Recovery is not a destination but the courageous, ongoing choice to return to the self and build a life rooted in safety, purpose, and self-respect. Growing up in Colorado, I was pulled into dangerous worlds, enduring traumas that left scars I thought would never heal. Heroin addiction and trafficking consumed my teenage years and convinced me I was beyond hope. Recovery began the moment I stopped minimizing my pain and accepted love and support from my family, trusted my friends, and took the first uncertain steps toward healing. It took a new, deeply personal kind of bravery to face my demons and believe in the possibility of real change. When I entered college, PTSD and depression made daily functioning feel impossible. I failed classes not due to apathy, but because the weight of my struggles was overwhelming. I hid my pain, believing I had to carry it alone. Recovery taught me to recognize triggers, seek environments where I could grow, and set boundaries that protected my heart and my future. Realizing some relationships and responsibilities held me back, I chose stability and self-worth. Moving to Arizona and finding support at South Mountain Community College gave me a chance to rebuild with intention. Earning my associate’s degree with honors, joining Phi Theta Kappa, and serving in student organizations became milestones of my commitment to myself. Now, pursuing forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University, recovery means turning my experience into hope for others. Our past will never define our futures.

Olivia Rodrigo’s lyrics from “All-American B*” resonate with me because they capture something I’ve had to learn the hard way: you can carry poison and doubt in your body and still be full of light, still be worth loving, and still be capable of building a life you’re proud to live. When Olivia expresses, “my head is full of poison, and my heart is full of doubt,” I hear the emotional aftermath of trauma; the way fear and shame can settle into your thoughts, nesting there until they start sounding like truth. In my early teens in Colorado, I experienced sexual and physically truamas at the hands of an older man, and it all drastically changed the way I saw myself, my safety, and my future potential. For years afterward, I lived with PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and I moved through life feeling like I had to either break down completely or force myself to become “strong” overnight. That internal war of wanting healing but expecting perfection was exhausting. The next lines hit even deeper: “I got toxins in my bloodstream, you tried hard to suck ’em out / And it feels like medication.” For me, those “toxins” weren’t only diagnoses; they were the opiates the older man injected every day into my body, the unhealthy environments, and the belief that I was permanently damaged. I tried to outrun my pain through risky choices and self-destruction, and tried to hide my embarrassment of feeling like a failure, such as the time when I failed classes early in college and altered my report card before sending it to my guardians. Not out of laziness, but in survival mode, in shame, and in fear, my toxins dressed up as “I’m fine.” Beginning my path of recovery, healing started to feel like medication. Therapy became the first place I spoke out loud about what happened to me, and that honesty was terrifying and freeing all the same. With a small but dedicated support system, I started to believe that needing help didn’t make me weak. It made me brave enough to fight for myself, a turning point. When Rodrigo writes, “I am light as a feather and as stiff as a board,” I pay attention to things that most people ignore, as they may think of the obvious chant from our youth. I think of the hyperawareness trauma can create: constantly reading rooms, overscanning of faces, noticing danger before anyone else does. I used to resent that part of me. Now I recognize it as data, the information I can use to care for myself and, one day, so many others. The biggest triumph in my journey is that I didn’t just “do better” on my recovery path– I rebuilt, and I continue to on a stable foundation. At South Mountain Community College, I earned my associate’s degree in clinical/counseling psychology with an honors GPA, joined Phi Theta Kappa, and stepped into leadership: treasurer and acting President of the Black Student Union, treasurer for Student Government, secretary for Native Student Union, and an inaugural member of Career Services after completing 40+ hours of training. I learned boundaries. I learned stability. I learned that my past doesn’t disqualify me from a meaningful future. That’s why the line “I’ve got sun in my motherfuckin’ pocket, best believe” feels like my personal anthem. Now, as I pursue my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University and work toward a master’s in neuropsychology, I carry that “sun” on purpose, so I can build compassionate, rehabilitative inpatient mental health care for people who, like me, aren’t broken.

The Taylor Swift performance I find the most moving is her Eras Tour performance of “Champagne Problems.” It’s not just the song, as it is more about the moment she creates around it. The quiet at the beginning, the way the crowd holds its breath, and then the standing ovation afterward feel like watching thousands of people agree, at the same time, that your true emotions, your raw feelings, are worth taking seriously. To me, that is the heart of Taylor’s career in the spotlight: turning vulnerability into something powerful, polished, and shareable. I connect to that performance because I know what it feels like to be seen in ways I didn’t ask for. My vulnerable thing is that I’m a gothic hippie—and I’m a Black girl. That might not sound like a big deal at first, but trying to be goth, Black, and visibly different day-to-day in a space where almost all different-looking peers surround you can feel like wearing a spotlight you didn’t ask for directly. Growing up, I stood outside of every group. With the Black kids, I was “too white” and dressed like I wanted to be white. With the white kids, I was too dark, too thick-thighed, my hair too natural. Even when I tried to be similar, I was never like them enough to really belong; I was scarier, weirder, taller, thicker, uglier. What “champagne problems” remind me of is that pain and rejection do not make you unlovable, it makes you human. And the way Taylor performs feels like permission to stop apologizing for being intense, different, or emotional. Freshman year of college, I decided I was done trying to squeeze into someone else’s comfort zone. I got piercings; my favorite are my angel bites. I got tattoos to make my skin feel more like it belonged to me; every tattoo is lines from my own original songs or quotes from my favorite literature that move me emotionally. I keep my hair dyed, and it’s almost become my calling card: I had silver hair and was nicknamed Storm, and now people occasionally call me Phoenix because I keep it dyed a burgundy red. These affectionate nicknames remind me that we, as loyal fans, affectionately gave the monikers Tay Tay or Mother to Taylor! I leaned all the way into my identity and realized something powerful: other people genuinely like who I am, and I do too. That confidence changed my life. I graduated with honors with my A.S. in clinical/counseling psychology as Acting President for Black Student Union, treasurer for Student Government, secretary for Native Student Union, and one of the original six inaugural Career Services members at South Mountain Community College. Taylor’s performance moves me because it shows what I’m learning to live: being in the spotlight doesn’t have to mean shrinking at the thought of not being seen honestly, but leading with, projecting your truth.

I’m a fan of Sabrina Carpenter because she makes confidence feel possible for average women- not perfect, not performative, just real. She’s built a career where she keeps evolving, keeps showing up, and keeps owning her voice, even when people try to box her in. Watching her grow has impacted me personally because it reminded me that you don’t have to “fit” to shine, just to be your authentic self. My awkward thing is that I’m a gothic hippie– and I’m a Black girl. That might not sound like a big deal at first, but trying to be goth, Black, and visibly different day-to-day in a space where you’re surrounded by almost all different-looking peers can feel like wearing a spotlight you didn’t ask for directly. Growing up, I stood outside of every group. With the Black kids, I was “too white” and dressed like I wanted to be white. With the white kids, I was too dark, too thick-thighed, my hair too natural. Even when I tried to be similar, I was never like them enough to really belong; I was scarier, weirder, taller, thicker, uglier. Sabrina’s career, with every low, how she kept growing, kept creating, kept being seen, pushed me to stop shrinking my boldness, my beauty. Freshman year of college, I decided I was done trying to squeeze into someone else’s comfort zone. I set out to discover what made me feel good in my own skin. I got piercings; my favorite are my angel bites. I got tattoos to make my skin feel more like it belonged to me; every tattoo is lines from my own original poems or quotes from my favorite literature that move me emotionally. I keep my hair dyed, and it’s almost become my calling card: I had silver hair and was nicknamed Storm, and now people occasionally call me Phoenix because I keep it dyed a burgundy red. Somewhere in all of that, I realized something powerful, like what I feel Sabrina realized: other people genuinely like who we are, and we like ourselves too. Encouraged, I leaned all the way into my identity. I can listen to rock and metal, and I can listen to my girl, Sabrina! I can dress in black, tight clothing, and add my hippie flow with an alternative boho style. I can be all of it without losing my identity, without changing my personality, because this mix is exactly what makes me stand out as a unique fan of Sabrina Carpenter! This confidence changed my life. I graduated with honors with my A.S. in clinical/counseling psychology as Acting President for Black Student Union, treasurer for Student Government, secretary for Native Student Union, and one of the original six inaugural Career Services members at South Mountain Community College. Sabrina inspired me to believe that visibility isn’t something to fear but something you can lead with. And I’m taking that energy forward as I pursue my master’s in neuropsychology, where I know what makes me different will help others, just as Sabrina Carpenter aspires to be there for each of her fans!

