over ten years, I’ve played classical piano and sung in the Advanced Women’s Chorus. Performing taught me how to hold myself together under pressure, but also how to let go, finding peace when nothing else seems to fit. Through education, I have gained the tools to turn empathy into action. My goal is to attend medical school and open a clinic that offers affordable, inclusive skincare and autoimmune research. There aren’t enough dermatologists who look like me or truly understand the struggles people like my cousin face. I want to change that narrative. This scholarship would bring me one step closer to that goal. I’m not perfect, and I’ve had to fight for everything I have. But I’m still here—still trying, believing that I can transform pain into healing, for myself and others.