I am an immigrant, a student, and someone whose identity has been shaped by displacement, responsibility, and resilience. I immigrated to the United States from Wales at the age of ten with my mother. Moving countries at such a formative age fundamentally shaped how I see myself and the world. From the moment I entered an American classroom, I was aware that I was different. My accent, background, and mannerisms made me a target for bullying, and I often felt like the center of attention in ways that were uncomfortable and isolating. Alongside the social challenges, I struggled academically after immigrating. The education system in the United States differed significantly from what I had known in the UK, and I found myself behind my peers due to differences in curriculum and teaching styles. I felt immense pressure to catch up quickly and to conform in order to fit in. These early experiences taught me how demanding assimilation can be, especially for immigrant children who are expected to adapt without support or understanding. After immigrating, my relationship with my family also changed. I became my mother’s primary support system, helping her be understood and navigate life in a new country. Over time, this responsibility led to isolation from the rest of my family, and it often felt like it was just the two of us against the world. Financial instability was a constant reality, and once I became old enough to work, I began contributing financially to support my single mother. These responsibilities forced me to grow up quickly and shaped my strong sense of responsibility and independence. Living and studying in the United States has broadened my perspective and deepened my ability to relate to people from different backgrounds. Being an immigrant has made me more culturally aware and empathetic, and I am able to connect with others who have experienced displacement, marginalization, or cultural transition. While I feel more supported in the U.S. due to greater access to resources, navigating my gender identity as someone born female and now identifying as transgender has presented its own barriers. These intersecting experiences have strengthened my ability to advocate for myself and others. Through my educational journey, I have gained a deeper understanding of how systems impact individuals differently based on where they come from and what resources they have access to. Studying sociology has allowed me to contextualize my lived experiences and understand the broader social forces that shape inequality and opportunity. It has confirmed my desire to pursue a career focused on helping others navigate complex systems with dignity and support. I hope to work with adolescents in the mental health field, particularly those who feel unseen or unsupported due to their background or identity. As an immigrant, I bring a deep understanding of what it means to grow up without being born in America and to navigate systems that were not designed with you in mind. Receiving this scholarship would help ease the financial burden of my education and allow me to focus more fully on my academic and professional goals. More importantly, it would support my commitment to creating meaningful impact for others facing similar challenges.

My career goal is to work in the mental health field as a social worker, supporting adolescents and young adults who are navigating trauma, instability, and systemic barriers. I am passionate about this work because I know firsthand how life-changing it can be when someone is met with consistency, dignity, and genuine care during moments of vulnerability. Mental health and public service are not abstract interests for me, they are personal, lived commitments shaped by responsibility, hardship, and resilience. I immigrated to the United States from the United Kingdom at the age of ten with my mother. From an early age, I learned how financial limitations shape opportunity. As an immigrant raised by a single parent, money was always something we had to be intentional about. When I became old enough to work, I did so not just for independence, but out of necessity. I began contributing financially to support my household while balancing school, a responsibility that forced me to mature quickly and prioritize long-term stability over short-term comfort. Choosing a career in social work is rooted in both my personal experiences and my academic interests. I am currently pursuing a degree in sociology because it allows me to understand how systems impact individuals differently based on access, identity, and circumstance. As a teenager and young adult, I spent years interacting with mental health systems that varied widely in compassion and effectiveness. I saw how harmful it can be when care is rushed, punitive, or impersonal, and how powerful it is when someone takes the time to truly listen. Those experiences solidified my desire to work in public service, where I can be part of building systems that support people rather than marginalize them. Pursuing higher education has required sacrifice. I have worked consistently while in school, often choosing stability over experiences many of my peers take for granted. I have delayed personal goals, limited spending, and structured my life around affordability, whether that meant keeping older technology, budgeting strictly, or saying no to opportunities that were simply not financially realistic. These sacrifices were not easy, but they taught me discipline, resourcefulness, and the ability to make limited resources work toward long-term goals. What keeps me motivated is the belief that education is a tool for change, not just for individuals, but for communities. I plan to work with adolescents, a population that is often overlooked once early intervention services end. I want to help young people feel seen, supported, and capable of building futures that are not defined by their hardest moments. Receiving this scholarship would help ease the financial strain of my education and allow me to continue pursuing a career rooted in service, empathy, and impact. I am committed to public service not because it is easy, but because it matters. The sacrifices I have made have strengthened my resolve, and I intend to carry that resilience into a career dedicated to helping others navigate systems with dignity and hope.