My awkward thing is that I’m a gothic hippie– and I’m a Black girl. That might not sound like a big deal at first, but trying to be goth, Black, and visibly different day-to-day in a space where you’re surrounded by almost all different-looking peers can feel like wearing a spotlight you didn’t ask for directly. Growing up, I stood outside of every group. With the Black kids, I was “too white” and dressed like I wanted to be white. With the white kids, I was too dark, too thick-thighed, my hair too natural. And even with other races in my school, even if we dressed similarly, I still didn’t fit. No matter how similar I tried to be compared to my peers, I was never like them enough to really belong; I was scarier, weirder, taller, thicker, uglier. Freshman year of college, I decided I was done trying to shrink myself into someone else’s comfort zone. I set out to discover what made me feel good in my own skin. I got piercings; my favorite are my angel bites. I got tattoos to make my skin feel more like it belonged to me; every tattoo is lines from my own original poems or quotes from my favorite literature that move me emotionally. I keep my hair dyed, and it’s almost become my calling card: I had silver hair and was nicknamed Storm, and now people occasionally call me Phoenix because I keep it dyed a burgundy red. Somewhere in all of that, I realized something powerful; other people genuinely liked who I was, and I did too. Encouraged, I leaned all the way into my awkward identity, and I still do. I embrace that I listen to rock and metal, and I listen to hip-hop and R&B. I dress in black, tight clothing, and add my hippie flow with alternative boho style. I watch Martin and Living Single, and I can still enjoy dark, violent anime in Japanese. I can do all of this without losing my racial identity, without changing my personality, because I believe this mix is exactly what makes me stand out as purely myself. I’ve noticed that once I truly got comfortable with myself and let my confidence show, I started attracting all kinds of people and opportunities I honestly never would have phantom for myself. I graduated with honors with my A.S in clinical/counseling psychology as Acting President for Black Student Union, treasurer for Student Government, secretary for Native Student Union, and one of the original six inaugural members for the Career Services of South Mountain Community College. My peers flocked to me for guidance, advice, and companionship. I could see that accepting all my flaws and still walking tall as myself, while never craning my neck to look down on anyone, made people feel safe with me. No matter how people hype me up, I will never feel that I am greater than another. You will always find a support system in me. And that feeling pushed me to keep making decisions for the best of my community and to keep progressing forward as a role model. The fact that I can be an inspiring mentor now, when I used to be the “scary kid dressed in black,” motivates me to keep going after career goals that truly align with who I am. I’m pursuing higher education by obtaining my master’s in neuropsychology, where I know my awkwardness, what makes me different, will save others. Whether they are like me or not, I will help my whole community.

Addiction began for me with exposure: at 14, I was surrounded by older people, unsafe environments, and instability that I was not emotionally or physically equipped to navigate. I dropped out of school, became disconnected from support systems, and eventually experienced homelessness. During which substances moved from experimentation to escape, then to dependence. My world narrowed to immediate survival, and my ability to think long-term about school, health, or my future goals became almost impossible. The most significant challenge I faced was that addiction existed alongside coercion and exploitation. Substance use became tied to control, fear, and compliance. Homeless and on a painful path, I began fraternizing with young men. One of those men was a 24-year-old I will call ‘D’. He drugged me at a trap party, and I awoke in his house, atop a dirty mattress, chained to metal bed framing. He had a horrible temper, was violent and manipulative, and for two years, I was trapped in his grip and his overwhelming rage. He isolated me from friends, and substance use became a tool that D used to keep me compliant, isolated, and afraid. D’s introduction of heroin into my life, it was a decision made under a system of coercion. Heroin and the beatings weakened my body and mind, but also kept me reliant on D; his home, his food, his help to move. I complied with his sadistic demands and complied in quiet contempt when he sold my body for use to his friends. Even after the abuse, I internalized shame and confusion, along with a belief that I was “too far gone” to deserve stability. I overdosed twice on heroin and coke. Those moments were not dramatic turning points in the movie sense; they were frightening, quiet realizations that my life could end in places where I had never planned to be. When you live in constant danger, your brain stops prioritizing growth and starts prioritizing threat. That is one of the hardest parts to explain to people who have never experienced it: addiction and trauma train you to focus on the next hour, not the next year. Moving forward required three things: safety, structure, and truth. I completed rehabilitation, and I began rebuilding my life through consistently, choosing healthy environments, boundaries, and support systems. I also had to confront the psychological aftermath. I entered adulthood carrying anxiety, depression, and later diagnoses that helped me understand why I felt constantly on edge, why concentration was difficult, and why “normal life” sometimes felt impossible. My growth has been both internal and measurable. Healing is choosing not to let shame write the conclusion. Healthy relationships require safety, honesty, consensual boundaries, reciprocity, and that walking away from harm is proof of your self-respect. Measurably, I rebuilt my academic record, earned my associate’s degree in clinical/counseling psychology with an honors GPA, and was inducted into Phi Theta Kappa. I stepped into leadership as student government Treasurer and Acting President of the Black Student Union, always mentoring my peers. Today, I’m pursuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University while supporting myself financially with clear goals in mind. I intend to earn a master’s in neuropsychology and help build compassionate, rehabilitative inpatient care that prioritizes dignity, evidence-based treatment, behavior planning, and daily functioning. The impact I hope to have is practical and lasting: creating systems where people with complex trauma histories are treated as whole human beings, where recovery includes structure, tools, and a genuine plan forward. Addiction influenced my life, but it does not define me. What defines me is what I am building afterwards.

Losing my paternal uncle to suicide altered the emotional architecture of my life. One day, my family was moving forward: my brother was preparing to leave to pursue his art, I was finishing middle school, stepping toward high school, and suddenly, the next day, everything paused. My grandparents found their youngest son deceased. My mother received the call before my father; both were at work, but my mother could take calls more often than my father. The sound of grieving screams and loud sobs of my grandma entered our home in a way that didn’t leave when the phone hung up. My mother described my grandma screaming, “...They took him, they took him, he’s dead...” I arrived home from that last day into my living room, and my father was curled into a ball of anguish in my mother’s lap, so distraught. I watched my father experience a kind of pain I had never seen in him before. I had never seen him cry, and it broke my heart as it scared me all the same. My family tried to survive this the only way they knew how: by going quiet. As a survivor, my earliest challenge was learning how to live with questions that didn’t have clean answers. Evidence pointed to suicide, but faith and shock made it hard for members of my family to accept. That tension created a strange kind of double grief because now I was mourning my uncle while also mourning the fact that we couldn’t fully speak about his death out loud. The silence wasn’t just discomforting; it was reshaping our family culture. Even now, his name can feel forbidden, as if saying it might reopen a wound that never truly closed. I had to learn individually that grief doesn’t disappear when it is avoided. It just changes form. My most prominent personal challenge was guilt. My last interaction with my uncle was silly in hindsight: I was young, petty about something trivial, and when he was saying goodbye to my family and me, I didn’t say “I love you,” nor did I hug him goodbye. I have carried regret for what I didn’t express and for what I could not have understood at the time. After his death, my mind tried to turn that moment into an unfavorable verdict on my love, respect, and the consideration I held for my uncle, as if one teenage interaction could define the entire relationship. That is what grief does to one degree or another: searching for a lever you could have pulled to change the outcome to something happier, or with more closure, even when that outcome was never yours to control in the first place. Journaling built my resilience, becoming a place where I could tell the truth without having to manage anyone else’s emotions. Eventually, I wrote a letter to my uncle, words I would leave at his gravesite. I self-identified what I felt, what I wished I had said, and what I needed to forgive. It allowed me to carry my loss with less shame. Resilience is choosing expression over avoidance and compassion over self-blame. Hope is refusing to measure my love by imperfect moments and instead honoring others by intentionally choosing to love loudly and honestly. The greatest lesson I learned is that love has to be practiced out loud. Silence can be a cage, I understand why my family avoids his name: they are trying not to fall apart. Yet I also believe healing requires integration, not erasure. My uncle mattered. He belongs in our story, our history, and our memories.

Higher education will facilitate what I hope to achieve in the future because it is the bridge between my lived experience, my academic strengths, and the concrete skills required to build the kind of mental health care system I believe people deserve. I am not pursuing a degree simply to earn credentials, as it is more a way for me to create structured, dignity-centered solutions for individuals whose mental health needs are often misunderstood, minimized, or treated as temporary crises rather than complex realities. For me, education is the tool that turns purpose into practice. My goal is to build a rehabilitative, holistic inpatient model that offers more than temporary stabilization after discharge. I want care to include evidence-based treatment, behavior planning, coping strategies, vocational development, and practical life-coaching supports that strengthen day-to-day functioning. I am especially drawn to supporting individuals living with neurodegenerative brain diseases/disorders and co-occurring psychological needs; populations that are frequently underserved and too often defined by symptoms rather than supported as whole human beings. Attending higher education will equip me with the research literacy, clinical foundation, and ethical framework necessary to design such a holistic model that is both compassionate and effective. It will also prepare me to collaborate with interdisciplinary teams, evaluate outcomes, and advocate for programs that are measurable, sustainable, and truly life-improving. My educational pathway reflects my every intention of service. After receiving my associate's in clinical/counseling psychology at South Mountain Community College (SMCC) and now pursuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University (GCU), I am further strengthening my understanding of behavior, trauma, systems, and the real-world consequences of unmet mental health needs. It also positions me for graduate study, with the long-term goal of earning a master’s in neuropsychology so I can deepen my understanding of the brain-behavior connection and serve individuals whose cognitive and emotional challenges require specialized, integrated care. Higher education gives me access to mentors, supervised learning, research opportunities, and professional networks that will sharpen my ability to lead in this field with not just empathy, but with true competence and credibility. I plan to create a positive impact through both direct service and systems-level change. My impact begins with how I lead and how I show up: consistently, responsibly, and with a commitment to treating people with dignity. I’ve already seen how much students’ outcomes improve when they feel supported rather than judged. At SMCC, rebuilding my academic record and serving as Treasurer and Acting President of the Black Student Union taught me that leadership and mental health are connected. When people feel unseen, isolated, or pressured to “be strong” in silence, they struggle; when they experience real community, they rise. That lesson will shape how I practice mental health care: striving to create environments where honesty is safe, boundaries are respected, and accountability is empowering rather than shaming. In the future, I want my work to reflect a simple but urgent belief: people will leave care with more than a plan; they will leave with skills, hope, and an identity stronger than their symptoms. Higher education is how I will continue transforming resilience into expertise, and expertise into a model of care that helps individuals rebuild their lives with structure, dignity, and forward movement.

