I hope to use my engineering career to help build technologies that expand what humanity is capable of while making complex systems safer, more efficient, and more reliable. I am especially drawn to aerospace and thermal-fluid systems because small engineering decisions can determine whether a vehicle, spacecraft, or energy system succeeds under extreme conditions. My education in aerospace engineering and physics has given me the foundation to understand these problems from both a practical and analytical perspective. Through hands-on propulsion testing, launch vehicle analysis at NASA, and thermal research and development at Tesla, I have learned how engineering moves from equations and simulations to hardware that must perform in the real world. These experiences have taught me to approach problems systematically, communicate across teams, and remain curious when results do not match expectations. I also want my impact to extend beyond the technology I help create. As a first-generation college student, tutor, mentor, and leader, I have seen how powerful it can be when someone helps another person believe they belong in a technical field. I want to continue mentoring students, particularly those who may not initially see engineering as a place for them. Ultimately, my goal is to contribute to advanced spacecraft, propulsion, and energy systems while becoming an engineer who combines technical excellence with leadership and service. I want the systems I help build—and the people I help encourage—to go farther because I was part of the effort.

1. I am a first-generation aerospace engineering student who has learned to view opportunity as something you build rather than something you wait for. I grew up in a family of six siblings where making ends meet often took priority over education. Moving sixteen hours from home to pursue an engineering degree meant entering a world no one in my family had navigated before, but that challenge became one of my greatest sources of motivation. I am motivated by possibility - the possibility of reaching places that once seemed completely inaccessible and helping others realize they can do the same. That mindset has taken me from struggling to find my footing in engineering to working on launch vehicle analysis at NASA and preparing to work in thermal research and development at Tesla. Along the way, I have also served as a tutor, mentor, and leader for other first-generation students. If I could do anything with my life, I would spend it solving difficult technical problems that contribute to the future of space exploration. I want to work on spacecraft, launch vehicles, and advanced energy or propulsion systems that make ambitious missions possible. More importantly, I want my career to have an impact beyond the hardware I help create. I want younger students especially those who have never seen someone with their background in engineering to be able to look at my path and think, “I could do that too.” 2. What excites me most about STEM is that curiosity can become something tangible. A question can become an equation, an equation can become a model, and that model can eventually become hardware capable of flying through the atmosphere or traveling to another world. I love that STEM constantly forces me to understand not only what happens, but why it happens and how I can improve it. My interests are primarily in aerospace engineering and thermal-fluid sciences, but information technology is deeply connected to the work I want to do. Modern engineering depends on computational modeling, automation, data processing, simulation, and the ability to transform enormous amounts of information into useful engineering decisions. In my own work, I have used computational tools and programming to analyze complex physical systems, process test data, and make engineering analysis more efficient. I believe I can make a positive impact by helping develop technology that makes complex systems safer, smarter, and more reliable. Whether that means creating software that identifies abnormal behavior in a propulsion system, automating engineering analyses that once required hours of manual work, or using data to better predict how a spacecraft will perform, information technology allows engineers to solve problems at a scale that would otherwise be impossible. Ultimately, STEM excites me because there will always be another problem to solve. I want to spend my career using both engineering and computing to solve problems whose answers genuinely move humanity forward. 3. One of the greatest challenges I have faced has been learning how to navigate college as a first-generation student while carrying much of the financial responsibility for making that education possible. When I began pursuing aerospace engineering, I did not have someone at home who could explain how college worked, how to build an engineering career, or how to recover when things did not go according to plan. I had to learn those lessons while working, studying, and adapting to an academically demanding environment far from home. There were moments when continuing would have been much easier to question than to pursue. Instead, I learned to become resourceful. I sought mentors, asked questions even when I was uncomfortable doing so, worked multiple jobs when necessary, and became willing to acknowledge weaknesses rather than allow them to define me. I learned that resilience is not simply enduring difficult circumstances; it is continually adjusting your approach until you find a way forward. Eventually, the challenges that once made me feel behind became part of what pushed me ahead. I earned opportunities to work in aerospace engineering, became a calculus and physics tutor, mentored other first-generation students, and served as president of my university’s First-Generation Student Association. Overcoming this challenge changed my definition of success. I no longer measure it only by what I accomplish. I measure it by how many barriers I can remove for the people coming after me. Becoming the first in my family to earn an engineering degree will be an accomplishment, but ensuring I am not the last will mean even more. Above all, I am incredibly proud of the work I have done, and who I am to become.

When I was younger, I never questioned whether I was capable of becoming an engineer - I questioned whether someone like me belonged there. As a first-generation college student from low income household with six siblings, pursuing higher education felt like stepping into unfamiliar territory. Everything I have accomplished has been built through persistence, sacrifice, and the belief that where you begin should never determine where you can go. Long before I ever stepped into a laboratory, I learned those lessons through sports. Years of athletics taught me that success is rarely determined by talent alone. It is built through consistency, resilience, and the willingness to improve every single day. The discipline I developed as an athlete became the foundation for everything I have accomplished, and it is the reason I have never been afraid to work for opportunities that once seemed impossible. Today, I am an aerospace engineering student whose education has taken me to NASA, where I have the privilege of contributing to rockets and missions that push the boundaries of exploration. While I am proud of those accomplishments, my education has given me something even more valuable than technical knowledge - the opportunity to create change for others. I want women from every background to know that they belong in the room. Whether they are first-generation students, come from low-income families, or simply have never seen someone who looks like them become an engineer, I want them to know that their background is not a disadvantage. Their experiences are valuable, and they deserve a seat at the table where the world’s biggest problems are being solved. Innovation depends on different perspectives, and our future will be stronger when every talented person believes they belong contributing to it. That is why I dedicate my time to serving others. I volunteer with my university’s College of Engineering to encourage young women to pursue STEM because I know how powerful it is to see someone who has walked a similar path. I also mentor first-generation students as they begin college, helping them navigate challenges that once felt overwhelming to me. And because sports shaped the person I became, I returned to coach youth softball, hoping to instill the same confidence, discipline, and resilience in young girls that my coaches instilled in me. Every one of those experiences has reinforced the same lesson: sometimes the greatest impact we can make is simply showing someone what is possible. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue pursuing that vision. Throughout the academic year, I balance two jobs alongside one of the most demanding degree programs while remaining committed to volunteering in my community. Financial support would ease that burden, allowing me to devote more time to my education, research, and the students I hope to mentor. My dream is not only to help build rockets that advance humanity’s future, but to help build a future where every young woman knows she belongs in the room. If my education allows even one young woman to see herself differently because she saw someone like her succeed, then its impact will extend far beyond anything I accomplish on my own.