I am inspired to work with individuals with Autism Spectrum Disorder because autism has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. My brother is autistic, and although he is five years older than me, I grew up helping him with daily tasks, routines, and moments of regulation that many people take for granted. From a young age, I learned that support does not always look the way people expect it to, and that care is not defined by age, authority, or hierarchy, but by consistency, patience, and understanding. Growing up alongside my brother gave me an early awareness of how misunderstood autistic individuals often are. I saw how quickly people judged his behaviors without trying to understand the needs or sensory experiences behind them. Simple tasks could become overwhelming, not because of a lack of ability, but because the world around him was not designed with his needs in mind. Helping him navigate daily life taught me that autism is not something to be fixed, but something that requires accommodation, respect, and flexibility. As I grew older, my understanding of these dynamics deepened through my own experiences within mental health systems. As a teenager and young adult, I spent years navigating psychiatric hospitals, treatment programs, and educational environments that often prioritized compliance over compassion. I experienced firsthand how damaging it can be when systems respond to distress with punishment instead of support. These experiences reinforced what I had learned growing up with my brother: people thrive when they are met with empathy and individualized care, not rigid expectations. I have since worked in residential and educational settings supporting individuals with a range of needs, including neurodevelopmental and behavioral differences. In these roles, I have seen how autistic individuals are frequently underestimated or misunderstood, particularly when their communication styles or coping mechanisms do not align with neurotypical norms. Too often, the goal becomes making someone appear “normal” rather than helping them feel safe, supported, and empowered. My lived experiences have shaped my commitment to doing this work differently. In the future, I plan to work directly with autistic individuals through mental health and supportive services, with a focus on adolescents and young adults. This population often loses critical support as they age out of childhood services, leaving many to struggle with isolation, academic barriers, and co-occurring mental health challenges. I want to help create continuity of care that supports autistic individuals through these transitions while honoring their autonomy, strengths, and goals. Ultimately, I am inspired by the belief that autistic individuals deserve to be understood on their own terms. My brother taught me that meaningful support is not about control or correction, but about meeting people where they are and advocating for systems that do the same. I plan to carry that lesson with me throughout my career, working to build environments where autistic individuals are respected, supported, and given the opportunity to thrive.

I am pursuing a degree in the mental health field because I have experience with what happens when systems fail to meet people with compassion, continuity, and dignity. Mental illness and addiction are deeply intertwined, however they are often treated as isolated problems rather than parts of a larger human experience. I want to dedicate my career to bridging that gap, ensuring that individuals do not fall through the cracks the way so many do. As a teenager and young adult, I struggled with substance use and severe mental health challenges. Between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, I was in psychiatric hospitals, treatment programs, and moments of instability that left me feeling more like a case file than a person. While some interventions helped, others were cold, rushed, or punitive, reinforcing the idea that I was a problem to be managed rather than a human being needing help. Recovery did not come from a single program or diagnosis, but from being seen, heard, and supported consistently over time. Now I am two and a half years sober and pursuing an undergraduate degree in sociology with the goal of becoming a mental health professional, I take my experiences with me as motivation rather than shame. I am drawn to mental health work because I know how powerful it is when someone sits across from you and believes your life is worth saving, even when you do not believe it yourself. I want to be that person for others, especially adolescents and young adults navigating mental illness alongside addiction. The mental health system failed Brian J. Boley by not providing the comprehensive, humane care he needed. Too often, people do not know how to access care or are not treated with the care they need, and when treatment is recieved, mental health and substance use are addressed separately, if at all. I hope to be part of a generation of professionals who advocate for integrated care models that recognize how trauma, mental illness, addiction, and social circumstances intersect. This includes pushing for earlier intervention, continuity of care after hospitalization, and treatment approaches that prioritize trust and relationship building over punishment and compliance. In my future career, I plan to work directly with vulnerable populations while also advocating for systemic change. I want to challenge stigmatizing narratives that label people as “noncompliant” or “difficult” when they are simply overwhelmed and unsupported. I believe effective mental health care must be trauma-informed, culturally responsive, and grounded in empathy. Small actions, such as, remembering someone’s story, validating their pain, offering consistency, can be life-saving. Receiving the Brian J. Boley Memorial Scholarship would not only ease my financial burden as a student but also reinforce my commitment to honoring lives lost by doing better for those still struggling. Brian’s story is a reminder of what is at stake. I am pursuing this field so fewer families experience that loss, and so more individuals are met with the care, respect, and humanity they deserve.