I have created a step-by-step guide of a Love Island Challenge and have included the steps necessary to grasp the idea of my challenge, as the whole walkthrough staggers over the word limit. I would cherish the opportunity to fully send in step 4, the complete walkthrough of the directions and summary of Flirt & Sprint to the producers on their request! Mattie Barnes’ Love Island Challenge: “Flirt & Sprint: The Chemistry Circuit” This will be a high-energy, flirty obstacle-course challenge that’s sexy in vibe (teasing, compliments, eye contact, playful tension) but TV-safe (no explicit sexual content, no nudity, no simulated sex, no groping). It’s designed to test chemistry, confidence, communication, and teamwork. 1) Core Concepts aka What It Tests Chemistry under pressure: Can they flirt and still function as a team? Communication: Can they give directions, hype each other up, and recover from mistakes? Boundaries + respect (teamwork): Islanders earn points for “hot” moments that are still consensual and appropriate. 2) Set & Visual Theme Theme: “Beachside Night Market + Neon Track Meet” A neon-lit course with numbered stations and a host podium. A big scoreboard labeled: Chemistry Teamwork Showmanship Music: upbeat club/pop Wardrobe guidance (TV-friendly) Islanders wear their usual swimwear, plus optional fun accessories: sheer cover-ups, sporty harness-style belts (over swimwear), glitter body gel, sunglasses at night Producers can suggest “modesty-safe” options and intimate tape as needed. 3) How Players are Grouped Played in current couples (or “most recent pairing” for singles). Each couple runs the course one at a time while others watch and react (promoting classic villa energy/vibes). 5) Consent & boundaries (built-in, on camera) Before each run, the host says: “Remember: consent first—if your partner says no, you move on.” And each couple gets a “Boundary Pass” they can use once to skip any prompt with no penalty (prevents pressure, keeps it TV-appropriate). 6)Full scoring summary (simple for viewers) Max points per couple are roughly 30 – 45, depending on performance. Score categories displayed: Chemistry (poses, lines, confidence) Teamwork (trust walk, showmanship) Courage/Communication (public answers, commitment) 7) Prize (classic Love Island stakes) The winning couple gets: A curated “Neon Night Date” (private mini carnival + cocktails) Plus, they get to choose one other couple to join for a double date (this creates alliances/drama without being mean) 8) Why This is a Winning Challenge: It is “fun and sexy” but still TV-safe “Sexy” comes from tension, compliments, closeness, eye contact, confidence, and playful jealousy/real feelings. “Not too sexy” because: no explicit sexual talk no simulated sex acts no nudity guided-touch rules and a boundary pass

The impact I want to make is personal, practical, and long-term: I want to help build a mental health system where people are treated as whole human beings, not as diagnoses, “problem behaviors,” or crisis cases, and where recovery includes dignity, structure, and real-life functioning. My education is the tool I am using to create a future where people who feel stuck, overwhelmed, or written off can access care that is consistent, compassionate, and effective. Pursuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University, my long-term goal is to earn a master’s in neuropsychology. I aim to build a rehabilitative, holistic inpatient model of mental health care, focused on individuals living with neurodegenerative brain diseases/disorders and complex psychological needs. Too often, people receive “stabilization” without a more defined pathway forward. My vision for inpatient care combines evidence-based treatment with behavior planning, effective coping strategies, vocational development, and supportive life-coaching tools that increase quality of life and day-to-day functioning. I believe clients deserve to leave care with more than a discharge plan; they should leave with skills, hope, and a sense of identity that is stronger than their symptoms. My determination is due to personally living out what happens when mental health needs are left untreated, misunderstood, or set aside as an afterthought. I know firsthand that trauma and mental health symptoms can derail education, relationships, and types of stability. I also know that support works best when it is accessible, consistent, and rooted in respect. Early college, PTSD, anxiety, and depression made it hard to function, and I failed courses. The shame made me hide my struggle instead of addressing it. What changed my trajectory was accepting help and learning to make choices based on long-term well-being instead of short-term comfort. Therapy gave me grounding tools, coping strategies, and the ability to replace self-blame with structure and accountability. That shift didn’t just improve my academics; it allowed me to restore my life. The people who inspire me are the ones who show up and stay consistent: mentors and counselors who treat students like they are unfailingly worth investing in, leaders who advocate instead of perform, and peers who fight quietly every day to keep going. I’m inspired by communities that serve, such as the faith-driven organization, Feed My Starving Children, where I volunteer every semester. The experience reminds me that compassion must become action; you have to show up, work hard, and commit to meeting needs even when it’s inconvenient. I strive to give back through leadership and service. At South Mountain Community College, I rebuilt my academic record after years of trauma and poor academic performance, earned honors, and joined Phi Theta Kappa, a national honor society. I served as Treasurer of the Black Student Union and later graduated as Acting President, strengthening my ability to advocate, build community, and lead with accountability. I also joined the inaugural team that launched Career Services, completing 40+ hours of peer development training, learning how to help students build future pathways. Those roles taught me what I want to bring into the mental health field: structure, consistency, and the ability to help people see possibilities when they feel stuck. My vision for the future is clear. I want to use my education to expand dignity-centered care, especially for people who have been told they are “too broken” or “too difficult.” What defines me is that I have worked to put forth change: gaining stability, earning leadership, pursuing academic excellence, and working for a future devoted to helping others find a way out, intent and supported to always be moving forward.

I organized a recurring volunteer initiative for my campus community through the Black Student Union, centered on monthly service at Feed My Starving Children (FMSC). My goal was simple but serious: create a consistent, welcoming way for students, especially those balancing school, work, and personal challenges, to give back tangibly, build community across differences, and practice leadership that isn’t performative but productive. To make the event happen, I coordinated scheduling, recruited volunteers, and kept communication organized so participation felt accessible rather than overwhelming. I also focused on building buy-in. I didn’t just ask people to show up; I explained why we were doing it, what it meant, and why showing their face spoke volumes for those whose voices need an amplifier. FMSC’s mission is deeply aligned with my values: that hope starts with food; it seems so simple, considering that Maslow’s first hierarchy of needs includes this basic survival. Every year, millions of children die from preventable causes, and undernutrition contributes to nearly half of deaths in children under five. That reality is devastating, and it makes a simple choice of service feel crucial rather than low priority. FMSC addresses that need by creating meals developed by food science and nutrition professionals and working through long-term distribution partners who help communities move from relief to development. Knowing that what we packed would help children grow, thrive, and develop to their full potential made every shift feel purposeful. At FMSC, volunteering looked like action. We wore hairnets, sanitized, and worked in an assembly-line system that involved a team collaboration of scooping, weighing, sealing, labeling, and boxing meals with speed and accuracy. I have read the philosophy of French Enlightenment philosopher Baron de Montesquieu, who has a quote that reads, “To become truly great, one has to stand with people, not above them,” so naturally, I strive to volunteer alongside my peers, not above them. I learned quickly that service leadership is not about being the loudest voice in the room; it’s about being the most reliable presence. It’s checking in on people, keeping morale high, reinforcing the mission when fatigue sets in, and making sure everyone feels included and capable. For some students, it was their first time volunteering, and I treated the virtuous endeavor as an altruistic opportunity: making sure each member understood the process, felt welcomed, felt our shared sense of “why” we were here. and left feeling proud of themselves, not judged or out of place. This service also strengthened my leadership outside of FMSC. As Treasurer and later Acting President of the Black Student Union, I learned that outreach and accountability matter. A successful volunteer initiative isn’t just “good-faith intentions,” as I have truly learned it requires planning, communication, follow-through, and the ability to motivate people around a shared purpose. Frequently taking BSU to FMSC was a tremendous bonding experience and a way to encourage my team to support those who need advocacy. Thus, I feel leadership through service is the most honest kind of leadership. It proves you’re willing to work, not just speak. It builds trust, community, and humility, simultaneously reminding everyone involved that impact is not reserved for people with power or titles. Impact is created by people who show up consistently to meet needs with compassion and excellence.