There is a version of me that almost never graduated college. During my freshman year, I experienced a sexual assault that sent me into a depression unlike anything I had ever known. Before that, I had always believed success came from hard work. Growing up in a low-income family with six siblings, I learned to outwork every obstacle in front of me. Then, almost overnight, I found myself unable to get out of bed. I stopped attending class, stopped answering messages, and nearly failed out of college. Depression didn’t make me less capable. It convinced me I wasn’t worth trying anymore. That experience completely changed the way I view mental health. Before then, I saw mental health as something separate from education. Now I know it is the foundation of it. You cannot learn, lead, or dream about your future when your own mind is working against you. Recovery wasn’t one life-changing moment. It was hundreds of tiny decisions: getting out of bed, retaking classes I had failed despite the financial burden, asking for help, and believing that one bad chapter didn’t have to define the rest of my life. Those experiences changed the person I became. Today, I serve as President of my university’s First Generation Student Association, where I work to create a community where students feel like they belong. I mentor incoming first-generation students through the Discover Scholars Program and tutor calculus and physics, a role that earned me Tutor of the Year. While students come to me looking for academic help, many are carrying something much heavier than homework. They’re overwhelmed, burnt out, grieving, or quietly wondering if they’re good enough. I understand that feeling because I once carried it myself. I’ve learned that advocating for mental health isn’t always about having the perfect advice. Sometimes it’s sitting with someone after tutoring because they need to talk. Sometimes it’s reminding a struggling student that asking for help isn’t failure. Sometimes it’s simply noticing when someone has. At my university we participate an annual suicide awareness campaign where hundreds of colorful flags, each carrying messages of hope, encouragement, and remembrance, cover our campus lawn. Every year I watch students slow down to read those messages, smile at kind words from strangers, and start conversations they otherwise wouldn’t have had. It’s a reminder that building a supportive community often begins with something as simple as letting another person know they are. Mental health is important to me because I know firsthand what it feels like to believe your future is over. I also know what it feels like to discover that it isn’t. If I can use my experiences to help even one student feel less alone, ask for help sooner, or believe in themselves a little longer, then every difficult step of my own journey will have been worth it.

For much of my life, I thought faith was something people relied on when they had all the answers. It wasn’t until I reached the lowest point in my own life that I realized faith is what carries you when you have none. As a first-generation college student from a low-income family with six siblings, I left home and moved sixteen hours away to pursue an aerospace engineering degree. I arrived believing that hard work alone could solve every problem. Then life humbled me. During my freshman year, after experiencing trauma that left me struggling with depression, I nearly failed out of college. I couldn’t recognize the person I had become, and for the first time in my life, effort wasn’t enough. Faith became less about asking God to remove my hardships and more about trusting that they could still have purpose. Scripture reminded me that my worth was never determined by my failures. Jeremiah 29:11 taught me that God still had plans for my future, even when I couldn’t see one myself. Proverbs 3:5-6 challenged me to stop believing I had to control every outcome and instead trust that God could guide my path better than I could. That change in perspective transformed the way I lived. Instead of dwelling on regret, I began rebuilding my life one day at a time. I retook the classes I had failed, accepted the financial burden that came with those decisions, and committed myself to becoming someone who reflected Christ through discipline, humility, and service. Today, I serve as President of my university’s First Generation Student Association, mentor incoming first-generation students through the Discover Scholars Program, and tutor calculus and physics. This year I was honored as Tutor of the Year, not because I am the smartest student, but because I understand what it feels like to believe you are falling behind. I want others to know they are capable of more than their circumstances suggest. God also opened doors I never imagined possible. I have had the privilege of contributing to NASA launch vehicle missions and will continue my education through a thermal research and development internship at Tesla. Those opportunities are incredible accomplishments, but they are not what define my success. They are reminders of God’s faithfulness. Every opportunity has reinforced that when we remain faithful in small responsibilities, He entrusts us with greater ones. As I pursue a career in aerospace engineering and eventually a master’s degree in applied physics, my faith will continue to shape the engineer I become. Technical ability can design remarkable systems, but character determines how those systems are built and why they are built. I want to approach every challenge with integrity, humility, and a genuine desire to serve others rather than pursue recognition. Engineering gives us the ability to change the world. Faith reminds us that how we change it matters. My hope is that throughout my career, people remember me not only for the rockets I helped launch or the technologies I developed, but for the way I treated others—with honesty, compassion, and unwavering integrity. If I can use the gifts God has given me to advance science while encouraging the people around me, then I will consider my career a success. “Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” — Proverbs 16:3

