Aloha, Working in behavioral health in Hawaiʻi has taught me that making an impact does not always happen in an office or under ideal circumstances. Sometimes it happens in a hospital room, on the street, in a shelter, or during a crisis when someone feels that they have nowhere else to turn. My work with individuals experiencing homelessness, mental health challenges, substance use disorders, and other life-changing circumstances has shown me both the strength of my community and the serious gaps that still exist within it. Every person I encounter has a story. Many of the individuals I serve are experiencing several challenges at once. A person may be homeless while also struggling with mental illness, addiction, unemployment, medical problems, or the loss of family support. Too often, people are judged by what others see on the surface. I have learned to look beyond the diagnosis, the substance use, the homelessness, or the crisis and see the human being standing in front of me. My work is not simply about providing someone with a phone number or handing them a list of resources. It is about helping people navigate systems that can be extremely difficult to navigate when they are already overwhelmed. I help connect individuals to housing resources, behavioral health treatment, substance use services, medical care, benefits, and other community supports. During a mental health crisis, I may meet someone during one of the most vulnerable moments of their life. Being able to listen without judgment, de-escalate the situation, identify immediate needs, and help develop a realistic next step can make a meaningful difference. Working in Hawaiʻi has also shown me how deeply homelessness and behavioral health are connected. Housing instability can worsen mental illness and substance use, while untreated mental health and substance use disorders can make maintaining stable housing even more difficult. Breaking that cycle requires more than temporary solutions. It requires professionals who understand that recovery involves the whole person. This is why I am pursuing my graduate education in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Education is giving me the clinical knowledge to build upon the experience I have gained working directly in my community. I want to become a licensed mental health counselor and continue serving people who are too often overlooked, misunderstood, or unable to access appropriate care. I also want to contribute to stronger crisis intervention, assessment, prevention, and community-based behavioral health services throughout Hawaiʻi. The people I serve are also the people who inspire me. I have watched individuals continue fighting for stability despite homelessness, addiction, trauma, mental illness, poverty, and countless setbacks. Their resilience reminds me why this work matters. They have taught me that helping someone does not mean changing their entire life in one day. Sometimes impact begins by treating someone with dignity, helping them obtain one resource, getting them through one crisis, or simply making sure they know that someone sees them as a person worthy of help. My vision is to use my education and experience to help create a behavioral health system where people do not have to reach their absolute lowest point before receiving meaningful support. I want to continue advocating for individuals who struggle to advocate for themselves and helping bridge the gap between crisis and long-term stability. I cannot solve homelessness, mental illness, or substance abuse alone. But every person helped represents a life that matters. My education will allow me to expand the work I am already doing, strengthen my ability to serve Hawaiʻi, and turn my commitment to this community into an even greater and lasting impact. Mahalo, Matilda

The Global Mental Health Crisis: Why I Am Committed to Being Part of the Solution Mental health is one of the most urgent global health challenges of our time. Millions of people worldwide experience depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, substance use disorders, and other mental illnesses, yet many never receive treatment because of stigma, financial barriers, or a shortage of qualified mental health professionals. I am passionate about addressing this crisis because I have witnessed firsthand how untreated mental illness affects individuals, families, and entire communities. I have also seen how compassionate, timely intervention can change lives. My passion for mental health began long before I entered the field. I grew up during the Bosnian War and experienced the lasting effects that trauma, violence, and displacement can have on individuals and families. Living through war taught me that emotional wounds often remain long after physical injuries have healed. Those experiences shaped my understanding of resilience and inspired me to dedicate my life to helping others overcome adversity. For more than seventeen years, I have worked in human services, supporting individuals with developmental disabilities, serious mental illness, behavioral challenges, and complex social needs. Throughout my career, I have served in leadership roles overseeing residential programs, supervising multidisciplinary teams, and ensuring quality care for vulnerable populations. Today, I work in mobile crisis services in Hawaiʻi, responding to behavioral health emergencies in homes, hospitals, and communities. Every day, I meet people experiencing overwhelming emotional pain, and I have learned that listening with empathy and treating people with dignity can be just as important as any clinical intervention. Unfortunately, many individuals do not receive help until they are in crisis. Long waitlists, limited access to providers, and persistent stigma continue to prevent people from receiving early treatment. Rural and underserved communities face even greater barriers. This is why I decided to pursue a Master of Science in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. My goal is not only to provide counseling services but also to improve systems of care by educating professionals on effective crisis intervention and trauma-informed communication. In addition to becoming a licensed mental health counselor, I founded CrisisWise Consulting & Training LLC to provide evidence-based training in crisis de-escalation, mental health awareness, and trauma-informed care. I believe that equipping healthcare professionals, educators, first responders, and community organizations with practical skills can prevent crises from escalating and improve outcomes for countless individuals. By strengthening the workforce, we can create safer communities and more compassionate systems of care. Receiving this scholarship would significantly reduce the financial burden of graduate school and allow me to continue serving my community while completing my education. More importantly, it would help me continue building a career dedicated to expanding access to quality mental health care, reducing stigma, and improving crisis response for vulnerable populations. I believe mental health care is not a privilege—it is a necessity. Every individual deserves access to compassionate, culturally responsive, and evidence-based support. My personal experiences, professional leadership, and commitment to service have prepared me to make a meaningful impact. I am determined to use my education to advocate for those whose voices are often unheard and to help build a future where seeking mental health care is met with understanding, respect, and hope. Mahalo for reading.

Aloha, Growing up during war and later working in crisis response in Hawaiʻi taught me that people struggling with mental health and substance use disorders are often judged before they are understood. I have seen individuals experiencing homelessness, addiction, psychosis, trauma, and severe depression be turned away, criminalized, or left without stable support. Many are not just dealing with one issue—they are facing both mental health and substance abuse challenges at the same time, also known as dual diagnosis. What impacted me most is realizing how many people want help but cannot find safe, consistent, and compassionate housing where recovery is truly supported. This is why I want to pursue a career in the nonprofit sector and eventually open a nonprofit organization focused on dual diagnosis mental health and substance abuse housing in Hawaiʻi. My goal is to create a program that provides more than just a bed. I want to build a healing environment where people can access mental health support, substance abuse treatment, life-skills training, transportation assistance, case management, and community connection in one place. Hawaiʻi has behavioral health programs and crisis services, but there is still a major need for supportive housing and long-term stabilization for individuals with co-occurring disorders. Programs across Hawaiʻi continue working to address these gaps in care, especially for people experiencing serious mental illness, addiction, and housing instability.  As a crisis therapist and case manager, I work directly with individuals during some of the hardest moments of their lives. I have transported clients in crisis, completed emergency assessments, coordinated with hospitals and shelters, and helped connect people to resources. I have also seen how difficult recovery becomes when someone leaves treatment and has nowhere stable or supportive to go. Many people relapse not because they do not want recovery, but because they return to unsafe environments, isolation, or homelessness. That experience has motivated me to think beyond crisis intervention and focus on long-term solutions. I am currently pursuing my master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling while continuing to work full-time in the behavioral health field. My long-term vision is to combine my professional experience, education, and personal resilience to develop a nonprofit organization that uses trauma-informed and culturally respectful approaches to care. Hawaiʻi is unique because community, culture, and connection are deeply important. I want my future program to reflect those values by creating a space where individuals feel respected instead of judged. I also want to advocate for programs that work collaboratively with hospitals, Medicaid providers, case management agencies, and community organizations so people can receive consistent care instead of falling through the cracks. Organizations in Hawaiʻi already demonstrate how dual diagnosis treatment, supportive housing, and community-based recovery services can improve lives.  My hope is to build upon that work and eventually expand services to underserved communities across the islands. The nonprofit field is meaningful to me because it focuses on people before profit. For me, success will not be measured only by income or titles. It will be measured by helping someone stay sober, reconnect with family, avoid hospitalization, find housing, return to work, or simply believe in themselves again. I want my career to create lasting impact by helping vulnerable individuals regain stability, dignity, and hope for the future. Mahalo for reading.

