I am in my final semester at Indiana University Columbus, graduating this December with a Bachelor of Arts in English. My path to this degree has been anything but traditional. I first started college in 2006, full of excitement and determination to graduate in four years. Life, however, had other plans. Over the years, I faced a combination of health challenges, financial struggles, and family responsibilities that repeatedly interrupted my education. I live with fibromyalgia, asthma, ADHD, and PTSD, conditions that can make daily life unpredictable and exhausting. At the same time, I have always had to work to support myself. Paying for school out of pocket meant juggling jobs, tuition bills, and everyday expenses. Some semesters I was able to enroll in classes, and other times I had to pause entirely to work full-time. I have retaken classes, restarted programs, and rebuilt momentum more times than I can count. Despite all the stops and starts, I never let go of my goal of finishing college. What inspired me to return, again and again, was the belief that education is a key to stability and opportunity. Each time I stepped away, I felt the pull to come back, because earning a degree was not just about a credential—it was about creating a stronger future for myself and, ultimately, for the families I hope to serve. Over time, my purpose became clearer. I want to work with or eventually create an organization that helps parents strengthen their families in every way: emotionally, financially, and physically. I believe that when parents are supported and educated, they are better able to help their children succeed and break cycles of struggle. Returning to school was essential for building the skills and credibility I will need to make that vision a reality. My English degree gives me a strong foundation in communication, critical thinking, and writing—skills that will help me design programs, share information, and connect with the communities I hope to impact. Coming back to college after so many years has taught me more than academic lessons. It has shown me how to be persistent, flexible, and patient with myself. It has reinforced the value of small, steady progress and the importance of resilience when plans take longer than expected. Now, as I approach graduation, I am proud not only of the degree I am about to earn but also of the journey that brought me here. Returning to school has given me knowledge, confidence, and direction. Most of all, it has given me proof that it is never too late to return to a dream and make it happen.

Building credit is important to me because it represents stability, opportunity, and the freedom to make choices for my future. For much of my adult life, finances have been a challenge shaped by medical expenses, education costs, and the responsibility of working multiple jobs. Credit has not always been easy to manage, but I have learned how powerful it can be when handled with discipline. One of my biggest challenges was medical debt. At one point, I owed $20,000, which felt impossible to overcome. I made a plan, budgeted tightly, and stuck to it until the balance was gone. That experience taught me perseverance and the value of facing financial challenges directly. In addition, I carried $6,000 in school debt from my earlier years in college. I committed to paying it off and eventually succeeded, which gave me confidence in my ability to handle debt responsibly. Now, after returning to school to finish my degree, I once again carry about $6,000 in education debt. The difference is that I am approaching it with more knowledge and tools, and I am determined to reduce it quickly before interest begins accruing. One of the smartest money moves I have made is staying committed to repayment, even when progress was slow. I never ignored bills, no matter how tight money was. I learned to prioritize essentials, cut back on extras, and focus on long-term stability rather than short-term comfort. That discipline has been one of my strongest financial tools. Who I am is someone who refuses to give up, no matter how long the road may be. I started college in 2006, and through nearly two decades of stops and starts, I never let go of the goal of earning my degree. I worked multiple jobs, paid out of pocket when possible, retook classes when deadlines passed, and balanced health challenges along the way. Now, after years of persistence, I am finally graduating this December. What motivates me is the future I want to build—not just for myself, but for others. I plan to work with or create an organization that helps parents strengthen their families emotionally, financially, and physically. I believe strong families build stronger communities, and financial health is a foundation for that strength. My own experience with debt and credit has shown me both the challenges and the possibilities, and I want to share that knowledge to help others. Building credit matters to me because it opens doors to stability and growth. I have already proven that I can manage debt responsibly, and I intend to continue making smart financial choices as I transition from student to graduate and into the career I have worked so long to achieve.

