My rock bottom wasn’t the typical stint in jail or long hospital stay that people typically imagine. Instead of a sudden harsh collapse, my downfall came slowly. It was a gradual erosion of my safety nets, self worth, and stability. It looked like a heavy postpartum depression I never sought a diagnosis for, a bankruptcy and repossession from months of trying to afford my basic needs as a single mom with full time custody and financial responsibility, and crying in my car between classes while wondering how I was supposed to navigate being a full-time graduate student and a full-time mom. When darkness tries to pull me back in, it looks like insomnia that leaves me staring at the sticker covered ceiling in the small 10x10 storage unit I call home at 2:00am. Like repeated memories and flashbacks of domestic violence I thought I moved on from. Panic attacks in the grocery store, struggling to hold back tears while my two year old tugs at my sleeve. When mental health challenges try to reel me, I am struck with the exhaustion of trying to navigate systems that punish survivors for choosing education over full-time work, kicked out of a rapid rehousing program that I was on the waitlist for over a year; leaving me unhoused in the middle of midterms and almost dropping out of school. In all of this, I felt a sort of magnet composed of unhealthy coping. When I think about what recovery from that devastation has looked like for me, I remember the moments when I turned to substances to numb the pain; not because I wanted to give up, but because I didn’t yet have the tools to face the trauma. For me, recovery is learning how to breathe through the storm with grounding techniques like 5-4-3-2-1. Recovery is journaling late at night when my thoughts feel heavier than my body. Recovery is walking into NA meetings and sitting in a circle of strangers who in time became my family; hearing “one day at a time” and believing it. Recovery is meeting regularly with my sponsor, who reminds me that sometimes love looks like accountability. Recovery is choosing every day to be present for my daughter, even when grief and depression circle me like vultures waiting for me to give in. I used to feel ashamed of my scars, wanting to erase that history. To separate myself from that girl who made such humiliating choices for her survival. However, I’ve learned that recovery means embracing those experiences as part of my foundation. I am not defined by trauma, substance use, and instability. I am a survivor. And I am taking the hard lessons I learned to help others walk through moments others try to look away from. Society wants to cover up and avoid people in these situations because it is too ugly to bear, too embarrassing, a signal that a person is faulty. But I know firsthand that is untrue and I dedicate my life to showing that to the world. I fulfill that mission in my role as a Master of Social Work at a top ranked university, USC, who provides bilingual counseling to older adults. I sit with grieving families and teach them the same coping skills that keep me standing. I am training to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW) so I can create spaces for survivors shaped by the real needs of the community. Needs I understand because I am part of it. I’ve lived it. My vision is a community wellness center and retreat that combines therapy, peer mentorship, culturally relevant practices, art therapy, and practical life skills like financial literacy and parenting support. I want to create the kind of space I once searched for—a place where people can be honest and unapologetic about the weight they carry and begin to find ways to lay it down. I stay committed to my recovery by practicing what I teach. I attend therapy, journal, and practice mindfulness. I attend NA meetings, check in with my sponsor, and remind myself that sobriety is a daily practice. I tell myself growth is not linear. Ebbs and flows are normal. I surround myself with accountability, whether in my MSW program, recovery community, or my daughter, who is my daily reminder that cycles can be broken. Like Ella, I am stubbornly determined. I’ve wrestled with depression, substance use, housing instability, single parenthood, challenges only exacerbated by social stigma. And although my recovery is imperfect, I remain consistent. I show up for myself and my daughter daily. I am living proof recovery is possible, and recovery is not mine alone. And I am called to share it with others.