Scholarship Essay I am a first-generation graduate student pursuing a Master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling while working full-time as a crisis therapist. My path into healthcare has been shaped by resilience, lived experience, and a clear sense of purpose—to show up for people when they feel like no one else will. I was born in Bosnia and experienced early life during war. While that is part of my story, it is not what defines me. What defines me is how I moved forward—adapting to a new country, learning a second language, and building a life rooted in growth and service. As a first-generation student, I entered higher education without guidance or a roadmap. I learned to navigate systems on my own, advocate for myself, and stay committed even when the path felt uncertain. Today, I work on the front lines of mental health care, responding to individuals in active crisis across my community. I support people experiencing severe emotional distress, substance use challenges, and psychiatric emergencies. Many of the individuals I meet feel unheard, overwhelmed, and alone. In those moments, my role is not just clinical—it is human. I meet people on what is often their worst day and work to make sure it does not become their last. That responsibility has shaped how I see both my work and my purpose. Balancing graduate school with full-time crisis work has required significant sacrifice. I work long, demanding shifts while managing academic responsibilities, often pushing through exhaustion to stay on track. I also live with chronic health challenges, which adds another layer of difficulty. Despite this, I have remained consistent and focused. These experiences have strengthened my resilience and deepened my commitment to this field. Financial barriers have been a constant throughout my academic journey. As a first-generation student from a lower socioeconomic background, I have had to work continuously while pursuing my degree. There has been little room for rest. This scholarship would provide meaningful support and allow me to focus more fully on my education and professional growth. The legacy of Dr. Michael Paglia and Dr. Albina Claps-Paglia reflects compassion, dedication, and a commitment to improving the lives of others—values I strive to embody every day. Their example aligns closely with my goal of advancing in healthcare while remaining grounded in service. My long-term goal is to step into a leadership role within the mental health field and develop practical, real-world crisis intervention training for professionals. Through my work, I have seen firsthand the gaps in how crises are handled, especially for underserved communities. I want to help build systems that respond with skill, empathy, and cultural awareness—systems that treat people with dignity rather than judgment. I am not simply pursuing a degree—I am building a career centered on impact. This scholarship represents more than financial support; it represents an investment in someone committed to turning lived experience into meaningful, lasting change.

Aloha, The word “cancer” has shaped my life in ways I never expected. It first entered my family through my father, and later through my own diagnosis. Watching someone you love fight cancer is terrifying. Facing it yourself changes everything about how you see the world, your future, and the dreams you once thought were guaranteed. My father was diagnosed with bladder cancer and had to go through two separate rounds of chemotherapy. Watching him endure those treatments was one of the hardest things I have ever experienced. Chemotherapy is not just a medical procedure—it drains the body and tests the spirit. I watched my father struggle with the exhaustion, the pain, and the uncertainty that came with each treatment. As his child, I felt helpless. I remember sitting with him and thinking about how strong he had to be just to get through each day. Seeing someone you love fight for their life leaves a mark on your heart forever. Then cancer became personal for me in an even deeper way. I was diagnosed with cervical cancer and had to undergo surgery. Hearing those words directed at me was something I will never forget. In that moment, everything changed. Suddenly, the future felt uncertain. I had to confront the reality of my own health while still watching my father fight his own battle. My diagnosis forced me to change many aspects of my life. I had to completely rethink the way I treated my body. I became more mindful of what I ate, how I managed stress, and how I cared for my physical and emotional health. Recovery was not just about healing from surgery—it was about rebuilding my strength, both physically and mentally. At times, the fear was overwhelming. I remember wondering if I would ever be able to fully pursue my dreams. More than anything, I worried whether my father would live long enough to see the life I was working so hard to build. That thought stayed with me constantly. Instead of allowing that fear to stop me, it pushed me forward. Watching my father fight cancer and facing my own diagnosis taught me that time is not something we can take for granted. I realized that if I truly wanted to honor everything my family had gone through, I had to pursue my goals with even greater determination. I chose to go harder, work harder, and refuse to let cancer define the limits of my future. Today, I am pursuing my master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling because I want to dedicate my life to helping others navigate their darkest moments. My experiences with illness in my family have shown me how important compassion, emotional support, and mental resilience truly are. When people face life-changing diagnoses or overwhelming stress, having someone who understands and truly cares can make all the difference. My dream is not just to succeed for myself. My dream is to create a life that reflects the strength my father showed during his treatments and the courage that cancer forced me to find within myself. More than anything, I want my father to see me reach those goals. I want him to know that his fight inspired me to keep going, no matter how difficult life became. Cancer may have changed my path, but it also gave me clarity about who I want to become and the impact I want to make in the world. And because of that, I will never stop pushing forward. Mahalo for reading Matilda Mujakic

