I remember the moment I realized my education wasn’t just for me. It was for my family, who had sacrificed everything. It was for the younger students who looked up to me, waiting to see if someone like them could actually make it. And it was for the community I came from, where opportunities were scarce but dreams were limitless. As a first-generation college student, every step I take forward feels like a step forward for all of us. My story has been shaped by resilience. I grew up watching my family fight to make ends meet, knowing that education was the only way to change our story. But pursuing that dream has not been easy. There were nights when financial strain felt unbearable, when self-doubt whispered that I didn’t belong, and when the barriers in front of me seemed too high to climb. Still, I refused to give in. Each challenge became fuel, and every setback reminded me what was at stake. Through it all, I found my voice in service. Volunteering with nonprofits that support underserved families gave me purpose. Tutoring younger students, helping at community events, and contributing to programs for those in need taught me that my struggles weren’t just obstacles—they were bridges. I could use my journey to inspire and uplift others, showing them that circumstances do not define potential. Giving back is not just part of my life—it is who I am. That passion continues to drive my aspirations. I want to build a career at the intersection of advocacy, leadership, and innovation, breaking down systemic barriers and creating opportunities for those too often overlooked. My goal is to design spaces where education and equity go hand in hand, where no young person feels invisible, and where every student believes their dreams are possible. But to get there, I need support. This scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of pursuing my education—it would give me the freedom to focus fully on what matters most: learning, growing, and serving. It would allow me to continue showing up for my community with the same energy and determination that have carried me this far. Sloane Stephens’ grandparents believed in resilience, kindness, and self-belief—values that mirror the ones my own family instilled in me. Those values have carried me through my hardest moments and continue to push me to dream beyond what once felt possible. Winning this scholarship would be more than financial aid; it would be a torch passed forward, a chance to honor their legacy by carrying those same values into the work I do for others. I am determined not only to rise, but to lift others as I climb. With this scholarship, I can continue turning struggle into strength, passion into purpose, and dreams into lasting impact.

I was never supposed to make it this far. As a first-generation student, the odds were stacked against me from the very beginning. College wasn’t something that felt guaranteed—it felt like a dream I would have to fight for every single day. But I learned early on that my circumstances do not define my future. What defines me is my persistence, my faith in community, and my unshakable belief that education can transform not only my life, but the lives of others around me. Growing up, I witnessed the struggles of families—mine included—who worked tirelessly just to make ends meet. Those experiences shaped my values and my purpose. Instead of discouraging me, they lit a fire inside me. I knew I wanted to be the person who not only pushes through barriers but also holds the door open for others. That is why I committed myself to volunteering with nonprofits. Whether I was tutoring students who reminded me of myself, assisting at community events, or helping nonprofits strengthen their programs, I discovered that service gave me something greater than myself to believe in. It showed me that real change begins when someone cares enough to act. My future is rooted in that same commitment. I aspire to build a career at the intersection of innovation, advocacy, and service. I want to help redesign systems that have historically overlooked underserved communities, ensuring that the next generation doesn’t have to fight as hard as I did for the same opportunities. Education, equity, and empowerment will remain at the core of everything I do, because I know what it feels like to be counted out—and how life-changing it is when someone invests in your potential. This scholarship would mean more than financial support; it would be a lifeline. It would allow me to continue my education without the crushing weight of financial worry and give me the freedom to invest more of my energy into my studies, leadership, and community work. But even more importantly, receiving this award would honor Mireya TJ Manigault’s legacy. Her life was a testament to the belief that creativity, compassion, and equity can change the world. She saw the brilliance in people and the potential in communities that others often overlooked. I carry that same belief in my heart. Like Mireya, I am committed to creating spaces where voices from underserved communities are not just heard, but uplifted. I am determined to use my education and passion to spark change that lasts long after me. With this scholarship, I will not only continue building my future—I will carry forward Mireya’s legacy by dedicating my life to empowering others, one community, one student, and one opportunity at a time.

I’ll never forget the moment I realized I needed to walk away. I was in a relationship with someone I loved deeply—someone I believed I could build a future with—until the day he looked at me and said, “You better be happy my little sister is here or I would’ve beat your ass.” That moment shook me to my core. I remember standing frozen, heart pounding, as I processed the threat. The presence of his sister was the only thing standing between me and a potential assault. That was the moment I chose myself. I packed what I could and left. Fast. People often talk about red flags, but when you’re in the middle of something toxic, it’s not always easy to see clearly. It hurts when the person you love becomes the source of your fear. You try to rationalize their behavior, to believe the apologies, to convince yourself things will change. But love—real love—shouldn’t hurt. And it certainly shouldn’t come with threats, fear, or violence. That experience opened my eyes, not only to how fragile emotional safety can be, but to how deeply mental health can affect our choices, our relationships, and our futures. My experience with mental health—through trauma, healing, motherhood, and education—has completely transformed my beliefs, the way I interact with others, and the path I’ve chosen for my career. For a long time, I didn’t even realize the anxiety I was carrying or how survival mode had become my default setting. I was used to chaos, used to dismissing my needs, and used to “getting through” instead of truly living. I didn’t recognize the weight I carried until I began unpacking it. That was when I understood that mental health isn’t just about avoiding breakdowns—it’s about learning how to create emotional safety, build healthy relationships, and honor your worth. Motherhood was another turning point in my journey. Raising children with autism brought challenges I never expected—but also the deepest lessons in patience, advocacy, and unconditional love. Navigating services, therapies, school systems, and emotional regulation—not just for my kids but for myself—showed me how critical mental health support is for families like mine. I had to become the backbone of my household while still learning how to manage my own healing. I became an advocate, a student, a protector, and a nurturer all at once. Through every doctor visit, meltdown, and small victory, I learned how much strength comes from understanding and supporting emotional needs—not just reacting to them. These life experiences reshaped my core beliefs. I no longer see mental health struggles as signs of weakness or instability. I see them as deeply human. I believe healing is not linear. I believe in second chances, safe spaces, and the power of being seen and heard. I believe communities—especially communities of color—need better education, resources, and access to mental health care that is culturally informed and nonjudgmental. We deserve more than survival. We deserve healing. We deserve care that meets us where we are, with compassion instead of judgment. In my relationships, I’ve grown in ways I couldn’t have imagined years ago. I’ve learned how to communicate boundaries, how to recognize emotionally unsafe dynamics early, and how to prioritize peace. I no longer equate love with sacrifice or silence. I’ve learned how to let go of people I care about if their presence harms my well-being. But I’ve also learned how to be vulnerable, how to receive support, and how to show up fully in relationships with others who value emotional honesty. I no longer settle for connections that drain me—I seek out people who uplift, encourage, and understand me on a deeper level. My experience with mental health has also heavily influenced my career aspirations. I’m currently pursuing a degree in psychology with the goal of becoming a licensed mental health professional. I want to specialize in trauma-informed care and serve individuals and families affected by domestic violence, developmental disabilities, and emotional trauma—especially within the African American community. We are so often overlooked in traditional mental health spaces. I want to be part of the shift that brings real, culturally responsive care to those who need it most. One of my long-term goals is to work in both clinical and community-based settings, combining therapy with outreach and education. I want to create programs that help parents—especially single mothers—navigate the complex world of raising neurodiverse children while also healing themselves. I want to be a resource, a voice, and an advocate for women like me who have had to choose survival over rest, and strength over support. I want to train future professionals to treat their clients with dignity, to understand trauma without judgment, and to approach every person they serve with humanity first. Eventually, I plan to take my advocacy even further. I’m interested in policy and nonprofit work that addresses the intersection of mental health, poverty, trauma, and racial disparities in healthcare. I know firsthand how hard it is to access quality care when you don’t have the right insurance, or when providers don’t understand your cultural background or lived experience. That needs to change. With my degree, I want to be part of that change—whether by building programs, training providers, or working directly with families. Additionally, I’m planning to enlist in the Army in an administrative role after I complete my degree. Serving in the Army will give me the structure, discipline, and benefits I need to continue pursuing my long-term career in mental health and advocacy, while also giving back to the country in a meaningful way. Everything I’ve experienced—being in an abusive relationship, managing my own mental health, raising autistic children, and pursuing higher education—has been difficult, but it has also been purposeful. Each chapter has taught me something essential about who I am and who I want to become. My pain has become my motivation. My healing has become my calling. And my children are my reason to keep going every single day. Receiving this scholarship would mean more than financial support. It would be a step closer to fulfilling the promise I made to myself: that I would not let what I’ve been through define me, but that I would use it to help others. I am committed to becoming a professional who leads with compassion, who understands trauma not just from textbooks but from lived experience, and who is willing to fight for better mental health care in communities that are too often left behind.