Mental health is important to me as a student because it has been the difference between merely surviving and being an individual who knows how to learn, grow, and lead. For years, my education was not just about grades, as it was more about whether I could stay present in my own life long enough to build a future. Sexual and physical abuse I experienced as a teen in Colorado produced trauma that followed me into the classroom in ways I didn’t understand at first. When I entered college at Aurora Community College, I wanted a fresh start, but PTSD, anxiety, and depression made day-to-day functioning unpredictable. I struggled with focus, motivation, and emotional stability. I failed classes early on, and the shame was so heavy that I tried to hide my academic reality rather than face it. That moment in my story matters because it taught me something I carry into every semester now: mental health is not separate from academic success; it in fact has the power to directly shape it. As I continued my education, learning to ask for help became a turning point: it rewired my thinking from “I have to handle this alone” to “I am allowed to be supported while I rebuild.” This rewiring introduced me to therapy, the first space where I could speak honestly about what I had lived through and start replacing survival-mode coping with real tools. I learned my triggers, developed grounding strategies, and began making decisions based on long-term well-being instead of short-term comfort. I also learned that the environment matters. When a space wasn’t helping me thrive, I gave myself permission to start over rather than stay stuck. That mindset is what led me to South Mountain Community College, where I rebuilt my identity as a capable student. I earned my associate’s degree in clinical/counseling psychology with an honors GPA, was inducted into Phi Theta Kappa, and participated in the Honors Program. I became Treasurer of the Black Student Union and later graduated while serving as Acting President. Those roles mattered to me because leadership and mental health are connected: when students feel unseen, unsupported, or isolated, their academics suffer; on the contrary, when they feel supported by their community, they rise. Advocating for mental health in my community starts with how I lead and how I show up. In student leadership, I focused on creating spaces where people could be honest, supported, and empowered, with a focus on students from communities that are often expected to be “strong” in silence. Advocacy, to me, is also practical: connecting people to resources, normalizing seeking help, and modeling boundaries and accountability. Through my work helping launch Career Services at SMCC, I saw how many students were balancing school with work, family responsibilities, and private struggles. That experience reinforced my belief that support systems are not extra but essential and possibly the difference between dropping out and graduating. Now, as I pursue my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University while financially supporting myself, my advocacy continues through consistency and example. I speak openly, with confidence, about the fact that healing and success can coexist. I encourage others to use counseling services, ask for help early, and build routines that protect their mental health the same way they protect their grades. I’m committed to using my education to expand dignity-centered care and ultimately to build a rehabilitative inpatient model that offers real holistic structure, coping strategies, and hope for people who have been told they are “too much” or “too broken.”

You should consider me for this scholarship because I have demonstrated academic excellence, sustained leadership, and a clear, service-driven purpose demonstrated through earned resilience and disciplined follow-through. My education has never been “convenient” or linear; it has been something I have rebuilt intentionally, semester by semester and decision by decision. What I’m most proud of is that I did not simply return to school; I came restored with direction, maturity, and the commitment to lead, arising me where I did more than succeed. Academically, I earned my associate’s degree in clinical/counseling psychology with an honors GPA and was inducted into Phi Theta Kappa, reflecting both performance and perseverance. I was recognized in the Honors Program, earned a spot on the Dean’s List, and consistently challenged myself to meet higher standards, simultaneously continuing to grow personally and professionally. Those accomplishments represent stability and earned proof that I can set a goal and finish what I start, even when my mind is tired, and my history tries to pull me backwards. Outside the classroom, I pursued leadership that created real impact within my campus community and the BIPOC community. I served as Treasurer of the Black Student Union and later graduated as Acting President; roles that strengthened my skills in advocacy, accountability, outreach, and community building. I learned to lead beyond titles: organizing, communicating across differences, staying consistent through conflict, and making sure people feel seen. That matters in student leadership, and it will matter even more in mental health work, where trust and safety are everything. I also had the honor of joining the inaugural team that launched Career Services at South Mountain Community College, completing 40+ hours of professional peer development training while earning multiple leadership certificates. That experience taught me professional communication and peer-to-peer support, and it showed me how many students are balancing school while working, parenting, healing from trauma, or simply trying to survive. I learned firsthand that support is not a “nice extra,” as it is more often the difference between a student dropping out and a student graduating. I’ve been recognized as a student leader and student worker leader because of how I show up for my peers and the standards I hold for myself. I take initiative, start projects, and follow through. I also stay grounded through service, volunteering every semester with Feed My Starving Children. It reminds me that leadership isn’t only public speaking but rolling up your sleeves and showing up as a team or alone, even when no one is watching, because in your heart you know people deserve care. Today, I am pursuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University while financially supporting myself and staying committed to excellence. I’m not waiting until graduation to become the person I want to be; I’m building her now through consistency, responsibility, and purpose-driven work. My long-term goal is to earn a master’s in neuropsychology and build a rehabilitative, compassionate inpatient model of mental health care with a holistic approach, hyper-focused on dignity, behavior planning, effective coping strategies, vocational development, and resources that improve quality of life for individuals with neurodegenerative disorders. I want to create a model that doesn’t treat people like a diagnosis or a “problem to manage,” but as full human beings who deserve stability, respect, and a real chance at hope. This scholarship would not only support my education; it would strengthen the future impact I am actively preparing to make in the mental health field. Financial support does more than pay tuition; it protects momentum and preserves the time and energy required to stay fully engaged in academics, leadership, and service. I have worked too hard to rebuild my future to let financial strain derail it. One of the greatest challenges I faced in school was learning how to succeed while carrying unresolved trauma and serious mental health symptoms. When I began college at Aurora Community College, I wanted a fresh start; however, PTSD, anxiety, and depression made day-to-day functioning unpredictable. I struggled with focus, motivation, and emotional stability. Early on, I failed courses, and shame made me hide my struggles through unhealthy, dishonest methods instead of addressing them. It felt easier to make things disappear than to admit I was drowning. I overcame it by doing two things that changed my life: I accepted help, and I made choices based on long-term well-being instead of short-term comfort. It shifted my mindset from “I have to do this alone” to “I’m allowed to be supported while I rebuild.” Therapy became a turning point, not because it erased my past, but because it gave me effective coping methods and grounding tools. I learned my triggers, built coping skills to counteract inner dissonance, and replaced self-blame with practical strategies. I had to get real with myself about what was helping me and what was harming me, like identifying the spaces supporting my growth and the spaces that kept me stuck. That kind of honesty is not comfortable, but it is necessary. When I realized certain settings were not supporting my progress, I made the difficult decision to start over rather than remain in a cycle of struggle and shame. I stopped clinging to what was familiar and started choosing what was healthy. This new growth-focused lens led me to SMCC, where I not only rebuilt my academic record but also flourished in my identity as a capable student and leader. I learned how to persist by creating and maintaining structure, practicing self-awareness, and holding myself accountable without self-hatred. Those are not just “student skills.” Those are life skills, and they are professional skills, especially in mental health, where I will be supporting others in building stability one step at a time. This scholarship would be an investment in a student who has already proven she can transform adversity into achievement and who is committed to using her education to expand mental health care.

My experience with substance abuse didn’t just change how I lived; it completely rewired what I believed about myself, what I expected from other people, and what I now feel responsible for doing with my future. At 14, I was exposed to older people and unstable environments I was not emotionally or physically equipped to navigate. I was using hallucinogens, disconnected from school, and eventually became homeless, sleeping wherever I could and depending on couch surfing and food scraps for basic survival. In that vulnerability, I became trapped in a violent, coercive relationship where opiates, especially heroin, were used to control me into being submissive and exploited for the benefit of multiple of his acquaintances. Addiction stopped being a “choice” and became a weapon: it kept me isolated, compliant, and afraid. I overdosed twice, and surviving those moments forced an unshakable belief into my mind: if I didn’t find a way out, I would not make it out. Substance abuse also reshaped my relationships. For a long time, I confused control with love, chaos with connection, and self-sacrifice with loyalty. My experience taught me that healthy relationships are defined by safety, boundaries, honesty, and reciprocity. I learned that walking away from harmful relationship dynamics is not abandonment, but it is self-respect. Learning to ask for help became a turning point: it rewired my thinking from “I have to handle this alone” to “I am allowed to be supported while I rebuild.” Substance abuse transformed how I approach relationships. For a long time, I confused control with love, chaos with connection, and self-sacrifice with loyalty. Recovery taught me that healthy relationships are defined by safety, boundaries, honesty, and reciprocity. I learned that leaving harmful dynamics is not abandonment, but it is self-respect. Today, I’m intentional about who I keep close, the environments I choose, and how I uphold the standards for the way I’m treated and treat others. My experience shaped my career aspirations with urgency and purpose. I have lived what happens when treatment is inconsistent or nonexistent, when care is tied to school enrollment status or guardians, and when people with complex trauma histories are seen only through their symptoms. I completed rehabilitation, graduated from high school, and entered college carrying anxiety, depression, and later diagnoses that helped explain the intensity of what I was battling internally. I struggled academically at first, not because I lacked intelligence or drive, but because trauma and addiction had trained my brain to prioritize perceived dangers over deadlines. Learning to ask for help and accept it became a turning point. It changed my mindset from “I have to do this alone” to “I’m allowed to be supported while I rebuild.” I have lived what happens when treatment is inconsistent or nonexistent and when people with complex trauma histories are reduced to their symptoms instead of being seen as whole human beings. That is why I pursued my associate’s degree in clinical/counseling psychology with an honors GPA, earned membership in Phi Theta Kappa, and stepped into leadership as Black Student Union Treasurer and Acting President. It’s why I’m now pursuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University while supporting myself financially. And it’s why my long-term goal is to earn a master’s in neuropsychology and help create compassionate inpatient care that prioritizes dignity, evidence-based treatment, behavior planning, and real-life functioning, not crisis stabilization alone. Substance abuse influenced me, but it does not define me. What defines me is what I built afterward: stability, leadership, academic excellence, and a future devoted to helping others find a way out, always moving forward.