“Take my will and my life, guide me in my recovery, show me how to live.” The third step prayer is one I’ve recited countless times. At midnight rocking my daughter to sleep in the storage shed we call home. On my 1.5 hour commute as I pumped breastmilk. On my brief walks in between classes. It reminds me that, beyond my hardships, there is a higher power out there with a plan for me. When I began graduate school at USC, I thought I’d finally found stability. After years of homelessness, addiction, and bankruptcy, I found myself living in an apartment through rapid rehousing, raising my daughter as a single parent, and growing in faith. But within months, I lost that housing. I was disqualified because I chose to pursue school instead of working full time. Consequently, I nearly had to drop out of school. I found myself once again without a home. The weight of despair pressed in. And the temptation to return to old coping habits was looming. There were seasons when my faith felt distant. I wondered if God existed, questioning why suffering kept finding its way back to me. Juxtaposed in my mind was belief and doubt. Even in that ambivalence, I found myself returning to NA meetings and group prayer calls, consistently reminded I am not alone. Wrestling with those thoughts only deepened my belief. I choose faith daily, with the hard-earned knowledge that grace can still find me in the thick of it. “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference” I first heard the Serenity Prayer in 2022 at my very first NA meeting, after years of using. Acceptance, courage, and wisdom, became the backbone of my recovery. My compass when doubt crept in. When my daughter was born, I named her Serenity Rayne. Her middle name, Rayne, carries a double meaning: “Ray” is a tribute to my grandmother, Luz, whose name means light in Spanish, and who has always been a guiding light for me. And “Rayne” reminds me that even in the storm of my past, she was the ray of light sent from God, a path of grace and hope that broke through the rain of my life. She is living proof of God’s promise: beauty can rise from even the most devastating catastrophes. Being a single mother deepened my faith and resilience in unexpected ways. With full custody and full financial responsibility, every decision I make is guided by prayer and hope. l use faith to help me maintain my sanity. To balance between the tough choices I make to survive and provide stability for my daughter. Unfortunately, there are no weekends off or second incomes to fall back on. It's all reliant on just me, and the strength faith provides. Even in my doubts, I am repeatedly proven He is with me. I hope to teach my daughter that even in hardship, God always makes a way. Motherhood is not separate from my recovery or my education. It is the reason I fight for both. My experiences with mental health challenges include depression, trauma, and substance. Those experiences forever shape how I see the world. They taught me that silence is deadly and vulnerability is healing. They showed not to pretend to have it all together, but to lean into honesty, prayer, and accountability. And they gave me compassion for others; I know what it feels like to sit in darkness wondering if there is any hope I will survive. In NA, I learned recovery is imperfect and faith is about choosing to believe despite doubts. I built routines that anchored me: morning prayer before my daughter wakes, step work with my sponsor, and group calls where women share scripture and their struggles openly. Hearing someone else share their truth reminds me I’m not alone. My mental health recovery is integrated in my spiritual recovery, and faith is at the center of my future. Matthew 4:19 says, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Those words resonate with me and mirror the life I seek to build. God has lifted me from despair, not so I could stand alone, but so that I could cast my net wider. So I can reach others who feel unseen. My purpose is to remind the broken and disenfranchised that they are not forgotten. As a Master of Social Work student interning at a senior center, I walk beside clients in their own battles: grief, mental illness, addiction, and loss. Many are reluctant to share their pain. This silence, minimizing needs, echoes the same silence I used to live with. I look forward to continuing listening with compassion, encouraging resilience, and creating safe spaces for healing. My cultural background, my faith, and my recovery allow me to meet clients where they are in the present moment. Whether that means a grounding exercise for anxiety, or simply the reassurance that they are not alone, I am there to hold that space for them just as others did for me. Motherhood, recovery, and faith intersect in every part of my calling. Each day I wake up and choose to fight for stability not only for myself, but for my beautiful daughter who depends on me. My prayer is that she grows up seeing faith as a source of strength, and a voice that carries her forward to the exact place she is meant to be. And just as my grandmother Luz was a guiding light for me, I pray that Serenity grows up knowing she is both a ray of light and a vessel of God’s love for others. My aspiration is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and open a practice that integrates therapy, peer support, and spiritual care. I envision launching a women’s wellness retreat for individuals in recovery, trauma survivors, and single mothers, with scholarships to ensure access. Through this annual retreat, I imagine blending therapy with art, cultural healing, and community. There will be spaces for children, so mothers never have to choose between care for themselves and care for their families. To be a fisher of men means to me to extend my net so wide that no one feels ashamed or undeserving of healing. I am carefully weaving this net from faith, clinical skills, cultural understanding, and lived experience. With every person I walk beside, I’m reminded I cannot hold healing alone. Healing is something I must share.