My name is Keylynie, and I am a first-generation college student, a full-time mother of two beautiful autistic boys, and a passionate advocate for mental health in underserved communities. I am currently completing my bachelor’s degree in psychology at Queens College, and I plan to become a licensed mental health counselor. My dream is to open a trauma-informed mental health clinic that focuses on helping women, single parents, and families of children with disabilities—because I know firsthand what it feels like to fall apart while holding everything together. Mental health awareness isn’t just a passion for me—it’s personal. Growing up, I struggled deeply with depression. My mother worked long hours and we weren’t emotionally close. My father was in and out of my life, and eventually, he walked out for good. My grandmother helped raise me, but even with her support, I often felt isolated, misunderstood, and emotionally exhausted. There were days I woke up feeling like I was fighting an invisible war that nobody else could see. When I became a mother, that internal struggle didn’t disappear—it intensified. Raising two neurodivergent children while attending college full-time and trying to hold myself together has challenged me in ways I could never have imagined. There have been days when I’ve sat in class trying to concentrate while silently crying inside, worried about my children, finances, and whether I was enough. I’ve had professors pull me aside and ask if I’m okay because they could see the weight I was carrying. I wasn’t ashamed to say, “No, I’m not okay.” I found a therapist, and slowly I began to heal. That journey opened my eyes: so many people suffer in silence simply because they feel they have no one to talk to. I want to be that “someone” for them. I believe that mental health care should not be a privilege—it should be accessible to everyone, regardless of income, background, or diagnosis. That’s why I plan to use my degree to build a culturally sensitive, inclusive, and affordable clinic. I want to offer therapy and support groups tailored to Black women, single parents, caregivers, and families with autistic children. These groups are often left out of the mainstream mental health conversation, and I want to change that. Being both Black and a woman in the field of mental health means I carry a unique perspective. I understand the cultural stigma that still surrounds therapy in our communities. I know what it’s like to feel unseen and unheard in the medical system. My clinic will be more than a place for treatment—it will be a safe haven for emotional expression, growth, and healing. I want people to walk in and immediately feel, “This is where I’m meant to be. This is where I’m finally seen.” This scholarship would give me the financial breathing room to focus more on my studies, internships, and community work without the constant anxiety of how I’ll pay for tuition or textbooks. I fund my education through loans, financial aid, and whatever resources I can find as a single mom—but it’s never easy. Support like this means everything, because it doesn’t just help me. It helps every life I plan to touch in the future. Mental health saved me. Now I want to save others. And I’m ready.

My name is Keylynie, and I’m a first-generation Black woman, a single mother to two autistic sons, and a full-time psychology student. I discovered TXT at a time when I felt lost and emotionally exhausted. Their music didn’t just entertain me; it did much more it saved me. I became a MOA because TXT embodies growth, empathy, and healing—all qualities I aspire to bring into my future career in mental health. Becoming a MOA: I stumbled upon TXT during a particularly overwhelming semester—balancing parenting, college, and my own mental health storms. When I listened to Blue Hour, I felt seen. The song’s message of shared isolation but collective hope resonated deeply: even when the sky darkens, we hold on to each other That realization—“we’re still together”—lifted me in ways words alone couldn’t. I turned to other TXT songs like Lonely Boy and Maze in the Mirror, each offering me a mirror into my own pain and a push to believe in tomorrow. TXT as more than music: TXT isn’t just a K-pop group—they’re emotional companions. Their openness about struggle, growth, and self-kindness matched my healing journey. Hueningkai once said: “You were never created to live depressed, defeated, guilty, condemned, ashamed, or unworthy. You were created to be victorious.” This message spoke directly to me, reminding me to refuse shame and embrace strength—even during burnout or tears. My goals & TXT’s influence: I’m studying psychology at Queens College and expect to graduate this fall. My dream is to become a licensed mental health counselor, opening a trauma-informed clinic for underserved families—especially mothers, single parents, and caregivers of neurodivergent children. TXT’s compassion taught me that healing comes through connection. Just as they write songs that validate pain and offer hope, I plan to offer a space where people are listened to, believed, and gently guided toward resilience. TXT has influenced my approach to care: empathy first, judgment later; vulnerability as strength; and the understanding that even a simple act of being there can spark healing. I bring that same approach into every counseling center I volunteer at, every support group I join, and every peer I comfort when their anxiety overwhelms them on campus. Funding my education: I’m financing my studies through a mix of federal aid, student loans, and need-based scholarships. The journey is financially heavy, but scholarships like this represent more than aid—they’re validation that my story matters and someone believes in my future. Why I’ll make an impact: TXT taught me that you don’t have to fight battles alone—you can hold space for others while healing yourself. This scholarship would allow me to focus more on advocating, volunteering, and building mental health resilience in my community—without the constant fear of a next bill. It would mean I get to show up more fully in classrooms, support groups, and eventually therapy rooms. I’m not just a fan; I’m a healer in training. TXT gave me permission to feel and to hope—and I’ll carry that forward into every life I touch.