When I think about resilience I think about the choice to keep moving forward when progress is slow, obstacles keep appearing, and circumstances do not make it easy. For me it has been about repeatedly getting back up and deciding to try again. I started college in 2006, thinking I would graduate within four years like so many others. That did not happen. Over the years, I have faced health issues, financial limitations, and family challenges that disrupted my plans. I have paid for school out of pocket, often while working multiple jobs to cover expenses. Sometimes I was forced to step away from classes entirely. Other times, I had to retake courses I had completed because I was not at my best. My progress has been slow but steady. Every return to school was a deliberate decision to finish my degree. Managing multiple chronic conditions has been exhausting. Some days basic responsibilities take careful planning and energy management. However, living with a chronic illness has taught me how to work within my limitations without giving up on my ambitions. I've learned to prioritize what matters most and adapt my plans when necessary. Resilience, for me, also means realizing that progress does not look the same for everyone. I used to believe that if I could not follow the traditional path then somehow I was failing. Now I see that my path has given me strengths that I might not have developed otherwise. My chronic illness has also shaped how I think about my future career. I want to work with or create an organization that supports families by working with parents to help them build healthier homes: emotionally, financially, and physically. I believe that giving parents the tools, education, and opportunities to strengthen themselves can better equip them to help their children succeed. I understand what it is like to face barriers that make goals feel distant. I know how frustrating it can be to have the motivation to improve your life but not the resources or knowledge to do so effectively. Finishing my degree has taken nearly two decades, but every step has mattered. I am graduating this fall and while I am proud of the academic knowledge I have gained, I am equally proud of the skills I have developed through the process. Balancing academics and chronic health care is challenging but it has prepared me for the work I want to do in the future. It gave me the patience to work through slow progress and the creativity to find solutions when resources are limited. For me, resilience is not about never struggling; it is about continuing despite the struggle. It is about believing that the effort is worth it, even when the results take years to appear. That belief will carry me into a future where I can help others find their own resilience and move toward their own goals.

Paragraph for Submission (from "Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou): "You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise." Close Reading Essay When I first read this stanza from Maya Angelou’s Still I Rise, I felt something shift inside me. It wasn’t just poetry, it was personal. It spoke to the invisible wounds I’ve carried for years: the way people have looked at me, judged me, underestimated me, and written me off before they ever heard my story. I’ve lived with chronic medical conditions, fought through trauma, and pushed forward in a system that was never designed with people like me in mind. And yet still, like air, I rise. Angelou’s stanza captures exactly what that journey feels like. The first three lines hit hard: “You may shoot me with your words, / You may cut me with your eyes, / You may kill me with your hatefulness.” These aren’t physical attacks— but they’re the slow, everyday ways people are torn down. I know what it feels like to be dismissed in a classroom, spoken to with condescension in a medical office, or have people assume things about me without asking a single question. Those moments can wear you down. They can make you feel invisible. But then comes the fourth line: “But still, like air, I’ll rise.” That’s where the real power lives. Angelou doesn’t respond with anger or defensiveness—she responds with quiet certainty. “Still” is such a small word, but it says everything. It means “despite all of it.” And “like air” is the perfect metaphor. Air is unstoppable. It rises naturally, gently, and constantly, no matter who tries to hold it back. That line reminds me that my strength doesn’t have to be loud to be real. It’s in the fact that I keep going even on the days when it’s hard. This poem doesn’t just speak to oppression but it speaks to resilience. It reminds me that there is power in surviving, and even more in turning survival into purpose. I’ve learned to keep showing up, even when my body hurts, even when my focus slips, even when I feel like I don’t belong. I’ve kept going because I know I’m not alone and I want to help others rise too. That’s why I’m finishing my Bachelor of Arts at IU Columbus this December, and why I’m building an organization that supports families in breaking generational cycles. I want to offer education, emotional skill-building, flexible childcare, and access to the kinds of resources that help families thrive. I want people to feel seen before they disappear. I want to create the kind of support I wish we’d had growing up. Close reading this stanza showed me how much meaning can live beneath the surface. Maya Angelou doesn’t have to explain every detail because we feel it through rhythm, metaphor, and tone. That’s the beauty of close reading: it teaches us to look deeper, to listen closely, to notice what isn’t said out loud. And that’s a skill I carry far beyond literature. I use it when I talk to people who feel unheard. I use it when I build something from scratch that wasn’t designed for me. I use it when I remind myself, quietly and daily, that I have every right to be here. “Still, like air, I’ll rise.” That line has followed me through some of the hardest moments of my life. It reminds me that I don’t have to be perfect or powerful or pain-free to keep rising. I just have to keep going. That’s what education means to me: not just learning from books, but learning how to turn what I’ve been through into something that helps others. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