In thinking about the kind of legacy I want to leave, my daughter is at the forefront. I think about her watching me work late at night, writing papers as she is breastfeeding. While my daughter may be too young to remember this, I think about what it means for her to see her mother—a first-generation college student—pursue graduate education in social work. I consider how she will come to know that cycles of trauma, poverty, and silence can be broken. Resilience is the thread running through my story, and it’s what anchors my path toward a career in mental healthcare. As a Master of Social Work student at the University of Southern California, I am training to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). My passion is mental healthcare, especially for communities that have historically been overlooked—immigrants, low-income families, substance use recovery, and survivors of trauma. Too often, healthcare is discussed only in terms of physical illness, while wounds of the mind and spirit are ignored. Yet, I know firsthand that mental health is healthcare. Depression, trauma, and substance use ripple through families and communities, leaving scars as deep as any disease. I grew up in a Latino household where mental illness was rarely named; where survival often took precedence over healing. I’m the first in my family to pursue a degree, and with that comes the chance to provide care that speaks to culture, language, and lived experience. In my current internship at a senior center, I sit with older adults navigating grief, chronic illness, and isolation. I listen as they describe chest pains they’ve ignored, or the sorrow of losing friends, and I know my role is not only to provide counseling but also to bridge the gap between mental health and medical care. The U.S. healthcare system often leaves people like my abuelita—who avoided hospitals for fear of bills—without care until it’s too late. Watching her suffer from untreated health issues, and later experiencing gestational hypertension during my own pregnancy, reminded me that prevention and early intervention matter. My vision is to provide integrated mental health services within community healthcare settings, so that people do not have to choose between their physical well-being and their emotional survival. And so they are emotionally equipped to make healthy decisions for their lives and future. I also see my work as part of a broader fight for justice. Just as Catrina Celestine Aquilino believed justice should be accessible, I believe healthcare should be accessible—mental healthcare most of all. A lot of the time, mental health challenges compound physical health challenges and hinder people from going to the doctor. This, combined with financial strains, leads many untreated. The right to therapy, medication, and support should not depend on whether you can afford it, speak the language, or live in the “right” neighborhood. My ambition is to open a community-based wellness center that offers bilingual therapy, peer mentorship, and practical resources like financial literacy and parenting support, blending law, advocacy, and healthcare to address the root causes of suffering. To me, making a positive impact means ensuring that no one feels as invisible as I once did when facing trauma and instability. It means using my education, my recovery, and my lived experience to remind others that they are worthy of healing and dignity. I would be honored to receive this scholarship, not only as financial support but as a continuation of Catrina’s legacy: to cast my circle beyond myself, beyond my daughter, and into the wider community that needs a voice, a healer, and an advocate.

When most people think of the heart, they think of love; the smell of Valentine’s Day roses or the sound of a heartbeat on an ultrasound. For me, the word heart reminds me of my abuelita: of watching her hesitate to go to the hospital when she felt pain because she didn’t have insurance, and of realizing how broken our healthcare system can be. Instead of peace of mind, we lived with fear of bills, bad news, or what would happen if she didn’t get the care she needed. Heart disease didn’t just affect her body; it shaped our family. I saw how her symptoms brought daily stress, but also how silence made things worse. In our culture, especially among Latinos, it’s common to stay quiet about health problems, to not “burden” others, or to wait until it’s too late. I learned how dangerous that can be. I realized it’s better to talk about it, share concerns with family and friends, and seek care early rather than hide symptoms out of fear or pride. Keeping heart problems a secret doesn’t protect our loved ones; it delays healing. The impact of heart disease in Latino communities is alarming. According to the American Heart Association, Latinos are at higher risk for obesity and diabetes, and about 1 in 5 Hispanic adults has high blood pressure, yet many don’t even know it. Growing up, I saw diet play into this. Our family gatherings always included traditional foods– tamales, champurrado, and capirotada–rich in flavor but often high in fat, sodium, and sugar. Food, though a source of love and culture, can also contribute to illness if we don’t balance it with healthier habits. Watching my abuelita taught me that we can honor our traditions while also making healthy changes. That lesson became personal when I developed gestational hypertension during pregnancy. Hearing about my high blood pressure was frightening, not just for me, but for my baby. It was a warning that I can’t ignore risks that run in my family. My abuelita’s suffering is a serious lesson to make healthier choices now so I can live long enough to watch my daughter grow. And so she doesn’t have to carry the same worries I once carried. These experiences shaped my perspective and goals, showing me the urgent need for culturally responsive education and accessible healthcare for communities like mine. They also fuel my commitment as an MSW student to be an advocate—for clients, families, and especially for those who hesitate to seek help because of cost, language barriers, or stigma. ​​I am currently pursuing my MSW at USC, and my internship is at a senior center where I counsel and support older adults. My grandmother’s story lives in conversations with clients wracked by loss, illness, or memory. My lived experience and culture allow me to approach clients differently, with respect, humility, and awareness of how fear, stigma, and language can block pathways to care. I understand the weight of silence and the importance of being a provider my clients feel safe talking to. Our stories can hold trauma, risk, and illness without dictating the ending, and it’s my mission to provide space to work through these challenges alongside clients. Though I am not the one living with heart disease in the traditional sense, the legacy of my abuelita and my own health warning shaped my purpose. I would be grateful and honored for this scholarship to support my education and amplify my heart's mission: to meet clients where they are, honor their cultural narratives, and ensure that care doesn’t demand silence.