What inspires me to pursue a career in women’s health is my own story—a story shaped by emotional struggle, single motherhood, trauma, and a lack of access to support systems that should have been there but weren’t. As a Black woman, a first-generation college student, and a mother to two autistic sons, I’ve navigated multiple systems—healthcare, education, and social services—that were not built with me in mind. I have experienced firsthand the gaps in women’s health, especially in mental health care. I’ve had postpartum depression dismissed, anxiety brushed off, and my emotional well-being overlooked simply because I looked “strong” on the outside. But what people didn’t see was that I was mentally drowning. That disconnect—between what women endure and what is actually understood or researched about our health—fuels my passion. I’m currently pursuing a degree in psychology at Queens College, and my long-term goal is to become a licensed mental health counselor with a focus on women’s health, especially for low-income mothers, women of color, and caregivers of neurodivergent children. The women I grew up around—my grandmother, my mother, and now the community of mothers I support through advocacy—have taught me that women are often the emotional backbone of families, yet their mental health is rarely prioritized. We carry it all, and sometimes, we collapse under the weight. That’s why my future work will center on the unique psychological, hormonal, and social experiences that impact women throughout their lives—from puberty, pregnancy, and postpartum, to perimenopause and beyond. I want to help close the gap between science and care by advocating for research that includes women as full participants—not as an afterthought. I plan to pursue a master’s degree in mental health counseling and contribute to community-based research that amplifies the voices of BIPOC women in the healthcare system. Eventually, I want to open a women’s mental health clinic that offers culturally informed, trauma-sensitive therapy tailored to real life—not textbook symptoms. This clinic will provide wraparound care that includes therapy, education, support groups, and resources for mothers and caregivers. I also want to create digital mental health tools—such as a culturally responsive self-assessment app—to help women monitor and track emotional health during life stages like postpartum or menopause. These tools should be available, accessible, and grounded in real data. Although I don’t yet have published research, I’ve already started applying what I’ve learned. I’ve supported dozens of women—formally and informally—through mental health advocacy on social media, through special education parent groups, and in college spaces where young women often feel unseen and unheard. I plan to build on this grassroots work by eventually conducting formal research into maternal mental health disparities in BIPOC communities. Women’s health is not just a specialty—it’s a necessity. The lack of investment in female-specific research, particularly in mental health and reproductive transitions, is something I’m committed to changing. I want my work to not only support individual healing but also contribute to shifting how women’s health is studied, taught, and delivered. By supporting me, this scholarship would be investing in a future women’s health advocate who is deeply rooted in real experience, driven by compassion, and committed to changing lives. I am not just interested in joining this movement—I’m here to help lead it.

Helping others with their mental health has never been something I do for recognition—it’s something I do because I know what it feels like to struggle in silence. As a single mother of two autistic sons, I’ve spent years advocating not only for their educational and emotional needs but also for the mental well-being of other parents like me. I’ve offered support to mothers in special education groups who felt overwhelmed or unseen. I’ve shared coping strategies, connected them to therapists or services, and reminded them that their feelings are valid. Sometimes, all someone needs is to be heard—and I’ve been that listening ear time and time again. In college, classmates have opened up to me when dealing with stress, depression, or anxiety. Because I’m open about my own journey with mental health and therapy, people feel safe confiding in me. I’ve helped peers find resources, supported friends through panic attacks, and even had professors pull me aside to say they could tell I was struggling—and from those moments, I learned the power of vulnerability and honesty. That’s why I’m pursuing a degree in psychology. I want to become a licensed therapist, not only to support individuals through their toughest moments, but to challenge the stigma that still surrounds mental health—especially in communities of color. I know what it’s like to grow up in an environment where therapy was seen as weakness and where emotional pain was bottled up instead of talked about. My dream is to open a clinic that provides trauma-informed, affordable mental health services to underserved families—especially those raising children with special needs or experiencing generational trauma. I want to create a space that centers compassion, culture, and healing. I want people to feel seen and supported the moment they walk through the door. Mental health is not separate from healthcare—it is healthcare. And as I continue my studies, I’m committed to being a voice for those who’ve been overlooked or silenced. I’ll use my future career to uplift, advocate, and be the support I once needed. Because when we take care of each other’s mental health, we don’t just survive—we grow, we heal, and we thrive.

As a full-time college student, a single mother of two autistic sons, and a first-generation Black woman working toward my psychology degree, my mental health isn’t just part of my life—it shapes everything I do. It impacts how I show up in class, how I parent, how I manage stress, and how I move forward even when life feels overwhelming. There have been times when I’ve fallen behind in my coursework, not because I’m lazy or don’t care, but because I’ve been stretched so thin mentally that I couldn’t focus. I remember moments where I’d open an assignment on my laptop with one of my kids in a meltdown beside me, and tears would well up in my eyes—not just from stress, but from the deep, aching feeling that I was failing at everything. In some of my college classes, professors have quietly pulled me aside and asked if I was okay. They’d seen the struggle in my eyes, in my body language, and in my work. They saw I was trying, but also that I was silently crying out for help. It meant so much that they noticed—but it also confirmed what I already knew: I need help mentally. I need space, grace, and support—not only as a student, but as a person carrying a lot on her shoulders. And yet, through it all, I continue to prioritize my mental health—because I have to. If I break down, everything falls apart. So I’ve learned to put my well-being first, unapologetically. I’ve been in therapy, which has been life-changing. It’s helped me unpack past trauma, manage anxiety, and simply feel heard in ways I never had growing up. I set boundaries to protect my peace, even when it’s hard. I check in with myself daily and allow myself to feel whatever comes up—no more suppressing it to be “strong.” I journal, take deep breaths in the chaos, ask for help when I need it, and remind myself that I’m human—not a machine. My mental health affects my academics in both challenging and motivating ways. On hard days, I may fall behind—but on healing days, I rise with purpose. My lived experience fuels my passion for psychology. It helps me connect with what I’m learning in a deeper, more meaningful way. I’m not just studying mental health—I’m living it, surviving it, and preparing to help others do the same. That’s my career goal: to become a licensed therapist and open a clinic that centers mental wellness for women like me—mothers, caretakers, first-generation students, and underrepresented voices that are too often left out of the mental health conversation. I want to build a space where no one feels judged for struggling or asking for help. This scholarship would provide more than financial relief—it would provide emotional validation. It would be a sign that someone sees my effort, my heart, and my story. That I’m not invisible. That I matter. Prioritizing mental health isn’t easy, especially when society expects women to carry it all without complaint. But I’m breaking that cycle. I am showing up for myself so I can show up fully for my children, my community, and my future clients. I’m not perfect, but I am resilient. And that resilience is rooted in my commitment to healing—from the inside out.