I didn’t always know the name for what I wanted to do with my life. I just knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of silence, stigma, and systems that didn’t work. Growing up with a single mother, I watched her carry the full weight of our survival while my father battled alcoholism, a disease that eventually led to terminal liver cancer and continues to affect him today. We lived in the aftermath of addiction, navigating both emotional instability and financial strain. As a first-generation college student and an immigrant, I often felt like I was walking blindfolded through a maze that everyone else had a map for. I later realized that what I needed during those years was a social worker, someone trained not just to listen, but to understand. Someone who could’ve helped my family access resources, feel seen, and begin to heal. That realization became my "why." When I started community college, I knew I wanted to go into mental health. It wasn’t until I worked at a residential treatment center for teens that the vision became clear: social work wasn’t just a career path for me, it was a calling. Many of the youth I support struggle with trauma, addiction, and mental illness, just like I once did. And what they need most isn’t judgment, it’s stability, structure, and someone who believes they can change. At my second job as an after-school enrichment teacher for elementary students, I serve a younger generation that needs the same sense of safety and consistency. These two roles, serving teens and young children, allow me to earn my way through school and be fully independent of my family financially. But more importantly, they give me daily reminders of why this work matters. Since starting the social work program, my goal has only deepened. I now understand that social work isn’t just about helping individuals, it’s about transforming communities and challenging broken systems. I don’t just want to help people survive trauma, I want to help dismantle the conditions that cause it. Eventually, I hope to open an adolescent treatment facility that offers trauma-informed, compassionate care for underserved youth. A place where kids can walk in broken and still feel worthy of healing. What makes this dream personal is that I’ve lived it. I’ve seen what happens when mental health issues go untreated, when addiction fractures families, and when kids fall through the cracks. I’ve also seen the power of recovery, the beauty of mentorship, and the potential for people, especially young people, to rewrite their stories when given a chance. This scholarship would ease the financial burden of transferring to a four-year university this fall, allowing me to focus more energy on my education and my service work. With a 3.0 GPA and an unwavering commitment to social justice, I know I’m not just studying social work, I’m preparing to live it. My mission is to be the person I needed when I was younger. And I won’t stop until I become that for someone else.