When people ask where my work ethic comes from, I don’t think about engineering first - I think about the softball field. Growing up in a low income household with with six siblings, I learned early that opportunities are never guaranteed. Long before I dreamed of education, softball taught me that success is rarely determined by talent alone. It belongs to the people who continue showing up after difficult losses, who embrace failure as an opportunity to improve, and who put in the work long after everyone else has gone home. The discipline, resilience, and consistency I developed as an athlete became the foundation for every opportunity I have earned since. As a first-generation student, I didn’t grow up surrounded by engineers or people who could show me this path. I had to build it myself. Through countless hours of studying, sacrificing, and refusing to settle, I earned opportunities I once thought were out of reach. Today, I am an aerospace engineering student whose work has taken me to NASA, where I have the privilege of contributing to rockets and missions that push the boundaries of exploration and change the world. These experiences are not the result of luck - they are the result of years of believing that consistent effort creates extraordinary opportunities. While those opportunities are incredibly rewarding, they do not erase the financial reality of pursuing an engineering degree. Throughout the school year, I work two jobs while balancing one of the most demanding academic programs, all while remaining committed to serving my community. There are many days when my schedule begins before sunrise and ends well after dark, but I have never viewed hard work as something to avoid. It is simply the price of becoming the person I aspire to be. That same mindset has shaped the way I give back. Because softball played such an important role in my life, I returned to coach youth softball in my hometown. I wanted young girls to experience the same confidence, resilience, and sense of belonging that the game gave me. Today, I also volunteer with my university’s College of Engineering to encourage young women to pursue careers in STEM. Whether I am standing on a softball field or speaking with future engineers, I hope to show others that they are capable of achieving goals that may seem impossible today. Receiving this scholarship would ease the financial burden that accompanies my education and allow me to devote more of my time and energy to my studies, research, and service instead of worrying about how to afford another semester. More importantly, it would allow me to continue investing in the communities that invested in me. When I read about Kalia Davis, one theme stood out above all else: excellence through character. She pursued every opportunity with ambition, kindness, and unwavering determination while uplifting those around her. Those are the values I strive to embody every day. My goal has never been simply to build a successful career. It is to use every opportunity I earn to open doors for someone else, proving that where you begin does not have to determine where you finish. “Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” - Proverbs 16:3

Being a first-generation college student means becoming the blueprint. I grew up in a family where hard work meant earning enough to make it to the next paycheck. Education was never discouraged, but it also wasn’t something anyone knew how to navigate. There was no one to explain financial aid, internships, office hours, research opportunities, or graduate school. Every application, every major decision, and every mistake became something I had to figure out myself. When I left home to attend Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University, I drove sixteen hours to a place where I knew no one. I wasn’t just chasing an engineering degree - I was attempting something no one in my family had done before. That excitement was quickly met with one of the hardest periods of my life. After experiencing a traumatic event during my freshman year, I fell into a severe depression. I struggled academically, nearly lost my place in engineering, and watched my GPA become something I was ashamed of. Retaking those classes has cost thousands of dollars, but the greater cost was learning that no one else could rebuild my future for me. That experience changed me. I stopped measuring success by perfection and started measuring it by persistence. I rebuilt my study habits, sought help when I needed it, and became intentional about every opportunity in front of me. Today, I conduct thermal and fluids research for NASA’s Launch Services Program, recently accepted a thermal research internship with Tesla, serve as a peer mentor for first-generation students, tutor calculus and physics, and spent two years as President of my university’s First Generation Student Association. The student who almost walked away from engineering is now preparing for a future pursuing a master’s degree in applied physics. Being first-generation also means understanding that your success is never yours alone. Every accomplishment opens a door that my younger siblings, future students, and people from backgrounds like mine can now see themselves walking through. I want to build spacecraft that push the boundaries of exploration, but I also want to show other first-generation students that they belong in those rooms where groundbreaking discoveries happen. This scholarship would help relieve the financial burden that continues to follow my education. Every dollar I spend taking courses or covering tuition is a dollar I cannot invest in research, graduate school preparation, or opportunities that move me closer to my goals. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to spend less time worrying about how to pay for my education and more time becoming the engineer, mentor, and leader I have worked so hard to become. Being first-generation is not simply part of my story. It is the reason I refuse to let my story end where it began.

The basket sat between us like an unfinished sentence. One french fry remained, curled slightly at one end, glistening with too much salt. My grandfather leaned back in the cracked vinyl booth, arms folded across his chest, insisting with nothing more than a wave of his hand that I should take it. I pushed the basket toward him. He pushed it back. It was a ritual as old as I could remember. Every lunch ended with the same polite standoff, each of us pretending to be too full while secretly waiting for the other to surrender first. The waitress had stopped asking if she could clear the table. She simply smiled each time she passed, amused that two grown people could spend ten minutes negotiating over a single potato. Rain streaked the diner windows, blurring the parking lot into watercolor. The smell of coffee and grilled onions settled into the air, the kind that clung to your clothes long after you left. We’d eaten here after birthdays, softball games, doctor’s appointments, and sometimes for no reason at all except that Tuesday afternoons were quieter than the rest of the week. Today wasn’t an ordinary Tuesday. In three days, I would leave for college. It struck me that I couldn’t remember the first time we’d argued over the last fry. Somewhere along the way, the tradition had become permanent without either of us deciding it would. I had always assumed there would be another Tuesday. My grandfather reached toward the basket, then pulled his hand away. “Your grandmother always took the last fry.” I had never noticed. “Drove me crazy.” His eyes stayed fixed on the basket. “But if she was stealing my fries, it meant we’d be back here tomorrow.” The words settled over the table heavier than either of us expected. I looked around the diner, suddenly afraid I hadn’t been paying enough attention. The faded photographs on the walls. The bell above the front door. It all felt painfully ordinary, yet somehow worth remembering. I reached into the basket and picked up the fry. It bent before it broke, scattering a few grains of salt across the table. I handed him the larger half. He noticed. He always noticed. Neither of us said thank you. The fry was barely enough for a bite, but that had never been the point. We ate in silence, the familiar kind that had carried us through fishing trips, long drives, and rainy afternoons in this very booth. For the first time, it felt fragile. He slipped a twenty beneath the check and stood, holding the door open for me as he always had. The bell rang cheerfully overhead, completely unaware it was marking an ending instead of another Tuesday lunch. Halfway to the car, I turned back. Inside, the waitress was already clearing our table. She stacked the empty glasses, folded our napkins into the basket, and carried it through the swinging kitchen door without a second thought. Years from now, I won’t remember how crispy the fry was or whether the burger was any good. I’ll remember the rain against the windows, the bell above the door, and my grandfather pretending he was too full to eat one more bite. Some people remember the last time they hugged someone. Others remember the last words they said. I remember a french fry. Because no one tells you you’re living an ordinary moment for the last time. They just ask if you’re going to eat it. And before you realize it, someone else is clearing the table.