It’s always harder then it looks.. Mentally.. My journey with mental health began in silence. Growing up, I didn’t have the language to explain what I was feeling. My mother worked constantly to keep us afloat, and while I know she loved me, we weren’t emotionally close. My father drifted in and out of my life until one day he left for good. My grandmother helped raise me, and for that I’m grateful—but emotionally, I was suffering. I carried a heavy sadness inside me as a child and a deep sense of loneliness that I didn’t know how to name. I now recognize that what I was experiencing was depression. As I got older, the pressure to keep it together only increased. When I became a single mother to two autistic sons, I knew I had to be strong—but I didn’t know how to be vulnerable. I buried my pain while caring for my children, attending college, and trying to survive. But over time, the emotional weight became too much. I started having panic attacks and constant racing thoughts. I felt like I was drowning in responsibilities while silently screaming for help. Eventually, I found the courage to seek therapy. That decision changed my life. Therapy gave me space to breathe for the first time. It helped me understand my trauma and break through the emotional numbness I had lived with for so long. It also helped me repair relationships—starting with myself. I learned to set boundaries, to speak honestly, and to give myself grace. And as I began to heal, I realized that I wanted to help others do the same. My experience with mental health has shaped everything about who I am today. It has taught me that silence can be deadly, that pain doesn’t mean weakness, and that healing is possible when we are met with compassion instead of judgment. It has also redefined how I see my role in the world. I am not just a mother, a student, or a survivor—I am someone with the power to change lives by telling the truth and listening deeply. This is why I am pursuing a career in psychology. I want to become a licensed therapist and eventually open a mental health clinic that serves underrepresented communities—especially single parents, families with disabled children, and people of color who have long been failed by the mental health system. I want to create a space where care is affordable, culturally competent, and trauma-informed. A space where people like me feel safe enough to open up and strong enough to heal. The broken system described in this scholarship prompt is one I’ve experienced personally. Long waitlists, unaffordable services, and professionals who didn’t understand my background made it harder for me to get help. I plan to fight for a better system—one that doesn’t just hand out prescriptions, but offers real, holistic support. I want to advocate for more inclusive research, more diverse providers, and more empathy in every part of care. This scholarship wouldn’t just help me finish school—it would amplify a mission I’ve already begun. Every class I take, every paper I write, and every story I share brings me one step closer to creating change. I want to honor the people who never got the help they needed by making sure the next generation does. My experience with mental health didn’t break me. It built the foundation for the work I’m meant to do.

Growing up, I carried a lot of pain in silence. My mother worked constantly to keep us afloat, and while I know she loved me, we were never emotionally close. My father wasn’t around much, and eventually, he walked out of my life completely. My grandmother stepped in to help raise me, and I’m forever grateful for her, but emotionally—I was still suffering. I spent much of my childhood battling depression, feeling alone, and questioning my worth. But even through all the sadness, one thing kept me going: the belief that I was meant for more. That belief didn’t come from the people around me—it came from within. I knew that if I wanted a better life, I would have to create it myself. That’s why I decided to go to college, even though everything in my environment made that seem impossible. I became a single mother at a young age, and when both of my sons were diagnosed with autism, I knew I had to fight even harder—not just for myself, but for them. I wanted to be the parent I didn’t have growing up: present, loving, and emotionally available. I also wanted to show them that no matter how hard life gets, you never stop pushing forward. I started at LaGuardia Community College and earned my associate degree while juggling motherhood, work, and countless therapy appointments. Now, I’m completing my bachelor’s in psychology at Queens College and plan to graduate this fall. It’s been the hardest journey of my life, but also the most rewarding. Through it all, I’ve learned how powerful it is to turn pain into purpose. This scholarship would give me the financial breathing room I desperately need. As a full-time student and mother, the cost of school—on top of basic living expenses—is a heavy load. With this support, I could focus more on my classes and my future, and less on how I’m going to pay the next bill. My career goal is to become a licensed mental health counselor and open a clinic for low-income, underrepresented families—especially parents of children with disabilities. I want to be the kind of therapist I never had growing up. Someone who listens. Someone who sees you. Someone who understands where you come from. My life hasn’t been easy, but it’s shaped me into someone strong, compassionate, and ready to make a difference. I know there are kids out there feeling like I once did—unseen, unheard, and unloved. I want to be the one who tells them they matter. That healing is possible. That they’re not alone. This scholarship would help me finish what I started—not just for me, but for every person I plan to help in the future. My story is far from over, and with your support, I’ll be one step closer to building the future I’ve always dreamed of.