My name is Lottie, and I’m a first-generation college student with a 3.0 GPA, I am preparing to transfer to a four-year university to pursue a degree in sociology. My goal is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and open a residential treatment center for adolescents that offers trauma-informed, identity-affirming care for youth who often fall through the cracks. My background has been shaped by instability, both emotional and financial. I’m an immigrant, a person in recovery, and someone who has faced mental health challenges since childhood. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and anxiety. I’ve also experienced, and overcome, opioid addiction and alcoholism. These experiences could have ended my story. Instead, they shaped my purpose. I want to help others navigate the pain I’ve survived. My family life has never been easy. My mom is a single parent who has always given her emotional support, but I’ve carried the financial responsibility of my education on my own. My father is an alcoholic with terminal liver cancer, and even now, he continues to drink. Watching him slowly deteriorate while still trapped in addiction has been devastating, and clarifying. It’s shown me firsthand the need for compassionate, effective treatment. It’s made my career path not just personal, but urgent. To support myself, I work two jobs. I’m a mentor at a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, and I also work as an after-school enrichment teacher for elementary students. These roles allow me to serve two age groups who need safety, consistency, and care, and they allow me to stay in school without placing additional burden on my family. Every day, I show up for others while continuing to show up for myself. Athletics have played a powerful role in my healing. In high school, I ran three marathons and improved my pace from 16 to 11 minutes per mile. Last year, I completed my first sprint triathlon. Sports have taught me discipline, mental resilience, and how to endure through discomfort, lessons I carry into recovery, academics, and service. This scholarship would ease the financial weight I carry while attending college full-time, working two jobs, and preparing for graduate school. It would give me more time to focus on my clinical development and academic growth. More than anything, it would affirm that my story matters, that healing, even in the face of deep hardship, is worth investing in. Sloane Stephens’s story and the legacy of Doc & Glo inspire me. I, too, come from a lineage of pain and perseverance, and I’m working every day to build something better from it. I’m not just earning a degree, I’m building a life rooted in service, compassion, and hope.

My name is Lottie, and I’m an undergraduate sociology student pursuing a career in mental health as a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. I’m a first-generation college student, an immigrant, and someone who has overcome significant challenges, both internal and external, to get to where I am today. I work two jobs to put myself through school: one as a mentor at a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, and another as an after-school enrichment teacher for elementary students. Every hour I spend working, studying, and showing up for others is driven by the same purpose: to become the kind of person who makes healing possible for people who feel lost, misunderstood, or overlooked. Mental health and addiction have deeply impacted my life. I was diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and anxiety before I reached adulthood, and I’ve also been through opioid addiction and recovery. Rather than letting those experiences define me, I’ve used them as fuel to create purpose. My long-term goal is to open a residential treatment center for adolescents that offers trauma-informed, identity-affirming care, especially for LGBTQIA+ and neurodivergent youth who are too often underserved or misunderstood by the existing system. Like Kalia, I believe in excellence across all areas of life, academic, professional, and personal. That commitment started early, especially through sports. I was on a running team throughout high school and completed three marathons. When I began, I could barely maintain a 16-minute mile pace. Through dedication and consistent training, I improved to an 11-minute pace by my third year. That process taught me patience, grit, and the power of daily progress. Last year, I completed my first sprint triathlon, continuing to push my mental and physical limits. Running became more than a sport, it became a pathway to self-discipline, healing, and growth. Service has also been a central part of my journey. In my job as a mentor, I support teens through some of the most difficult moments of their lives, coaching them through exposure work, building trust, and offering compassionate presence. As an instructor, I teach younger students how to express themselves, manage frustration, and build confidence in their abilities. These jobs don’t just pay for my education, they give me the chance to live my values every day. Receiving this scholarship would provide vital support. I work hard to cover my basic expenses, tuition, rent, transportation, while maintaining a high GPA and preparing for graduate school. Financial relief would allow me to reduce my work hours slightly and focus even more deeply on both my academic and community impact. It would also represent something larger: a recognition of my commitment to continuing the kind of legacy that Kalia lived, one built on kindness, drive, and the courage to keep showing up. Kalia’s story resonates with me not just because of her accomplishments, but because of how she lived, with joy, resilience, and a heart for others. Like her, I’m someone my peers turn to for encouragement. I love to laugh with my students, bring calm to chaotic spaces, and build people up whenever I can. I hope to continue honoring her legacy, not only through my career in mental health, but in how I choose to live, love, and lead every day.