Aloha, Reading Dylan’s story moved me deeply, both as a mother of a son with ADHD and as a student navigating my own learning challenges. His determination to pursue education despite neurological and learning differences reflects a strength that many families like mine understand intimately. As a parent, I see how much effort it takes for children with neurodevelopmental differences to move through systems that are not designed for the way their brains work. Dylan’s perseverance and pride in his accomplishments resonated with me not only as an aspiring professional, but as a mother raising a child who faces similar invisible barriers. I want to express my heartfelt condolences to Dylan’s family and loved ones. His legacy continues to inspire students and parents walking parallel paths of resilience and hope. I live with ADHD, though I was not diagnosed until adulthood. Looking back, the signs were always present — difficulty sustaining focus, managing organization, regulating attention, and keeping pace with expectations that appeared effortless for others. Like many students with ADHD, I internalized these struggles as personal shortcomings rather than neurological differences. I worked harder and longer to meet demands, often in silence. Understanding my ADHD later in life reframed my experiences with compassion instead of self-doubt. Today, I am pursuing a master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling while working full-time in crisis response. ADHD remains a daily reality, particularly in executive functioning tasks such as time management, sustained concentration, and academic writing. Yet ADHD has also shaped strengths that support my success — adaptability, creative problem-solving, and the ability to think quickly in complex situations. My educational journey has required persistence and structure, but it has never diminished my commitment to learning or helping others. My son’s ADHD brings this journey into even sharper focus. Parenting a child who shares my neurotype creates both challenges and deep understanding. I recognize his frustration when focus slips away or tasks feel overwhelming. I also see his curiosity, imagination, and intensity — qualities that ADHD often amplifies. Supporting him requires advocacy within educational systems, emotional coaching, and constant reassurance that his brain is not flawed, only different. I want him to grow up believing his learning differences are part of his strength, not a limitation. Balancing graduate education, full-time work, and parenting a neurodivergent child demands resilience. Many nights I complete coursework after long crisis-response shifts while also guiding my son through homework and emotional regulation. The exhaustion is real, but so is the purpose. Continuing my education is not only a personal goal; it is a message to my child that ADHD does not define potential. He sees persistence modeled in real time. Dylan’s journey reflects a truth I hold deeply: students with neurological and learning differences often overcome barriers unseen by others. Like Dylan, I pursue education to create impact beyond myself. My goal as a future mental health counselor is to support neurodivergent individuals and families with empathy and advocacy grounded in lived experience. ADHD has given me insight into cognitive diversity that strengthens both my academic path and professional mission. Receiving the Dylan’s Journey Memorial Scholarship would support my graduate education while honoring a young man whose story embodies resilience. As both a mother and student living with ADHD, I carry forward the belief Dylan represented: learning differences may influence our path, but they never define our limits. Mahalo from the heart !

Aloha, Essay: Relationships & Impact Working as a crisis therapist has changed the way I understand relationships at the most human level. Every shift, I meet people on what is often the worst day of their lives—when hope feels distant, trust feels broken, and connection feels unsafe or out of reach. In those moments, I am reminded that relationships are not simply part of life; they are often the difference between despair and survival. The most meaningful relationship shaping who I am today is not just one person, but the collective relationships I have formed with individuals in crisis who have trusted me with their pain, fear, and vulnerability. They have taught me what authentic connection truly means. Many of the individuals I support feel unseen, unheard, or misunderstood long before they ever encounter a therapist. Some have been dismissed by systems, rejected by family, or harmed by those they depended on most. When I sit with them—sometimes on sidewalks, in emergency rooms, or in the quiet corners of community spaces—I witness how powerful it is when someone finally feels met with presence instead of judgment. I have learned that connection does not begin with solutions; it begins with safety. It begins with listening without rushing, validating without minimizing, and holding space without trying to control the outcome. These relationships have reshaped how I build connections in every area of my life. I have become more intentional, more patient, and more aware that trust is fragile and earned slowly. In crisis work, people often test whether you will stay emotionally present when their emotions intensify. They may express anger, fear, or hopelessness in ways that can feel overwhelming. Early in my career, I believed connection meant calming someone down quickly or fixing the situation. Over time, I learned something deeper: connection often means staying. Staying when someone cries. Staying when they push you away. Staying when there are no immediate answers. That lesson has extended into my personal relationships, where I now prioritize emotional presence over perfection. My background has also shaped how I experience connection. Growing up during war and displacement taught me early that safety and stability cannot be assumed. Relationships were often interrupted by loss, separation, or uncertainty. Because of that, I developed a heightened sensitivity to emotional cues and a deep respect for resilience. In my work today, I recognize similar survival adaptations in those I support—hypervigilance, guardedness, and difficulty trusting others. Rather than seeing these as barriers, I see them as evidence of strength. This perspective allows me to meet people with compassion instead of expectation, and it guides how I form relationships built on dignity and respect. One of the most profound truths I have learned from crisis work is that connection is healing even when circumstances do not immediately change. I have sat with individuals experiencing homelessness, severe mental illness, addiction, grief, and trauma. I cannot always change their housing status, eliminate their pain, or resolve systemic barriers in a single encounter. Yet I have seen how being genuinely seen can restore a sense of worth that crisis had eroded. When someone says, “Thank you for not giving up on me,” it reflects the power of relationship itself—not intervention alone. These experiences have also influenced my professional goals. I aspire to expand trauma-informed crisis support beyond clinical settings and into everyday community spaces, where connection can occur earlier and more accessibly. Too often, people only receive compassionate attention when their distress becomes severe enough to reach emergency systems. My vision is to help build communities where relational safety exists before crisis escalates—where frontline workers, educators, and community members understand how to respond with empathy rather than fear. This goal is rooted directly in what the people I serve have shown me: that authentic human connection is preventative, not only responsive. Ultimately, the relationships that have shaped me most are those formed in moments of profound vulnerability. They have taught me humility, patience, and the courage to remain present with suffering without turning away. They have shown me that connection is not measured by how much we fix, but by how deeply we are willing to see another person’s humanity. As a crisis therapist, I have learned that when someone feels truly accompanied, even briefly, hope becomes possible again. That belief guides how I show up—in my work, my relationships, and the future I hope to help create. Mahalo

Aloha from Hawaii, Watching my daughter grow into a Marine Staff Sergeant has been one of the greatest honors of my life. She is currently deployed in Tel Aviv, Israel, serving her country with strength, discipline, and a level of courage that still humbles me as her parent. No matter how old our children get, we never stop seeing the little pieces of who they once were—and seeing those same qualities transformed into leadership and service makes the pride indescribable. When my children were younger, everything I did was about raising them the right way. I wanted them to look up to me, to be proud of me, and to know that integrity, accountability, and compassion mattered. Parenting was not always easy, but I believed that how I showed up for them would shape how they showed up for the world. Now, watching my daughter lead Marines of her own, I see those lessons reflected back at me in ways I never expected. Her decision to serve didn’t come from pressure or expectation—it came from purpose. She chose a path that requires sacrifice, resilience, and the ability to function under immense stress. As a parent, that reality brings both pride and fear. Deployment changes families. Distance changes conversations. You learn to celebrate milestones through screens and carry worry quietly so it doesn’t become a burden for the person already carrying so much. At this stage in my life, my role has shifted. My children are grown, and I now have time to focus on myself while still being fully present when they need me. That balance matters. Supporting someone in military service doesn’t always mean doing more—it often means listening better, noticing changes, and understanding what might not be said out loud. Because of my background and growing knowledge in mental health, I’ve learned how critical it is for families of service members to understand conditions like PTSD and other mental-health challenges. Service members are trained to stay strong, mission-focused, and composed, but that doesn’t mean they are unaffected by what they experience. Recognizing emotional triggers, changes in behavior, or signs of burnout can make the difference between someone feeling isolated and someone feeling supported. My daughter’s service has reinforced for me that strength and vulnerability can exist at the same time. Being strong doesn’t mean ignoring emotional pain—it means knowing when to address it. As a parent, my goal isn’t to shield her from the realities of service, but to remind her she doesn’t have to carry them alone. I am proud of my daughter not just because she wears the uniform, but because of the leader and human being she continues to be. Her service has shaped me as much as I shaped her, and it has deepened my understanding of what it truly means to support those who serve—both on the front lines and at home. Mahalo, Matilda