Education has changed my life and not because it made things easier, but because it gave me the tools to create something better. I’m currently finishing my Bachelor of Arts at IU Columbus, graduating in December. My education hasn’t just been about lectures and assignments but it’s also been a path toward healing, purpose, and a future where I can help others rewrite their own stories. What I want to build is an organization that helps families, especially those like the one I grew up in, learn how to be emotionally healthy, break generational cycles, and grow together. It’ll be an education- and community-focused space that offers practical, judgment-free support. There will be classes on emotional regulation, communication, parenting, boundaries, and conflict resolution. There will be events where families can safely practice these skills together and build trust through shared experience. There will be reliable childcare with flexible hours and strong connections to local resources like housing support, food access, legal aid, and more. This vision comes from my own life. I was raised by a single mother who had me at 16. She did everything she could with what she had, but we still faced cycles of trauma, instability, and stress that left lasting marks. I’ve had to work hard to unlearn survival patterns and build emotional tools that weren’t taught to me as a child. I know how much energy it takes to break cycles when you weren’t given the blueprint. But I also know that it’s possible. Through education, both academic and personal, I’ve learned how to take care of my mental health, how to support others, and how to design systems that actually work for real people. My chronic conditions have forced me to be adaptable, creative, and deeply empathetic, and these same qualities will help me lead with compassion and structure an organization that truly meets people where they are. This scholarship would not only reduce my financial burden, it would help accelerate my ability to serve the community. What I hope to accomplish isn’t small but necessary. Families deserve more than survival. They deserve tools, support, and the space to grow together. I want to build that space. My education is giving me the foundation to build something lasting for myself and every family who feels like they’re drowning with no one to turn to. I’ve been there. I’m still climbing. But I want to turn back and offer a hand to the ones still struggling. That’s the kind of change I’m here to make.

Growing up with a single mother who had me at just 16 years old shaped the foundation of my character, my values, and my purpose. From a young age, I understood that life wasn’t going to be handed to me but that I would have to work for everything I wanted, just like my mom did. She was barely more than a child herself when she became a parent, but she carried herself with a strength and determination that left a lasting impression on me. I watched her juggle school, work, and motherhood, often without the support or resources that many families take for granted. We didn’t have much because money was tight, time was tighter, and stress was constant but there was always love, and there was always fight. She never gave up on me and she never let me give up on myself. Being raised in that environment made me grow up fast. I learned how to be independent early on: cooking, laundry, managing my own schoolwork, and understanding adult realities before most kids even knew what stress was. I became resourceful, learning how to solve problems on my own and navigate challenges without a safety net. But it also taught me empathy. I could see the emotional toll life took on my mom and it made me want to understand others more deeply, especially those who were like us and were doing their best while feeling like they were constantly falling short. Our struggles weren’t just personal but systemic. I saw how difficult it was for my mom to find childcare that fit her work schedule, how impossible it felt to get ahead when every support system had a waitlist, fine print, or judgment attached. That experience gave me a purpose. Now, as I work toward completing my Bachelor of Science at IU Columbus (graduating December 2025), I’m more driven than ever to take what I’ve lived through and build something meaningful from it. I plan to create an organization that supports families, especially single-parent households, with real-world, practical help. Not therapy, but education. Not judgment, but empowerment. We'll offer classes on emotional regulation, parenting, communication, and life skills. We’ll provide childcare that works around non-traditional schedules. We’ll connect families to resources that help them not only survive but grow. My mom’s love and perseverance built the person I am today. She showed me that your starting point doesn’t define your finish line. I want to honor her strength by using my education and lived experience to create change and not just for myself, but for every young parent, every struggling family, and every child who deserves a future shaped by hope instead of hardship. This is how my background shaped me—not into someone who’s bitter, but someone who’s determined. Not someone who accepts limitations, but someone who builds pathways around them.

Living with a chronic medical condition means constantly adjusting to things others can’t see like physical pain that flares up out of nowhere, difficulty focusing, or days when just getting out of bed feels like a win. While earning my Bachelor of Science at IU Columbus (graduating this December), I’ve had to navigate these challenges alongside my coursework, responsibilities, and long-term goals. There were semesters where I had to re-teach myself material I couldn’t retain in class because of mental fog. I’ve had days where my body just couldn’t keep up with my to-do list, no matter how motivated I was. I've had to suffer through classes in intense pain and still stay focused. But through it all, I’ve kept going and not just for myself, but for the vision I carry. What keeps me moving is the desire to help others break cycles I’ve fought hard to break myself. I know how deeply a family’s emotional and mental patterns can shape generations. When support is missing or delayed, the effects ripple through every part of life: relationships, parenting, confidence, and health including mental and emotional. Unfortunately, not everyone gets to grow up in a healthy, happy, financially comfortable family and even if they did that doesn't mean they haven't gone through trauma that changed them. That’s why I’m building an organization that provides more than just awareness; it will offer practical support for families who want to grow and change, but feel stuck. We’ll offer educational classes on emotional regulation, conflict resolution, and parenting strategies. We’ll create tailored events where families can safely practice these skills together. We want to help connect families with each other so they can build a community as they grow and evolve. There will be childcare that works with real-world schedules, not just 9 to 5. We’ll connect people with the community resources they need whether that be housing help, legal advice, or access to nutritious food. My goal is to offer tools and to give people accessible, culturally aware, and judgment-free spaces where growth is possible. I want to help families break negative generational cycles and create healthy family systems. I’ve learned to succeed while carrying heavy things and now, I want to help others do the same. Healing isn’t just individual; it’s generational and community involved and I want to be part of helping families build a future they can be healthy in.