Joe Gilroy lived by the phrase, “Plan Your Work, Work Your Plan.” As an aerospace engineering student, I have learned that every successful launch begins long before ignition. It begins with careful planning, contingency analysis, and thousands of small decisions that all point toward one objective. I have adopted the same philosophy for my education and career. My long-term goal is to become a thermal and fluids engineer designing spacecraft and launch vehicle systems after pursuing a master’s degree in Applied Physics. I want to bridge engineering and physics to solve problems involving heat transfer, cryogenic fluids, and propulsion systems that enable future space exploration. I have broken that goal into measurable milestones. The first step is completing my bachelor’s degree in Aerospace Engineering while continuing to strengthen my academic record. After overcoming significant personal setbacks early in college, I now approach school with a renewed commitment to excellence because I know graduate programs value consistent academic performance. Every semester is planned around not only coursework, but also experiences that make me a stronger engineer. The second step is building technical experience that cannot be learned in a classroom. During my internship with NASA’s Launch Services Program, I work on thermal and fluid analyses supporting launch vehicle missions. This fall, I will continue expanding that experience as a Thermal Research and Development intern at Tesla. Each opportunity develops different skills - from computational modeling and data analysis to real-world engineering design -that together prepare me for graduate research and eventually the aerospace industry. Financial planning is equally important. As a first-generation student from a low-income family, every dollar matters. I continue working throughout school because tuition, housing, and the cost of retaking courses after earlier academic struggles have created a significant financial burden. Each course costs thousands of dollars, making scholarships essential rather than supplemental. My goal is to minimize additional student loan debt while maintaining the flexibility to pursue internships that accelerate my career instead of simply choosing whichever job pays the most. Beyond graduation, I plan to apply to master’s programs in Applied Physics while continuing to work in the aerospace industry. If graduate school immediately after college is not financially practical, I will work full-time in thermal engineering, gain additional research experience. Having multiple paths toward the same destination is just as important as having a destination itself. Ultimately, my goal extends beyond earning degrees or building spacecraft. As a first-generation woman in STEM, I want to mentor students who question whether they belong in engineering. Through tutoring, leading my university’s First-Generation Student Association, and mentoring incoming students, I have already seen how encouragement can change someone’s future. Engineering has taught me that success is never accidental. It is the product of preparation, persistence, and a well-executed plan. My education is no different. Every internship, every class, every scholarship application, and every challenge overcome is another step in the plan I have built for the future I intend to create.

Education, to me, is the opportunity to rewrite my story. I grew up in a low-income family with six siblings where work meant earning enough to keep the lights on. Higher education wasn’t a certainty - it was something that belonged to other families, people with more resources and more opportunities. As a first-generation college student, I packed my life into a car and drove sixteen hours away from home, leaving behind everything familiar because I believed education could give me a future my circumstances never promised. It has done far more than that. Education has transformed the way I see myself. It gave me the confidence to pursue aerospace engineering despite often being one of the only women in the room. It gave me the knowledge to contribute to NASA’s Launch Services Program as a thermal fluids engineering intern, where I help analyze launch vehicle systems supporting some of the nation’s most important space missions. This fall, I will continue that journey as a Thermal Research and Development intern at Tesla. Every opportunity I have earned is proof that education can open doors once thought unreachable. But education has also taught me lessons beyond the classroom. During my freshman year, depression consumed my life. I struggled to get out of bed, and my grades reflected that battle. I failed courses that now cost thousands of dollars to retake, a financial burden that serves as a constant reminder that second chances are rarely free. Looking back, I no longer see those failures as evidence that I wasn’t capable. I see them as the moment I realized success is built through resilience, not perfection. My education became more than earning good grades - it became the process of rebuilding my confidence, learning from failure, and refusing to let one chapter define the rest of my story. That perspective changed how I view success. Education is not valuable simply because of what it allows me to accomplish, but because of what it allows me to give back. I tutor calculus and physics because I remember how overwhelming those subjects once felt. As President of my university’s First-Generation Student Association and a peer mentor for incoming first-generation students, I have worked to ensure others never feel as alone as I once did. As a volunteer youth softball coach, I have watched confidence grow in young girls who simply needed someone to believe in them. One day, I hope to earn a master’s degree in applied physics and contribute to the future of space exploration. Yet my greatest ambition is not defined by the rockets I help launch or the technology I help create. It is knowing that another young woman, another first-generation student, might look at my journey and realize she belongs in STEM too. To me, education is more than a degree. It is freedom from the limitations of circumstance, the courage to pursue opportunities that once felt impossible, and the responsibility to ensure that the path I have carved becomes easier for those who follow after me

During my freshman year of college, I stopped recognizing myself. After experiencing sexual assault, I developed severe depression that made even the simplest tasks feel impossible. Getting out of bed became a victory. Attending class felt overwhelming. Assignments piled up while I watched the future I had worked so hard to build begin to disappear. As an aspiring aerospace engineer, I had always believed success came from hard work. For the first time in my life, effort alone wasn’t enough because depression had taken away my ability to function. The consequences extended far beyond a single semester. My grades plummeted, and I came dangerously close to failing out of college. My GPA no longer reflected my abilities or my work ethic - it reflected the darkest period of my life. I questioned whether I belonged in engineering at all. Even now, years later, I am paying for that period. Although my university allows me to retake courses, each class costs thousands of dollars. Depression did not end when I started feeling better; it left lasting academic and financial consequences that continue to shape my education. Recovery was not a single decision or a moment of inspiration. It was a process of rebuilding myself one day at a time. I realized I couldn’t change what had happened to me, but I could decide who I wanted to become because of it. During that time, I wrote ten rules for myself—principles that reminded me to reflect instead of regret, to face my emotions instead of hiding from them, to choose empathy, communicate honestly, and never take the easy way out simply because it hurt less. At first, they were reminders I desperately needed. Over time, they stopped being rules and became my identity. They gave me a foundation to reclaim my life when I felt like I had lost complete control. Today, those lessons are reflected in everything I do. I serve as a thermal fluids engineering intern supporting NASA’s Launch Services Program, where I contribute to research involving rocket propulsion systems and thermal modeling. This fall, I will continue developing those skills as a Thermal Research and Development intern at Tesla. Beyond engineering, I tutor calculus and physics, mentor incoming first-generation college students, and volunteer as a youth softball coach because I know how powerful it can be to have someone believe in you when you struggle to believe in yourself. Depression permanently changed my life, but it also changed my understanding of strength. I learned that resilience is not pretending everything is okay or pushing through in silence. It is asking for help, accepting that healing takes time, and continuing to move forward despite setbacks. Mental illness showed me how quickly someone’s future can be altered, but it also taught me that a difficult chapter does not have to define the rest of the story. As I continue pursuing my degree in aerospace engineering and my long-term goal of graduate study in applied physics, I carry those lessons with me every day. My accomplishments are not meaningful because they came easily - they are meaningful because there was a time I believed they would never be possible. This scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of rebuilding my education, but it would also represent something I once believed I had lost forever: the opportunity to keep moving forward.

