My decision to pursue a career in the nonprofit sector is deeply personal. It is rooted in my lived experiences, my commitment to breaking generational cycles, and my passion for helping others find stability, healing, and purpose. I was born on the south side of Chicago, in Englewood, and grew up navigating environments shaped by trauma, instability, and silence. At a young age, I experienced abuse and eventually entered the foster care system, spaces that were meant to protect me but often left me feeling unseen and unheard. For a long time, I carried those experiences quietly, believing my voice did not matter. But as I grew older, I realized something powerful: my story did not have to end where it began. That realization is what led me to the work I do today. As a community support case manager, I work directly with individuals and families who are facing many of the same challenges I once experienced, mental health struggles, instability, and the need for guidance and support. This work is not just a job for me; it is a calling. I understand, on a personal level, what it feels like to navigate systems that are meant to help but can sometimes feel overwhelming or impersonal. Because of that, I approach every person I serve with empathy, patience, and a genuine desire to make them feel seen. In addition to my professional work, I use my voice through writing and speaking. I am the author of Another Story Untold, a memoir that shares my journey of overcoming trauma and finding healing through self-expression. I have had the opportunity to speak to students about mental health, resilience, and the importance of using their voice. In those moments, I am not just telling my story, I am creating space for others to begin telling theirs. Earning my bachelor’s degree this past January while raising four children and working full time was one of the most defining moments of my life. It symbolized not only personal achievement, but also perseverance, growth, and the breaking of generational barriers. I am currently continuing my education by pursuing a Master of Social Work (MSW), where I will further develop the skills needed to advocate for individuals and families on a larger scale. My long-term goal is to expand my impact within the nonprofit sector by creating and supporting programs that focus on mental health awareness, trauma-informed care, and empowerment for underserved communities, especially for young people and women of color. I want to be part of building systems that not only provide services but also restore dignity, hope, and opportunity. Nonprofit work may not always be recognized as glamorous, but it is meaningful. It is the kind of work that changes lives, sometimes in quiet, unseen ways. I am committed to being part of that change. I know what it feels like to be overlooked. That is why I have dedicated my life to making sure others are not. Through my work, my education, and my voice, I will continue to advocate, uplift, and create spaces where people feel heard, supported, and empowered to rewrite their own stories.

Becoming a mother at a young age changed the direction of my life, but it did not define my limits. I am a mother of four, two boys and two girls, ages 13 to 17, and every decision I make is rooted in one promise: my children will have a better life than I did. I grew up surrounded by instability, where love was often absent, voices were raised, and doors were slammed. Generational patterns of trauma, foster care, and emotional disconnection were common. For a long time, it felt like those cycles were inevitable. But I made a choice to break them. Returning to school as a nontraditional student while raising four children has been one of the greatest challenges of my life. Balancing motherhood, work, and education required sacrifices that often went unseen. There were long nights after work helping with homework, followed by even longer nights completing my own assignments. There were moments of exhaustion, doubt, and questioning whether I could truly carry it all. At the same time, I work full-time as a community support case manager, helping families navigate their own struggles. I support individuals who are facing challenges similar to those I once experienced, which makes the work deeply meaningful, but also emotionally demanding. I am responsible for helping others stabilize their lives while making sure my own household remains grounded, supported, and filled with the love I didn’t always have. Despite the challenges, I refused to give up. In January, I walked across the stage and earned my bachelor’s degree. A moment that meant more than just academic success. It was proof to myself and to my children that no matter where you come from, you can rise above it. That moment was not just mine, it belonged to my children, who watched me push through every obstacle and continue forward. Without hesitation, I continued my journey and enrolled in a Master of Social Work (MSW) program. My goal is to expand my ability to serve others, advocate for families, and create meaningful change in communities that often go overlooked. I want to be a resource, a voice, and a source of support for those who feel unheard, just as I once did. More importantly, I am showing my children what perseverance looks like in real time. They are growing up in a home filled with love, stability, and encouragement, something I had to learn how to create from scratch. I am teaching them that their circumstances do not define their future, and that they have the power to break cycles and build something better. The challenges of returning to school as a parent are real, time constraints, financial pressures, emotional exhaustion, but so is the purpose behind it. Every late night, every sacrifice, and every step forward is rooted in something bigger than me. We are not just surviving, we are rewriting our story. And I am committed to continuing that journey, not only for myself, but for my children and the families I serve every day.