For most of my life, college didn’t feel like an attainable option, it felt like a distant dream meant for people with fewer obstacles and more resources. As an immigrant, a first-generation college student, and someone who has navigated mental illness, addiction, and learning disabilities, I’ve had to fight to even see college as possible, let alone pursue it. But I’m determined to change the narrative, not just for myself, but for others like me. My plans for the future are rooted in service. I’m pursuing a degree in sociology with the goal of becoming a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). My ultimate dream is to open a youth residential treatment center that provides compassionate, trauma-informed, and inclusive care for adolescents struggling with mental health challenges, addiction, and identity-based discrimination. I want to create a space where young people, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, can access the support they deserve. This career path isn’t just something I learned about in a textbook, it’s personal. I’ve been in the system. I’ve experienced firsthand how mental health care often fails those of us with complex needs. By age nine, I was battling severe mental health symptoms. As I got older, I was diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and anxiety, and I struggled with opioid addiction and alcoholism. I also faced challenges navigating life as a queer, non-binary immigrant with mental health struggles. These experiences could have broken me. Instead, they shaped me into someone determined to create change. Getting to this point hasn’t been easy. I faced academic setbacks, changing majors due to untreated mental health issues and addiction. But failure taught me resilience. After getting sober and stabilizing my mental health, I change my major from computer science to sociology, knowing exactly what I’m working toward. I’m also working as a mentor in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, gaining hands-on experience in the field I’m passionate about. This scholarship would relieve some of the constant financial strain that comes with being a first-generation, low-income student. Right now, I’m balancing school, two jobs, recovery, and saving for essential expenses like reliable transportation so I can continue commuting to both classes and my job. Every dollar of support brings me closer to staying on track, completing my degree, and building the future I’ve worked so hard for. But this isn’t just about me. I want to be part of breaking cycles. Cycles of limited access to care, cycles of stigma around mental illness and addiction, and cycles of young people feeling like college or a meaningful career isn’t for them. My lived experiences, combined with my education, will allow me to make a tangible impact on my community, offering young people the support and belief that I once struggled to find. College may have once felt impossible, but with hard work, support, and scholarships like this one, I’m turning what felt impossible into reality. This scholarship isn’t just an investment in my education, it’s an investment in the future mental health care system I plan to help build, one where every young person feels seen, supported, and capable of healing.

Mental health care saved my life, but only after nearly breaking me. For years, I fell through the cracks of a system that was supposed to help. Struggling with mental illness, addiction, and stigma, I learned firsthand how deeply flawed our mental health care system can be, and how urgently it needs to change. My journey with mental health started young. By age nine, I was battling severe symptoms and eventually received diagnoses of PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and anxiety. As my mental health worsened, I turned to substances as a way to cope, falling into opioid addiction during some of my darkest moments. I didn’t start using to have fun, I used because I was desperate for relief from a mind that constantly felt like it was against me. It wasn’t until I entered residential treatment that things finally shifted, but not all at once. That experience helped me stabilize my mental health for the first time. I was treated with compassion, patience, and understanding. The staff didn’t reduce me to a diagnosis, they saw the whole person underneath the symptoms. But my addiction didn’t end there. It would take nearly two more years, countless hard lessons, and finally getting sober before I truly understood the kind of change I wanted to create, not just for myself, but for others like me. I didn’t want to just survive this system. I wanted to help rebuild it. The reality is that mental health and addiction are inseparable, yet too often treated in isolation. That disconnect leaves countless people, especially young people, struggling without the support they need. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. And I’ve committed my life to doing something about it. Today, I’m pursuing a degree in sociology, with plans to earn my master’s in social work and become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. I work as a mentor in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD and as an instructor supporting students of all ages. These experiences have shown me both the power, and the limitations, of the system as it stands. I’ve learned how to connect with teens, how to offer empathy and structure, but I’ve also seen the barriers: lack of accessibility, stigma, and care models that fail to address the intersection of mental health, addiction, and identity. My long-term goal is to open a residential treatment center for adolescents, one that embodies everything the system so often lacks. A place where LGBTQIA+ youth, those with stigmatized diagnoses, and teens battling addiction aren’t treated as “difficult” but as individuals worthy of respect and recovery. A place where addiction and mental health aren’t treated separately, but understood as intertwined pieces of a puzzle. This scholarship isn’t just financial support, it’s an investment in a future where young people like Brian, and like me, aren’t lost to a system that fails to see them. It’s a recognition that those of us with lived experience belong at the forefront of change. Mental health care saved my life, but only after nearly breaking me. I refuse to let that be the standard. I’m determined to help build a system that offers hope, healing, and understanding from the start, because no young person should have to reach rock bottom just to be seen.