Aloha from Hawaii, My decision to pursue a master’s degree in mental health is rooted in personal loss, lived experience, and a deep understanding of what happens when mental illness goes unrecognized and untreated. When I was young, the father of my child died by suicide as a result of untreated schizophrenia. At the time, we did not understand what was happening. His symptoms were misunderstood, minimized, and explained away as reminders of stress, personality, or circumstances rather than a serious mental illness that required care. We were young, and our families were immigrants who came from cultures where mental health was not discussed or understood. There was no language for psychosis, no education about warning signs, and no knowledge of how or where to seek help. Looking back, the signs were there—disorganized thinking, paranoia, emotional withdrawal—but without education or access, those signs were missed. His death was not simply a tragedy; it was the result of systemic failure, stigma, and lack of mental health literacy. That loss has stayed with me throughout my life and directly shaped how I view suicide prevention. It taught me that suicide is often not about a lack of will to live, but about untreated illness, isolation, and barriers to care. It also taught me that families and partners are often left carrying guilt simply because they did not know what they were never taught. My own mental health journey further reinforced the importance of self-advocacy. Living with trauma-related symptoms and chronic health conditions forced me to learn how to speak up, ask for clarification, and push for appropriate care within systems that are often overwhelmed or dismissive. Self-advocacy, for me, means refusing silence—whether that is advocating for myself or helping others find their voice before a crisis escalates. Today, I work in crisis mental health services, supporting individuals experiencing suicidal ideation, severe mental illness, and substance use. I approach suicide awareness and prevention through education, normalization, and early intervention—especially for communities where mental illness is stigmatized or misunderstood. I believe prevention begins long before hospitalization or emergency response; it begins with access, trust, and culturally informed care. As a future mental health clinician, I plan to serve underrepresented communities, including immigrants, people of color, and individuals impacted by serious mental illness and trauma. My goal is to help close the gaps that once cost someone I loved his life. Pursuing this degree is my way of turning loss into purpose and ensuring that fewer families experience preventable tragedy due to silence, stigma, or lack of understanding. Mahalo, Matilda

Scholarship Essay Violence and loss entered my life at a young age, and they did not come just once. I have lived through repeated traumatic losses that reshaped my sense of safety, forced me to grow up quickly, and ultimately taught me resilience through survival rather than choice. In 2002, when I was only eighteen years old, my children’s father died by suicide in Fort Wayne, Indiana. His death was deeply tied to alcohol and drug use, and the pain of addiction had been present long before his life ended. At that age, I was still learning who I was, yet I was suddenly faced with grief, shock, and the responsibility of holding myself together while raising children. Suicide is a loss that carries silence and stigma, and for a long time, I carried that weight alone. I did not have the tools to process what had happened, only the instinct to keep going. Years later, after building a life and believing I had learned how to survive loss, violence returned in a far more visible and devastating way. In 2022, my boyfriend was murdered in Auburn, New York. He was shot six times. His death was sudden, brutal, and impossible to make sense of. Losing him reopened wounds I thought had healed and forced me to confront how deeply trauma can layer itself over time. This was not just grief—it was retraumatization. Repeated exposure to violence changes how you experience the world. It affects your sense of trust, stability, and emotional safety. There were moments when I questioned how much loss one person is expected to endure. Yet, despite the pain, I refused to allow violence to define the rest of my life. My healing journey became intentional. I turned inward and began using journaling as a way to release emotions I had suppressed for years. Writing gave me a place to speak honestly—about grief, anger, guilt, and love—without fear or judgment. Meditation became a grounding practice that helped calm my nervous system and reconnect me to the present, especially during moments when memories felt overwhelming. These tools did not erase my pain, but they taught me how to live alongside it without being consumed by it. Through repeated loss, I have learned that resilience is not about being unaffected by trauma; it is about choosing to heal even when life has been unforgiving. My experiences have strengthened my empathy, deepened my self-awareness, and reinforced my commitment to growth and healing. I carry the memories of those I lost with me, not as wounds that define me, but as reminders of my strength and my determination to build a life rooted in purpose, compassion, and hope. Thank you for reading. Matilda

Aloha, I chose a career in mental health because I have lived the realities of trauma, loss, and survival, and I understand what it means to need help when support feels out of reach. Growing up as a child of war and later immigrating to the United States, I witnessed firsthand how unaddressed mental health struggles can affect individuals, families, and entire communities. These experiences shaped my desire not only to heal myself, but to become someone who helps others find stability, safety, and hope during their most vulnerable moments. My path into mental health was not linear or easy. I am a first-generation college student who balanced education with full-time work, family responsibilities, and my own health challenges. Despite these barriers, I earned a bachelor’s degree and am currently pursuing a master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Education has become both a personal victory and a professional mission for me. Each class deepens my understanding of trauma-informed care, ethical practice, and culturally responsive counseling—skills I apply daily in real-world settings. Professionally, I work as a crisis therapist, providing immediate mental health support to individuals experiencing acute emotional distress, suicidal ideation, domestic violence, homelessness, and severe mental illness. My role requires compassion, clinical judgment, and the ability to remain grounded in moments of chaos. I meet people at their lowest points, often when they feel unseen or unheard, and help them navigate safety planning, stabilization, and connection to ongoing care. This work has affirmed that mental health services save lives—and that access to them must be expanded, not limited by income, stigma, or circumstance. My future goals are rooted in service and leadership. I plan to become a licensed mental health counselor and continue working in crisis intervention and community-based care, particularly with underserved and marginalized populations. Long-term, I hope to help develop programs that integrate mental health treatment with housing stability and supportive services for individuals facing complex challenges. I believe healing happens not only in therapy sessions, but within systems that prioritize dignity, accessibility, and compassion. This scholarship would provide critical financial relief as I continue my graduate education. As a low-income, first-generation student, I have funded my education largely through personal sacrifice, long work hours, and perseverance. Financial support would allow me to focus more fully on my studies and clinical training, strengthening my ability to serve others with excellence and integrity. Honoring the memory behind this scholarship means committing to awareness, empathy, and action—values I live every day in my work and studies. I am deeply driven to turn lived experience into meaningful impact, and to ensure that those struggling with mental health challenges are met not with silence, but with understanding and care. Mahalo, Matilda