To positively impact my community long-term, I want to build a rehabilitative, compassionate, and holistic-centered approach, inpatient model of care for people living with complex mental health needs, especially those impacted by trauma, severe mood disorders, and neurodegenerative brain disease that blends evidence-based treatment with practical life coaching: individualized behavior plans, coping strategies, and skill-building that increase quality of life and day-to-day functioning. I want my community to have a safe space that restores dignity, strengthens daily functioning, and helps people rebuild their sense of self. My drive to establish this comes from how gruelling I had to fight for myself. In Colorado, my early teen years were shaped by instability and trauma that pushed me into dangerous environments, substance use, and a period of my life defined by survival. I made choices I regret, and I also endured experiences no child should. Recovery didn’t happen all at once; it happened in pieces, by accepting help, completing rehabilitation, finishing high school, and attempting college even when my PTSD, anxiety, and depression made the world feel overwhelming and unmanageable. At Aurora Community College, I struggled deeply. I failed classes and felt so ashamed that I hid my grades from my guardians, not because I didn’t care, but because I was drowning and didn’t know how to ask for help without believing it made me weak. But there was always a voice in me that refused to disappear: a quiet insistence that “better” was still possible. That voice followed me through transferring to Colorado State University, through moments of stability and success, and through the setbacks, which tested my self-understanding and self-limitations when I overextended myself in relationships, taking on responsibilities that were never mine to carry alone, and even losing consistent access to my medical/mental health treatments. So, eventually, I made the bravest decision I could: I started over. I moved to Arizona, tested what fit and what didn’t, who was there to support my growth, who wasn’t, and sought an environment that supported my said growth. At South Mountain Community College, I truly rebuilt. I earned my associate’s degree in clinical/counseling psychology with an honors GPA, joined Phi Theta Kappa, the national honor society, participated in the SMCC Honors Program, and served in leadership within the Black Student Union, from member to treasurer, graduating as acting President. I earned my spot as an inaugural Career Services member and completed 40+ hours of peer professional development training. These achievements are not for boasting, but proof of what happens when a person has support, positive structure, and a reason to keep going. Now, as I pursue my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University while financially supporting myself, I am still professionally developing my peers as a Career Ambassador, bettering my campus community through peer support. This is something I can build to impact my community; it acknowledges people who are too often dismissed as “difficult,” “broken,” or “beyond help.” I know they are not. I am living proof.

“Seventy persons having conspired against the emperor Basil† , he ordered them to be whipt, and the hair of their heads and beards to be burnt. A stag, one day, having taken hold of him by the girdle with his horn, one of his retinue drew his sword, cut the girdle, and saved him; upon which, he ordered that person’s head to be cut off, for having, said he, drawn his sword against his sovereign.” Who could imagine that the same prince could ever have passed two such different judgements? It is a great abuse amongst us to condemn to the same punishment a person that only robs on the highway, and another who robs and murders. Surely, for the public security, some difference should be made in the punishment.” Charles Louis de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu, Complete Works, vol. 1 The Spirit of Laws Montesquieu’s underlying meaning in this, one of my favorite passages, is that justice becomes irrational and politically dangerous when punishment is not weighted to the moral gravity of an act simply due to the refusal to distinguish between the different kinds of wrongdoing or portrays the ability to judge cases consistently turns law into an instrument of arbitrary power rather than “public security”. The anecdote about Emperor Basil is not offered as colorful history for its own sake; it is a controlled illustration of what “abuse” in punishment looks like when the name and face of sovereignty are treated as the only value that matters. Basil orders seventy alleged conspirators whipped and publicly humiliated, having their hair and beards burned, yet executes the man who saved his life merely because the rescuer drew a sword “against his sovereign.” Montesquieu’s point is not simply that Basil is cruel, but to symbolize a deeper point that when a ruler makes the sovereign’s “dignity” or marks against their honor the sole measure of crime, the law loses its ability to evaluate human actions by their intent and social consequences. The rescuer’s intent is an act of protection, and the consequence is the preservation of theemperor’s’ life. However, Basil interprets this act of preservation through a rigid symbolic lens: steel drawn in the emperor’s presence amounts to a treasonous offense. Ultimately, the emperor then forces a punishment that contradicts any such common reason. Montesquieu posed a rhetorical question, “Who could imagine…?” in an effort to push the reader toward the conclusion that the judgments are not just different but incompatible with what one coil assumes is any coherent standard measurements of justice. In other words, the problem is not that Basil changed his mind, but the problem is that his “standard” is whatever and whoever the sovereign decides to feel threatened by at the moment. With that, we truly see arbitrariness dressed up as the clothing of the law, so to speak. From that arbitrariness, Montesquieu then pivots to a critique aimed at “us,” the “us” referring to his own society and legal culture of the times. He names as a “great abuse” the practice of condemning two fundamentally different offenders to the same punishment: the highway robber who steals and the robber who steals and murders. This comparison is not a plea for leniency; however, it is an argument for proportionality as a core requirement to earn our way to legitimate law. We are reminded we’d be better off to mind crime if theft and murder can receive identical punishment, because the legal system communicates that adding murder to robbery carries no additional legal cost. Montesquieu’s underlying claim is a practical and moral conundrum at once; I claim being more practical because its contrary, rational punishment, structures incentives and deterrence, and moral, because punishment that ignores degrees of harm ignores the hierarchy of human goods. Therefore, when law treats unequal acts as equal, it is no longer a measured response to social injury, as it is more a blunt performance of authority. The line, “Surely, for the public security, some difference should be made,” is the hinge of the entire passage. Montesquieu originates proportional punishment not in vengeance or the emperor’s honor, but in the public purpose of law and safety. Montesquieu assumes that punishment is justified to the extent that it protects society, discourages future crime, and maintains a stable civic order. Under this logic, differences in punishment are not discretionary decoration so much as they are functional necessities for society. A system that fails something as simple as the ability to distinguish between robbery and robbery-plus-murder fails the public because it misdirects fear and deterrence; it threatens the lesser offender with the maximum penalty, while implicitly telling the greater offender that escalating violence does not worsen his legal fate. Montesquieu is therefore arguing that proportionality is itself a security measure: regulated punishments create a rational ladder of consequences that can prevent crimes/criminals from becoming more violent. Finally, the story of Basil and the robbery/robbery-and-murder example reinforces a single political warning: when punishments are detached from measured distinctions, power drifts toward despotism, such as the authoritarian government that Basil rules. Basil’s execution of his rescuer shows how a sovereign-centered view of justice and absolute exercise of power convert even beneficial acts into capital crimes if they symbolically challenge authority. Likewise, a legal code that ties major moral disparity into one punishment signals that the law is not carefully reasoning about harms; it is simply asserting dominion over bodies. Montesquieu’s underlying meaning, then, is that a legitimate government must bind punishment to reasoned distinctions, these distinctions being grounded in intent, harm, and social danger because only then does law serve its proper end. That end being the security of the public rather than the sensibilities of the powerful.

My experience with mental health has shaped my goals, my relationships, and the way I interpret the world in ways that are both deeply personal and professionally defining. Growing up in Colorado, I experienced trauma at a young age that altered my sense of safety and pushed me into survival-mode coping, including substance use. Later, the long-term impact surfaced clearly when I began college: PTSD, anxiety, and depression affected my concentration, confidence, and ability to function consistently leading to early academic setbacks which forced me to confront a difficult truth: intelligence and ambition are not always enough when your nervous system is stuck in survival mode. Early academic failures were not a reflection of apathy, but subconscious pieces of evidence that I needed support, structure, and treatment. Because of this, my goals are rooted in more than interest, they are rooted in lived understanding, experience shared through kindred spirits. My journey taught me how quickly untreated trauma can disrupt education, stability, and identity, on top of how powerful the right environment and consistent care can be was propelled my passion for pursuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University and where I plan to earn my master’s in neuropsychology as my way to help people whose mental health challenges are compounded by trauma, complex diagnoses, or neurodegenerative disorders. I want to create a rehabilitative, compassionate inpatient model that provides dignity-centered care, practical coping methods, and individualized behavior plans that improve daily functioning and quality of life. My mental health journey taught me that recovery is possible, but it requires access, consistency, and providers who treat people as whole human beings, not problems to be managed. My relationships have also been fundamentally reshaped by mental health growth. For years, I mistook intensity for love and over-responsibility for loyalty, and I ignored boundaries until I paid for it emotionally and academically. Through therapy, self-reflection, and hard-earned maturity, I learned that healthy relationships include safety, reciprocity, and accountability. I learned to choose environments and people that support stability rather than retraumatization and to see leaving harmful dynamics as strength, not failure. That perspective guided key decisions, including stepping away from situations that threatened my education and well-being and starting over in Arizona to pursue a healthier path. Finally, my understanding of the world is more compassionate and more realistic because of what I have lived. I recognize how many people are carrying invisible burdens and how quickly untreated mental illness can derail education, work, and identity. I also understand the power of community, mentorship, and opportunity: when I found the right support and structure at South Mountain Community College, I rebuilt myself academically and personally, earning my associate’s degree with an honors GPA, joining Phi Theta Kappa, the national honor society, and serving in leadership roles such as treasurer and then acting president of the SMCC Black Student Union until my graduation. Those experiences showed me that people do not need perfection to succeed; they need support, belonging, and the chance to start again with dignity. My mental health journey didn’t just change what I want to do, it changed who I am: a resilient, self-aware future clinician committed to helping others move from survival to stability, requiring community support, access to resources, and compassion grounded in real strategy. My goal is to be part of a holistic mental health system that treats people as whole human beings: capable, worthy, and not defined by our worst moments.