My plan for the future is to work in a nonprofit organization that helps families become healthier, stronger units and break harmful generational cycles. I’ve always believed that lasting change begins in the home. When families have the tools and support to heal, grow, and thrive that impact ripples out into the community and future generations. I want to be part of that change. My goal is to work directly with families, especially those who have experienced trauma, poverty, or instability, and help them access resources for mental, physical, and emotional health. I want to help break unhealthy generational cycles. After surviving a car crash that resulted in a traumatic brain injury, I had to step away from the kind of work I loved doing helping families live healthier lives and focus completely on my own recovery. It was one of the hardest seasons of my life, but it taught me valuable lessons. I learned how to rest, rebuild, and keep going even when I didn't feel like it. I learned how deeply connected mental and physical health are and I learned the importance of community, support, and compassion. These lessons didn’t take me off course but they helped to reshape my path. Now, more than ever, I know I want to serve families in need with empathy, understanding, and practical support. This scholarship would play a major role in helping me reach that goal. Managing the physical and emotional impacts of a brain injury while also staying in school is already a challenge. Financial stress adds another layer that can make it difficult to stay focused and fully engaged in my education. Receiving this scholarship would lift that burden and allow me to pour my energy into learning, healing, and growing. It would help me access resources like therapy, rest, and academic tools that support my continued recovery and long-term success. I’ve worked hard to maintain a 3.7 GPA despite everything I’ve faced, and I’m committed to finishing my education strong. This scholarship would not only support me financially, it would also remind me that others believe in my potential and the mission I’m working toward. I want to take what I’ve been through and use it to uplift others. I want to help families build stronger foundations so that future generations can grow up with more stability, more love, and more hope. This scholarship would help make that possible.

After a car crash left me with a traumatic brain injury (TBI), my life was thrown completely off course. I had to walk away from a job I loved helping families live healthier lives and shift my entire focus to recovery. The depression that followed was deep and overwhelming. I felt hopeless, disconnected, and like I had lost who I was. My faith, which had once been a source of strength, felt distant. I continued to pray anyway. I tried to be open and honest with God, even when all I could say was that I felt lost. I made a conscious decision not to work or even volunteer until I was mentally, physically, and emotionally ready. That wasn’t easy. It felt like the world was moving on without me, and I struggled with guilt and frustration. But I knew I couldn’t heal by forcing myself to pretend everything was fine. Instead, I focused on basic daily tasks like brushing my teeth, taking showers, and getting dressed. These small acts of care were exhausting, but I did them every day I could. I also allowed myself to sleep as long as I needed and going on walks, knowing that movement might help me mentally as much as it helped me physically. Therapy became a lifeline. So did staying connected to friends and family, even when it felt easier to shut down. I learned to give myself grace on days when I didn’t have the energy to do more than just exist. Recovery wasn’t linear, and I had to let go of the idea that there was a set timeline for when I’d feel “normal” again. Even when others expected me to be better, I listened to what my body and mind actually needed. Throughout this time, I stayed in school. Despite the emotional weight I was carrying, I pushed through and maintained a 3.7 GPA. That’s something I’m proud of and not just for the academic achievement, but for what it represents. It showed me that strength doesn’t always look like productivity or success on the outside. Sometimes, strength is just choosing to keep going. Choosing to heal. Choosing to try again tomorrow. This experience has shaped the way I approach everything in my life now. I’ve learned that caring for my mental, emotional, and physical health isn’t selfish but necessary. I’ve learned that rest is part of progress. And I’ve learned that faith can still exist in silence and struggle. As I prepare for my future in school, work, and life, I bring with me a deeper resilience, a stronger sense of balance, and the understanding that I can handle hard things and grow from them. Thank you for your time and attention