In the summer of 2025, I joined 11 other female athletes to represent the southern region of the United States at the Nike High Performance All-Star Tournament. After three rounds of tryouts across Georgia and Tennessee, earning a spot on the team felt like the greatest achievement of my athletic career. For two weeks in Madison, Wisconsin, I trained and competed against elite players from across the country. I played all six rotations for nearly eight hours each day and estimate that I swung my arm at full force more than 3,500 times. I returned home with a silver medal, lifelong friendships, pride in my work ethic—and a shoulder injury so severe I could barely lift my arms above my head. That injury forced me to confront something I had been learning long before: even the strongest, most disciplined people are vulnerable when their bodies—or minds—begin to fail them. My understanding of that vulnerability began in seventh grade during the COVID-19 pandemic, when I lost a classmate to suicide. At the same time, isolation, disrupted routines, and months without seeing friends fundamentally altered how I experienced the world. Having already lost a childhood friend to suicide just a few years earlier, my mother became my eagle-eyed guardian, making sure I never felt completely alone—even when my own brain tried to convince me that I was. After that year, I was never quite the same, though I couldn’t understand why. In the years that followed, waves of depression came and went. With patience, love, and constant attentiveness, my mother—my best friend—helped me develop coping strategies that allowed me to succeed academically and continue competing at a high level. I learned how to rely on structure, discipline, and routine. From the outside, I appeared resilient and driven. On the inside, I was learning how to coexist with something invisible but palpable, persistent. This year, the cumulative stress of senior year pushed me to a breaking point. I suddenly lost motivation to keep up with my schoolwork, something entirely uncharacteristic of me. Everyday tasks that once felt easy became overwhelming, and the tears flowed easily and often. I felt disconnected from myself and frustrated that my coping tools no longer worked. I could not recognize the change in myself, but my mother did. With so much love, she helped me see that needing help did not mean I had failed—it meant I was human and that I was strong. With the support of my doctors, I began a treatment plan that included therapy and medication. Within a few weeks, I felt the smallest spark of clarity return. Over the last several months, my focus improved, my motivation resurfaced, and the mental weight I had been carrying began to lift. One evening, I laughed at a joke on television, and my mother paused the show to tell me she could not remember the last time she had even heard me laugh. That moment reminded me how deeply mental illness shapes not only how we function, but how we connect with the people who love us. As I begin my second semester, I do so with a clearer mind, renewed confidence, and excitement for what lies ahead. Living with depression has reshaped how I understand relationships. I have learned the importance of vulnerability, communication, and asking for help—skills that do not come naturally to someone conditioned to “push through.” I am more patient with others now, more attuned to what is unsaid, and more aware that strength often looks quiet. I have also learned that support systems matter, and that healing is a team sport. These experiences have also shaped my goals. As an athlete, I know how frightening it is to feel betrayed by your body. As someone who has struggled with depression, I understand how isolating it can feel when you cannot articulate what is wrong. Experiencing compassionate, attentive healthcare—both physical and mental—has shown me the profound impact of providers who listen, explain, and respond with empathy. My goal is to attend medical school and specialize in radiology so I can help young athletes understand their bodies, receive timely diagnoses, and feel supported during moments of uncertainty and fear. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to attend Brandeis University, my first-choice institution, to which I was accepted through the Early Decision process. Brandeis offers a rigorous scientific and research-driven environment within a diverse academic community—one that will challenge me intellectually while preparing me for medical school and beyond. I am also proud to have verbally committed to play volleyball for the university, which has generously offered a scholarship covering 50% of tuition. While my family—consisting of my mother, two younger siblings, and myself—is not low-income, we are under-resourced and unable to meet the remaining financial gap without support. As a collegiate athlete, I plan to give back by volunteering as an assistant coach at a local volleyball club, mentoring younger players as they navigate the pressures of academics, athletics, and personal growth. I also hope to become a Residential Advisor, supporting first-year students as they adjust to college life—academically, socially, and emotionally. I know firsthand how much it matters to feel seen during periods of transition. My experience with depression has taught me resilience, humility, and empathy. It has shaped how I relate to others, clarified my purpose, and deepened my understanding of what it means to truly care for people. With the opportunity to attend Brandeis, I am prepared not only to succeed academically and athletically, but to grow into a physician—and a person—who understands that healing begins with being seen, heard, and supported.