Personal Statement My life has been shaped by survival long before I had the language to describe it. I grew up in the shadow of war, where instability, fear, and loss were part of everyday life. Those early experiences followed me into adulthood as PTSD, anxiety, and later an ADHD diagnosis that helped explain years of internal chaos, emotional intensity, and burnout. For a long time, I believed my struggles were personal failures rather than natural responses to trauma. Understanding the difference changed everything. As I built a life in the United States, I worked relentlessly, often at the expense of my own well-being. I pushed myself to succeed while ignoring the toll of unresolved trauma and domestic violence I experienced later in life. I functioned, but I was not truly living. My nervous system remained in survival mode, and I relied on unhealthy coping strategies to keep going. Acknowledging that I needed help was one of the hardest and most courageous decisions I have ever made. Recovery has been humbling and transformative. Through therapy, medical care, and deep self-reflection, I learned that healing is not about erasing the past, it is about learning how to live safely in the present. Receiving an ADHD diagnosis brought clarity and self-compassion. It allowed me to understand my brain rather than fight it. I learned how to structure my life, manage emotional overwhelm, and regulate stress in ways that support both my mental health and my goals. One of the most meaningful shifts in my recovery has been reclaiming my voice and boundaries. Trauma had taught me to minimize myself and endure in silence. Healing taught me that I deserve safety, stability, and rest. I now prioritize routines, therapy, grounding practices, and community support to maintain my recovery. I am intentional about preventing burnout, especially as someone who works in high-intensity environments. My lived experience is what led me to pursue a career in mental health. I currently work as a crisis therapist, supporting individuals during moments of acute distress. I understand what it means to feel overwhelmed, dysregulated, and unheard—not from a textbook, but from lived reality. This perspective allows me to connect with clients in an authentic and compassionate way while maintaining professional boundaries. Academically, I am pursuing a master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Despite managing ADHD, PTSD, and the demands of full-time crisis work, I have maintained strong academic performance. My educational goal is to become a licensed professional counselor and continue serving individuals impacted by trauma, domestic violence, and substance abuse. I am especially passionate about working with marginalized populations and women who, like me, have had to rebuild their lives more than once. Continuing my recovery is non-negotiable. I remain actively engaged in therapy, medication management when needed, and structured self-care. I listen to my body and mind, honor rest, and seek support before reaching crisis points. Recovery, for me, is a daily practice rooted in accountability, self-awareness, and compassion. This scholarship honors Ella’s fighting spirit—a spirit I recognize deeply. Like Ella, I believe in growth, resilience, and the possibility of a future shaped by purpose rather than pain. Receiving this scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of graduate education but affirm that survival can become service, and healing can become leadership. I carry my past with me, but it no longer defines me,it fuels my commitment to helping others find hope, safety, and strength. Mahalo, Matilda

My experience with mental health has shaped every part of who I am, my beliefs, my relationships, and my career aspirations. I was born and raised in Bosnia and grew up during a time of war, displacement, and instability. From an early age, I learned how trauma, grief, and chronic stress can affect not only individuals, but entire families and communities. Those early experiences planted the seed for my deep belief that mental health care is not a luxury, it is a necessity and a human right. As an adult, I have navigated my own mental health challenges while building a life in the United States. Living with conditions such as anxiety, ADHD, and chronic pain has given me firsthand insight into how invisible struggles can affect daily functioning, relationships, and self-worth. Rather than distancing me from others, these experiences have strengthened my empathy. They have taught me to listen without judgment, to value emotional safety, and to recognize resilience even when someone feels broken. In my personal relationships, I strive to lead with patience, clear communication, and compassion, knowing how powerful it is to feel truly seen and understood. Professionally, my lived experience with mental health directly led me to pursue a career in counseling. I currently work as a mobile crisis therapist in Hawaiʻi, supporting individuals and families during their most vulnerable moments, psychiatric crises, suicidal ideation, homelessness, domestic conflict, and severe mental illness. This work has confirmed my belief that effective mental health care must be accessible, culturally responsive, and grounded in dignity. Too often, people reach crisis points not because they failed, but because systems failed to support them early enough. I am currently pursuing my Master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, with the goal of becoming a licensed professional counselor and advancing into leadership roles within behavioral health services. I aspire to not only provide direct clinical care, but also to influence programs, policies, and service delivery models that reduce barriers for underserved populations. As a bilingual clinician with extensive supervisory experience, I hope to bridge gaps between clients, providers, and systems, particularly for immigrant families, individuals experiencing poverty, and those navigating complex trauma. My long-term vision is to help build mental health services that focus on prevention, early intervention, and continuity of care. Whether through crisis response, program development, or future leadership roles, I am committed to creating spaces where people feel safe asking for help before reaching a breaking point. I believe healing happens when people are met with respect, consistency, and genuine human connection. Receiving this scholarship would not only support my education, it would affirm the importance of mental health professionals who bring lived experience, cultural awareness, and unwavering dedication to this field. I am committed to using my education and experience to make a meaningful, lasting impact on individuals, families, and communities in need.

Caring for My Mother-in-Law and Her Elderly Sister For the past three years, I have been one of the primary caregivers for my mother-in-law, who lives with spinal stenosis and limited mobility. Although her siblings also live here in Hawaiʻi, they are elderly and facing their own health struggles, making it difficult for them to provide the level of care she needs. Because of that, much of the responsibility falls on my husband and me. Over time, I also stepped in to help care for her older sister, who has her own mobility challenges and relies on us for support. Caring for both of them has become a meaningful part of my daily life and has shaped the way I understand family, compassion, and resilience. My mother-in-law’s condition affects even the simplest parts of her day. Walking short distances, showering, cooking, or getting in and out of the car all require patience and hands-on assistance. Her older sister, while dealing with different medical issues, faces similar difficulties with balance, movement, and everyday tasks. As they age, their bodies slow down, but their desire to remain independent never goes away. That balance—helping without making them feel helpless—is something I’ve learned to navigate with care. Growing up in Bosnia during the war taught me early on what it means to show up for others in moments of need. Those experiences built a foundation of strength and empathy that I draw from today. When I became involved in their care, I didn’t hesitate, because I understand how painful it is to feel unsupported. Helping them with daily routines, preparing meals, managing appointments, or assisting with mobility became more than obligations—it became a reminder of how meaningful it is to help someone maintain dignity and comfort. Balancing caregiving with my full-time work in crisis services and my graduate studies in Clinical Mental Health Counseling has been challenging, but it strengthened me. There are days when I go from a high-stress crisis shift straight into assisting my mother-in-law with her evening routine and checking on her sister to ensure she’s okay. Then I stay up late completing assignments for school. Those moments can be exhausting, but they also push me to work harder toward my goals because I want to build a future where I can continue helping others at a professional level. Caring for two elderly family members has influenced the type of therapist I aspire to become. I’ve witnessed firsthand how chronic pain affects mood, how aging can change someone’s sense of identity, and how caregiving impacts the entire family system. I’ve learned patience, emotional awareness, and the importance of advocating for people who don’t always feel heard. These experiences taught me more about empathy and human connection than any textbook ever could. Being responsible for their care has made me more resilient, more compassionate, and more driven to complete my education. It taught me that caregiving isn’t just physical support—it is emotional support, encouragement, and helping someone maintain their sense of self. Even on the hard days, I feel grateful to be someone they can depend on. Caring for my mother-in-law and her sister has shaped who I am and continues to motivate me to pursue a career where I can uplift and support others with the same dedication and heart. Mahalo for reading. Matilda

