When I imagine myself living the life of my dreams, it’s not defined by luxury or excess—it’s defined by peace, freedom, and purpose. After years of navigating hardship, healing from trauma, and balancing the dual responsibilities of military service and single parenthood, my dream life is grounded in wholeness. It is a life where I am no longer simply surviving, but thriving. In this dream life, my son and I live in a home filled with light—both the literal sunlight streaming through open windows, and the emotional warmth that comes from safety, love, and laughter. The air feels calm. The silence is not heavy or anxious, but peaceful. There are no more echoes of raised voices or tiptoeing around emotional landmines. The past exists, but it no longer defines us. I wake up each morning feeling rested, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. My body is no longer on alert, waiting for the next crisis. Instead, I have time to enjoy slow mornings with my son—making breakfast together, talking about his dreams and ambitions, reminding him, and myself, that joy can be ordinary and daily. Professionally, I am still driven, but it has taken a new form. I am now working in a field where I can uplift others and be their peace. I am using my experiences not as sources of shame, but as sources of wisdom and connection. In my dream life, I have created space for healing—not just for myself and my son, but for others. Our story becomes a light in someone else's dark tunnel. There is no greater fulfillment than knowing that the pain we endured has been transformed into purpose. Financially, I am stable. I am no longer counting down the days to payday or stretching every dollar. I can afford experiences for my son—travel, enrichment, education—not to spoil him, but to expand his view of the world and his place in it. I can take time off without guilt. I have savings, security, and the peace of mind that comes from knowing we are okay. My dream life includes community—a tribe of people who uplift, inspire, and hold each other accountable. We gather for dinners, support each other’s children, and celebrate the small wins. My son grows up seeing healthy relationships, mutual respect, and unconditional support modeled in real time. Spiritually, I am rooted. I have found a faith or practice that helps me stay grounded and present. I’ve made peace with the past. I’ve forgiven—not for the sake of those who hurt us, but to free myself from the grip of anger and fear. I am proud of the woman I have become. Perhaps most importantly, in this dream life, I see my son flourishing. He is confident, secure, and compassionate. He is not weighed down by the trauma of his early years. Instead, he carries the strength of our story and uses it to shape a future that is kind and just. Watching him grow into his own purpose is one of the greatest joys of my dream life. Living the life of my dreams is not about perfection—it’s about peace. It’s about finally having the emotional, physical, and spiritual space to breathe deeply, love freely, and live intentionally. It’s about freedom—from fear, from instability, and from cycles that no longer serve us. That is the life I strive toward every day. And even though I may not be there yet, every step I take—every act of healing, every lesson I teach my son, every story I share—is bringing me closer.

The most significant impact I've had on a child’s life has been through the journey of raising my son—while simultaneously serving in the military and healing both of us from the trauma of domestic violence. It has been a path shaped by hardship, perseverance, and the unwavering belief that love and stability can overcome even the deepest wounds. My son was born during a chapter of my life that I had once imagined would be joyful and secure. Instead, it was clouded by the psychological and emotional scars of an abusive relationship. The environment we found ourselves in was not one where a child could thrive. I knew, with a painful certainty, that staying in that situation would be destructive—not just for me, but for him. So, I made the decision to leave, stepping into the unknown with my child in my arms, and a future I would have to build from the ground up. At the time, I was also serving in the military, a responsibility that came with its own sacrifices and demands. Balancing my role as a service member and a single mother was never easy. There were deployments, relocations, and countless moments when the weight of it all felt too heavy. But every time I looked at my son, I was reminded of my purpose. He needed safety, love, and a role model—someone to show him that healing was possible, and that cycles of pain can be broken. One of the first steps toward that healing was therapy, both for myself and for my son. Children may not always have the words to describe trauma, but they feel it in their bones. I remember watching him flinch at loud voices, his sleep interrupted by night terrors, and his eyes scanning every room we entered for signs of danger. Slowly, through patience and consistency, we rebuilt trust—first in each other, and then in the world around us. Our bond deepened during those early years. I made intentional choices to center our lives around stability and love. I would read to him every night, even when I was exhausted from a long shift. We had routines—pancake Saturdays, evening walks, and our “three good things” ritual before bed. I became his safe space, and in many ways, he became mine. Through him, I rediscovered joy, laughter, and purpose beyond the uniform I wore. Being in the military came with both challenges and unexpected blessings. On one hand, the structure and discipline helped me stay grounded. I was able to provide for my son, access resources like child care and healthcare, and surround myself with a community of people who, over time, became like family. On the other hand, there were sacrifices—missed birthdays, long separations, and the constant fear that I wasn’t doing enough. But perhaps the most profound impact I’ve had on my son’s life hasn’t come from what I provided for him materially, but emotionally. I taught him that strength isn’t about suppressing feelings, but about facing them head-on. That love isn’t about control, but about showing up—consistently, patiently, and without conditions. He’s grown into a kind, compassionate young boy who asks deep questions, speaks up for others, and isn’t afraid to share how he feels. Every time he tells me he feels safe, every time he hugs me and says, “I love you, Mom,” I know that the sacrifices were worth it. There’s one moment that stays with me vividly. He was about six years old, and we had just finished a bedtime story. Out of nowhere, he looked at me and said, “Mom, you’re my hero. You saved us.” I cried that night—not out of sadness, but out of a profound sense of gratitude. We had come so far. Today, I continue to serve, but with a deeper understanding of what service really means. Yes, I serve my country, but I also serve my son—with love, protection, and the promise of a life free from fear. I know that the impact I’ve had on him will ripple forward. He will carry the lessons of resilience, empathy, and strength into his own life and relationships. And perhaps, one day, he will look back not with memories of trauma, but with pride in how we rose from it—together. Raising my son as a single parent in the military while healing from domestic violence has been the greatest challenge and the greatest honor of my life. It taught me that being a parent isn’t just about providing—it’s about healing, leading, and choosing love even when it's hard. In doing so, I’ve not only impacted my son’s life—I’ve transformed my own.