In the summer of 2025, I joined 11 other female athletes to represent the southern region of the United States at the Nike High Performance All-Star Tournament. I earned my place after three rounds of tryouts across Georgia and Tennessee, an achievement that marked the proudest moment of my athletic career at that time. For two weeks in Madison, Wisconsin, I trained and competed against elite athletes from across the country. I played all six rotations for nearly eight hours each day and estimate that I swung my arm at full force more than 3,500 times. I left with a silver medal, lifelong friendships, deep pride in my work ethic—and a severe shoulder injury. By the time I returned home, I could barely lift my arms above my head and needed to see a specialist. That injury reinforced something I had been learning for years: even the strongest athletes are vulnerable when their bodies—or minds— fail them. My understanding of this vulnerability began much earlier, in seventh grade, during the COVID-19 pandemic. That year, I lost a classmate to suicide. At the same time, the isolation of lockdowns, the sudden loss of daily structure, and months without seeing friends fundamentally changed me. I was never quite the same after that year, though I did not yet have the words to explain why. In the years that followed, waves of depression came and went. With patience, love, and guidance, my mother (my best friend) helped me learn coping strategies that allowed me to function, do my best academically, and continue competing at a high level on the volleyball court. For a long time, those strategies worked. I learned how to push through, stay disciplined, and rely on routine—skills that served me well as both a student and an athlete. This year, however, the cumulative stress of senior year reached a point where I could no longer manage alone. I suddenly lost motivation to keep up with my schoolwork. Tasks that once felt easy became overwhelming and the tears flowed more freely than ever. I felt disconnected from myself and frustrated that my coping tools stopped working. Recognizing this change in myself was impossible, but my mother helped me understand that it was time for us to seek help. With the help of my doctors, I began a treatment plan that included therapy and medication. I am profoundly grateful that within a few weeks, I felt a tiny prick of clarity returning. My focus improved over time, my motivation resurfaced, and the constant mental weight I had been carrying began to lift. For the first time in months, I felt present again. I laughed at a joke on TV one day and my mom paused it to tell me she couldn’t remember the last time I laughed. As I begin my second semester, I do so with a clear head, renewed confidence, and genuine excitement for what lies ahead. These experiences—both physical and mental—have shaped my desire to pursue medicine. As an athlete, I know how frightening it is to feel betrayed by your body. As a young person navigating depression, I understand how isolating it can feel when you cannot articulate what is wrong. I have learned firsthand the power of compassionate, attentive supporters and healthcare providers who listen, explain, and act with urgency and empathy. My goal is to attend medical school and specialize in radiology so I can help young athletes understand their bodies, receive timely diagnoses, and return to the activities that give them purpose and joy. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to attend Brandeis University, my first-choice institution, to which I was accepted through the Early Decision process. Brandeis offers a rigorous scientific and research-driven environment within a diverse academic community—an environment that will challenge me intellectually while preparing me for medical school and beyond. I am also proud to have verbally committed to play volleyball for the university, which has generously offered a scholarship covering 50% of tuition. While my family (consisting of my mother, two younger siblings, and myself) is not low-income, we are under-resourced, and we are unable to meet the remaining financial gap without additional support. As a collegiate athlete, I plan to give back by volunteering as an assistant coach at a local volleyball club, mentoring younger players as they balance academics, athletics, and personal growth. I also hope to become a Residential Advisor, supporting first-year students as they navigate the academic, social, and emotional challenges of college life—challenges I now understand deeply. My journey has taught me resilience, humility, and the importance of asking for help. With the opportunity to attend Brandeis, I am prepared not only to succeed academically and athletically, but to grow into the kind of physician who understands that healing begins with being seen and heard.

In the summer of 2025, I joined 11 other female athletes to represent the southern region of the United States at the Nike High Performance All-Star Tournament. I earned my place after three rounds of tryouts across Georgia and Tennessee, an achievement that marked the proudest moment of my athletic career at that time. For two weeks in Madison, Wisconsin, I trained and competed against elite athletes from across the country. I played all six rotations for nearly eight hours each day and estimate that I swung my arm at full force more than 3,500 times. By the end of this incredible experience, I left with a silver medal, lifelong friendships, deep pride in my work ethic—and a severe shoulder injury. When I returned home, I could barely lift my arms above my head and needed to see a specialist. When people are treated by physicians who share similar backgrounds or lived experiences, they feel safer, more understood, and more likely to trust their care. This trust increases adherence to treatment plans and leads to better long-term outcomes. However, recent changes to the U.S. federal student loan program makes it financially difficult to access to higher education for capable students from under-resourced families. As education becomes less affordable, the healthcare system risks losing talented future physicians, particularly specialists, and with them the socioeconomic and cultural diversity necessary to provide truly culturally competent care for all. As an athlete, I understand how important it is to receive clear answers when you are injured, afraid, and in pain. I also understand the importance of having a doctor who truly “gets it” and can explain a plan in a way both young athletes and their parents can understand. My goal is to attend medical school and specialize in radiology so I can help young athletes better understand their bodies, receive timely care, and return to the sport they love. Receiving this scholarship would make it possible for me to attend Brandeis University, my first-choice institution, to which I have already been accepted through the Early Decision process. Brandeis offers a strong scientific and research foundation within a diverse academic community, preparing me well for medical school and beyond. This scholarship would also allow me four more precious years to continue playing the sport I have loved and sacrificed for since age eleven. I am proud to have verbally committed to playing volleyball at Brandeis, which has generously offered a scholarship covering 50% of tuition. My family (consisting of my mother, two younger siblings, and myself) is not low-income, but we are under-resourced, and we simply cannot meet all of the financial gap. As a collegiate athlete, I plan to volunteer as an assistant coach at a local volleyball club to mentor the next generation of scholar-athletes. In my sophomore year, I hope to become a Residential Advisor to support first-year students as they adjust to college life, helping them learn to build community while away from home for the first time. As a Junior, I want to study abroad, to put my IB Spanish skills to use and hopefully become fluent. Then, as a Senior, I will focus on studying for the MCAT and carving a path for my next steps.