Scholarship Essay — What Gave Me the Courage to Go Back to School The courage to return to school did not come to me all at once. It unfolded slowly, in the long nights I spent working crisis calls, meeting people at their lowest moments, and realizing that despite everything I had survived in my own life, I still had the strength to help others. Crisis work showed me something I didn’t see in myself for a long time—that I was capable, resilient, and built for this path. Every time I sat with someone struggling with trauma, fear, addiction, or hopelessness, I recognized pieces of my own history. And instead of pushing me away from this field, it pulled me in. It made me realize, “I can do this. I belong here.” As a woman who grew up during the war in Bosnia, survival became my earliest life skill. Adapting, pushing through uncertainty, and rebuilding from nothing shaped the way I face challenges even today. Coming to the United States and starting over again taught me resilience on a whole new level. But somewhere in between motherhood, working long hours, living with fibromyalgia and ADHD, and navigating life in a new culture, I put my own dreams on hold. I focused on everyone else—my family, my clients, my community—until one day I realized that I deserved to invest in myself too. Working as a crisis therapist became the turning point. I witnessed firsthand the gaps in mental health care and how much people need trauma-informed professionals who truly understand struggle from the inside out. The more people I helped, the more I saw how powerful education could be—not just for my career, but for my confidence, my purpose, and my long-term impact. Every shift showed me that my lived experience wasn’t a setback; it was the exact reason I could connect with people so deeply. Returning to school felt less like starting something new and more like stepping into who I was always meant to become. Going back to school at this stage in life took courage because I am balancing so much—full-time crisis work, chronic pain, ADHD, financial responsibilities, and being a wife and mother. But I knew that if I didn’t push myself now, I would always wonder “what if.” I chose education because I wanted stability for my family, personal growth for myself, and the ability to make a real difference in my community. Enrolling in the Master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling program at the University of Phoenix has been one of the most empowering decisions of my life. I have maintained a 4.0 GPA, made the President’s List, and proven to myself that even with everything on my plate, I can succeed. My courage comes from wanting to build something bigger than myself. I want to become an LMHC, pursue trauma-focused training, and eventually create a trauma-informed center or transitional housing program—something that combines care, safety, and dignity for people who are trying to rebuild their lives. My journey has been shaped by hardship, but it has also been shaped by hope. Returning to school was an act of courage, but also an act of self-respect. I chose to believe in myself the way I believe in the clients I serve every day. And now, with each step forward, I am becoming the kind of professional who can turn my lived experiences into meaningful impact. Crisis work gave me the courage to go back, but my purpose is what keeps me going.

Aloha, Throughout my life, mental health has never been an abstract topic—it has been a lived experience shaped by my upbringing, my ADHD, my resilience, and my work in the crisis field. Growing up in Bosnia during the war taught me early what trauma, uncertainty, and survival feel like. Those experiences shaped my instinct to help others and gave me the empathy I now rely on every day as a crisis therapist in Hawaiʻi. Working in the mental health field while managing ADHD has not always been easy, but it has made me a more authentic and relatable professional. ADHD affects how I process the world, but it also allows me to connect deeply with clients who feel misunderstood or overwhelmed by their own minds. When I sit with someone in crisis—whether they are experiencing suicidal thoughts, psychosis, or the heavy weight of life circumstances—I bring not only clinical skills but lived understanding. I know what it feels like for your thoughts to race, for your emotions to fluctuate, and for your body to react to stress. That insight helps me support clients with patience, creativity, and compassion. In my current role, I help individuals stabilize during some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives. I advocate for their safety, connect them with resources, de-escalate high-risk situations, and support families through fear and confusion. Many of the people I help have no one else, and being that grounding presence has become a purpose that drives me forward, even on the hardest days. Pursuing my Master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Phoenix is the next step in expanding my impact. My goal is to become a licensed therapist, specializing in trauma and crisis, and eventually open a trauma-informed center that provides care to underserved communities, international survivors, and individuals who carry complex histories like mine. I want to combine advanced clinical training with my own lived experiences to offer people a space where they feel safe, seen, and supported. My future career is not just a profession—it is a mission to help others break cycles of pain, reclaim stability, and build hope. With continued education, I plan to strengthen the emotional and mental health of the individuals around me and create long-term, meaningful change within my community. Mahalo, Matilda

Essay Being a first-generation college student means breaking a cycle that has existed in my family for generations. I grew up in poverty in a war-torn country where survival came before dreams. Education was a privilege most could not afford, and my parents—though loving and hardworking—did not have the resources or knowledge to guide me through school. From a young age, I learned to be independent, resilient, and to fight for a better life, even when the path forward was unclear. When I came to the United States, I faced a new world filled with challenges. I had to learn a new language, adapt to a new culture, and navigate systems that were completely unfamiliar to me. I didn’t have family members who could offer advice about college applications, financial aid, or career planning. My hardships became the foundation of my strength and compassion for others who face similar battles. Today, I am pursuing my Master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Phoenix. Achieving this goal has been one of the most meaningful accomplishments of my life. I currently work nearly 80 hours a week as a crisis therapist, supporting individuals who are homeless, struggling with addiction, or facing severe mental health challenges. The work is demanding, but it reminds me daily why I chose this path. Having lived through trauma and scarcity myself, I understand the pain of feeling forgotten, and I strive to offer empathy, stability, and hope to those who need it most. My dream is to open a trauma-informed center that provides accessible, culturally sensitive counseling to people who have endured unimaginable hardship—immigrants, veterans, and individuals battling trauma or substance use. I want to build a space where healing feels possible and where people are treated with dignity, no matter their background or income. I believe that mental health care should not be a luxury but a human right. This scholarship would mean far more than financial assistance—it would represent validation of my journey and acknowledgment of the perseverance it took to get here. As someone who grew up with very little support, every opportunity I’ve earned has come through hard work, faith, and determination. This award would help relieve the financial burden of tuition and allow me to focus more deeply on my studies, clinical practice, and community outreach. With this support, I could expand my impact and continue helping those who have no one else to turn to. Being a first-generation student symbolizes hope and transformation. It means carrying both the dreams of my parents and the responsibility to create a better future for others. Though I came from poverty and uncertainty, I have built a life grounded in resilience, empathy, and purpose. I want my journey to show others—especially those who feel powerless—that it’s possible to rise beyond where you come from. With this scholarship, I can continue turning my hardships into healing and my determination into meaningful change for those who need it most.