Strength Through Service: My Path to Clinical Leadership My career goal is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW) specializing in adult mental health and wellness, with a focus on trauma-informed care for underserved communities. I aspire to open a sliding-scale private practice that accepts Medi-Cal and eventually establish a nonprofit women’s wellness retreat offering culturally responsive, holistic services. This scholarship would reduce the financial strain of tuition, childcare, and transportation, allowing me to focus fully on my education, internship, and clinical training. My journey reflects resilience and leadership. As a single mother and first-generation college student, I have balanced parenthood, financial hardship, and full-time graduate studies while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. At USC, I serve on the board of the Latinx Social Work Caucus, where I co-create spaces of community support through innovation of the Mentorship program. I have advocated before the Orange County Board of Supervisors about housing barriers for student parents and authored an op-ed in Voice of OC calling for sanctuary policies for immigrant families. Clinically, I have provided bilingual therapy and case management to children and older adults, incorporating culturally relevant programming like Día de los Muertos ofrenda-making to support grief processing. These experiences highlight my strengths in advocacy, leadership, and culturally responsive care. With this award, I can continue advancing toward my professional goals while contributing to a healthier, more equitable future for Southern California communities. Healthcare Leadership as a Path to Justice ACHE of Southern California is dedicated to advancing healthcare leadership, improving access, and fostering diversity and inclusion in the field. My goals align with this mission by addressing the urgent need for culturally responsive, affordable mental health care. As a Latina, first-generation graduate student, and single mother, I understand the barriers many patients face when navigating fragmented systems. I aim to bridge those gaps by creating spaces of care that affirm dignity and identity. My vision of a sliding-scale practice and nonprofit wellness retreat directly supports equitable access to care while uplifting diverse communities often left behind in healthcare conversations. I am committed to leadership that combines clinical practice, advocacy, and policy change. Through my roles with the Latinx Social Work Caucus and Parent Voices California, I have engaged in grassroots organizing around childcare and housing access. Clinically, I integrate bilingual services, trauma-informed therapy, and creative arts into treatment, ensuring interventions are both effective and culturally relevant. In recognition of my dedication to service and advocacy, I was honored with the NASW Consuelo W. Gosnell Memorial Scholarship and the California Social Work Archives Madeleine Stoner & Ralph Fertig Scholar Award. These recognitions affirm my commitment to advancing equity in mental health and inspire me to continue leading with purpose. In alignment with ACHE of SoCal, I believe that healthcare leaders must be both compassionate practitioners and advocates for systemic reform. By investing in my education, this scholarship would help me embody that vision for disenfranchised communities in Southern California.

Living with ADHD almost all facets of my academic journey. As a first-generation Latina graduate student, single mother, and trauma survivor, the obstacles I face are often magnified by mental health challenges. ADHD makes it harder for me to stay organized, manage time, and sustain focus, especially while balancing coursework, internship hours, work, advocacy, commuting from OC to LA, and parenting my toddler. At times, it can feel overwhelming. My assignments pile up, my commute steals hours from my day, and fatigue makes concentration even harder. Still, ADHD has also taught me resilience, adaptability, and creativity in finding strategies that work for me. The road to learning how to prioritize my mental health was not linear. It was difficult, filled with trial and error. But today, I have systems in place that help me thrive. I use a Passion Planner to organize my tasks, track gratitude, and break down my days hour by hour so I can effectively allocate time to school, internship, parenting, work, and self-care. I also recently reconnected with my psychiatrist; because I was breastfeeding before, I had to pause medication, but now I can safely incorporate it again as part of my treatment. At USC, I receive accommodations through the Office of Student Accessibility Services, which gives me extra time and flexibility to perform at my best. These supports have been essential in helping me sustain my 4.0 GPA in my Master of Social Work program while caring for my daughter. My mental health also affects my personal life. Parenting with ADHD means I have to be intentional about routines, managing sensory overload, and carving out rest. I practice self-compassion when things don’t go perfectly. I attend therapy, lean on support groups, and use mindfulness and creative outlets like art, dance, and writing to regulate my emotions. Most importantly, I’ve learned to ask for help, whether from mentors, community organizations, or fellow mothers who understand the challenges I face. Prioritizing my mental health is imperative for my success, for my daughter’s wellbeing, and to provide quality care to the communities I serve. When I am intentional about my well-being, I show up as a more present mother, a more effective student, and a more empathetic clinician. I want my daughter to grow up knowing that mental health is something to nurture with pride, not shame. Looking forward, my career goal is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW). I want to help others navigate their mental health and, if they are neurodivergent like me, to discover creative, sustainable ways of living that they can feel proud of. I plan to combine clinical skills with empathy informed by my lived experience. I hope to make mental health services more accessible, inclusive, and affirming. My journey shows that all people have potential and with the right systems, support, and perseverance, they can succeed.

