Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, much of it is a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and I rambling messages that almost never made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. Some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I have learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. My dreams for my life contain a great desire to not only make a difference in the lives of others, but to accomplish what my mother could not. My mom graduated from college with a Bachelors of Science in Nursing, and since then dedicated her career to caring for children. The children she cared for were one of her biggest motivators in life to stay healthy, and I believe they were one of the biggest contributors to her ability to stay stable for months on end. I can still remember the way her face would light up talking about the sweet children who's lives she greatly impacted. Due to her disorder, she has since had to abandon her life passion. Because of this, I sincerely hope to pick up where she left off and make a difference in the lives of children. In addition to this, being a motherly figure to my three younger siblings has honed my passion for a career in pediatrics. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through this degree, I will be able to continue my mother's life ambitions by caring for children as a nurse.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, much of it is a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and I rambling messages that almost never made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. Some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I have learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through my direct experiences with a loved one suffering from an extreme form of bipolar disorder, I have been greatly motivated to us my education to address a crucial social issue, the care of individuals suffering from mental health issues. Watching my mother repeatedly fail to recover has left a lasting impact on my heart, greatly motivating me to take up a career where I can help people like her. There is a large stigma around mental health worldwide, which is why advocating for those who suffer from these mental disorder is my greatest ambition. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system in regards to mental health. I hope to use my nursing education to make a difference in the lives of those struggling with mental health, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, much of it is a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and I rambling messages that almost never made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. Some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I have learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through my direct experiences with a loved one suffering from an extreme form of bipolar disorder, I have been greatly motivated to pursue health sciences, specifically the care of individuals suffering from mental health issues. Watching my mother repeatedly fail to recover has left a lasting impact on my heart, greatly motivating me to take up a career where I can help people like her. Through a degree in nursing, I will not only be able to provide exceptional care, but advocate for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to make a difference in the lives of those struggling with mental health, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, much of it is a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and I rambling messages that almost never made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. Some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the naive notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I have learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. Through my direct experiences with a loved one suffering from an extreme form of bipolar disorder, I have been greatly motivated to pursue health sciences, specifically the care of individuals suffering from mental health issues. Watching my mother repeatedly fail to recover has left a lasting impact on my heart, greatly motivating me to take up a career where I can help people like her. Through a degree in nursing, I will not only be able to provide exceptional care, but advocate for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to make a difference in the lives of those struggling with mental health, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, it is mostly a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and me rambling messages that seldom made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. For some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis, my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the naive notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through this degree, I will be able to give back to the healthcare community by providing exceptional care and advocating for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to better the lives of those struggling with mental health by entering into psychiatric nursing, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, it is mostly a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and me rambling messages that seldom made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. For some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis, my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the naive notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through this degree, I will be able to give back to the healthcare community by providing exceptional care and advocating for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to better the lives of those struggling with mental health by entering into psychiatric nursing, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma would return. He could only shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, it is mostly a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and me rambling messages that seldom made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. For some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom whom I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom whom I could trust and confide in. A mom whom I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis, my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the naive notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through this degree, I will be able to give back to the healthcare community by providing exceptional care and advocating for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to better the lives of those struggling with mental health by entering into psychiatric nursing, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, it is mostly a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and me rambling messages that seldom made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. For some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis, my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the naive notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through this degree, I will be able to give back to the healthcare community by providing exceptional care and advocating for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to better the lives of those struggling with mental health, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran crying to my Dad, asking when Momma was coming back. All he could do was shake his head; I was too young for the truth. Ten years old and the oldest of four kids, I had no choice but to be strong. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, erratic notions spewing from my mother’s cracked lips, the smell of cigarettes. Reflecting back, much of it is a blur. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending the rest of my family and I rambling messages that almost never made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. Some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I could visit at her new townhouse. A mom who could hold down a job. A mom who I could trust and confide in. A mom who I didn’t fear. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My Mom is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis my parents divorced. Spending the last eight years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to abandon the naive notion that she would one day recover and return to being my Mom. Since then, I have worked extremely hard in school, gone to therapy, and worked several jobs at a time to afford college. At the age of 18, I have learned how to take care of myself and, in a way, become my own mother. My dreams for my life contain a great desire to not only be emotionally stable, but financially stable as well. I am fighting against family difficulties that seem to push back against everything that I wish to accomplish. However, I feel a strength within myself that seems to grow linearly with my independence. To me, success would mean the ability to graduate from university even with financing the majority of the cost myself. Success would be maintaining mental stability in the face of what I’ve endured. Success would be using my degree to not only hold down a stable job until I retire, but to enter a healthcare field where I can help individuals with the same mental struggles as my Mom. Success to me is more than a measure of how much money you make, but about living a life with meaning, stability, and positive relationships with others. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of college. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through this degree, I will be able to give back to the healthcare community by not only providing exceptional care, but by advocating for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to better the lives of those struggling with mental health, which will be made possible through this scholarship.