Recovery, to me, is not a finish line as it is the ongoing decision to return to myself and build a life guided by safety, purpose, and self-respect. As a teenager in Colorado, I was pulled into dangerous environments and experienced severe trauma that led to heroin addiction, trafficking and my childhood spent believing I was beyond saving. Recovery began the moment I stopped minimizing what happened, accepted help from family, trusted my friends, and committed to my treatment and took accountability without shame but not without fear. It was a new type of brave, to reflect on my demons. When I entered college, PTSD, anxiety, and depression made it difficult to function; I failed classes early on and hid my struggles, not because I didn’t care, but because I was overwhelmed. Recovery meant learning my triggers, choosing healthier environments, and rebuilding boundaries, especially when I realized other relationships and responsibilities were harming my education and chances of stability. Moving to Arizona and later finding my community at South Mountain Community College allowed me to rebuild with consistency and leadership. I earned my associate’s degree with honors, joined Phi Theta Kappa, and led in student organizations. Today, as I pursue forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University, recovery means using my education to help others move from surviving life to embracing life, my personal proof that my past does not define my future.

My purpose of higher education is more than a route to the degrees I am pursuing as it is the most powerful tool I have ever used to reclaim my life and make a positive change within the community. As a teenager, I made choices that pulled me away from school and into an abusive, controlling relationship where opiate addiction became another form of confinement. For a period of my life, I was separated from safety, stability, and any vision of a future I could be proud of. What defines me now is not that I fell, it is that I fought my way back with discipline, humility, and an unshakable commitment to my growth. I chose recovery. I chose to take accountability which was something I was scared to do before. I chose education. Then I chose to build a life of purpose that is not merely “better than before,” but intentionally designed to create safety, opportunity, and healing for others. I did not rebuild alone. When I left that situation and returned home, the people around me became a bridge back to myself: childhood friends who showed up without hesitation, a mother who welcomed me home with steady love and practical support, and school counselors who treated my education as worthy because they treated me as worthy. Their belief in me did something profound: it reminded me that I still had value, and that second chances become real only when you decide to honor it. That is exactly how I plan to make a positive impact on the world: by becoming the kind of person and professional who helps others move from survival to stability, from instability to direction, and from shame to self-respect. My long-term goal is to work as a behavioral health specialist and advocate for individuals impacted by trauma, abuse, addiction, and neurodivergence. I want my future clients to experience what I once needed most: evidence-based support, consistent safety, and someone who sees them as capable of recovery and worthy of a full life. I have obtained my associate’s in clinical/counseling psychology, am currently pursuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology and plan to continue into a masters in neuropsychology. I’m especially interested in the intersection of trauma, addiction, and brain-behavior relationships, and how patterns of coercion and chronic stress reshape cognition, how genetic and environmental factors interact, and how treatment plans can be tailored for neuro-atypical individuals whilst respecting dignity and precision. My goal is not only to understand these systems academically, but to apply that knowledge in ways that improve outcomes: earlier intervention, stronger continuity of care, better patient education, and culturally responsive support that reduces barriers to treatment.

If awarded this scholarship, it would help me meet my educational goals by providing the stability and time I need to remain fully enrolled, maintain academic excellence, and continue building the professional foundation required for graduate school and long-term service in the mental health field. I am currently pursuing my bachelor’s degree in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University while financially supporting myself. I am proud of the progress reflected in my transcript, but my journey has taught me that success is not only about motivation, it is also about access, consistency, and having the resources to stay focused when life becomes demanding. My motivation for this work comes from lived experience. As a teenager in Colorado, I faced trauma and later struggled with addiction and mental health challenges that followed me into early adulthood. When I entered college, the effects of trauma were impossible to ignore. I was diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and therapy became the first place where I could speak openly about what I had survived. Like many students, I was learning independence and adjusting to academic expectations, but I was also trying to function while processing experiences that had fundamentally changed my sense of safety and self-worth. Early on, I failed classes, and I carried so much shame that I tried to hide my struggles instead of reaching for help. That chapter taught me a lifelong lesson: educational goals are not reached through willpower alone. Students succeed when they have stable support systems, mental health resources, and enough financial security to prioritize school. I also learned how quickly stability can disappear when education and treatment become intertwined with finances. When school becomes unaffordable or when students are forced to work excessive hours to survive, they not only lose academic momentum, they often lose routines and supports that keep them grounded. This is why financial assistance is not simply helpful for me; it is protective. A scholarship would ease the financial pressure that can pull students away from their goals and allow me to invest my energy where it matters most: learning, growing, and preparing for the next level of training. Practically, this scholarship would help cover tuition and academic expenses and reduce the number of work hours I must take on while in school. That time is critical. It would allow me to remain focused on strong academic performance, engage more deeply in research-informed learning, and continue pursuing leadership and service opportunities that strengthen my preparation for graduate education. I want to fully engage in the opportunities available at GCU without being forced to choose between academic success and basic financial stability. My long-term goal is to pursue graduate training in neuropsychology and help develop a rehabilitative, compassionate model of inpatient mental health care for individuals with neurodegenerative brain diseases and disorders. I want to contribute to treatment approaches that include effective behavior plans, coping tools, and life-coaching strategies that improve daily functioning and quality of life. Ultimately, I plan to create a clinic rooted in dignity and hope, especially for people who feel defined by their diagnoses, their past, or the worst moments of their lives! This scholarship would be more than financial support; it would be an investment in my ability to remain consistent, complete my degree on track, and move confidently toward advanced training. With that support, I can focus less on financial survival and more on becoming the clinician and advocate I am working to be; someone equipped to serve others with competence, compassion, and lasting impact.

I am a BIPOC woman whose commitment to mental health work was built through lived experience with trauma, substance use, and recovery, and through the decision to turn survival into service. I grew up in Colorado and, as a young teenager, I was exposed to dangerous environments that led me into harmful choices and serious trauma. Those experiences altered the trajectory of my life, but they also gave me a lasting understanding of what vulnerable people need most: safety, consistency, and care that does not treat them like a “problem” to be managed. When I entered college, I learned quickly that trauma does not stay in the past. I was diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and therapy became the first space where I could speak honestly about what I had been carrying. Trying to function as a new college student while processing that reality was overwhelming. I failed classes early on, and I felt so ashamed that I tried to hide my struggles instead of asking for support. Looking back, that period shaped one of my core beliefs: academic performance is often treated as a measure of character, when it can actually be a reflection of unmet mental health needs, instability, and the absence of trauma-informed support. As I continued my journey, I received additional diagnoses and learned how quickly progress can unravel when treatment is inconsistent or inaccessible, especially when care is tied to enrollment status, finances, or unstable life circumstances. These barriers did not just affect my health; they affected my ability to stay in school, maintain stability, and envision a future beyond crisis management. Because of this, my activism is rooted in the idea that mental health services must be accessible, culturally responsive, and grounded in dignity. I believe marginalized communities deserve providers who listen without judgment, understand the intersections of trauma and identity, and address the real-life obstacles that make “getting help” difficult. I plan to make a positive impact within marginalized communities by providing trauma-informed, empowerment-based mental health services that are practical and human. That means helping clients build coping skills, healthy boundaries, and safety plans; collaborating with community resources; and advocating for systems that do not punish people for symptoms of trauma. It also means creating spaces where Black and Brown clients, especially women, can be seen fully, not stereotyped as “strong enough” to suffer silently. My leadership experiences, including serving in the Black Student Union and participating in student support and career development initiatives, strengthened my ability to advocate, organize, and create pathways for others to succeed. Today, I am completing my bachelor’s degree in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University while financially supporting myself through school. My long-term goal is graduate training in neuropsychology and the creation of a rehabilitative, compassionate model of inpatient mental health care, especially for individuals whose mental health is complicated by neurological conditions. I want to help build treatment environments where people who feel “too damaged” or “too difficult” can receive effective care, respect, and real hope. A scholarship would not only support my education; it would strengthen my capacity to serve. I have learned that healing is possible when people are met with consistency and dignity. My purpose is to become the provider and the advocate who helps make that kind of healing more available for marginalized communities.

My passion for supporting African American women impacted by domestic violence and substance use comes from lived experience and the hard-earned belief that survival should never be the finish line; healing should be. As a teenager in Colorado, I made risky choices, used drugs, and was harmed in ways that changed the course of my life. The trauma I experienced contributed to a long period of addiction and fear, and later affected my mental health in ways I could not simply “outgrow.” When I entered college, I carried PTSD, anxiety, and depression into the classroom. I wanted to succeed, but I struggled, failed courses, and felt deep shame, proof not of a lack of motivation, but of what happens when pain goes untreated and support is inconsistent or inaccessible. Over time, therapy and recovery taught me that needing help is not weakness; it is courage. That lesson became the foundation of my educational goals. My commitment is especially focused on African American women because I have witnessed how often Black women are expected to be strong in silence, how quickly their pain is minimized, and how frequently systems respond with judgment instead of protection. Domestic violence and substance use often intersect through coercion, isolation, and survival coping, and outcomes improve when care is culturally responsive, trauma-informed, and consistent. I rebuilt my life through education, earning my associate’s degree in clinical/counseling psychology with honors, leading in the Black Student Union, and continuing my bachelor’s in forensic psychology at Grand Canyon University. These experiences inspire my commitment to improve outcomes for Black women by expanding access to compassionate treatment, strengthening safety and recovery supports, and advocating for care that honors dignity. My past does not disqualify me from this work; it equips me to do it with empathy, accountability, and purpose.