My passion for mental health didn’t start in a textbook—it started in survival mode. As a young Black woman, a single mother to two autistic sons, and a first-generation college student, I’ve had to battle systems that were not built for families like mine. I experienced first-hand what it means to be left out of conversations about care, misjudged in clinical spaces, and dismissed when I sought support. I had to fight for access, understanding, and compassion. That fight is what gave birth to my purpose. Mental health is important to me because I know what it feels like to suffer in silence. I know what it’s like to cry while doing homework, bottle up anxiety during IEP meetings, and feel invisible in therapy offices that lacked cultural understanding. When I finally sought therapy for myself during a very dark time, I realized how vital healing is—but also how out of reach it can be, especially for people of color, single mothers, or anyone navigating trauma while juggling survival. That experience changed my life—and shaped my entire future. I’m currently pursuing my bachelor’s degree in Psychology at Queens College, after earning my associate degree from LaGuardia Community College. Despite financial stress, emotional fatigue, and the constant demands of parenting two children with special needs, I’ve stayed focused because I believe in my purpose. My goal is to become a licensed mental health professional and eventually open a trauma-informed, community-based clinic that serves underserved and underrepresented populations—especially BIPOC families, women, and parents of neurodivergent children. My academic experiences have strengthened this goal. I’ve taken courses in developmental psychology, abnormal psychology, and multicultural counseling that have deepened my understanding of intersectional care. Outside the classroom, I’ve volunteered at local food banks, supported parents in special education groups, and been a listening ear for countless friends navigating anxiety, grief, and depression. These real-life experiences are just as valuable as my coursework—they’ve taught me empathy, resilience, and the kind of cultural humility no textbook can teach. To advance diversity and inclusion in this field, I plan to bring my lived experience into everything I do. I want to be the therapist I couldn’t find: someone who looks like me, listens without judgment, and understands the impact of race, gender, and economic hardship on mental health. I also hope to work with organizations that prioritize inclusive mental health research. Too often, clinical trials and studies leave out BIPOC voices, immigrant families, and low-income communities. That must change—and I want to be part of that change by pushing for research that reflects all of us. Representation saves lives. If people don’t see themselves reflected in therapists, counselors, or studies, they feel excluded from healing itself. I plan to use my career to create spaces of belonging—places where mental health care is accessible, culturally competent, and free of stigma. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education while carrying less financial weight. It would give me the freedom to focus more on community work, advocacy, and academic growth—and less on stretching myself thin to stay afloat. Most importantly, it would affirm what I already believe deep down: that my voice, my background, and my purpose matter in this field. I’m not just studying psychology. I’m preparing to build a new standard for care—one that centers the people often pushed to the margins. I’m ready to take my lived experiences and turn them into lasting impact.

I never planned to become a mother so young, but the moment I held my first son, my life changed forever. I was no longer living for just myself—I had two small eyes looking up at me, depending on me to guide him through this world. Later, when my second son was diagnosed with autism, my entire perspective on life, education, and purpose transformed. Suddenly, every decision I made had to serve a larger purpose—not only for me but for the future I wanted to give my children. Being a single mother has not been easy. There were nights when I studied while holding one of my boys in my lap, and mornings when I went to class running on two hours of sleep because one of them had been up all night. Financially, things have always been tight. Diapers, food, clothing, doctor appointments, therapy sessions—everything costs something. But what I never gave up on was my dream of becoming something more—not just for myself, but for them. My life experiences have inspired me to pursue a career in psychology with a focus on mental health advocacy and support services for underserved families. When I was struggling with depression, I had very limited access to mental health resources that understood my reality as a young, Black single mother. I was often met with long waiting lists, unaffordable fees, or therapists who simply didn’t understand my lived experiences. It was during one of my lowest moments that I realized: I wanted to become the kind of therapist I couldn’t find. Today, I am completing my bachelor’s degree in psychology at Queens College. I already hold an associate degree from LaGuardia Community College. Despite the financial hardship, the long nights, and the stress, I’ve remained determined. My ultimate goal is to open a community-based mental health clinic that offers culturally competent, affordable, and accessible therapy—especially for Black and brown families, parents of children with disabilities, and others who often fall through the cracks. My sons are my biggest motivation. I want them to grow up in a world where mental health is talked about openly and taken seriously. I want them to see their mother not only survive, but thrive—so they know that they can, too. I believe that our pain can have purpose, and my life has taught me that some of the hardest experiences can become our greatest sources of strength and direction. My personal journey has made me empathetic, resilient, and deeply passionate about helping others find healing. I’ve already started doing the work in small ways—helping friends navigate depression, guiding parents of neurodivergent children to resources, and being a voice for mental health in communities where silence is often the norm. But I know that with further education and training, I can do even more. Receiving this scholarship would lighten the financial burden I carry as I complete my education. More than that, it would be a reminder that my story—and the stories of so many single mothers like me—matter. We don’t give up. We keep pushing, we keep learning, and we keep building futures for ourselves and our children. In the end, I don’t just want to earn a degree. I want to create change. I want to be part of a generation of women who take their lived experiences and turn them into tools for empowerment, advocacy, and healing. This isn’t just about a career—it’s about answering a calling.

As a full-time college student, mother of two autistic children, and first-generation college graduate from LaGuardia—now finishing my bachelor’s degree at Queens College—I’ve had to juggle more responsibilities than most people realize. For a long time, I put my emotional and mental well-being at the very bottom of my priority list. My days were filled with schoolwork, therapy appointments for my kids, budgeting, commuting, and barely sleeping. I was surviving—but not living. Eventually, the pressure broke me. I felt like I was crumbling under the weight of everything. I was exhausted, disconnected, and emotionally overwhelmed. That’s when I realized that taking care of my mental health wasn’t just something I should do—it was something I needed to do if I wanted to show up fully for my children, my education, and my future. Mental health is important to me as a student because my success depends on my ability to stay balanced and emotionally well. Without a strong foundation, I can’t concentrate, retain information, or even stay motivated. Once I made the decision to seek therapy and prioritize my well-being, my academic life improved, but more importantly—I improved. I became more self-aware, more present with my kids, and more focused on my long-term goals. I learned coping tools, mindfulness techniques, and how to set healthy boundaries—things that no textbook had ever taught me, but which became life-changing. Now, I advocate for mental health both in my home and within my school community. At home, I teach my children that emotions are normal and that it’s okay to ask for help. I use age-appropriate tools to help them express themselves and cope when they’re overwhelmed. I make sure they know that their mental health matters just as much as their physical health. At school, I speak up when others stay silent. I’ve helped classmates find resources for campus counseling. I’ve supported friends through depression and anxiety. I’m the person people come to when they need someone to listen without judgment—because I’ve been there, and I know how much it matters to feel understood. My future goal is to open a mental health clinic that serves low-income, marginalized communities—especially women of color and families with special needs children. This mission is personal to me because I’ve experienced how difficult it is to find culturally competent, affordable care. I want to be the voice and the support system I wish I had earlier in my journey. Mental health matters because people matter. And I’ll never stop fighting to make sure that truth is heard—loudly and clearly.