Life has given me a complex and difficult journey, one filled with emotional pain, identity struggles, and ultimately a deep sense of purpose. Mental health has always been a central part of my story. From the age of nine, I began experiencing severe symptoms, including suicidal ideation. Over the years, I was diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, depression, and anxiety. These labels are not just words on a chart, they have shaped how I experience the world and how the world responds to me. At the same time, I was also beginning to understand my identity as a queer and transgender person. I was born female but now identify as non-binary. I have gone through hormone replacement therapy and have had top surgery. My identity doesn’t fit into neat boxes, and I’ve learned that’s not only okay, it’s something to be proud of. Being LGBTQIA+ has played both a positive and negative role in my mental health journey. On one hand, my identity has allowed me to connect with amazing people, many of whom have become close friends and a source of support. On the other hand, it has also brought isolation and pain. In school, I was bullied both physically and verbally for being trans. I was often made to feel like an outsider, not only by students but sometimes by the very adults who were supposed to protect me. In some mental health treatment settings, I was treated differently, not always with open hostility, but with subtle exclusion or lack of understanding. These experiences made it hard to believe that I truly belonged anywhere. In 2021, after experiencing one of the most intense manic episodes of my life, I was hospitalized again. I eventually entered residential treatment, where something shifted. For the first time, I received care that felt human and nonjudgmental. I was seen not just as a diagnosis or a gender label, but as a whole person. That experience helped me reclaim my identity, not as something to hide, but something to embrace. It reminded me that I could use my journey, the darkness, and the light to help others. Because of what I have been through, I have changed my academic and career goals. I originally started college as a computer science major, but I realized that my heart was in helping people, especially those who feel overlooked or misunderstood. I changed my major to sociology, and I plan to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. My long-term goal is to open a residential treatment center for adolescents that is fully inclusive of LGBTQIA+ identities and people with stigmatized mental health diagnoses. I want to create a space where no one feels like they have to hide who they are to get the care they need. I currently work in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, and although I am a mentor and not a clinician, I try to bring the empathy I’ve gained through my own pain into everything I do. I want every teen I work with to know they are more than their symptoms and more than what the world tells them they are. This scholarship represents more than financial support. It honors the life of someone who, like me, struggled to find their place in a world that often refuses to see people like us. I hope to carry forward Elijah’s memory by continuing to fight for inclusion, understanding, and healing for all.

