The first time I built a tech solution that could help someone other than myself, I knew I had found my calling. During my sophomore year at Florida A&M University, I participated in a campus hackathon where we were challenged to solve a real-world problem in 48 hours. My team chose to focus on a growing issue in our community: the lack of mental health resources accessible to Black college students. Inspired by my own experiences navigating stress, anxiety, and the generational stigma around therapy, I helped develop a prototype for a mobile app called “SafeSpace.” The goal of SafeSpace was simple: provide culturally competent mental health support, peer-to-peer chatrooms, and immediate access to virtual counseling tailored specifically to HBCU students. I focused on the front-end development and user experience design, making sure the interface felt welcoming, easy to navigate, and emotionally safe. I even consulted with psychology majors and campus counselors to ensure the resources we recommended were credible and appropriate. That project lit a fire in me. It was the first time I saw how my coding skills could go beyond assignments and grades — they could touch lives. It also showed me that tech isn’t just about innovation; it’s about intention. And when technology is designed with empathy, it becomes a tool for healing, connection, and change. Working in technology inspires me because it's one of the few fields where creativity, problem-solving, and social impact can all exist in the same space. I love how a single idea — imagined at 2 a.m. with nothing but a laptop and a vision — can grow into an app, a platform, or even a movement. Every time I write code, I feel like I’m building the future. And as a young Black woman in computer science, I’m determined to make sure that future is inclusive, accessible, and empowering. Beyond technical skills, tech has taught me confidence. It’s taught me how to fail fast, try again, and collaborate with others who bring different strengths to the table. It’s also given me a voice in spaces where people who look like me are often underrepresented. And every time I take up space in a tech room, whether it’s a classroom or a pitch meeting, I know I’m making it a little easier for the next Black girl who dreams of coding something that matters. Today, I’m continuing to expand SafeSpace into a real application with the help of peers and mentors, and I hope to launch it campus-wide by graduation. My dream is to keep building tools that don’t just solve problems, but solve people’s problems — the kind that impact lives, families, and futures. Technology has given me more than a career path — it’s given me a way to serve. And that’s what drives me every day: knowing that with the right lines of code and a strong sense of purpose, I can turn ideas into impact and passion into progress.

I know I’m different the moment I walk into a computer science lecture and realize I’m the only Black woman in the room. Some people might shrink in that moment. I stand a little taller. I’m different because I’ve learned to lead without always being the loudest. I’ve learned to thrive in spaces that weren’t built with me in mind. I’m a first-generation college student, a third-year computer science major at Florida A&M University, and a young Black woman breaking into a field where we make up less than 3% of the workforce. But instead of letting that statistic discourage me, I wear it like armor. What makes me different isn’t just the color of my skin or my chosen major — it’s how I use my difference to quietly challenge expectations and inspire others who might be too afraid to speak up, ask questions, or even dream big in public. A few months ago, a freshman student I had never spoken to stopped me after class. She said, “I saw you answer the professor’s question, and I realized I could speak up too.” That one sentence reminded me: someone is always watching. And that’s exactly why I keep showing up — even when I’m tired, even when imposter syndrome creeps in, even when I feel alone. Because I know I might be the reason someone else keeps going. I don’t lead with a spotlight; I lead by example. Whether it's tutoring classmates late at night before a final, organizing coding workshops for high school girls of color, or just being the one to say, “You’ve got this,” to someone doubting themselves — I know these small moments can ripple in powerful ways. My uniqueness allows me to connect with people who might not feel seen. I speak their language — not just technically, but emotionally. I understand what it’s like to be underestimated, overlooked, and expected to give up. So I make it my quiet mission to be what I didn’t always have: someone who keeps going anyway. At FAMU, I’m not just earning a degree. I’m building a legacy of representation, one classroom at a time. And whether it’s the shy girl in the back of the room or the high school student scrolling through my LinkedIn one day, I know that how I carry myself — my presence, my persistence — might be the permission someone else needs to believe in their own power. Being different doesn’t isolate me. It motivates me. Because I’ve realized my uniqueness isn’t a limitation — it’s a spotlight. And I use that spotlight not to shine on myself, but to light the path for the ones coming behind me. Even if I never meet them, I hope they see me and think, “If she can do it, maybe I can too.” That’s the difference I want to make.