Matilda Mujakic Growing up in Bosnia during the war shaped every part of who I am today. As a child, I lived through sounds of explosions, constant fear, and displacement. I remember standing in food lines with my mother, clutching her hand, while trying to understand why people had to suffer so much. When our family finally found refuge and safety, I realized that survival was only the first step—healing was something entirely different. Those early experiences taught me about trauma before I ever knew the word. Today, as a first-generation college student pursuing a master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Phoenix, I carry those memories with purpose. My lived experiences taught me that trauma does not end when the violence stops. It lingers in memories, emotions, and even the body. When I came to the United States, I faced new challenges—learning a new language, adapting to an unfamiliar culture, and rebuilding my life from nothing. There were moments of isolation and misunderstanding, especially when navigating education and healthcare. I often felt unseen, much like many of the clients I now serve. These experiences shaped the kind of therapist I hope to become—one who listens deeply, advocates fiercely, and approaches each person with empathy and cultural understanding. My goal is to open a trauma-informed wellness center that integrates counseling, education, and holistic healing practices to serve survivors of war, abuse, and generational trauma. If I could make one significant change in today’s mental healthcare system, it would be to expand access to community-based trauma services that are both affordable and culturally responsive. Too often, individuals in crisis are treated for their immediate symptoms and then left without long-term support. In my current work with CARE Hawaiʻi, I witness the revolving door of crisis care: people stabilized in hospitals only to be released back to the streets, still struggling with addiction, psychosis, or homelessness. The system lacks continuity, compassion, and culturally relevant interventions. I believe mental health recovery should extend beyond stabilization—it should include consistent therapy, case management, and community reintegration. Expanding trauma-informed programs, especially in underserved areas, would create greater equity, dignity, and hope for those who need it most. Teletherapy has emerged as one of the most important innovations in modern mental healthcare. Its benefits are undeniable: it increases access for people in rural or remote areas, supports individuals with disabilities, and offers privacy for those who may feel stigmatized seeking in-person care. For trauma survivors, teletherapy can be a lifeline, allowing them to receive care from a safe environment. However, teletherapy also presents challenges, such as unreliable internet access, limited confidentiality in shared homes, and the loss of human connection that in-person sessions bring. To make teletherapy truly inclusive, we must invest in technology equity—providing free or low-cost devices and internet access to vulnerable populations—and continue developing culturally sensitive online care models. Innovation must always serve humanity, not replace it. My life is a reflection of resilience, determination, and compassion. From surviving war and displacement to becoming the first in my family to earn a college degree, I have turned pain into purpose. I now dedicate my life to helping others find safety within themselves, no matter where they come from. Every client I meet reminds me why I chose this path: to show that healing is possible and that hope can grow even from the darkest places. Mental health saved my life, and through my education, I am committed to helping others reclaim theirs.

My Story, Losing a family member to suicide by hanging was one of the most devastating and life-altering experiences I have ever faced. The pain of that loss runs deeper than words can describe — a kind of pain that sits quietly in the heart and never fully disappears. It left me with an ache that forced me to confront not only my grief but also the long history of trauma that I had carried since childhood. I grew up during the war in Bosnia, surrounded by violence, fear, and loss. My earliest memories are filled with sirens, hiding in basements, and wondering if we would live to see another day. War robs children of their innocence. It forces you to grow up quickly, to adapt, and to bury your emotions just to survive. That’s what I did — I learned to survive, but I never learned how to heal. When I came to the United States, I thought life would finally become easier, but the trauma I had carried within me came along, too. It showed up as nightmares, hypervigilance, and a constant sense of fear that I couldn’t explain. Later, I would come to understand that I was living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I also struggled with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), which made focusing, organizing, and managing daily responsibilities a constant challenge. Together, PTSD and ADHD felt like living in two worlds — one stuck in painful memories, the other scattered across endless distractions. I also endured domestic violence, which reignited old wounds from my childhood. The cycle of fear and silence became suffocating, and for years, I felt trapped in my own life. Then, three years ago, my world collapsed again when my significant other was murdered. The shock, rage, and sorrow I felt in that moment shattered me. It was as though every painful memory I had ever tried to bury came rushing back all at once. There were nights when I could barely breathe, days when I questioned whether I could keep going. My son also struggles with mental health challenges, and watching him navigate that journey has been both heartbreaking and inspiring. As a mother, I want to protect him from the pain I’ve known, but I also understand that I can’t shield him from his own battles. Instead, I’ve chosen to walk beside him. I talk to him openly about therapy, self-awareness, and emotional healing. I teach him that mental health is not something to be ashamed of but something to be cared for, like any other part of the body. Guiding him as a young adult while managing my own mental health has not been easy, but it has taught me more about compassion and patience than any classroom ever could. After years of carrying trauma and loss, I made one of the most important decisions of my life — I moved to Hawai‘i. I came here seeking peace, grounding, and a new beginning. The ocean, the mountains, and the spirit of aloha have helped me reconnect with life in ways I never thought possible. Hawai‘i has taught me the value of slowing down, of being present, and of finding healing in community and nature. It is here that I have truly begun to rebuild my sense of self. Despite everything I have been through — war, domestic violence, the murder of my partner, and the suicide of a loved one — I am still here. I am still standing. And that, to me, is proof that healing is possible, even when life seems unbearable. My journey has shaped not only who I am but also what I believe in. I believe that vulnerability is strength. I believe that sharing our stories saves lives. As someone living with PTSD, ADHD, and fibromyalgia, I’ve learned that healing is not linear. Working as a crisis therapist has given me the opportunity to support people during their darkest moments — people who remind me of my younger self. Every time I sit with someone in pain, I remember why I chose this path. I want to be the voice that tells them, “You are not broken. You are surviving.” Pursuing my master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Phoenix has been both a personal and professional calling. I want to use my education to break the cycle of silence that exists around mental health, especially in communities where it is still stigmatized or misunderstood. I want to advocate for trauma-informed care and help others recognize that mental health challenges do not define us — they refine us. Through my experiences, I’ve learned that the most powerful form of healing comes from connection — from being seen, heard, and understood. I no longer hide my story. I share it, not out of weakness, but out of hope that it might help someone else find their way. My losses have taught me empathy; my trauma has taught me resilience. My pain has become my purpose. Today, I live with the belief that even in the darkest moments, light can be found. Every morning I wake up in Hawai‘i, I am reminded that I chose life, healing, and service. I carry the memories of those I’ve lost — my family member who died by suicide, my partner who was taken from me too soon — as guiding lights that remind me why this work matters. My goal is not just to heal myself but to create a ripple effect of healing for others — my son, my clients, and anyone who believes their pain makes them unworthy of peace. Mental health is not a weakness; it is part of our shared humanity. My story is one of survival, but more importantly, it is one of transformation. I have turned tragedy into purpose, pain into empathy, and loss into love. I am still healing, still growing, and still learning — but I am no longer just surviving.