Academic excellence has taken on an entirely different meaning in my life than it did when I first entered college. During my freshman year, I experienced severe depression following a sexual assault that left me unable to even get out of bed. I lost the ability to focus, attend class consistently, and believe that my education had a future. My grades reflected the lowest point of my life, and I failed courses that will cost me thousands of dollars to retake. Those grades remain a permanent reminder that second chances are never free - they require time, sacrifice, and an unwavering commitment to earning back what was lost. I am not asking for a second chance because I believe my past should be erased. I am asking because I have already begun proving what I can accomplish when given the opportunity to move forward. Since that difficult period, I have rebuilt my life through discipline, purpose, and resilience. I earned a competitive internship with NASA’s Launch Services Program, , became President of my university’s First Generation Student Association, and mentored incoming first-generation students through a program that helped me get back on my feet. More importantly, I rediscovered a genuine love of learning. Today, academic excellence is no longer simply about earning high grades. It is the foundation upon which my future depends. My goal is to pursue graduate study in applied physics after completing my aerospace engineering degree. Admission to competitive master’s and doctoral programs requires sustained academic performance, making every course I take from this point forward an opportunity to demonstrate both my technical ability and my personal growth. And one day I hope to be a leading rocket scientist! This time, success will not rely on motivation alone. It will come from the systems I have built: maintaining structured study schedules, seeking help before small setbacks become major obstacles, communicating openly with professors, prioritizing my mental health, and treating my education as the privilege it is. I have learned that resilience is not measured by avoiding failure but by what you choose to build after it. A second chance would allow my transcript to better reflect the student, engineer, and person I have become. My past explains where I started, but it no longer defines where I am going. Question: What has changed in your life since your previous academic struggles? How are you better equipped to succeed now? The biggest change in my life was not my GPA, my resume, or even the internships I have earned. It was learning that success is built through intentional habits rather than perfect circumstances. When I was struggling, I believed I simply needed to work harder. What I eventually realized was that I first needed to take care of myself. I created a list of ten personal principles that became the framework for how I approach every challenge. They remind me to reflect instead of regret, communicate instead of assuming, embrace discomfort instead of avoiding it, and recognize that devotion is more sustainable than discipline alone. Over time, those principles stopped being rules I followed and became the person I am. Today, I approach obstacles with confidence instead of fear. I ask questions when I need clarification, seek mentorship from experienced engineers, and view setbacks as opportunities to improve instead of evidence that I am incapable. That mindset has allowed me to earn opportunities with NASA and Tesla while serving as a mentor to other first-generation students navigating many of the same challenges I once faced. I know my path will continue to present obstacles, but I also know I have the tools to overcome them. My circumstances have not magically become easier. I have simply become stronger, more resilient, and more intentional in how I respond to them. That transformation is what gives me confidence that my greatest academic and professional achievements are still ahead of me. My second chance did not change my future on its own. The choices I made afterward did.

During my freshman year of college, I almost failed out. After being sexually assaulted, I struggled to get out of bed, attend class, or imagine a future beyond what had happened to me. I had arrived at college believing that hard work could carry me through anything. Suddenly, effort no longer felt simple. My mind and body seemed to work against me, and I felt as though I had lost control over my education, my identity, and my life. My mental health journey began with that loss of control, but it ultimately taught me a different definition of power. I could not change what had happened, control how others perceived me, or force myself to heal immediately. I could, however, decide how I would respond and what kind of person I would become. To begin rebuilding my life, I wrote ten rules: 1. Be who you want; you cannot control how people perceive you. 2. Reflect, do not regret; you cannot change the past. 3. Think before you act; empathy is powerful. 4. Do not indulge to cope; feel your feelings. 5. Never take the easy way out; good things are earned. 6. Devotion over discipline; you are enough. 7. You cannot expect change without communication; people do not read minds. 8. Hating gets you nowhere; passion and happiness are self-defined. 9. Ask for clarity; it is not your job to convince. 10. There is power in silence; do not overexplain. At first, these rules were instructions for getting through the day. They reminded me to attend class even when remaining in bed felt easier, to acknowledge my emotions rather than escape them, and to stop blaming myself for a past I could not alter. Gradually, they became more than coping mechanisms. They reshaped my beliefs about strength, relationships, and ambition. My experience with mental health first changed how I understood myself. Before, I often measured my worth through achievement and other people’s approval. When I struggled academically, I interpreted it as proof that I was weak or incapable. My rules taught me to separate my identity from a difficult period of my life. “Reflect, do not regret” allowed me to recognize mistakes without believing I was defined by them. “Devotion over discipline” taught me that caring for myself was not a reward I had to earn. True discipline could not come from hating myself into improvement; it had to come from devotion to the life I still wanted. My mental health journey also changed how I form relationships. Trauma made vulnerability difficult because communication felt like surrendering control. I sometimes expected others to understand what I needed without explaining it, then felt hurt when they did not. Through “you cannot expect change without communication,” I learned that honest conversations are not signs of weakness. They give people the opportunity to understand and support one another. At the same time, “ask for clarity; it is not your job to convince” taught me to establish boundaries. I can ask someone what they mean, express what I need, and listen with empathy, but I do not have to exhaust myself proving that my feelings or experiences are valid. My relationships are now grounded less in fear and assumption and more in openness, patience, and mutual respect. Finally, my mental health shaped my aspirations by changing why I pursue difficult things. I am studying aerospace engineering, have contributed to work supporting NASA, and am preparing for an internship at Tesla. I mentor first-generation students, tutor calculus and physics, and volunteer with younger athletes. These goals require persistence, but I no longer pursue them simply to prove that I overcame something. I pursue them because I am genuinely passionate about learning, engineering, and helping others recognize their own potential. My struggle taught me that ambition without self-compassion can become another form of punishment. Now, when I encounter a demanding class, an intimidating opportunity, or the possibility of failure, I do not ask whether succeeding will make me worthy. I ask whether the challenge aligns with the person I want to become. My mental health journey did not shape my life by making me fearless or unaffected by the past. It shaped me by forcing me to live intentionally. I learned to accept what I cannot control, take responsibility for what I can, communicate honestly, and pursue my future from a place of purpose rather than shame. Those ten rules began as a way to reclaim my life. Eventually, I no longer had to consciously follow them. They became so deeply embedded in my decisions that the list stopped describing who I was trying to become. It began describing who I am.