In March 2023, I found myself trembling in a Walgreens bathroom, staring at a positive pregnancy test. I was homeless, in $100,000 of debt, and uncertain if I could raise a child alone. Yet when my daughter, Serenity Rayne, was born, she became my ray of light in the rainstorm. Motherhood and caregiving not only reshaped my personal journey, but they clarified my professional calling: to dedicate my life to mental health, trauma-informed care, and advocacy for disenfranchised communities. My educational journey began in under-resourced schools where my ADHD went undiagnosed, I faced unfair treatment tied to my last name, and walked over an hour to high school daily. Writing became my refuge, helping me process trauma I endured at home. Eventually, I transferred into a college-bound track and went on to graduate from UCLA with honors. Now, as a Master of Social Work student at USC, I balance motherhood, internship, and advocacy while maintaining a 4.0 GPA. These experiences remind me that education can be both an escape and a tool for justice. As a single parent and trauma survivor, I know firsthand how inaccessible the mental health system is for low-income families, minorities, and parents who often face systemic barriers. My ultimate goal is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW), open a sliding-scale practice for Medi-Cal patients, and eventually establish a nonprofit wellness retreat for women, mothers, and survivors of domestic violence and substance use recovery. My clinical work taught me the power of inclusive, culturally responsive care. At Garden Grove Unified School District, I supported Latino children navigating trauma and grief, often integrating art as expression. This year, I am privileged to work with older adults, where I incorporate culturally relevant activities such as Día de los Muertos ofrenda-making and painting, transforming grief into community remembrance and healing. By blending art therapy, narrative practices, and bilingual case management, I strive to meet people where they are and honor the full complexity of their identities. I also hope to contribute to mental health research that includes the voices of women, immigrants, and caregivers who are too often excluded from clinical trials, ensuring treatments reflect the realities of those most in need. Ultimately, my vision extends beyond traditional therapy. I hope to launch an internationally recognized women’s wellness retreat where diverse professionals provide culturally immersive therapeutic and holistic services: art therapy, process groups, dance workshops, reflective writing, cultural cleanses, sound baths, and mindful cooking. These retreats will emphasize joy, fun, and genuine connection, because safe relationships are key to recovery. To strengthen these bonds, I envision alumni gatherings where participants reunite and continue building community. Equitable access will be ensured through scholarships, particularly for women in recovery and single mothers. Being a parenting student has also made me an advocate. I spoke before the Orange County Board of Supervisors about the flaws in rapid rehousing programs for student parents. I authored an op-ed in Voice of OC calling for sanctuary policies to protect immigrant families. At USC, I advocate for stronger institutional support for parenting students, and I serve on the board of the Latinx Social Work Caucus to co-create community care spaces as Mentorship Co-Chair. I also joined Parent Voices California to engage in grassroots policy work around childcare and equity. What sustains me is the vision of the future: one where low-income families, women of color, and immigrant communities have access to mental health care that is inclusive, affordable, and affirming. With support from Joybridge Scholarship I can continue to utilize my lived experience to help others find hope and healing.

The Healing Art When motherhood arrived like heavy rain, I wrote a song— each lyric a raft to keep me afloat, each note a lullaby sewn from tired arms carrying a mother’s promise. And when my daughter was born, I named her Serenity Rayne— a ray of light in the rainstorm that was my life, a reminder that even in storm my sky is painted with brightness. At six years old, I carried canvases like secret confessions, knocking on strangers’ doors portraits still wet in my small hands. The paint— a child’s healing disguised as entrepreneurial play and brushstrokes like bandages over wounds too tender for words. In high school, grief placed clay in my palms, and I shaped sorrow into bowls made of earth. I learned that loss can solidify, yet still be held with loving care. In college, I turned doubt into dance, my body the stage where impostor syndrome unraveled. Each spin shook loose the whispers that said I didn’t belong, each leap a protest, each breath a victory. And in graduate school, I uncapped markers and drew my story— a parenting student fighting for resources that should have been mine, sketching resilience in bold colors against the gray walls of bureaucracy. Spanish is my second language and art my third, a mirror, weapon, safe haven, and prayer. It has carried me through every chapter, teaching me that brokenness can be sculpted, silence can be painted, and struggle can be rewritten as hope’s song. As a single mother, daughter of immigrants, and first-generation graduate student, I lived much of my life carrying both burden and beauty. There were nights when exhaustion and fear when balancing motherhood, studies, and survival almost enveloped me. Creativity became my lifeline and language of resilience. And I hope to help others become translators in their own stories. Art therapy is not bound to one medium—whether through drawing, painting, sculpting, collage, or photography, individuals can process emotions and improve their well-being in ways words often cannot. I am also drawn to weaving in other expressive arts such as music and dance, knowing that the body, voice, and rhythm are also instruments of healing. Narrative therapy, too, has been transformative in my own life, helping me to rewrite my story, to see myself not as defined by struggle but as an author of resilience and hope. During my clinical training internship with Garden Grove Unified School District, I integrated art therapy with children navigating grief, anxiety, and trauma. This year, I am privileged to work with older adults, where I continue to weave the arts into our programs in culturally relevant ways. For example, around Día de los Muertos, we will paint and create ofrendas, honoring loved ones who passed through a celebration of life. Art becomes remembrance and release. I dream of becoming an art therapist who cultivates healing spaces where trauma is acknowledged, but not stories ends. My vision is to offer survivors, especially women, children, and older adults from underserved communities, an opportunity to become artists of their own futures. Utilizing creativity as a bridge back to themselves. Like Marsha Cottrell, I believe art carries the power to take what is broken and reimagine it into something whole. Receiving this scholarship would not simply fund my Master of Social Work education at the University of Southern California; it would carry Marsha’s vision forward, honoring her belief that healing can be found in the quiet work of creating. This scholarship would allow me to help people remember that their lives, no matter how marked by pain, are masterpieces of their own design.