Silence was something I learned early. As a child, I navigated experiences that forced me to grow up too soon. There were moments when I felt unseen, unheard, and unsure if my voice even mattered. I carried trauma, including abuse, in quiet ways, learning how to survive in spaces that were supposed to protect me. For a long time, I believed my story was something to hide. But everything began to change when I found writing. Writing became more than just an outlet, it became my way of understanding myself, processing pain, and reclaiming my voice. Through it, I realized that my story did not make me weak. It made me resilient. It gave me perspective, strength, and purpose. That journey led me to write my memoir, Another Story Untold, where I share not just what I went through, but what it means to heal, to grow, and to speak after being silenced. Today, I use my story to create impact in ways I once never imagined. I speak at schools, sharing messages about mental health, self-expression, and resilience. I stand in front of students who may feel the same way I once did; lost, unheard, or unsure of their worth, and I remind them that their voices matter. My goal is not just to tell my story, but to create space for others to begin telling theirs. I want young people, especially young women of color, to know that their experiences do not define their limitations, they can be the foundation of their purpose. This scholarship would support me in continuing that work and expanding my reach. Higher education is not just a personal goal for me. It is a tool that will allow me to deepen my impact, advocate more effectively, and build programs that support mental health awareness and empowerment in underserved communities. I am especially passionate about addressing the gaps that exist for Black women in education and professional spaces. Too often, we are underrepresented, under-resourced, and expected to navigate systems without support. I want to be part of changing that. Whether through speaking, writing, or community initiatives, I plan to create opportunities, resources, and safe spaces where women of color can thrive, not just survive. My story began in silence, but it will not end there. I am committed to turning my experiences into something that uplifts others, challenges systems, and inspires change. I want to continue building a world where people feel seen, heard, and empowered to use their voices, because I know firsthand what it means to live without one. And now that I have mine, I intend to use it to make a difference.

I’m pursuing a graduate degree in mental health because I come from places where people carry pain every day, but rarely have the space or support to talk about it. I’m from the South Side of Chicago, where strength is often measured by how much you can endure, not how much you can heal. I grew up around people who loved deeply but didn’t always know how to express it in healthy ways. Emotions weren’t something we sat down and unpacked, they were something we pushed through. Therapy wasn’t normalized. It wasn’t even an option for a lot of us. What I saw, and experienced, was how trauma can move quietly through families. Not always loud or visible, but present in how people communicate, how they react, how they protect themselves. I saw how environments shaped people, and how people, in turn, shaped the environments around them. For a long time, I didn’t have the words for any of it. But once I did, everything started to shift. Understanding mental health gave me language, clarity, and perspective. It helped me make sense of things I once thought were just “normal.” And it showed me how many people where I’m from are still navigating life without that understanding or support. That’s why this path is personal for me. As a first-generation graduate student from a low-income background, getting here hasn’t been easy. I didn’t grow up with a roadmap for higher education, especially not at the graduate level. There were financial barriers, moments of doubt, and times where continuing felt uncertain. But I kept going because I know this work is bigger than me. I’m not just pursuing a degree! I’m pursuing the ability to give back in a meaningful, lasting way. I want to be a mental health professional who serves communities like mine, communities that are often overlooked, under-resourced, and misunderstood. I want to create spaces where people from the South Side and similar environments feel safe being vulnerable without judgment. I want to help people understand that what they’ve been carrying has a name, and more importantly, that it can be worked through. I also want to be part of changing the narrative. Mental health care shouldn’t feel out of reach. It shouldn’t feel like something reserved for people with privilege or access. It should be present in our schools, our neighborhoods, and our everyday conversations. This scholarship would ease the financial burden that comes with pursuing this path and allow me to focus more fully on my education and clinical training. More importantly, it would support a future where I can turn my experiences into impact. Where I come from, we’ve learned how to survive. I want to help us learn how to heal.

