I am a 17-year-old Black girl learning to grow in a world obsessed with pretending it has already arrived. Social media makes that illusion feel intimate—like everyone else is sprinting ahead while I’m still stretching at the starting line. For many Black youth, that false closeness becomes a quiet wound, convincing us that we’re behind, that our heaviness is a personal failure. I know that feeling well, and I want to turn it into purpose. That purpose first took shape in my podcast, The Rain Before the Flowers. It’s a small sanctuary where Black girls can breathe, speak honestly, and explore healing without being rushed. We talk about the pressure to work five times harder for one step of progress, the exhaustion hidden behind our ambition, and the sacredness of being still in a world that demands constant motion. Through every episode, I see how deeply our community needs mental health care that feels welcoming, culturally aware, and accessible. My dream is to earn my master’s degree in psychology by 2030 and help build the kind of support I never had. I want to create school-based wellness spaces, free group therapy circles, and resources that reflect the voices and realities of people of color. I want care that feels like home. But as a dual-enrollment student, I cannot afford the upcoming spring semester that keeps me on track. This scholarship would not only ease that burden—it would move me closer to expanding mental health access for youth who deserve it.

My first pair of headphones were big and blue, the ones that covered your entire ear yet made little to no noise. Given to me as a Christmas present, they followed me as if I were a toddler stringing along a beat up teddy bear that could never depart from myself. My headphones and I had become one. I never had any "rhythm", a term used by Black people when one wasn't able to dance to the beat of a song. Although my headphones were fused to my ears, somehow my family knew that I was still off beat to whatever was playing. I didn't mind the comments from my family, what I was experiencing was something far different. Imagine a movie where the main character believes they are floating into a huge opening with large, glow-like lights expelling from the sky. This is exactly how I felt. I can't remember the song I played through my headphones, which is ironic given the fact I don't remember downloading more than one song. If anyone asked what my favorite part of a song is, I would never reply with the expected one lined lyric. Although it was a difficult job, I was never much of a fan of lyricists. Truth was, it is the beat that defines a song. The ability to string together a multitude of instruments and remain in tempo. That was my favorite part. By the time I reached middle school, my love for music did nothing but grow. I decided a day before my middle school open-house to join the band. I walked into the band room filled with eighth graders who all scared me half to death. As I walked into the band instructor's office, he was beyond elated. He handed me a trumpet mouth piece and asked me to pucker my lips and attempt to blow air. I expressed in a shy, timid voice that I did not want to be a trumpet player. Afterwards, we went down a rabbit hole of pieces of wood known as reeds. I did not enjoy that either. He offered me triangle then xylophone mallets, and even crash cymbals. Each the same as the last, the discomfort on my face was blatant. After a sharp exhale from the band instructor, he asked me to sit. As I sat down, he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a fresh pair of snare sticks. He asked if I'd like to hold them and soon enough, I grabbed them with zero hesitation. He glanced at me and softly smiled. I was now a snare player. By the time I was in eighth grade, the band had shrunk nearly three times in size due to COVID. Although most of my classmates no longer enjoyed playing, I loved it more and more each day. The ability to be the backbone and maintain the "beat" was something I loved more than anything. As I was presented the band director award during my last spring concert as a middle school student, reality set in. I was now a Tri toms player and the percussion caption but that would soon change. As I was leaving for high school, I knew it was time to start over. In the end, I became percussion captain by sophomore year and my previous band teacher soon moved up. Although there are many micro-aggressive comments about me-- a girl, playing the drums, it's worth it in the end. I have discovered I am the "beat" in my own life and to that, I owe music a thank you.