There was a moment when I had to choose: survive or keep pretending I was fine. I was a young mother of two, balancing classes, parenting autistic children, and trying to be everything for everyone—except for myself. On the outside, I looked like I had it all together. Inside, I was drowning. I didn’t eat right. I couldn’t sleep. I cried in silence. The weight of school, motherhood, bills, and emotional exhaustion pressed on me until I broke down in my bathroom, knees to the floor, whispering, “I can’t do this anymore.” But then something shifted. I looked at myself in the mirror, saw the fear in my eyes—and chose, finally, to stop hiding from my pain. That was the day I put my mental and emotional health first. That was the day I decided to get help. I found a therapist and began attending sessions regularly. I started speaking about my depression openly, especially as a Black woman in a community where mental health is often seen as a taboo or weakness. I gave myself permission to rest, to say “no,” and to admit when I needed support. That one decision saved my life. And more than that—it gave me a future. From that moment on, I stopped chasing perfection and started chasing peace. I prioritized mindfulness, journaling, and therapy just as much as I prioritized homework or parenting responsibilities. And because I took care of myself, I became a better mother, student, and woman. That experience taught me the most powerful truth: wellness is not a luxury—it’s survival. Now, as I complete my undergraduate Bachelors psychology degree at Queens College, my mission is to help others who feel like I once did—exhausted, ashamed, and unseen. I want to open a mental health clinic that serves women, mothers, and families in underrepresented communities. I want to help people heal from trauma, break generational cycles, and learn that self-care isn’t selfish—it’s sacred. Making my health a priority reshaped my entire life. It gave me clarity, vision, and resilience. I no longer apologize for choosing myself. I now wear my story like armor, not a wound. This scholarship would allow me to continue on this path with less financial weight and more focus on what truly matters—building a future where mental and emotional wellness are celebrated, not ignored. I’m living proof that healing is possible, and I want to spend my life showing others that they can heal, too. Because the strongest thing I’ve ever done was choose me—and I’ll never stop choosing her again.

When I look back on my journey, I don’t just see challenges—I see purpose. I’ve lived a life of service without always realizing it. From the moment I became a mother, especially to two autistic boys, my life became about something bigger than myself. Every decision I’ve made—from returning to college to advocating for mental health—has been rooted in love, sacrifice, and a deep desire to uplift others. Service to my family means being a full-time mom while pursuing my degree in psychology at Queens College. It means staying up late to finish homework after bedtime stories and IEP meetings. It means advocating for my sons when the school system doesn’t understand their needs, and still showing up for myself when it would be easier to quit. I do it all because I want to show them what strength looks like—what perseverance, faith, and unconditional love really mean. My service to the community has been grounded in action and empathy. I’ve participated in local food drives, supported other parents in special needs spaces, and spoken openly about mental health struggles to break stigma—especially within the Black community. I know there are people who see me and feel encouraged, even if they never say it out loud. That quiet impact matters to me. I serve by being visible, real, and compassionate. On the field, as a high school softball player, I learned the value of showing up—not just to play, but to lead. I wasn’t always the strongest or fastest, but I was consistent, encouraging, and committed to lifting my team. I brought the same energy to every practice, every game, win or lose. That mindset has never left me. Whether in sports or life, I believe in being the teammate who keeps morale high, who pushes others to do better, and who keeps going when others give up. Now, as a college student with graduation in sight, I carry all of these lessons with me. I believe service isn’t about grand gestures—it’s about who you are when no one’s watching. It’s about showing up day after day, putting in the work, and keeping your heart open to those around you. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education while supporting my family and community without as much financial pressure. It’s not just about my success—it’s about being able to pour more into the people I serve, the future clinic I plan to open, and the example I set for others walking similar paths. I’ve lived a life of service because I believe that when one of us rises, we all rise. And I’ll never stop working toward that kind of impact.

I played softball in high school, and I can confidently say it helped shape the person I am today. Being on that field taught me more than just how to hit, catch, or run—it taught me discipline, teamwork, and the importance of never giving up, even when things get tough. Those lessons have stayed with me long after the games ended. Softball gave me my first real experience with perseverance. There were times when we were down by several runs, but we kept pushing. That mentality—of not backing down when things look impossible—is one I’ve carried into adulthood. As a mother, a full-time student, and someone who has faced challenges with mental health, I’ve had plenty of moments where quitting felt easier. But just like in a tough game, I reminded myself to keep showing up. Keep swinging. One of the most powerful parts of playing softball was the sense of community. Our team became like a second family. We learned to support each other, celebrate each other’s wins, and lift each other up after losses. That team spirit, that feeling of having people believe in you, is something I want to recreate in my career. I’m currently working toward my bachelor’s degree in psychology at Queens College, and my dream is to open a mental health clinic for underserved communities. I want to build a space that feels like a team—where no one feels alone, and everyone feels supported. I was also inspired by my coaches. They weren’t just teaching us how to play; they were shaping us into strong, confident young women. They believed in our potential, even when we didn’t believe in ourselves. That kind of mentorship stayed with me, and now, I want to become that kind of figure for others. Whether it’s through counseling, advocacy, or simply being present, I want to be a voice of encouragement in someone’s darkest moments—just like my coaches were for me. Softball taught me that the game isn’t over until the last out—and life is a lot like that. No matter how far behind you feel, there’s always a chance to come back stronger. I carry that belief into everything I do, especially in my commitment to helping others heal and grow. This scholarship would help me finish the final stretch of my college journey and allow me to continue paying it forward. I may not be on the field anymore, but I’ll always carry the values softball gave me—grit, leadership, and heart—and I plan to bring them into every space I enter.