For a long time, my story lived in silence. Between the ages of four and six, I experienced abuse at the hands of those who were supposed to be family. At that age, I didn’t have the language to explain what was happening, only the understanding that something had been taken from me. My innocence was replaced with confusion, fear, and a quiet belief that my voice did not matter. I carried that silence for years, and there were moments when the weight of it made me question whether I wanted to be here at all. But even in that darkness, something in me refused to disappear. As I grew older, I made a decision that would define my life: I would not be reduced to what happened to me. I would survive, and more than that, I would become someone who protects, uplifts, and speaks. I never accepted the label of “victim,” not because the pain wasn’t real, but because I knew my story did not end there. I chose to reclaim my voice, piece by piece. Today, you cannot silence me. I transformed my pain into purpose by writing and publishing my memoir, Another Story Untold, which became a top new release on Amazon. Writing that book was not just an act of healing, it was an act of defiance. It was my way of saying that stories like mine deserve to be heard, that survival deserves to be honored, and that silence should never be the ending. My journey is the reason I am pursuing a Master of Social Work. I want to be the person I needed when I was younger: someone who listens without judgment, who validates pain, and who reminds others that their voice still belongs to them. Too many individuals, especially in underrepresented communities, are silenced by trauma, stigma, and lack of access to care. I want to help change that by creating safe, empowering spaces where people can begin to heal and reclaim their narratives. Suicide awareness and prevention are deeply personal to me because I understand what it feels like to believe that your pain might be too heavy to carry. I know what it means to feel invisible. That is why I am committed to being present, to advocating openly, and to reminding others that their lives have value, even when they cannot see it themselves. My life is not defined by what happened to me, but by what I chose to become because of it. I am a survivor. I am a voice. And through my work, I will ensure that others never have to suffer in silence again.

Eight years ago, I reached a breaking point in my life. I was mentally and emotionally drained, carrying the weight of years shaped by instability and survival. I was born and raised in Chicago and spent much of my childhood navigating the foster care system. While those experiences strengthened me in many ways, they also left scars that surfaced during one of the most challenging seasons of my adulthood. I found myself exhausted, overwhelmed, and uncertain about how to move forward, not just for myself, but for my family. At that moment, my faith became my refuge. I had reached the point where I could no longer rely solely on my own strength or understanding. I remember praying through tears, asking God for clarity, peace, and courage. The idea that kept returning to my heart was simple but terrifying: let go and let God. That meant surrendering control and trusting Him with decisions that felt far bigger than me. One of the hardest choices I made during that time was deciding to relocate my family from Chicago to Missouri. It was not an easy decision. Chicago was all I had ever known, my history, my roots, and even my pain were tied to that place. The fear of the unknown weighed heavily on me. I questioned whether I was making the right choice and worried about uprooting my family without any guarantees of what awaited us. Still, through prayer and reflection, I felt God guiding me toward change, growth, and healing. I cried through the uncertainty, but I also prayed with faith. I trusted that God would not lead me where His grace could not sustain me. Taking that leap required me to believe that obedience was more important than comfort. Moving to Missouri became an act of faith, one rooted not in certainty, but in trust. Looking back, that decision marked a turning point in my life. Though challenges remained, I experienced renewed strength, clarity, and peace. My faith carried me through fear and into purpose. It taught me that even when life feels overwhelming, God is present, listening, and guiding us forward. Nabi Nicole’s devotion to faith and service deeply resonates with my own journey. Like her, I believe faith is not only something we profess, but something we live through perseverance, courage, and trust in God’s plan. My experience reminds me daily that faith has the power to transform hardship into hope, and that trusting God, even in uncertainty, can lead to healing and renewed purpose.

Service, to me, begins with meeting people where they are. It means approaching others with empathy rather than assumptions, and offering support in ways that honor their dignity. I have learned that true service is not about fixing people, but about walking alongside them during moments of vulnerability and need. Whether through listening, offering encouragement, or providing tangible assistance, I strive to create connections rooted in compassion and respect. My desire to give back has been shaped by witnessing how easily individuals can be overlooked or marginalized when they are struggling. Too often, people experiencing hardship are defined by their circumstances rather than their humanity. I believe that everyone deserves to feel safe, valued, and cared for, regardless of where they are in life. By showing up consistently and with an open heart, I aim to be a source of hope and reassurance for those who may feel invisible. Looking ahead, I am deeply committed to supporting individuals experiencing homelessness. My vision is to help provide not only essential resources such as food and shelter, but also free basic services that restore comfort and confidence. Simple acts—offering a warm meal, clean clothing, or a haircut—can have a profound impact. These services go beyond meeting physical needs; they help people feel seen, dignified, and human again. Feeling clean, presentable, and cared for can be a powerful step toward healing and rebuilding self-worth. In the future, I hope to collaborate with nonprofit organizations and community programs that focus on holistic care for underserved populations. My goal is to help create accessible spaces where individuals can receive both immediate assistance and long-term support. I believe meaningful change occurs when compassion is paired with action and when service is sustained rather than temporary. By contributing my time, skills, and dedication, I hope to be part of solutions that uplift communities and break cycles of instability. Priscilla Shireen Luke’s legacy of service is a reminder that one person’s compassion can ripple outward, touching families, communities, and even the world. Her life inspires me to continue serving selflessly and intentionally. As a graduate student, I carry with me a responsibility to use my education not only for personal advancement but for the greater good. Through service, advocacy, and unwavering empathy, I aspire to honor Priscilla’s legacy by helping build a future where compassion is not an exception, but a standard. Priscilla Shireen Luke’s life reminds us that meaningful impact is measured not by recognition, but by the lives we touch. I aspire to continue that legacy through service that restores dignity, builds trust, and offers hope. With the privilege of higher education comes responsibility, and I am determined to use mine to serve others selflessly and create lasting change within my community and beyond.