Watching my mom deteriorate over the years has been a desolate experience. When I first noticed the shift in behavior, I was barely old enough to comprehend why she began sleeping in the guest bedroom or why red and blue flashing lights would show up outside of our house nearly every week. The first morning I woke up and realized she was gone, I ran to my dad crying, asking when momma was coming back. “You will be able to visit her, don’t worry”, he replied. I was ten years old, and the oldest of four kids. The next eight years were never the same and always different from the last. Different men coming and going, new erratic ideas spewing from her mouth with her eyes wide, the smell of cigarettes. The change was so sudden I didn’t know what to make of it. Some years the only time we got to see her was in an overly lit room with a giant mirror on one wall. “Supervised visitation” was what they called it. Simultaneously, my mom would be in and out of jail and psychiatric hospitals while sending my siblings and I rambling messages that almost never made sense. During these years, I didn’t recognize my mom. Some years, I had my mom in her entirety. A mom who I was permitted to see at her house. A mom who could hold down a nursing job using the degree she worked hard for many years ago. A mom who I could come to for genuine advice. A mom who I didn’t fear. During these years, my dad felt comfortable enough to drop us off at her house instead of meeting in a parking lot. During the years in between, I didn’t see my mom at all. My mom is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and shortly after her diagnosis my parents divorced. Spending the last 8 years without a consistent motherly figure in my life has been one of my greatest challenges. It took me a long time to realize that these behavioral patterns would be a part of my life forever. Once I came to that realization, I knew I had to stop relying on her to get better and start bettering myself. Since then, I have been working extremely hard in school, going to therapy, and working several jobs at a time to be able to afford to go college. Unfortunately, I still have several loans taken out only for my freshman year of university. If I win this scholarship, it will help me afford my education and pursue a nursing degree. Through this degree, I will be able to give back to the healthcare community by not only providing exceptional care, but by advocating for those with mental disabilities. My mom’s disorder has taught me about the many disparities that exist within the healthcare system, especially for those who face mental battles. I hope to use my nursing education to better the lives of those struggling with mental health, which will be made possible through this scholarship. Encouraging young people to pursue philately can be fun and engaging while also promoting mental health. By collecting and designing stamps, individuals can engage in an artistic outlet that calm the mind and promote healthy coping habits. I would encourage all youth to explore the study of postage stamps as a way to have a creative outlet while promoting their own mental health.