I sat on the grass at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center waiting for Artemis II to launch, listening as the countdown echoed across the crowd. A man beside me noticed my excitement and began explaining how rockets worked - how thrust was generated, why the boosters separated, what the mission meant. He spoke slowly, carefully, assuming I had never heard any of it before. When he finally paused, I smiled and told him I was an aerospace engineering student. His face turned bright red. That interaction lasted only a few minutes, but it reflected something I had experienced throughout my life. Before I ever opened my mouth, someone had already decided what I knew. As a woman in engineering, I have often found that my abilities are underestimated long before I have the opportunity to demonstrate them. Ironically, those moments have never discouraged me. They have strengthened my resolve. I did not choose STEM to prove people wrong. I chose it because I fell in love with the questions it asks. I spend my days at NASA working alongside engineers who are solving some of the most challenging thermal and fluid systems problems in aerospace. Every day reminds me that there is still so much left to learn - and that is exactly what excites me. On my first day as a NASA intern, one of the few women on my floor walked over to introduce herself. Before she knew anything about my background, she told me how excited she was to finally have another woman in the department. She smiled and said she was proud of me. That moment has stayed with me. Growing up, I believed that by the time I entered the workforce, gender inequality in STEM would mostly be a thing of the past. Instead, I found myself in rooms where nearly every engineer around the table was an older white man. They have been incredible mentors who have challenged and supported me, but their overwhelming demographic representation also reminds me how much work remains. The excitement that engineer felt simply because another woman had arrived spoke volumes. It reminded me that representation is about more than statistics - it is about belonging. As a first-generation college student from a low-income family, I have spent much of my life stepping into spaces where I felt like I did not naturally belong. Engineering has taught me that belonging is not something that is granted; it is something we build through hard work, curiosity, and perseverance. Today I mentor first-generation students entering college, tutor calculus and physics, and volunteer as a youth softball coach because I know how transformative it can be when someone sees potential in you before you see it in yourself. My goal is to earn my bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering, pursue a master’s in applied physics, and contribute to the future of space exploration. Just as importantly, I hope that the next young woman who walks into an engineering department won’t be celebrated simply because another woman finally arrived. I hope she’ll be one of many brilliant women whose presence is expected, whose ideas are heard, and whose expertise is assumed before she ever has to prove it. That is the future I want to help build - one where the most remarkable thing about a woman in STEM is not that she is there, but what she accomplishes once she is.

“First” is a powerful word. It means standing at the edge of something your family has never seen before and choosing to step forward anyway. Growing up in a low-income household with six siblings, college was never part of the conversation. Education wasn’t dismissed - it simply wasn’t familiar. Survival came first. Work meant earning enough to make ends meet, not building a career. My parents taught me resilience, sacrifice, and the dignity of hard work, but they couldn’t teach me how to navigate higher education because they had never been given that opportunity themselves. Becoming the first person in my family to pursue a college degree means carrying both responsibility and possibility. Every class I complete, every internship I earn, and every obstacle I overcome becomes a roadmap that didn’t exist for my younger siblings. Success is no longer just my own - it expands what my family believes is possible. At eighteen, I left everything familiar and moved sixteen hours away to attend Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University. I arrived knowing no one, but I knew that if I wanted a different future, I had to be willing to create it. Since then, I have pursued every opportunity available to me. I have worked as a NASA Thermal Fluids Engineering Intern, accepted an upcoming internship with Tesla, served as President of my university’s First Generation Student Association for two years. Each experience has reinforced my belief that education is not only about personal achievement - it is about creating opportunities for others. In college, I am pursuing a bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering because I have always been fascinated by the science that allows humanity to explore beyond our own planet. That curiosity has grown into a passion for thermal sciences, fluid systems, and the physics that make spaceflight possible. After graduation, I plan to pursue a master’s degree in applied physics, combining engineering with a deeper understanding of the fundamental principles that drive innovation. I hope to contribute to the future of spacecraft design and space exploration while continuing to mentor first-generation students who are searching for someone to show them that they belong. My long-term goal extends beyond earning degrees or building an engineering career. I want to change what “normal” looks like for my family. I want my younger siblings to grow up believing that graduate school, research, and careers in science are realistic possibilities - not distant dreams. I want to become the person I wish my eighteen-year-old self had known: someone who could say, “You belong here.” Being first in my family isn’t about reaching a finish line alone. It’s about holding the door open for everyone who comes after me. If I succeed, I won’t simply have earned a degree - I will have changed the trajectory of my family’s future for generations to come.