What gave me the courage to return to school was the same strength that has carried me through some of the most challenging seasons of my life: my unwavering resolve to build a better future for my children and to honor the woman I have become through adversity. Like Susie Green, whose legacy reflects courage, perseverance, and determination, I have learned that strength is not the absence of struggle, but the decision to rise despite it. I am a mother of four originally from Chicago, Illinois. Eight years ago, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life by packing up everything we owned and moving to Missouri to provide my children with a safer and more stable environment. I was leaving behind familiarity and security with no guarantees, but I trusted my instincts as a mother and as a woman determined to protect and uplift her family. That decision required resilience, faith, and the belief that I was capable of more, even when resources were limited and the future felt uncertain. For many years, I lived paycheck to paycheck while carrying the weight of personal trauma. There were moments when survival alone felt like an accomplishment. Yet through it all, I stood strong. I refused to let my circumstances define my potential. I realized that if I wanted to change my life and truly step into my purpose, I needed to invest in myself through education, even if the timing was imperfect and the path was difficult. Returning to school as a working mother of four has required courage in its purest form. I balance work, coursework, parenting, and the responsibilities of being a sports mom, often sacrificing rest and comfort to stay the course. There are days filled with exhaustion and doubt, but there are also moments of pride and clarity. Each assignment completed and each milestone reached reaffirms that I belong here and that my dreams are valid at any stage of life. I am pursuing my Master of Social Work because my life experiences have shaped me into someone who understands struggle, resilience, and healing at a deeply personal level. I want to serve others with compassion, advocacy, and integrity, especially those who feel unseen or unheard. My journey has taught me that courage is choosing growth over fear and purpose over comfort. This scholarship represents more than financial support. It represents belief in women who return to education not because it is easy, but because it is necessary. Susie Green’s legacy lives in women who rise, persist, and lead with strength. I returned to school because I know I am capable, determined, and resilient. I carry Susie Green’s legacy forward by standing firm in my purpose, modeling perseverance for my children, and committing my life to meaningful service. This journey is not just about earning a degree. It is about honoring resilience, transforming adversity into impact, and proving that courage has no expiration date.

I am passionate about social work because my life has been shaped by experiences that demanded resilience long before I had the language to name it. Between the ages of four and six, I was sexually abused and physically beaten by my three stepbrothers. During a time when children should feel safe and protected, I learned what it meant to endure harm in silence. That early trauma profoundly influenced my understanding of vulnerability, justice, and the importance of advocacy. While I was once a victim, I now stand as a survivor, and forever a protector. My passion for social work comes from both lived experience and intentional learning. I understand firsthand the lasting impact of sexual violence, including how trauma can affect identity, trust, and mental health across a lifetime. I also understand the power of being believed, supported, and given the tools to heal. These experiences have fueled my determination to pursue a career in social work so that I can support others with empathy, cultural humility, and trauma-informed care. I advocate not only from academic knowledge, but from lived truth. Through my social work career, I plan to make a meaningful difference by supporting survivors of sexual violence and contributing to systemic change. I am committed to working with individuals, families, and communities to break cycles of abuse and silence. I hope to engage in prevention education, crisis intervention, and survivor advocacy, while also addressing the social and institutional barriers that often prevent survivors from seeking help. My goal is to help create environments where survivors feel safe, empowered, and respected. Addressing sexual violence is central to my professional mission. I am actively working to challenge stigma, promote awareness, and support healing by speaking openly about survivor experiences and advocating for trauma-responsive services. I believe that prevention begins with education and accountability, and that healing requires compassion, consistency, and access to resources. I strive to embody these values in my interactions and future practice, ensuring that survivors are treated with dignity rather than judgment. Social work is more than a profession to me, it is a calling rooted in resilience and hope. I believe deeply in the ability of individuals to heal when given the right support, and in the responsibility of social workers to stand alongside those who have been harmed. My past does not define my limitations; it defines my purpose. Through social work, I intend to transform pain into protection, advocacy, and lasting change for survivors of sexual violence and beyond.

