Caregiving is not just something I do—it’s the heartbeat of my existence. I am a full-time caregiver to two teenage daughters with complex medical and mental health needs. My eldest is a double heart transplant recipient and a post-transplant cancer survivor. My youngest battles severe mental illness, navigating a world that often doesn't understand her mind. I am their lifeline. I manage medications, doctor’s appointments, hospital stays, therapy sessions, insurance battles, emotional breakdowns, and everyday life—all while attending school full-time to become a physician. Caregiving in my home looks like memorizing medication regimens most pharmacists have to triple-check. It’s sitting for hours in hospital rooms, sleeping in chairs, advocating when doctors miss the nuance, catching side effects before they spiral, and learning enough cardiology, oncology, and psychiatry to rival specialists. It’s also making dinner, checking homework, holding hands through panic attacks, and trying to be “normal” when nothing about our life is. But it’s more than tasks. It’s emotional labor. It’s constantly holding space for two people whose pain I’d take a thousand times if I could. It’s fighting insurance companies while hiding tears and learning to smile while explaining the same trauma story over and over to strangers in scrubs. It’s going to school in between appointments, studying at 2 AM, and chasing a dream of medicine because I want to help families like mine. Caregiving has shaped me into a resilient, driven, and deeply compassionate human. It cracked me open and then forced me to rebuild, stronger and softer all at once. It taught me to problem-solve with urgency, to listen like every word matters, and to find beauty in survival. I’ve seen how the system fails people like my daughters—how much is missed, dismissed, and ignored. That’s why I’m becoming a doctor. Not because it’s easy or convenient—but because it’s personal. I want to walk into an exam room and understand, to be the physician that listens, that believes, and that fights for her patients. This caregiving experience has also redefined success for me. It’s not just about grades or titles. It’s about showing up when it’s hard. It’s about service. It’s about building a life my daughters can be proud of—one where they see their mom didn’t give up, even when everything said she should. This scholarship matters deeply to me because, truthfully, the road I walk is paved with sacrifice. Every dollar I earn can affect my daughters' disability benefits. I juggle school with medical emergencies. I work around the clock and still fall short sometimes. This scholarship would give me the gift of breath—of not having to choose between paying for school and preserving the care my children desperately need. It’s more than financial aid—it’s an acknowledgment that caregiving is work, that what I do matters, and that someone sees me. With this scholarship, I can continue my education with a little less weight on my shoulders. I can pour more into my studies and future patients. I can get one step closer to building the life I dream of—a life where I’m not just surviving, but thriving, alongside my girls. Caregiving is my crucible and my calling. It has broken me and built me. It is the reason I fight so hard and love so deeply. And with your support, I’ll carry this experience forward into medicine—turning my pain into purpose and helping others find their way through the darkest nights.