My last name starts with the letter W. As a student at Lafayette High School, this determinant meant Mr. Moore was my student counselor. During my sophomore year of high school, I had one goal in mind – to get accepted into the Governor’s School of Science and Technology. To do this, I had to take on extra online coursework in addition to my eight core classes to meet the prerequisites required for this selective program. Upon completion, I submitted my application and waited. Several weeks later I was called into Mr. Moore’s office. He had a huge smile on his face, and the positive atmosphere he radiated immediately made me feel at ease. The smile never left his face after he relayed the good news, I had been accepted into the Governor’s School. I will never forget how Mr. Moore’s attentiveness impacted my life and educational career. As I arrive at the doorsteps to a new chapter in my life, I look back and am extremely grateful for the opportunities the Governor’s School has opened to me. This upcoming fall, I will be attending a four-year university to pursue a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. Becoming a nurse opens the door to a world of fulfilling career opportunities that will allow me to play a critical role in improving patient care throughout different hospital settings. Beyond this broad encompassment of nursing, a nurse must also focus on treating each patient based on their whole person, not just the health issue they possess. By incorporating this value of personalized care into my work as a nurse, I can ensure I am touching each patient’s life according to their needs. I will ensure each patient feels seen, heard, and understood as they battle with the challenge of whatever health issue they may possess. This past summer, I volunteered at Sentara Williamsburg Regional Medical Center in order to acquire new experience in the medical field. At this point, I was greatly unsure with what career path I wanted to pursue within the field of medicine. While volunteering in the surgical department, I was able to see firsthand how important interpersonal communication is between patients and their nurses. During this time, I wheeled out countless post-op patients from various walks of life to be discharged. I interreacted with children, young adults, older adults, and seniors all coming out of taxing surgeries, ranging from colonoscopies to breast biopsies. Some of these patients were still suffering in pain and preferred not to talk. In this case, I learned it is best to limit verbal discussion and focus on reading their nonverbal cues, such as gesturing to where they need to go. Other patients were largely conversational, granting me the chance to perceive their surgical experience. Because of this experience, I not only became sure of the career path I wanted to pursue, but I also learned exactly how I could touch each person and give them the most positive experience while they were enduring something so negative. Though it was this experience that allowed me to realize what I wanted to do with my life, it was Mr. Moore who shaped my future education by putting forth his best efforts to ensure my success. Because he so passionately touched my life, I have developed a strong motivation to use my career to positively touch the lives of others, in turn, impacting the world.

My last name starts with the letter W. As a student at Lafayette High School, this determinant meant Mr. Moore was my student counselor. During my sophomore year of high school, I had one goal in mind, to get accepted into the Governor's School of Science and Technology. To do this, I had to take on extra online coursework in addition to my eight core classes to meet the prerequisites required for this selective program. Upon completion, I submitted my application and waited. Several weeks later I was called into Mr. Moore’s office. He had a huge smile on his face, and the positive atmosphere he radiated immediately made me feel at ease. The smile never left his face after he relayed the good news, I had been accepted into the Governor’s School. I will never forget how Mr. Moore’s attentiveness impacted my life and educational career. As I arrive at the doorsteps to a new chapter in my life, I look back and am extremely grateful for the opportunities the Governor’s School has opened to me. This upcoming fall, I will be attending a four-year university to pursue a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. Becoming a nurse opens the door to a world of fulfilling career opportunities that will allow me to play a critical role in improving patient care throughout different hospital settings. Beyond this broad encompassment of nursing, a nurse must also focus on treating each patient based on their whole person, not just the health issue they possess. By incorporating this value of personalized care into my work as a nurse, I can ensure I am touching each patient’s life according to their needs. I will ensure each patient feels seen, heard, and understood as they battle with the challenge of whatever health issue they may possess. This past summer, I volunteered at Sentara Williamsburg Regional Medical Center to acquire new experience in the medical field. At this point, I was greatly unsure of what career path I wanted to pursue within the field of medicine. While volunteering in the surgical department, I was able to see firsthand how important interpersonal communication is between patients and their nurses. During this time, I wheeled out countless post-op patients from various walks of life to be discharged. I interacted with children, young adults, older adults, and seniors all coming out of taxing surgeries, ranging from colonoscopies to breast biopsies. Some of these patients were still suffering in pain and preferred not to talk. In this case, I learned it is best to limit verbal discussion and focus on reading their nonverbal cues, such as gesturing to where they need to go. Other patients were largely conversational, granting me the chance to perceive their surgical experience. Because of this experience, I not only became sure of the career path I wanted to pursue, but I also learned exactly how I could touch each person and give them the most positive experience while they were enduring something so negative. Though it was this experience that allowed me to realize what I wanted to do with my life, it was Mr. Moore who shaped my future education by putting forth his best efforts to ensure my success. Because he so passionately touched my life, I have developed a strong motivation to use my career to positively touch the lives of others, in turn, impacting the world.