Growing up on the south side of Chicago shaped who I am. It taught me resilience early, but it also exposed me to violence far too soon. Derricka Patrick and I grew up together there, our lives intertwined by shared streets, shared dreams, and a shared plan to leave one day and create something better for ourselves. We talked often about getting out, about building lives that were safer, healthier, and full of opportunity. I was able to leave. Derricka didn’t get the same chance. On January 12, 2022, Derricka was gunned down in front of her apartment in Chicago. Losing her in such a sudden and violent way changed me forever. Grief didn’t come quietly. It arrived as shock, anger, guilt, and deep sadness. I struggled with the reality that someone I loved, someone with so much life ahead of her, was gone because of senseless violence. For a long time, I carried the weight of wondering why I survived and she didn’t. Healing has not been linear, but it has been intentional. Meditation became one of my most important tools. In moments when my thoughts felt overwhelming, meditation helped me slow down, breathe, and stay present. It gave me space to sit with my emotions instead of running from them. Journaling became another lifeline. Writing allowed me to speak honestly about my pain, my memories of Derricka, and my hopes for the future. Through journaling, I learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting, it means learning how to carry loss without letting it define or destroy you. Derricka herself continues to influence me, even in her absence. Her strength, her dreams, and her belief that we deserved more push me forward every day. I am also inspired by those who have supported me through my healing journey, people who reminded me that my life still has purpose and that honoring Derricka means continuing to grow. This scholarship represents more than financial support to me. It represents acknowledgment of loss, resilience, and the possibility of transformation after trauma. I am committed to bettering my life, not only for myself, but in memory of Derricka Patrick and for others who never got the chance to leave the circumstances they were born into. Through education, self-reflection, and healing practices like meditation and journaling, I am choosing to move forward while carrying her legacy with me. Pursuing my MSW allows me to transform my grief into service, honoring Derricka Patrick by becoming a social worker who helps others heal from the same violence that took her life.

When do we stop generational curses. At what point do we start focusing on mental health and family issues within our communities. We secure generational liberation from oppression by pushing family therapy. More often than one would like to see, parents struggling parenting because they need mental health services themselves. We have to teach our parents that it is okay to seek help. A mother was raised in a home where anger was the face of reason. A mother lived in poverty and did not know about therapist and psychiatrist. So when this same mother nurtured a child of her own , she too reflected and modeled the behaviors in her past. The cycle continued and this child trauma started in the womb. Parent fighting because they can’t afford food, let alone the unaffordable housing. This child becomes a product of their environment. We need to ask, “ what was your childhood growing up”? “How do you break that generational curse and start new in a home where love is the face”? Liberation is not a destination, it’s a practice. We learn this practice by seeking help , putting you first and having a smart goals. We have to start in our communities where families are struggling. Put in more mental health facilities, make to where families don’t have to pay to get help. Dealing with mental health should be affordable if not free. Having more school based therapist in the school to work with the youth. Having walk-in mental crisis facilities. I could go on and on about this topic, however it starts with families putting in effort to want the help and modeling the changes and interventions provided. If a family seeks help for rental assistance, why would we assume they can afford a psychiatrist that renders the meds that are needed to treat the underlying issues. We have to start by asking ourselves, are we doing enough? Can we as a country start from the core of the issue which is poverty , inherited trauma, economic disenfranchisement, and cultural erasure. We must heal people from the past, in order to build a better future. Let’s show modeled behaviors from individual like me, that come from those broken homes. An individual who was molested as a child, so my trauma runs deep. I stand to make a change and help advocate for generational liberation. I stand with you , and I know that we can stop oppression.