I am the sole caregiver for my 19-month-old daughter who I have raised entirely on my own since the moment she was born. My days revolve around ensuring her needs are met; from breastfeeding and preparing healthy meals, to comforting her during night wakings, managing developmental milestones, coordinating medical appointments, and creating a safe, loving environment where she can thrive. All while balancing graduate-level coursework, internships, and advocacy work. But caregiving didn’t begin when I became a mother. I grew up witnessing domestic violence, substance use, and intergenerational trauma, circumstances that forced me into a caregiver role far too early. I learned to emotionally support my family members, clean, cook, and translate legal and medical documents in a bilingual household. I helped with my great grandmother when she was bed ridden in our living room and I helped with my grandmother who did not speak English. I never had the chance to just “be a kid,” and by the time I reached adulthood, I was burnt out and unsure of how to care for myself. That early caregiving role laid the foundation for the kind of mother, and social worker, I am becoming. Being a caregiver has completely reshaped my life goals. I am currently pursuing my Master of Social Work (MSW) at the University of Southern California, specializing in Adult Mental Health and Wellness. I’ve realized that my experiences as a single parent and trauma survivor uniquely position me to serve other caregivers, mothers, and individuals navigating complex trauma. My goal is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW), open a private practice that serves Medi-Cal patients, and eventually establish a nonprofit wellness retreat for women, mothers, and survivors of domestic violence and substance use recovery. Caregiving has also made me an advocate. I’ve spoken before the Orange County Board of Supervisors about the flaws in rapid rehousing programs for students and single mothers. I’ve published an article in Voice of OC calling for sanctuary policies for immigrant families. I am also calling for better institutional support for parenting students at the University of Southern California. I currently serve on the board of the Latinx Social Work Caucus, mentoring first-gen students and co-creating community care spaces. These efforts are not in spite of my caregiving. Rather, they are because of it. But being a full-time caregiver and student without a financial safety net is incredibly difficult. My subsidized housing program ended after one year, and because I’m a full-time student and not working traditional hours, I no longer qualify for many programs. Despite getting accepted into one of the top MSW programs in the country, and earning multiple scholarships, I still face gaps in funding due to denied supplemental student loans. Receiving this scholarship would not only alleviate some financial pressure, but it would also allow me to focus on my studies and internship, where I provide bilingual therapy and case management to older adults. It would mean fewer nights choosing between sleep and scholarship applications. It would mean more time spent bonding with my daughter in the park instead of worrying about how to cover our basic needs. And most importantly, it would be a reminder that caregiving is not a weakness, but a powerful, transformative act of love. Caregiving made me who I am. It taught me patience, resilience, advocacy, and empathy. With your support, I can continue turning my personal experiences into professional purpose. I thank you in advance for your support of caregivers and considering my application and for supporting those who, like me, have given so much without always being seen.