I’m pursuing a degree in psychology because I know what it feels like to suffer in silence. I’ve battled depression myself, and I’ve experienced the isolation and hopelessness that comes when mental health support is either unavailable, unaffordable, or full of judgment. What saved me was the moment I had the courage to reach out—and someone was there to listen, to guide me, and to help me believe that healing was possible. That’s when I knew I wanted to become that person for someone else. I’m currently finishing my bachelor’s degree in psychology at Queens College, and my ultimate goal is to open a mental health clinic that specifically serves low-income and marginalized communities. As a woman of color and mother to two autistic children, I’ve personally witnessed how often people in our communities are overlooked or dismissed when it comes to mental health. I’ve had to fight to find support for my children and myself—and I know I’m not alone. Mental illness doesn’t discriminate, but access to care often does. Brian’s story touched me deeply because it reflects something I’ve seen too many times: a system that reacts too late or not at all. Addiction and mental illness are often treated as separate issues, when in reality they’re deeply connected. People turn to substances to cope with pain, trauma, and silence. I believe mental health care must be more proactive, more human, and more accessible. That means creating spaces where people feel safe to speak, to cry, to admit they’re not okay—without fear of being punished or ignored. When I become a licensed therapist, I want to work at the intersection of trauma, addiction, and community support. I want to provide therapy that goes beyond a diagnosis and truly meets people where they are. I want to help clients understand their pain without shame and offer them real tools to build a life they don’t want to escape from. I believe in preventative care, cultural sensitivity, and empowering people with knowledge—not just treatment. Receiving this scholarship would be a blessing, not just for me, but for the many people I hope to serve. It would lighten the financial burden as I complete my final semester and prepare to enter the field. More importantly, it would honor Brian’s legacy by allowing me to carry forward the mission of building a mental health care system that doesn’t fail people—but saves them. We can’t change the past, but we can create a better future. I’m committed to being part of that change.

Throughout my life, I’ve faced many challenges—mental health struggles, single motherhood, and the pressure of returning to school as a woman of color over 30. But one constant has helped me find strength and direction: my Phoebe—my mother. My mother has always been the kind of woman who shows up when everything feels like it’s falling apart. She raised me with love, discipline, and unwavering support. But it wasn’t until I became a mother myself, especially to two autistic children, that I realized how deeply she shaped me. My mother never had all the resources, but she made things happen. Watching her push through hardship with grace and quiet power taught me how to do the same. When I battled depression and questioned whether I could keep going, she reminded me of who I was. She saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself. Even when I doubted my ability to return to college, she encouraged me to pursue my psychology degree—not just for me, but for the lives I would one day help change. She told me that my pain had purpose. And because of her belief in me, I now believe in myself. My mom is the kind of Phoebe who leads by example. She never demanded perfection—just persistence. Her compassion, strength, and faith in me helped guide me through LaGuardia Community College and into Queens College, where I’m now finishing my bachelor’s degree in psychology. I plan to graduate at the end of the fall semester, and I dream of opening my own mental health clinic to serve underrepresented communities. My mom taught me that healing isn’t just something we seek—it’s something we can also give. If I am awarded this scholarship, it will not only help ease the financial stress of completing my education, but it will also be an investment in the future work I plan to do for others. As a mother, student, and aspiring therapist, I know how powerful it is to have someone believe in you. I want to become that person for others—the way my mom was for me. I want to offer a safe, supportive space for those battling depression, trauma, or simply the weight of being unseen. This scholarship would bring me one step closer to that dream. My Phoebe didn’t just help me survive—she helped me find my calling. Because of her, I’m committed to walking beside others on their path toward healing and wholeness. This is more than a degree. This is my purpose.

My name is Keylynie (pronounced Key-La-Knee). I recently graduated from LaGuardia Community College with my associate’s degree in Psychology and am currently completing my bachelor’s degree at Queens College. I’m set to graduate at the end of the fall semester. My long-term goal is to open a mental health clinic where individuals—especially those from underserved communities—can feel safe, heard, and supported. While psychology may not be a traditional trade, I see mental health care as a skilled, service-based profession. Like many trades, it requires dedication, hands-on learning, and a deep passion for helping others. I chose this field because I’ve experienced the struggle myself. I’ve dealt with depression, and I know what it’s like to feel completely alone—with no one to talk to and no support in sight. Finding a therapist was a turning point for me. That experience inspired me to pursue a career where I can be that support for someone else. As a woman of color and a mother to autistic children, I’ve faced unique challenges that have only strengthened my drive. I’ve had to advocate for my children in systems that often overlook neurodivergent kids, especially in communities of color. Balancing parenting, college, and my own mental health has not been easy, but it’s shaped me into someone who is both empathetic and resilient. These personal experiences fuel my passion for creating change—not just in individual lives, but in the larger systems that affect them. I’m most passionate about mental health awareness, racial equity, and disability justice. Too often, people in marginalized communities suffer in silence because therapy is either financially out of reach, stigmatized, or simply unavailable. I want to break down those barriers. My future clinic will focus on accessible, affordable care that is culturally responsive and welcoming to all—especially those who feel ignored by traditional systems. I believe I’m a strong candidate for this scholarship because I’m not just studying psychology—I’m living it. My journey is proof that healing is possible, and that people from all backgrounds deserve the chance to succeed, grow, and be heard. I bring both lived experience and academic knowledge to the table. I understand what it’s like to need help and not know where to turn, and I’ve committed my life to being the person others can turn to. This scholarship would help me stay focused on my education and career path without the added weight of financial stress. It would allow me to keep pushing toward my dream—not just for myself, but for the many people I hope to serve in the future. I’m determined to use my degree, my voice, and my personal story to uplift others, break stigmas, and create lasting impact in the world of mental health.

The moment someone you love looks you in the eye and says, “You better be happy my little sister is here or I would’ve beat your ass,” something shifts inside you. That moment became the loudest warning bell I’ve ever heard, and it gave me the strength to walk away from an abusive relationship before it got even worse. Leaving wasn’t easy—especially when all I ever wanted was to grow and build a future with that person—but I realized that love isn’t supposed to hurt, and it definitely isn’t supposed to come with threats or physical harm. That experience changed me. Being with someone who thought that apologies could erase the bruises—both emotional and physical—taught me how dangerous distorted ideas of love can be. It also taught me that walking away isn’t a sign of weakness, but of courage. I still carry the emotional wounds, but they’ve turned into a sense of purpose. I want to use what I’ve been through to help others—especially African American women—who are facing similar pain and confusion in silence. As a psychology major, I’m committed to understanding the deep roots of trauma, emotional regulation, and unhealthy relationship cycles. Higher education is not just a path for me—it’s a lifeline I’m choosing to throw to others. I want to specialize in trauma-informed care and counseling for women affected by domestic violence and substance abuse. So many women in our communities stay silent out of fear, shame, or lack of support. I want to be the person who helps them find their voice again. More importantly, I want to work toward improving the way we care for and coordinate services for African American women. Culturally competent mental health care is still lacking, and I want to be part of the change that helps bridge that gap. I believe in creating safe spaces—both in therapy and in the community—where women feel heard, respected, and empowered. That means advocating for more accessible mental health services, educating communities about what real love looks like, and helping survivors rebuild their lives without fear or judgment. Communication plays a major role in all of this. Survivors need advocates who speak with empathy and act with intention. I plan to use my education to amplify the voices of those often ignored or misunderstood. Whether it’s through one-on-one counseling, community outreach programs, or policy work in the future, I will be a voice for women who are tired of being silenced. This scholarship would allow me to continue my education and deepen my ability to support others. My experience may have started with pain, but it will not end there. I’m choosing to turn that pain into purpose—and to help change the outcomes for African American women impacted by domestic violence and substance abuse, one conversation, one connection, and one step at a time.