Mental health has never been a distant concept for me. It has been a deeply personal and defining part of my life. From the age of nine, I began experiencing symptoms of mental illness. As I grew older, those symptoms intensified into suicidal ideation, depression, anxiety, and eventually the diagnoses of PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, and more. I have been hospitalized multiple times, attended a school for students with emotional dysregulation, and participated in partial hospitalization, outpatient programs, and residential treatment. These experiences weren’t just obstacles; they were turning points that reshaped my identity, my beliefs, my relationships, and my goals. One of the most significant shifts happened in 2021. I was in the midst of one of my darkest moments, experiencing both suicidal and homicidal ideation, a manic episode with hallucinations and delusions, and debilitating compulsions. I was hospitalized again and eventually entered a residential treatment center. For the first time, I was treated without judgment. The staff didn’t look at me like I was broken or dangerous. They met me with patience, compassion, and belief in my ability to recover. It was there that I stopped seeing my diagnoses as burdens and started viewing my story as something powerful, something that could be used to help others. This experience completely transformed my beliefs about mental health. I used to think I needed to hide what I was going through, that my pain made me weak or unworthy. But I’ve learned that being honest about my struggles is not only brave, it’s necessary. I now believe that vulnerability creates space for healing, both for ourselves and others. Stigma thrives in silence, and I want to be part of the movement that brings these conversations into the light. I especially want to challenge misconceptions about misunderstood diagnoses, like OCD, delusions, and personality disorders, and advocate for the people society often ignores or fears. These beliefs have carried into my relationships. While I’ve lost some connections due to stigma, I’ve also gained deeper ones. The people in my life today accept all parts of me, not just the easy ones. I’ve also become more empathetic and patient in return. When someone is anxious, angry, or withdrawn, I now ask myself what pain might be behind their behavior. I try to respond instead of react, using the same tools that have helped me, like mindfulness, DBT skills, and active listening. I believe healing is relational, and I try to create safe spaces for the people around me. This journey has also redefined my aspirations. I started college as a computer science major with a love for game development, but I felt something was missing. I wanted to do more than build video games, I wanted to help build people up. So I changed my major to sociology and set my sights on becoming a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). I currently work in a residential treatment center for teens with OCD, and though I’m not yet a clinician, the work fulfills me every day. Watching these teens challenge their compulsions and grow reminds me why I chose this path. In the future, I want to open a residential treatment center for adolescents, one that offers trauma-informed, compassionate care, especially for those with stigmatized diagnoses and behavioral addictions. I want to be the kind of professional I once needed: someone who sees the whole person, not just the symptoms. Losing loved ones to suicide, witnessing community violence, and seeing how many people suffer in silence has made this mission personal. I know what it’s like to feel like your mind is your enemy, and I know what it’s like to claw your way out of that darkness. This scholarship means more than financial support to me, it’s a recognition of how far I’ve come and how far I plan to go. I want to continue transforming my pain into purpose, and I’m committed to using my life to bring mental health out of the shadows and into the light.

Mental health has been one of the most defining aspects of my life. My journey began around the age of nine, when I first started experiencing symptoms of mental illness. As I entered adolescence, suicidal ideation became a persistent challenge. What followed was a years long process of hospitalizations, specialized schooling, and intensive treatment. I was diagnosed with PTSD, OCD, Bipolar I, depression, and anxiety, diagnoses that have deeply influenced how I understand the world and how I want to contribute to it. By the age of thirteen, I experienced my first hospitalization and began attending a school specifically for students with emotional dysregulation. At seventeen, I was hospitalized twice more and later participated in a partial hospitalization program (PHP), two intensive outpatient programs (IOPs), and ultimately a residential treatment center (RTC). Each step of this journey taught me something new, not just about mental illness, but about resilience, identity, and empathy. The turning point in my perception of mental health came in 2021. During a period marked by suicidal and homicidal ideation, uncontrollable compulsions, and a manic episode that involved delusions and hallucinations, I was hospitalized again and eventually admitted to residential care. It was there that I experienced something that shifted everything: nonjudgmental, compassionate care. For the first time, I felt truly seen, not as a collection of diagnoses, but as a person with potential. I began to understand that my mental health challenges weren’t burdens, but experiences that could be used to help others. This realization profoundly changed my beliefs. I used to think mental illness was something to be hidden, a source of shame. I saw it as something that limited me, that made me unworthy of trying. But now I believe mental health challenges are not signs of weakness; they