Pursuing a Master of Social Work (MSW) is my mission, grounded in lived experience, resilience, and a commitment to serving society’s most vulnerable communities. As a first-generation college student and a single mother, continuing my education is a crucial step in creating a stable, empowered future for my daughter and for the communities I aim to serve. Thus far, I have faced several hardships and barriers, primarily financial, that have almost led to me dropping out of school due to inability to cover tuition costs or childcare. Receiving this scholarship would significantly alleviate these monetary burdens and allow me to stay focused on what matters most: becoming an agent of change for those most often left behind while caring for my daughter. I am currently enrolled full-time in a graduate program at the University of Southern California while balancing parenthood, internship responsibilities, and part-time work. Despite these challenges, I maintain a 4.0 GPA and am involved in both academic and community advocacy efforts. I currently work with Latino and immigrant families impacted by trauma, grief, and systemic barriers. Through my previous internship, I provided school-based mental health services to children navigating complex emotional and environmental stressors. Experiences that have not only deepened my clinical skills but reaffirmed my commitment to culturally responsive, trauma-informed care. Further, I have advocated for equitable access to housing for low income families and single parents by sharing my own experiences with Rapid Rehousing to the Orange County Board of Directors and engaging in policy discussions with my local representatives. Lastly, I am committed to sparking thought provoking conversations with my community as exemplified by my recent article published in the Voice of OC where I advocate for sanctuary policies for immigrant families and children. Overall, I show through action my commitment to my community and education is the means to advance my mission. However, navigating graduate school as a low-income student and single parent has presented significant financial stress. After experiencing housing instability due to the expiration of a rental subsidy program, I had to make difficult choices between affording child care, gas for my internship commute, and basic living expenses. This scholarship would help bridge that gap. It would allow me to pay for essentials like diapers, food, and transportation while continuing to show up for my clients, professors, and daughter. With this support, I could more fully dedicate myself to my training without constantly worrying about making ends meet. Beyond meeting immediate needs, this scholarship would be a long-term investment in the future I am building. My ultimate goal is to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW) and open a sliding-scale mental health practice that centers the needs of low-income women, immigrant families, those in substance use recovery, and survivors of trauma. I also hope to launch a culturally grounded wellness retreat space that integrates evidence-based mental health services with community care, rest, and healing. This scholarship would bring me one step closer to realizing these goals, which are grounded in years of lived experience and fieldwork. Education has always been the pathway through which I’ve found strength, stability, and purpose. But I haven’t gotten here alone. It’s been through scholarships, mentorship, and collective care that I’ve been able to persist. That’s why receiving the OMC scholarship is more than financial support; it is a powerful affirmation that I, and students like me, belong in these spaces of leadership, healing, and impact. With your support, I can continue building a career that gives back to the very communities that raised and shaped me.

Repay the master, T-swift, by listening to her iconic 80’s inspired musical track. I am a strong proponent of supporting artists and for that reason I listen to the remastered soundtrack of 1989. In my streaming of her music, I found one song which resonantes with me and how my year has progressed: Wildest Dreams. The lyrics meanings can be deduced to one of two scenarios: that Taylor’s short lived relationship was with a cheater or that she had a lover who was already with someone (making her the other woman). Like my own life, I became a single mom this year. I was never in a relationship with my daughter’s father and during my entire pregnancy he dated numerous other women and took them on lavish vacations. He said he would support me through the pregnancy and I simultaneously felt cheated on and like the other woman, even though we were not together. Thus, the lyric “no one has to know what we do” reminds me of how I felt when I asked him to go to doctors appointments or to visit our daughter after she was born. My hope is that my daughter’s father will be there for her which is why the lyric “my last request is say you’ll remember me” because I hope our baby is remembered in all her beauty. That she will forever hold a place in his heart. Lastly, the lyric “even if it’s just in your wildest dreams” connects with my experience this year because I have come to terms with the fact that he has made a choice not to be in our daughters life. It has taken so much inner work to heal my inner child, to hold the moments we shared as positive, and to be grateful for the lessons he taught me. “Nothing lasts forever” including my hope that he will come around and my daughters hope that he will love her in the way she needs. He will “see me in hindsight” and the memories of the time we shared have already become so distant as he has moved on and found a girlfriend and refused to celebrate my daughter on her milestones but celebrated his girlfriend on National Girlfriends day. I too have moved on and found a boyfriend who accepts my daughter as his own. Even though he is the one who approached me intimately, like in Taylor’s case with the lyric “let’s get out of this town,” he is also the one who ended and severed the connection with both me and my daughter. What’s most devastating is his refusal to be in her life and his efforts towards relinquishment of his rights over our daughter. Therefore, I hope the memories haunt him with beautiful pictures of the relationship he could have had with our daughter. That love will only be possible in his “wildest dreams.”

I most identify with “The Office” character Oscar Martínez. A fellow Latina, I understand what it feels like to be the person on a team who is in the “coalition for reason” alongside with other colleagues. I, though extroverted and creative, like to choose practicality in workplace situations to ensure logical solutions that are effective and respectful for all parties involved. For this reason, I am pursuing a career in social work. Furthermore, there are times in the show when Oscar can be condescending and out of touch with how his intelligence can be construed as rude. I myself am very cautious to avoid being a know it all and this character was a pivotal way, through humor, for me to identify this flawed characteristic in myself. The humor has allowed me to better grasp that I do not always know what is best and all perspectives are equally valuable. Thus, I am not better able to focus on the inquisitive and constructive aspects of my personality rather than the critical. The show overall helps me identify that, while I am generally uninterested in developing close relationships with my coworkers, it is important to build connection with others; at the end of the day we are all doing the best we can with the skills we have and there is value in building positive rapport with others seeing that we will be working together daily. Through humor, I’ve been able to be more engaged with my coworkers, patient and understanding of diverse perspectives, and positively contribute to workplace culture.