I was eight years old the first time I realized love could hurt. My mother had tried to leave my stepfather more than once, but every time she did, the fear of “what if” pulled her back — what if he found her? What if she couldn’t afford rent alone? What if no one believed her story? Watching her endure years of emotional abuse and financial control shaped my childhood in ways I’m still unpacking as an adult. There were days when the silence in our home was louder than shouting. Days when I had to be the adult — making sure my younger siblings ate while my mom stayed locked in her room, emotionally paralyzed. Domestic violence didn’t just scar her — it reshaped all of us. And like many African American women, my mother suffered quietly. There were no police reports. No counseling. Just survival. This experience is why I chose to attend Florida A&M University and pursue a degree in computer science. It might not seem like the obvious path to help women like my mother, but I see technology as one of the most powerful tools we have to change lives — especially in the Black community. African American women are often underserved, misunderstood, and overlooked when it comes to domestic violence and substance abuse resources. They’re less likely to have access to culturally competent support, and more likely to face stigma when seeking help. I want to use my education in computer science to bridge that gap. My goal is to build digital platforms and apps that make it easier for Black women to get connected to safe resources — anonymously, securely, and immediately. Imagine a mobile app that uses encrypted chat to connect women to counselors of color. Or a resource finder tailored to their zip code that avoids judgment and offers support in plain, accessible language. Imagine if my mother had that. But I don’t want to stop at just creating tools — I want to lead conversations in tech spaces about trauma-informed design, especially when working with vulnerable populations. I believe care coordination starts at the code level — when we design with empathy and cultural awareness, we don’t just build better products, we build better futures. At FAMU, I’ve already begun building this foundation. I’ve collaborated on tech projects focused on community health, and I’m part of organizations that amplify Black women in STEM. I’ve also volunteered with shelters and youth programs, listening to the stories of girls growing up in homes like mine — girls who need more than a hotline number on a flyer. Higher education has given me the skills and confidence to take my pain and turn it into purpose. With each line of code I write, I carry the voices of women like my mother. My mission is to change outcomes for them — not just with compassion, but with action. This scholarship would help me continue that mission. It would support not only my education, but my commitment to rewriting what safety, healing, and empowerment can look like for African American women impacted by abuse.

The day I taught my grandmother how to use her smartphone changed my life. She had always avoided technology, calling it "too complicated," but when I showed her how to send voice messages to my aunt across the country, the joy in her eyes was unforgettable. It was in that moment I realized: technology isn't just about code — it's about connection. That moment planted the seed for my journey to college and my pursuit of a degree in Computer Science at Florida A&M University. Going to college is important to me because it’s the bridge between the world I come from and the world I want to help build. I’m a first-generation college student, raised in a working-class Black household where grit was a given and opportunity had to be earned. College is more than just a degree for me — it’s a chance to break generational cycles, uplift my family, and create real change through innovation. My major in computer science is challenging, but it empowers me. I’m not just learning to write algorithms or debug code — I’m learning how to solve real-world problems. I want to be part of the next wave of Black women in tech who bring cultural perspective, community focus, and creativity into spaces where we are underrepresented. Attending an HBCU like FAMU amplifies that mission. I’m surrounded by professors and peers who look like me, believe in me, and push me to lead. From my college experience, I want more than knowledge — I want impact. I plan to use my education to develop accessible tech tools for underserved communities, particularly in areas like cybersecurity, education access, and digital literacy. Whether it’s building safer apps for teens or creating platforms for small Black-owned businesses, I want my work to be meaningful and rooted in equity. I also want college to shape me as a leader. I’ve already taken initiative by joining tech-centered organizations on campus, participating in mentorship programs, and helping younger students navigate their own academic challenges. I want to continue growing in those roles — and one day, mentor the next generation of Black girls in tech who never thought they belonged in this field until they saw someone who looked like them thriving in it. At its core, my college journey is not just about me — it’s about the people I represent, the barriers I hope to break, and the legacy I want to leave behind. Earning a degree in computer science isn’t just my dream — it’s my launchpad to create something greater than myself. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I want to get out of college. And that’s why this scholarship would mean everything to me — not just as financial support, but as a reminder that someone believes in what I’m trying to build.