Scholarship Essay — Transforming Pain Into Purpose My life has been a journey marked by pain, perseverance, and an unwavering desire to help others heal. I grew up in Bosnia during the war, where I witnessed unimaginable loss and hardship from a young age. Those early years surrounded by fear and instability taught me compassion and resilience, but they also planted a seed deep within me—a longing to one day help others navigate their pain and rebuild their lives after trauma. As I grew older, life continued to test me in ways I could never have imagined. I survived domestic violence and was stabbed during one incident that nearly took my life. I lost two significant partners—one to suicide and another to murder. Each tragedy shattered me, yet somehow also deepened my understanding of grief, survival, and the human spirit’s capacity to heal. My family has abandoned me multiple times, leaving me to rebuild my sense of belonging and identity on my own. Through all of this, I made a promise to myself: I would never give up. I raised two children alone, one of whom lives with schizophrenia. Watching my child battle a severe mental illness has been both heartbreaking and transformative. It gave me a firsthand understanding of the challenges families face when supporting loved ones with complex mental health conditions. It also strengthened my determination to advocate for mental health awareness and compassionate care. My experiences as both a survivor and a mother have given me an unshakable sense of empathy and purpose. Today, I work as a crisis therapist, providing support to individuals who are experiencing emotional pain, trauma, and suicidal thoughts. I use my own story not as a source of pity, but as a bridge of understanding—a reminder to my clients that healing is possible, no matter how deep the wounds. Living with fibromyalgia and ADHD has presented its own challenges, but these conditions have also taught me patience, adaptability, and the importance of self-compassion. Pursuing higher education at this stage in my life is not simply a professional goal; it is a deeply personal mission. As a graduate student in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Phoenix, I am learning how to combine my lived experience with evidence-based practice to help others heal. Education has become my pathway to transform pain into purpose—to take everything I’ve endured and use it to make a lasting difference in the lives of others. My dream is to become a licensed counselor and eventually open a trauma-informed healing center. I envision a safe, welcoming space for survivors of abuse, domestic violence, and mental illness—a place where people can feel seen, understood, and supported without judgment. I want to provide counseling, crisis support, and community programs that help individuals rebuild their lives and rediscover hope. This scholarship represents more than financial assistance; it represents belief in my journey and my potential to create change. As someone who works full-time while pursuing my degree and managing chronic health conditions, financial relief would allow me to dedicate more time to my studies and my clients. My life has shown me that even the darkest experiences can lead to the brightest transformations. I have faced loss, violence, illness, and abandonment, yet I continue to rise—not because I am unbroken, but because I have learned how to heal. My purpose is to guide others toward that same light of healing and hope. Helping others recover from trauma is not just my calling—it is my life’s purpose. Mahalo

Essay: Carrying Aloha Into Crisis My Work on Hawaiʻi’s Front Lines As a mobile outreach crisis therapist for Hawaiʻi’s 988 Crisis Line, my work begins where most people’s comfort zones end. When a call cannot be resolved over the phone, I go out into the community to beaches, encampments, sidewalks, shelters, and hospital waiting rooms —to meet people face-to-face in their most vulnerable moments. Sometimes it’s a person experiencing suicidal thoughts, sometimes someone hearing voices, and sometimes a family in chaos. Every situation is unpredictable and often dangerous, but my purpose is always the same: to bring calm, compassion, and connection where fear and despair have taken hold. Hawaiʻi’s mental health crisis is unique and deeply layered. The people I serve are often coping with both, mental illness and substance use intertwined — and many live without stable housing or family support. The tropical beauty that draws millions of visitors here conceals the deep poverty and disconnection that affect our most fragile communities. My work has taught me that true healing doesn’t happen only in clinics or therapy offices. It begins on the streets, in the parks, and under the bridges, where someone feels seen for the first time. De-escalation requires more than training — it requires heart. I have stood between people and their pain, sometimes physically and sometimes emotionally, using patience, empathy, and body language to defuse violence and fear. I have been threatened, cried with strangers, and sat quietly beside people who have lost everything. In those moments, I am reminded that “crisis” doesn’t always mean danger — it also means cry for help. It is the opportunity to reconnect someone to hope, to dignity, and to the belief that their life still matters. My academic goal is to complete my Master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Phoenix and become a Licensed Mental Health Counselor (LMHC). I plan to continue serving individuals affected by systemic barriers — people living with chronic homelessness, trauma, and dual diagnoses. Education gives me the foundation to combine field experience with evidence-based therapy, while my lived experience keeps me grounded in empathy. I live with fibromyalgia, ADHD, POTS, and spinal arthritis, conditions that often test my endurance and patience. Yet these challenges have made me more attuned to others’ invisible struggles. I know what it feels like to push through pain and exhaustion while still showing up for those who need me. My disabilities do not limit my ability to serve; they deepen my understanding and remind me that strength often comes disguised as vulnerability. Working in crisis response in Hawaiʻi has taught me that aloha is more than a greeting. It means showing up with respect for every culture, every story, and every person, no matter how chaotic the moment. It is understanding that healing takes many forms, and that small acts of care, a moment of listening, or a calm voice —can change the trajectory of someone’s life. My long-term vision is to create a trauma-informed crisis and wellness center that bridges the gap between emergency response, mental health care, and housing stability. I envision a space where those in crisis can find safety, therapy, and culturally grounded healing without judgment or red tape. I want to mentor future crisis responders to approach this work with empathy, cultural competence, and courage. The Heart of Hawaiʻi Scholarship represents more than financial aid for me — it symbolizes hope. Through this work, I have learned that compassion is the truest form of strength, and service is how I express my aloha for Hawaiʻi and its people. Mahalo