I deserve this scholarship not only because of the challenges I have faced, but because of the determination and purpose they have given me. I survived abuse in a statutory relationship with someone 14 years my senior, endured homelessness, and coped with profound trauma. Still, I have maintained a 3.5+ GPA across four demanding college semesters. My resilience fuels a vision beyond my own success: I aspire to create a holistic inpatient mental health facility to transform care and recovery. Through every hardship, I have chosen to prioritize my education and my future. I have maintained my standing in the Phi Theta Kappa National Honor Society while navigating significant personal obstacles, proving that perseverance and commitment can overcome even the most difficult circumstances. These experiences have strengthened my adaptability, sharpened my determination, and reinforced my ability to dream boldly and plan for the future. For these reasons, I believe I am not only deserving of financial support but also a meaningful investment. Giving back to my community is an integral part of who I am, as I have dedicated many hours volunteering with Feed My Starving Children in Mesa, AZ, and coordinated book drives with the South Mountain Community College Black Student Union, of which I was treasurer and then president during my graduating year. I have received generosity during times of severe need, and I feel a deep responsibility to extend that same branch of kindness to others. Volunteering brings me warmth, purpose, and healing; it helps me manage the lasting effects of PTSD, reminding me that compassion can profoundly change lives. My ultimate goal is to improve the mental health care experience in the United States by opening a holistic inpatient treatment facility. This center would provide residents with personalized behavioral and life-development plans tailored to their unique needs. Patients would receive consistent, compassionate care from interdisciplinary teams whose methods are grounded in empirical research and proven therapeutic practices. I want to build a place where healing addresses the whole person—mind, body, and future. To achieve this vision, I must pursue advanced education. I plan to earn at least a master’s degree, and if possible, ultimately strive for a doctorate in Neuropsychology so I can develop the expertise necessary to lead and innovate in the mental health field. However, continuing my education requires financial support. Assistance through this scholarship would help me afford housing, food, trauma-related medications, and the rising costs of tuition and academic expenses. Your investment would not only support my education but also empower me to dedicate my life to helping others heal. Thank you for hearing part of my story.

The person who died by suicide was my uncle and my father’s youngest brother. On the day we found out his death had happened, my family was in a transition for the better. One of my eldest brothers was on his way to Texas, literally in two days, to practice his art professionally, and it was my last day of middle school before the summer leading into my freshman year of high school. My grandmother and grandfather had found their son, and when my grandmother called, she first reached my father, who, fortunately, did not answer as he was at work, but my mother received the next call. She described my grandmother screaming, sobbing into the phone that they killed him, that he was gone- that my uncle was dead and his mother and father had discovered the body. The whole thing was devastating for my father, who I had never seen cry except the one other time my baby brother was born and had almost died in the hospital at his birth. My mother questioned her faith, and I felt immense guilt over my last interaction with my uncle, and deep sadness for my grandparents, who had just been destroyed. The evidence points to suicide, but being a Christian-based family, my grandparents and my parents could never believe it; however, my grandfather and mother now believe in the evidence that the truth is suicide. To this day, it has broken my grandmother into a place where I feel she got sicker quicker in terms of her age-related debilitating sickness, and we cannot even mention my uncle’s name. It breaks me, as I understand all he meant to them- but he was my family too, he meant something to me too, he was my favorite uncle. As I mentioned, I felt guilty about the last interaction my uncle and I had: I cannot remember, but I was mad at him over something very trivial when I was about 13. Near the ending of him visiting my parents, siblings and I at his parents, my grandparents house, I had gotten mad about something I cannot even remember what even pestered me, and I had walked to the backyard of my grandparents’ mad at him, and I as he was leaving I had this urge in the bottom of my stomach, my soul, to say goodbye to him, so I did. I hugged him, I did not say I loved him, still being petty, my regret, and told him goodbye, not knowing that goodbye really was the last one. The aftermath left me questioning my own faith and my own actions leading up to my uncle’s death, so I dealt with the loss a lot through journaling, and finally, I wrote a letter to my uncle that, if I ever got the chance, I would leave at his grave site. Initially and to this day, I cannot bring up my uncle’s name in front of my father or my grandparents, and when I have in relations to just bringing up a good memory in front of my father, he pretends not to have heard it saying “Huh,” and my mother shushes me, staring daggers, signaling to change the topic, and I have to save myself with some irrelevant babbling, which my father pretends to finally hear. However, whatever my family' s grieving processes or the hindrance of it, I learned I had to release what was inside to heal. The letter to my uncle taught me to forgive myself and reflect emotionally and mentally, so I could have a conversation with my inner dialogue to get to what was creating such dissonance in me. I also learned that I need to practice love out loud; my silence was a cage, and for my family, refusing to say his name is a cage. They are trying to protect themselves from falling apart at the mention of his name, but by not allowing him to be present by name, he cannot continue to be integrated into our family story, our history. I realized I should have made love a habit, not a mood, and that expression is sometimes needed when avoidance seems the answer. Writing a letter changed my self-punishment to self-witnessing my grief, facing the truth of what I felt, didn’t know, and would say now. I allowed myself to be human. I will not measure my love for anyone I choose to love, family or friend, by my last imperfect moment, as I choose to honor it by how openly I choose love now.

Despite having to traverse and survive abuse in a statutory relationship with someone 14 years my senior, who not only abused me but also sold heavy, illegal drugs and used these drugs to keep me subdued, surviving homelessness, and profound trauma, I have maintained a 3.5+ GPA across four demanding semesters of college. My resilience, intelligence, and unwavering drive fuel a vision that extends far beyond my own success: I aspire to create a holistic inpatient mental health facility that transforms the way individuals experience care and recovery. Through every hardship, I have chosen to prioritize my education and my future. I have maintained my standing in the Phi Theta Kappa National Honor Society while navigating significant personal obstacles, proving that perseverance and commitment can overcome even the most difficult circumstances. These experiences have strengthened my adaptability, sharpened my determination, and reinforced my ability to dream boldly and plan for the future. For these reasons, I believe I am not only deserving of financial support but also a meaningful investment. Giving back to my community is an integral part of who I am, as I have dedicated many hours volunteering with Feed My Starving Children in Mesa, AZ, and coordinated book drives with the South Mountain Community College Black Student Union, of which I was treasurer and then president during my graduating year. I have received generosity during times of severe need, and I feel a deep responsibility to extend that same branch of kindness to others. Volunteering brings me warmth, purpose, and healing; it helps me manage the lasting effects of PTSD, reminding me that compassion can profoundly change lives. Aspiring to create a holistic inpatient mental health facility, my ultimate goal is to improve the mental health care experience in the United States by opening a holistic inpatient treatment facility. This center would provide residents with personalized behavioral and life-development plans tailored to their unique needs. Patients would receive consistent, compassionate care from interdisciplinary teams whose methods are grounded in empirical research and proven therapeutic practices. I want to build a place where healing addresses the whole person—mind, body, and future. To achieve such a vision of altruistic entrepreneurship, I must pursue advanced education. I plan to earn at least a master’s degree, and if possible, ultimately strive for a doctorate in Neuropsychology so I can develop the expertise necessary to lead and innovate in the mental health field. However, continuing my education requires financial support. Assistance through this scholarship would help me afford housing, food, trauma-related medications, and the rising costs of tuition and academic expenses. Your investment would not only support my education but also empower me to dedicate my life to helping others heal. Thank you for hearing part of my story.

I believe I deserve this scholarship not only because of the challenges I have faced, but because of the determination and purpose that have grown from them. Despite surviving abuse in a statutory relationship with someone 14 years my senior, who not only abused me but also sold heavy, illegal drugs and used these drugs to keep me subdued, surviving homelessness, and profound trauma, I have maintained a 3.5+ GPA across four demanding semesters of college. My resilience, intelligence, and unwavering drive fuel a vision that extends far beyond my own success: I aspire to create a holistic inpatient mental health facility that transforms the way individuals experience care and recovery. Through every hardship, I have chosen to prioritize my education and my future. I have maintained my standing in the Phi Theta Kappa National Honor Society while navigating significant personal obstacles, proving that perseverance and commitment can overcome even the most difficult circumstances. These experiences have strengthened my adaptability, sharpened my determination, and reinforced my ability to dream boldly and plan for the future. For these reasons, I believe I am not only deserving of financial support but also a meaningful investment. Giving back to my community is an integral part of who I am, as I have dedicated many hours volunteering with Feed My Starving Children in Mesa, AZ, and coordinated book drives with the South Mountain Community College Black Srudent Unionof which I was treasurer and then president my graduating year. I have received generosity during times of severe need, and I feel a deep responsibility to extend that same branch of kindness to others. Volunteering brings me warmth, purpose, and healing; it helps me manage the lasting effects of PTSD, reminding me that compassion can profoundly change lives. Aspiring to create a holistic inpatient mental health facility, my ultimate goal is to improve the mental health care experience in the United States by opening a holistic inpatient treatment facility. This center would provide residents with personalized behavioral and life-development plans tailored to their unique needs. Patients would receive consistent, compassionate care from interdisciplinary teams whose methods are grounded in empirical research and proven therapeutic practices. I want to build a place where healing addresses the whole person—mind, body, and future. To achieve such a vision of altruistic entrepreneurship, I must pursue advanced education. I plan to earn at least a master’s degree, and if possible, ultimately strive for a doctorate in Neuropsychology so I can develop the expertise necessary to lead and innovate in the mental health field. However, continuing my education requires financial support. Assistance through this scholarship would help me afford housing, food, trauma-related medications, and the rising costs of tuition and academic expenses. Your investment would not only support my education but also empower me to dedicate my life to helping others heal. Thank you for hearing part of my story.