What inspires me to work with individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is the deep belief that everyone has a voice, and that voice deserves to be heard, supported, and valued. As a 44-year-old Black single mother, a military retiree, and now a teacher, I’ve spent my life in service, first to my country, then to my son, and now to my students. That path has shown me how vital it is to create spaces where people, especially those who are often misunderstood or overlooked, feel seen and empowered. Raising my son as he prepares to head off to college has been one of my proudest accomplishments. As a single mom, I learned the importance of advocacy, patience, and resilience. Those same qualities now guide my work as an educator, especially when working with students on the autism spectrum. I’ve had the honor of teaching and supporting students with ASD, and every one of them has taught me something about strength, creativity, and the importance of listening with more than just our ears. My first year in education I had a nonverbal student who was very violent but loving. She had her bad days when you were unable to understand what she was trying to communicate with you, but once you understood her she had more loving days than violent behaviors because her voice was heard. I am passionate about creating inclusive classrooms where students with autism are not just accommodated, but embraced for who they are. I believe in meeting students where they are and helping them build on their strengths while supporting their challenges. I plan to continue my education so I can expand my knowledge of evidence-based practices, become a stronger advocate, and contribute to creating school environments where neurodiversity is celebrated, not stigmatized. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to deepen my impact. I want to continue working in education with a focus on supporting students with disabilities, advocating for equity, and ensuring that all children, regardless of how they communicate or learn, have access to the resources and respect they deserve. I’ve dedicated my life to service, and this next chapter is about helping every student find their voice and place in the world. People with autism have so much to offer, and I want to be part of a future where they are not just included, but uplifted. Because I truly believe that everyone has a voice, and it’s time we make sure every voice is heard.

If I could create a class that all students from kindergarten through 12th grade were required to take, it would be called **"Life Intelligence: Practical Skills for Thriving in the Real World."** This course would blend emotional intelligence, critical thinking, financial literacy, ethical reasoning, digital literacy, and interpersonal communication. The goal would be to equip students not just to pass exams or get into college, but to live meaningful, successful, and emotionally healthy lives. In the early grades (K–5), the course would focus on basic emotional awareness, empathy, cooperation, safety, and simple decision-making. Lessons would be taught through storytelling, games, guided discussions, and interactive activities. Students would learn to identify their emotions, understand the feelings of others, and build foundational communication skills. Practicing these skills early would help children develop confidence and emotional control. During middle school (grades 6–8), the curriculum would expand to include financial basics like saving and budgeting, emotional self-regulation, healthy peer relationships, conflict resolution, and an introduction to digital awareness. Students would start exploring how their thoughts, choices, and emotions influence their daily lives. They’d also begin learning how media, technology, and algorithms can shape what they believe and how they behave online. In high school (grades 9–12), students would tackle more complex topics such as personal finance (taxes, credit, investing), mental health strategies, digital responsibility, career readiness, ethical reasoning, and civic engagement. They would engage in real-world problem-solving, debates, and collaborative projects. Each student would build a “Life Portfolio,” a personal record of goals, reflections, and practical applications of what they’ve learned. The course would culminate in a capstone project addressing a real-world issue they care about. This class is necessary because so many essential life skills are not taught in traditional education. Students often leave school without understanding how to manage stress, navigate relationships, or make responsible financial decisions—skills that are crucial in adulthood. By teaching these concepts from an early age, we would be setting up every child for a more stable, confident, and informed life. The long-term impact of a course like “Life Intelligence” would be profound. Students would grow into adults who are emotionally resilient, financially literate, digitally aware, and ethically grounded. They would be better prepared for the challenges of adulthood—not just in their careers, but in relationships, community involvement, and personal well-being. This kind of education could lead to reduced mental health issues, lower rates of debt, and a more engaged and empathetic society. Most importantly, this course would help level the playing field. Many students—especially those from under-resourced backgrounds—don’t have access to this type of guidance at home. A universal, developmentally appropriate life skills class would ensure that every student, regardless of their circumstances, learns how to thrive. It would recognize that success isn’t just about test scores but about building a strong foundation for life. In today’s fast-changing, high-pressure world, we can no longer afford to treat these skills as optional. “Life Intelligence” would not replace traditional subjects—it would strengthen them, helping students see the relevance of their education and giving them the tools they need to live wisely and well. It’s not just preparation for college or work—it’s preparation for life.