Sabrina has helped me feel empowered because her slow rise to fame has not come without immense diligence and dedication to her craft. As her career began to skyrocket, fans and observers attempted to bring her down with scandal, gossip, and drama about her prior relationship and another celebrity who wrote a song that was speculated to be about her. Despite the controversy, she did not engage in nastiness. Rather, she expressed herself through her creative medium; music. One of her song states “I wish you knew that even you can’t get under my skin if I don’t let you in” which simply sets a boundary while highlighting her self love. She is unapologetically herself and embodies an independent woman who stands up for herself and her boundaries. Her aura, music, and energy are characteristics of a compassionate, loving, and powerful woman; characteristics I want to embody in my career as a social worker. Sabrina is popularly known for her quote which states: “confidence is the most beautiful thing you can possess.” Sabrina Carpenter truly knows who she is, what she stands for, and she maintains her confidence - qualities and skills I hope to empower my future clients to obtain.

In March 2023 I found myself trembling in a dingy Walgreens bathroom with a positive pregnancy in hand - I was homeless, in $100,000 in debt, and had an inkling the father would want no part. Coming from an impoverished community, I knew the implications of raising my child in similar living conditions as I did would leave them at high risk of developing adverse childhood experiences. Navigating the financial, custodial, and emotional responsibilities of parenthood alone coupled with attending college presents numerous challenges. I struggle being able to afford quality childcare for my 7 month old daughter who cannot yet articulate her experiences in daycare. Therefore, I do my best to complete academic assignments while she is in my care by, for instance, breastfeeding my daughter and utilizing voice to text functions on my cell phone; having a computer in front of her causes distractions during feeds and her attraction to the screen hinders my ability to type. Furthermore, there are times where deadlines are close and I have to prioritize feeding her, changing her diaper, soothing her, providing stimulating pay based learning activities, and putting her to sleep over spending time to craft quality assignments. I often find myself completing school work while my daughter is asleep and juggling daily responsibilities with 6 hours or less of sleep. As a single parent with absolutely no financial, emotional, or custodial support from my daughter's father, I have no choice but to ensure the lethargy that looms over me does not impede on my ability to provide care or complete rigorous academic tasks. Another hardship is commuting over 3-4 hours daily to my in campus program because the affordable childcare options I have assistance for are all located in the county where I live and not where I attend school. At this time we cannot afford to move or we risk becoming homelessness again. Despite these challenges, I wake up every morning with a smile on my face and sing to my daughter - “Goodmorning sleeping beauty.” I want her to remember our struggle as a story of resilience; as the foundations of our prosperous future. Every day, despite my stress and tiredness, I make an active decision to choose love, kindness, and grit; my daughter is watching my every move and I will ensure my actions today will positively influence the individual she chooses to become. Because of my tenacity and unashamed disposition regarding single parenthood, this past year I successfully eliminated all debts, paid a car in full, began drafting a book, secured an apartment, and enrolled in graduate school at the University of Southern California. Of all my accomplishments, I am most proud of having saved enough money to care for my daughter as a stay at home mother for the first 6 months of her life. Developmentally, before 6 months a child cannot distinguish themselves as a separate entity from their mother. Thus it was my honor and privilege to exclusively breastfeed and care for my daughter through her initial milestones. Despite these accomplishments, I am faced with a moral dilemma that only single parents who are in college can understand. Now that I am in school I do not have the luxury of spending as much quality time with her as she or I would prefer. As a single parent, I face scrutiny and stigma for my choice to pursue upward mobility through higher education. For example, I have been recommended by well meaning loved ones to quit school to care for my daughter full time. Consequently, I am burdened with guilt that I may be potentially hindering her ability to make secure attachments with trusted adults. I must channel through the negativity and judgemental voices to obtain my degree not just for myself, but for my daughter who will inevitably model her behaviors after mine. My hope is she learns to lead with her heart, become a lifelong learner, be unapologetic about herself and her roots, and remain responsible to see out her personal and professional endeavors. As the sole physical, financial, and emotional provider for my daughter, every moment of my day is thoughtfully and meticulously planned out; my days are centered around caring for her, finding a sitter, studying for school, and funding my education. Navigating higher education as a single mom and first generation college student from a low income background is challenging in ways that only those who have been there are able to truly fathom and understand its realities. Therefore, I humbly request financial support from the single parent scholarship. Your support will help alleviate some of my stress as I will better be able to afford reliable and safe childcare without having to place such a heavy load on my friends and family. Moreover, this scholarship will relieve some of the debt I will have to take on to fund my education. The financial assistance from this scholarship will further ignite the fuel inside me towards securing financial stability for my daughter through pursuing a career in Social Work. This scholarship will serve as evidence - for myself, my daughter, and my future clients - that hard work does equal success. This aid will propel towards my mission of serving historically disenfranchised communities including single parents, women of color, low income populations, homeless, and individuals recovering from addiction.