In my overarching vision to make a meaningful and positive impact, I am committed to pursuing a doctorate in neuropsychology to revolutionize inpatient mental health care. I aim to establish a progressive facility offering comprehensive, personalized treatment plans integrating various medical specialties and therapeutic modalities that focus on the patient holistically. Supported by the generous assistance of your memorial fund scholarship, I envision transforming the cognitive functions and behaviors of individuals affected by mental illness, thereby enhancing their quality of life. This mission is deeply personal, resonating with individuals facing similar challenges and those navigating their unique circumstances. I aspire to inspire everyone I encounter, guiding them through their journey at my future mental health facility. Hence, they emerge with newfound confidence in their behaviors, cognitive function, and readiness to inspire others. I wholeheartedly believe allowing people to enhance their quality and functionality of life will contribute to the most significant positive impact on my community. I am actively contributing to a positive impact through volunteer efforts with the Black Student Union at South Mountain Community College, where I serve as treasurer. Black Student Union has gone above and beyond to volunteer with the Gap Academy here in Arizona, offering our time to help supervise and teach children after school. The academy is dedicated to bringing in leaders who can look after children and encourage them to do their work in new, creative, and knowledgeable ways, emphasizing the fun of learning and the imperative need for children to learn such knowledge. Inspiring and impacting children has always been my passion, and I will continue to do so whenever possible. Additionally, I dedicate my time to Feed My Starving Children in Mesa, Arizona. Here, alongside dedicated peers, we assemble nutritious meals fortified with essential vitamins and proteins for children in disadvantaged regions worldwide. The collaborative spirit and shared goal of alleviating food insecurity are immensely gratifying experiences. Witnessing the tangible impact of our collective efforts, measured in meals packaged and boxes prepared for shipment, reinforces my commitment to creating lasting change. As I continue my educational journey toward realizing my vision of a reimagined inpatient mental health facility, I remain steadfast in my dedication to making a positive difference through volunteerism. Each volunteer shift furthers my growth and strengthens my resolve to establish a facility that embodies compassionate care and transformative healing. I aim to instill hope and facilitate meaningful change in the lives of my future patients, fostering a supportive environment where they can thrive.

What inspires my interest in entrepreneurship differs from the usual story because it stems from my journey of grappling with mental illness, navigating life decisions, and confronting traumatic experiences. My college years began with typical challenges like adjusting to independence and academic pressures, but my neurodivergence also marked them. Amidst gaining the freshman 15 and late-night escapades, my mental health issues surfaced prominently. Initially diagnosed with anxiety and depression, therapy became a pivotal space where I confronted past traumas, including childhood sexual assaults and an abusive relationship with a man 14 years my senior when I was 14 years old and homeless. Balancing academic responsibilities with mental health struggles proved daunting; I faced academic setbacks and resorted to altering my report card to conceal failures. Feeling isolated and engaging in risky behaviors, I battled a profound sense of loneliness and adversity. Yet, a resilient voice within me urged for self-improvement and a better life, bolstered by the support of my guardians and a steadfast best friend who intervened during a suicidal crisis. I was transferring to a more prominent university that offered renewed hope. Living on campus in a vibrant community, I immersed myself in academic pursuits and a tumultuous relationship. Despite achieving academic success, I ultimately withdrew from the university, succumbing to drug use and further mental health challenges. This decision disrupted my identity but also led to a crucial diagnosis of borderline personality disorder and schizoaffective disorder, initiating essential mental health treatment. Rediscovering a sense of purpose, I reconnected with my estranged biological father and relocated to Arizona, where I continue to prioritize my education and mental well-being. Each day presents its battles, but I am committed to resilience and personal growth, maintaining a high GPA (currently a 3.8) while managing my mental health. My aspiration to earn a doctorate in neuropsychology is driven by a vision to revolutionize inpatient mental health care, emphasizing holistic treatment approaches and interdisciplinary collaboration. The goal of my holistic in-patient clinic would be to treat the patient as a whole in a short amount of time, resulting in a higher quality and functionality of life. I will work to show that working within a patient’s reality by introducing specifically selected coping mechanisms and therapeutic methods and offering essential personal development opportunities that will enhance the individual focus and work mentality and begin to regulate misbehavior, resulting in more positive action from the patient. Supported by the financial aid of your memorial fund scholarship, I aim to establish a rehabilitative inpatient care center that fosters profound cognitive and behavioral transformations for individuals grappling with mental illness. My ultimate goal is to inspire hope and empowerment among my patients, equipping them to inspire others. This journey encapsulates my deepest motivation within the mental health field: to make a tangible, compassionate difference in the lives of those facing similar challenges as mine. I will inspire patients who wander in my clinic lost to achieve their next step and gallivant confidently and courageously into their subsequent conquest of life.

In my overarching vision to make a meaningful impact, I am committed to pursuing a doctorate in neuropsychology to revolutionize inpatient mental health care. I aim to establish a progressive facility offering comprehensive, personalized treatment plans integrating various medical specialties and therapeutic modalities that focus on the patient holistically. Supported by the generous assistance of your memorial fund scholarship, I envision transforming the cognitive functions and behaviors of individuals affected by mental illness, thereby enhancing their quality of life. This mission is deeply personal, resonating with individuals facing similar challenges and those navigating their unique circumstances. I aspire to inspire everyone I encounter, guiding them through their journey at my future mental health facility. Hence, they emerge with newfound confidence in their behaviors, cognitive function, and readiness to inspire others. I am actively contributing to a positive impact through volunteer efforts with the Black Student Union at South Mountain Community College, where I serve as treasurer. Black Student Union has gone above and beyond to volunteer with the Gap Academy here in Arizona, offering our time to help supervise and teach children after school. The academy is dedicated to bringing in leaders who can look after children and encourage them to do their work in new, creative, and knowledgeable ways, emphasizing the fun of learning and the imperative need for children to learn such knowledge. Inspiring and impacting children has always been my passion, and I will continue to do so whenever possible. Additionally, I dedicate my time to Feed My Starving Children in Mesa, Arizona. Here, alongside dedicated peers, we assemble nutritious meals fortified with essential vitamins and proteins for children in disadvantaged regions worldwide. The collaborative spirit and shared goal of alleviating food insecurity are immensely gratifying experiences. Witnessing the tangible impact of our collective efforts, measured in meals packaged and boxes prepared for shipment, reinforces my commitment to creating lasting change. As I continue my educational journey toward realizing my vision of a reimagined inpatient mental health facility, I remain steadfast in my dedication to making a positive difference through volunteerism. Each volunteer shift furthers my growth and strengthens my resolve to establish a facility that embodies compassionate care and transformative healing. I aim to instill hope and facilitate meaningful change in the lives of my future patients, fostering a supportive environment where they can thrive. Ultimately, my journey drives an ambitious desire to contribute meaningfully to the mental health field. Through education, volunteerism, and my future professional endeavors, I am committed to leaving a lasting legacy of empathy, empowerment, and positive impact on individuals and communities.

What drives me to work in the mental health field stems from my journey of grappling with mental illness, navigating life decisions, and confronting traumatic experiences. My college years began with \0typical challenges like adjusting to independence and academic pressures, but my neurodivergence also marked them. Amidst gaining the freshman 15 and late-night escapades, my mental health issues surfaced prominently. Initially diagnosed with anxiety and depression, therapy became a pivotal space where I confronted past traumas, including childhood sexual assaults and an abusive relationship with a man 14 years my senior when I was 14 years old and homeless. Balancing academic responsibilities with mental health struggles proved daunting; I faced academic setbacks and resorted to altering my report card to conceal failures. Feeling isolated and engaging in risky behaviors, I battled a profound sense of loneliness and adversity. Yet, a resilient voice within me urged for self-improvement and a better life, bolstered by the support of my guardians and a steadfast best friend who intervened during a suicidal crisis. I was transferring to a more prominent university that offered renewed hope. Living on campus in a vibrant community, I immersed myself in academic pursuits and a tumultuous relationship. Despite achieving academic success, I ultimately withdrew from the university, succumbing to drug use and further mental health challenges. This decision disrupted my identity but also led to a crucial diagnosis of borderline personality disorder and schizoaffective disorder, initiating essential mental health treatment. Rediscovering a sense of purpose, I reconnected with my estranged biological father and relocated to Arizona, where I continue to prioritize my education and mental well-being. Each day presents its battles, but I am committed to resilience and personal growth, maintaining a high GPA (currently a 3.8) while managing my mental health. My aspiration to earn a doctorate in neuropsychology is driven by a vision to revolutionize inpatient mental health care, emphasizing holistic treatment approaches and interdisciplinary collaboration. Supported by the financial aid of your memorial fund scholarship, I aim to establish a rehabilitative inpatient care center that fosters profound cognitive and behavioral transformations for individuals grappling with mental illness. My ultimate goal is to inspire hope and empowerment among my patients, equipping them to inspire others. This journey encapsulates my deepest motivation within the mental health field: to make a tangible, compassionate difference in the lives of those facing similar challenges as mine. My experience in the mental health field is limited to a research study I conducted in the Spring of 2024 with my college’s Honors Department. This study required me to undertake a 6-month naturalistic observation of an individual with the mental affliction Borderline Personality Disorder and truly dissect what this affliction means for the individual and the implications this disorder proves for their loved ones.