are often catalysts for growth, strength, and connection. I’ve come to believe in the power of coping skills, in the necessity of reducing stigma, especially surrounding misunderstood issues like OCD, homicidal ideation, and delusions, and in the importance of meeting people where they are. Mental health has impacted my relationships in both painful and beautiful ways. Some people have pulled away, unsure of how to respond to my struggles. That loss has been difficult. But I have also found a core group of people who accept and love me for who I am, and that sense of community is one of the most important things I have been fortunate to have. Through my experiences, I’ve become more empathetic and patient. I no longer react; I respond. I use the tools I’ve learned, like the DBT skills STOP and DEARMAN, not just to manage my emotions but to build stronger, more respectful relationships with others. This journey has also redirected my academic and professional path. I began college as a computer science major interested in game development, but my desire to help others ultimately became my driving force. I switched my major to sociology, intending to earn my Master’s in Social Work and become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). I want to work specifically with teenagers who struggle with stigmatized mental health issues such as Cluster B personality disorders, OCD, Bipolar Disorder, and homicidal ideation, as well as those battling both behavioral addictions and substance use. Long term, I want to open my own Residential Treatment Center—one that provides trauma-informed, clinically sound, and compassionate care to adolescents who need a safe place to heal. I’m already on this path. I currently work at a residential treatment center for teenagers with OCD, where I serve as a mentor. Though I’m only a mentor, I find deep fulfillment in helping teens challenge their compulsions and realize that they are not their thoughts. Watching their progress affirms my belief that recovery is possible and that every person deserves the chance to heal. Through all of this, I’ve gained the ability to advocate, not only for myself, but for others who feel voiceless. I’ve learned to be patient and to listen, and to see people beyond their symptoms. If I could offer advice to anyone struggling, it would be this: You are not your thoughts. Keep working on yourself, because it is possible to get better.

Growing up, I struggled significantly with my mental health. As a teenager, I navigated a complex system filled with both incredible and damaging mental health professionals. These experiences, though difficult, planted a seed in me. I knew I wanted to pursue a career in social work to give back, to be the support I sometimes needed and didn't always receive. My ultimate goal is to build a residential treatment center for adolescents, a place where young people can feel safe, understood, and empowered. I would describe myself as goal-oriented, resilient, and determined. That resilience has been shaped by personal, cultural, and medical challenges. When I was ten years old, I moved from the United Kingdom to the United States. That transition opened my eyes to the deep differences in cultural perspectives around identity, health, and community. It also gave me a broader understanding of how systems can support, or fail, those who need help. My passion within social work is focused on adolescents facing mental health challenges and addiction. I want to work in mental health treatment centers where I can support teens through recovery, eventually creating a space of my own that fosters long-term healing. I want young people to feel seen, not as problems to be fixed, but as whole people who are struggling and still deserving of care, dignity, and hope. I've been in their shoes. I know how isolating it feels, and I know how powerful it is when just one adult genuinely believes in your ability to recover. My experience with epilepsy, mental health challenges, and neurodivergence has deeply shaped how I see the world. Living with these conditions, I've learned that many systems and spaces that claim to be accessible or inclusive fall far short. This awareness has made me more attuned to injustice, and more passionate about advocating for equity, not just in theory, but in practice. I've learned to adapt in ways that many people don’t have to, and that adaptability will make me a better social worker. One of my greatest strengths comes from having overcome some of the hardest times in my life. I was hospitalized five times and spent years moving through various treatment programs. Each experience taught me not just survival, but also how to help others find strength within themselves. I want every teen I work with to know that they are not defined by their thoughts or diagnoses. Recovery is possible. Self-worth is possible. My approach to self-advocacy, learning who I am and navigating the world without losing that identity, is something I hope to model for the clients I serve. Social work, to me, isn’t just a job. It’s a calling rooted in empathy, resilience, and a vision for a more just and compassionate world.

When I was 12 years old I was hospitalized for suicidal ideation. My mental health had been declining for a couple of years prior to that and at age 12 I broke. I lost my friends, family, grades, and most importantly myself. I started therapy and felt as if I was getting better, however August-October 2021 I was hospitalized two more times and then admitted myself to a residential program. Since that mental health is extremely important as it effects every aspect of your life. For me, without my mental health I lose who I really am, and I know this is true for many others as well. I maintain my mental health by continuing therapy, and focusing on myself. Mental health is something that everyone needs to focus, and is very important.