The biggest problem facing the world right now is mental health. If you really looked at how people In todays generation are coping or choosing to ignore their feelings & problems it’s getting worst day by day. So many people suffer from a childhood trauma whether it be small or traumatic enough it will continually effect you in your adult hood. With your personal relationships with how you allow people to treat you and how you treat people yourself. Placing boundaries to protect yourself. It all fits together like a puzzle. I look at my generation today & see half of us already dead because of drug overdoses. From Popping Percocets and Xanax to drinking alcohol and becoming alcoholics. And even in most serious cases drinking while driving and killing yourself. I want my generation & the younger generation to know it’s okay to talk to someone. Don’t feel ashamed to talk to a therapist. All it takes is to sit down & let your guard down & feel comfortable enough to know that it is alright to express yourself. We are human at the end of the day. The drugs won’t keep you going , the alcohol won’t numb the pain , sex won’t keep you ignoring how you feel. Mental health is a big serious issue going on in the world & i want people to know it’s okay. There are people like me willing to listen to anybody talk or express how they feel. You don’t have to feel alone. You don’t have to go through that mental fight on your own. Therapy is a beautiful experience when you find someone who understands why you feel the way you feel. And your able to talk and express yourself, i want to be that person.

One practical solution for helping more people who struggle with mental health is therapy, as a person who suffers with depression from time to time. I do not have anybody to talk to. I don’t have anybody to Express My feelings/emotions too. I have associates, family & loved ones that care for me but I also don’t feel comfortable sharing my feelings because I know from their perspective that they would not understand why i feel the way i do. It’s so hard opening up to people & not wanting to feel judge just by the way you feel or think. I understand how a person may feel worthless & may not want to live to see the other day. I understand that a person can have everything they want in life but still not feel good enough on the inside. I understand that no matter what a person may say or do they just feel like the world is crumbling & that they are alone by themselves. I know how all 3 of those versions feel. Because i was all of that , till this day i don’t have “friends” i have “associates” that i laugh with time to time to make small talk but they don’t know what’s going on in my mind. They don’t understand how hard it is to talk to other people about your personal mental problems when all I’ve been was used in my life & thrown away. I want to help other people that suffer with depression or anxiety or any mental health in general. I want to be that person that helps people say it’s okay for me to open up my heart , or I now understand why i feel like this. I want to change the world for the better.

One thing i do to help the elderly people in my community is going out to Buy groceries. My Grandmother suffers from dementia and as of right now she currently is forgetting small stuff her phone , her keys , if she ate and i know with a horrible disease like that it will get worst over time. So i take my time every Friday to make sure she has food in her refrigerator and her proper medication that she is taking. I cook for her even though sometimes she criticizes my cooking skills (lol) but she still gives me pointers on what to do and how long to cook the food for and i enjoy these memories. Being a full time College student and being a parent of a 5 year old and 7 year old Autistic boys i have a lot on my plate. But my family means the world to me and i want my grandmother to always remember my kids and my kids to Have memories of my grandmother. There’s not a lot of elderly people in my neighborhood but my grandmother and her cousin Murdy and a family friend. Taking my time to make sure that they have everything they need is a great feeling because i can only hope that when i get their age my kids will help me the same way. I wish the elderly people could live rent free and would receive free groceries from supermarkets and health checkups just to make sure they’re doing alright. Elder people need all the support they can get and i will continue helping anyway i can to make a difference.

My name is Keylynie Bryant, I'm a 26 female living in New York attending LaGuardia Community College. My goal is to graduate college and secure a job as a mental health therapist. I've had my fair share in mental health and not having anybody to confine in or turn to. It gets hard and lonely, depression gets very dark and difficult. Every day so many people are battling mentally and you may never even know because the perfect smile will always hide the pain. Going through depression myself I've had my good days and bad still currently going through it, it does get easier but sometimes you have your hard days. I had to push myself to start attending college because I have 2 sons that look up to me every day so I can't give up it wouldn't be right if I did while they're watching me. To become a Mental health therapist and help as many people as I can. It makes me very happy knowing I can change people's lives just by listening and talking to different individuals. Everyone has different stories everyone needs different advice, we're all human it's a learning experience doesn't matter the age. The scars on my arm remind me every day how that dark place didn't swallow me whole. I got a second chance and I would love to help change the world or as many different people as I can. Showing people that there is something to live for, there is something at the end of the tunnel just hold on. I want to be the person that gives people hope, I want to be the person that people can call and know I'm here for them because I wasn't able to receive that it's not a great feeling knowing you're alone and even if you're not alone you just don't feel comfortable sharing with family or your close friends because you're afraid of being judge, I won't judge you. I want to be that person that helps you and I will be that person that helps and supports anybody that needs help. Because we're all human and we all need someone even if it is a stranger, strangers can turn into close friends or best friends but you won't be alone anymore.

The definition of Joy means " A feeling of great pleasure and happiness" and to be quite honest I don't know what joy means in my life currently but I'm still trying to find it. A highly intelligent 26 years old female going to college majoring in Psychology should have her own meaning of joy sad thing is I don't. I have many grateful things I am appreciative of my 2 sons they bring me joy, I love being a mother showing and raising my kids how life is and what life has to offer you every day it's something new. Kids are pure, innocent still new to life overall is a new experience of Joy. But if you ask me "keylynie what does joy mean to you?"... I guess I can say Joy is still being able to be alive after fighting depression even now currently taking it day by day. Knowing one day I'll beat it or it'll beat me but I'm trying my best to not give up. Joy is looking at my arm knowing the scars I have to tell a story I've been fighting that many people don't know of. Joy is knowing ill be able to graduate college and hopefully become a great therapist that can help people who are currently going through the same mental state as me. I guess I can say my Joy is finding a reason to stay and fight everyday and create new memories to not give up even on my worst days the joy is at the end of the tunnel so close.