Growing up in a low-income household with six siblings, work was never viewed as a path toward a career - it was simply how you made enough money to keep the lights on. College wasn’t something anyone in my family had experienced, and higher education often felt like an opportunity that belonged to someone else. My parents taught me the value of hard work, but I had to discover for myself that hard work could also build a future beyond making ends meet. At eighteen, I packed my belongings and moved sixteen hours away from home to attend Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University. I knew no one. I left behind everything familiar because I believed that if I wanted a different future, I had to be willing to create it myself. That decision changed my life. Since then, I have immersed myself in opportunities I never imagined possible. I have worked as a NASA thermal fluids engineering intern, accepted an upcoming internship with Tesla, served as President of my university’s First Generation Student Association for two years, mentored incoming first-generation students, tutored calculus and physics, and volunteered as a youth softball coach. Every opportunity has reinforced one belief: success means very little if you don’t use it to lift others with you. My future goal is to complete my bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering before pursuing a master’s degree in applied physics. I hope to contribute to the advancement of space exploration through research in thermal sciences and spacecraft systems while continuing to mentor students from backgrounds like my own. As a first-generation student, every milestone I reach is a door opening that no one in my family has walked through before. I want my journey to become proof for my younger siblings and other first-generation students that these careers are not out of reach. While I have been fortunate to earn incredible internships, financial hardship has remained a constant reality. Throughout college I have balanced demanding engineering coursework alongside minimum-wage jobs simply to afford tuition, housing, and daily expenses. Every hour spent working to pay bills is an hour taken away from research, design projects, leadership, or studying. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to devote more of my energy to becoming the engineer and researcher I aspire to be rather than constantly worrying about how I will afford the next semester. It would reduce the financial burden that often forces first-generation students to choose between academic excellence and financial survival. More than financial assistance, this scholarship would be an investment in someone determined to create opportunities where none previously existed. My dream is not simply to become an aerospace engineer or earn a master’s degree in applied physics - it is to redefine what is possible for my family. I want my story to be the first of many, proving that where you begin does not determine how far you can go.

On the back of my bedroom door hangs a weathered wooden sign that reads, “Attitude is everything. Pick a good one.” It was a gift from my high school softball coach on senior night. Years later, after NASA internships, engineering exams, and countless difficult days, it remains exactly where he told me to put it. As a pitcher and team captain, I learned early that responsibility comes with the position. When I stood on the mound, every mistake felt like mine. Tough losses stayed with me long after the final out. My coach never let me hide from failure, but he never let me be defined by it either. He taught me that leadership wasn’t about being perfect - it was about how you responded when things didn’t go your way. He had a way of teaching life lessons through the simplest things. Before every game, our dugout was covered with homemade, hand-drawn posters full of cheesy sayings that made us laugh. My favorite was simply a mirror taped to the wall. He wanted us to look at ourselves before we stepped onto the field - not to check our uniforms, but to ask ourselves what kind of player and person we were becoming. Those lessons became painfully real during my senior season. We lost in the state semifinals, one game short of the championship. Like every disappointed team, we stayed to watch the championship game. Someone had to ride the bus back to school alone to unload the equipment, and my coach volunteered. Later that night, he unexpectedly passed away. For a long time, I carried the weight of that day. I wondered if we had let him down by falling short of the championship he had worked so hard for. But with time, I realized that his greatest victory was never measured by wins. It was measured by the people he left behind. That summer, I volunteered to coach a youth girls’ softball team. Without even thinking about it, I found myself repeating his sayings, setting up his goofy drills, and encouraging nervous pitchers the same way he had encouraged me. For the first time, I understood what it meant to stand on the other side of the field. Coaching wasn’t about creating better players - it was about building confident, resilient young women. Today, many of those girls play for my former high school and have helped lead the program to state championships. While I cannot take credit for their success, I am proud to know that a small part of my coach’s legacy continues through them. Now I study aerospace engineering and have had the privilege of interning with NASA. At first glance, softball and spacecraft seem worlds apart. Yet every opportunity I have earned has been built on the same lessons I learned on the diamond: preparation, accountability, teamwork, and choosing my attitude when challenges arise. My coach taught me that leadership is not measured by the scoreboard but by the lives you leave better than you found them. Every time I step into a classroom, a laboratory, or onto a softball field to volunteer, I carry his legacy with me - and I hope to pass it on to someone else, just as he did for me and just as Brett did for so many young athletes.

When I was younger, space represented possibility. Looking up at the night sky, I was not just fascinated by rockets and distant places, I was captivated by the idea that humanity could accomplish things once thought impossible. That curiosity eventually led me to pursue aerospace engineering, but the journey from dreaming about space to contributing to it has been anything but easy. As a first-generation college student, every opportunity I've earned has been built through determination, long hours, and the belief that hard work can overcome circumstances. My ambition is to help shape the future of space exploration, my drive has carried me through obstacles that often seemed overwhelming, and the impact I hope to leave is measured not only by the technology I create but by the people I encourage along the way. Today, I am pursuing a degree in Aerospace Engineering with a minor in Physics while completing a thermal and fluids engineering internship supporting the NASA Launch Services Program. This fall, I will continue building on that experience as a Thermal Research and Development intern with Tesla. These opportunities are milestones I once thought were reserved for students with every advantage. Instead, they have become reminders that perseverance can open doors that once seemed out of reach. My ambition extends beyond earning impressive internships. I want to contribute to technologies that make space exploration safer, more reliable, and more accessible. Whether developing thermal control systems for spacecraft, advancing propulsion technologies, or pursuing graduate research in engineering physics, I am motivated by problems that challenge the limits of engineering and expand what humanity is capable of achieving. Every class, every project, and every internship has been another step toward that goal. Reaching this point has required more than ambition alone. Throughout college, I have balanced demanding engineering coursework with jobs that simply helped pay the bills. While many of my classmates were able to focus exclusively on school, I often found myself transitioning between exciting engineering projects and routine work that was necessary to afford tuition, housing, and everyday expenses. There were times when the financial burden felt limiting, but I refused to allow it to define what I believed I could accomplish. Instead, those experiences taught me discipline. They taught me to manage every hour of my day with intention, to stay committed even when progress felt slow, and to appreciate every opportunity that came my way. The same work ethic that carried me through late nights balancing employment and coursework now drives me to continually seek greater challenges in engineering. My circumstances have never lowered my expectations for myself; they have simply strengthened my determination to meet them. My Christian faith has also shaped how I approach both success and adversity. I believe that the abilities and opportunities I have been given are gifts that come with a responsibility to serve others. Excellence, to me, is not about recognition or personal achievement alone. It is about honoring God through integrity, perseverance, and a commitment to using my education to make a meaningful difference. Faith reminds me that leadership begins with humility, that challenges are opportunities for growth, and that success is most meaningful when it benefits those around us. Because of that belief, I have always sought opportunities to invest in others alongside my own academic pursuits. For the past two years, I have served as President of my university’s First Generation Student Association, advocating for students navigating many of the same challenges I experienced entering college. I have also served as a peer mentor through the Discover Scholars Program, helping incoming first-generation students build confidence as they transition into university life. I know firsthand how intimidating college can feel without family members who have walked the path before you, and I want every student to know they belong. Outside the classroom, I tutor calculus and physics because I believe knowledge becomes more valuable when it is shared. Watching a student finally understand a concept they had struggled with is every bit as rewarding as solving an engineering problem myself. I also volunteer as a youth softball coach, where I strive to teach young athletes that perseverance, teamwork, and character matter just as much as winning. Whether mentoring engineering students or coaching children, I hope the people I work with leave believing in themselves a little more than they did before. These experiences have taught me that impact is not measured solely by technical accomplishments or professional titles. Real impact comes from empowering others to reach goals they once thought impossible. Engineering has given me the opportunity to solve complex problems, but leadership and service have shown me that the greatest accomplishments are often found in helping others discover their own potential. Receiving this scholarship would do more than ease the financial burden of completing my education. It would allow me to devote more time to research, leadership, and mentoring instead of worrying about how to balance additional work with school. More importantly, it would be an investment in someone who is committed to using every opportunity to serve others. My ambition has carried me toward a career in aerospace engineering. My drive has enabled me to overcome financial obstacles and pursue opportunities I once only dreamed about. My impact, I hope, will be measured not only by the spacecraft I help design but by the students I encourage, the communities I serve, and the example I strive to set through my faith and work ethic. As I continue pursuing a career in engineering, I want my life to demonstrate that success is not determined by where you begin, but by your willingness to work faithfully, serve generously, and never stop reaching for something greater. I believe this scholarship would help me continue doing exactly that.

What drives me is the belief that engineering is, at its core, an act of service. Every analysis and test is a commitment to the people who rely on that hardware and to the generations who will build upon it. I’m motivated not only by the pursuit of technical excellence, but by the chance to contribute to something larger than myself. As a first-generation college student, I’ve learned that meaningful opportunities are earned through curiosity, perseverance, and a willingness to keep learning. Those values have shaped my experiences-from leading my university’s First Generation Student Association and mentoring incoming students to interning with NASA and working real space missions. Everything I have accomplished reminds me that success is defined not only by what I achieve, but by the doors I help open for others. I’ve grown comfortable navigating paths that no one in my family has walked before, and that mindset inspires my long-term goals. I aspire to design thermal and fluid systems that enable spacecraft to survive the harsh environments of launch, orbit, and deep space, pushing exploration farther than ever. Whether I pursue industry or graduate research, I want my work to solve challenging physical problems with lasting impact. This scholarship would reduce my financial burden, allowing me to focus more fully on becoming a leader who champions rigor, collaboration, and accessible opportunities in aerospace. My values--service, curiosity, and community--guide me to strengthen missions while ensuring that future students navigating new paths know they belong in this field.

As a woman of science, I owe much of my belief system to literature. When people ask why I chose aerospace engineering, they often expect an answer rooted in mathematics, physics, or a childhood fascination with rockets. While those certainly played a role, two novels fundamentally shaped the way I see both the universe and my place within it: Ray Bradbury’s “The Martian Chronicles” and Fyodor Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot.” Bradbury’s vision of Mars was unlike anything I expected. Rather than portraying space as a collection of technological triumphs, he used an unfamiliar world to examine humanity itself. As civilizations collided, I found myself thinking less about rockets and more about responsibility. One of the book’s most powerful moments, in the chapter “–And the Moon Be Still as Bright,” depicts the aftermath of Earth-borne diseases that wipe out most of the Martian civilization. The chapter’s main character, Spender, refuses to treat Mars as merely another frontier and argues that humans have destroyed something beautiful before even trying to understand it. He stands against the social flow, insisting that exploration is not merely the act of reaching somewhere new, but the decision of what kind of people we become once we arrive. He reminded me that engineering is not about making exploration possible, but making it meaningful. This perspective transformed my fascination from admiring space at a distance to wanting to contribute responsibly. Today, that motivation drives my work in engineering, where every calculation and design supports the reliability of systems that make exploration possible. While “The Martian Chronicles” inspired me to look outward toward the stars, “The Idiot” challenged me to look inward. Prince Myshkin’s unwavering kindness and sincerity often appear naive to those around him, yet his presence exposes the strengths and flaws of everyone he encounters. His compassion for Nastasya Filippovna, while others judged and objectified her, demonstrated the power of truly seeing another person. He did not magically solve her suffering, but he humanized her experience. This dynamic forced me to ask questions I had rarely considered: What influence do I have on the people around me? How do my actions shape the communities I belong to? And just as importantly, who am I becoming through those interactions? These questions have stayed with me far beyond the final page and continue to shape how I approach leadership, friendship, and personal growth. Through literature, I have become a more compassionate and curious young woman. Reading remains part of my daily life, and the reflection and connection it provides grounds my relationship with myself and the important people in my life. Every Sunday morning, my high school friends and I call to discuss a classic novel - currently John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden.” Together we question the world through the lens of other perspectives, and I believe we would not be the thoughtful professionals we are today without the influence of these books. One day, I hope to be a rocket scientist, but without a doubt, I will always be a reader.