Entering higher education as a young Black woman from a low-income family has taught me that getting into college is only half the battle. Nothing in this world comes for free, and unfortunately, neither does education. For generations, Black Americans were denied access to education, restricted from attending schools, and prevented from gaining the opportunities that education could provide. Even after fighting for the right to an education, the financial burden of obtaining one remains another obstacle. It is frustrating to think that families who were historically kept from building wealth and achieving financial stability are now expected to pay thousands of dollars for the same opportunities they were once denied. I attend the City University of New York (CUNY), a public university system known for making higher education more affordable. However, even attending a public college has not prevented me from owing money or taking out thousands of dollars of student loans. During my first two years, I received full financial aid. After my parents got married, I lost most of that aid, even though our financial struggles did not disappear. My family lives in an old house with a roof that leaks whenever it rains, sometimes dripping water onto my bed. My parents work hard every day, but after paying bills and supporting five children, there is little left for college tuition. On paper, it may appear that we can afford school, but our daily reality tells a different story. Some students can afford to live on campus, have their own space, and dedicate most of their time to studying. I don't have that luxury. I commute to school and return home to responsibilities that don't disappear just because I have exams, assignments, or clinical work to prepare for. I have younger siblings to help care for, household chores, and parents who sometimes need my assistance. My parents have their own financial struggles, and they need help, too. They didn't necessarily have the opportunities or resources that I am working so hard to obtain. In many ways, I feel like I am not only trying to build a future for myself but also trying to overcome some of the barriers my family experienced before me. Being Black has influenced how I view education because I recognize that my family's circumstances did not develop in isolation. Generations of unequal access to opportunities and resources have affected many Black families, making it harder to build financial security and pass those advantages down to the next generation. I don't want those circumstances to continue defining my family. My biggest hope is to become someone who can change that narrative. I want to earn my nursing degree, attend medical school, and eventually become a dermatologist. I want financial stability, a home where my family doesn't have to worry about the roof falling in, and the ability to support my parents as they get older. I also want younger Black students to see that higher education is possible, even when the path isn't easy. To me, entering higher education as an outsider means having to figure out a system that doesn't always account for the obstacles I bring with me. I don't just want to find my place in that system. I want to help make it easier for those coming after me to find theirs.

I'm sinking, deeper and deeper. Sinking into a black hole where I don't know what's around me or where I'm going. That's what exiting high school in a low-income Black family felt like. Even as I was sinking, I was still reaching out, slowly trying to pull myself back up. It didn't matter though. I was sinking faster than I was pulling myself up. I even stopped and looked where I was going, and all I saw was blackness. Do I just keep sinking, or do I figure out how to make it out of the dark abyss? College stopped my sinking. It allowed me to reach higher, become something, and figure out who I am in this world. In my eyes, I would be nothing without my education, so I went to college to advance it. Looking around my house and seeing the struggles I had to go through growing up, I knew I wanted to live a better life one day. I had to go to college, get my degree, and be my best version of myself. Without my postsecondary education, I am just one of the 39.6% of sheltered homeless adults whose highest education was a high school diploma, facing higher unemployment, lower earnings, and greater health risks. After everything I've been through in my few years of life, I just couldn't be a part of those statistics. I wanted to be able to stand strong, be successful, and live in a nice house, without the roof falling in on me. With the lack of help my parents and I got in this world, I wanted to channel our pain into helping others. In order to help others, I decided that I wanted to become a nurse and then go to medical school to become a dermatologist. I believe that in order to succeed in this world, we must also take care of the people we share it with. It should be in everyone's moral compass to be kind, compassionate, and willing to help one another. How can we expect to accomplish anything if we don't help others reach their finish line along the way? I want to make a difference in healthcare because I can accomplish two things at once: build a career for myself while making a difference in other people's lives. As a future nurse, I want to provide patients with more than medication and medical treatment. I want to make them feel heard, respected, and cared for, especially when they may not have anyone else advocating for them. Eventually, as a dermatologist, I want to specialize in hair loss and scalp conditions. Having experienced alopecia areata myself, I understand how much hair loss can affect someone's confidence and identity. I want to help young girls who experience similar struggles feel beautiful and confident, regardless of what their hair looks like. I also hope to represent the Black community in medicine and encourage young students who may not see themselves represented in healthcare. Ultimately, going to college means giving myself and my family a chance at a different future. It means turning the hardships I experienced into something meaningful. I don't just want to make it out of the darkness. I want to become someone who can help others find their way out, too.

Mom yelling from the kitchen. A baby crying in the next room. Water dripping somewhere above me. My textbook open in front of me, but my attention pulled in five different directions. This was what trying to study at home often looked like. Who am I? I am a young Black woman pursuing a degree in nursing while dreaming of becoming a physician one day. I come from a family of seven living in an aging, low-income household where finding peace and quiet to study is not always easy. Between helping care for my younger siblings, navigating financial challenges, and keeping up with college, I have learned that the struggles I face at such a young age are what motivate me to work toward a better future. I don't want the circumstances I grew up in to define the opportunities I have later in life. I want to become successful enough to provide stability for myself, support my family, and create a home where my future children won't have to worry about some of the same things I did. If I could do anything with my life, I imagine myself becoming a physician, raising a beautiful, healthy family, and finally giving my loved ones the comfort they deserve. I dream of the day I can pay off my parents' mortgage, help them move into a beautiful home without worrying about repairs or leaking ceilings, and give them the opportunity to enjoy life without constantly worrying about bills. STEM first excited me in high school when I was in the International Baccalaureate (IB) program. In biology class, I had a project where I got to create a small, self-sustaining ecosystem in a glass jar using soil, plants, and tiny insects. I got to observe how the ecosystem survived and understand how living things depended on one another. This is important because it showed me how we, too, can flourish and grow in our world if we create the right systems to survive. Experiencing how my ecosystem grew showed me that STEM is not just science, it's about life itself. Just like the plants and insects in my jar depended on each other to survive, we depend on the systems we build, like government, policies, and healthcare. The choices we make can help people flourish, or leave them struggling to survive. That made me realize how important it is to help create a world where people actually have the support and resources they need to grow. In STEM, we learn about things we can see, like the human body, but we also learn about things we can't see so easily, like atoms. Sometimes, we might think these are just things we need to understand for a class. But the more I learn, the more I realize that everything is connected. The tiny things that make up our world can help us understand much bigger things, including how people live, how our communities function, and how decisions made through government and public policy affect our lives. STEM taught me to look beyond what is right in front of me and think about how what I learn can make a difference in the world. I want to carry these lessons into healthcare, remembering how the systems we build affect people's lives. As a future nurse and doctor, I hope to use technology to improve patient care. Tools like electronic medical records and telehealth help healthcare professionals communicate, track patients' health, and prevent mistakes. I want to use both medicine and technology to make healthcare safer and more accessible, especially for underserved communities. My hardest challenge is being the oldest of five children in a Black, lower-middle-class household. Every day after classes, I help watch for my younger siblings because my parents cannot afford a babysitter. Many nights, I finish homework while making sure they are fed, safe, and taken care of. Being the oldest has taught me responsibility, patience, and sacrifice. It has also shown me that my education is not just for me, it is for my family. During my first two years in college, I received full financial aid. After my parents got married, I lost most of that aid, even though our financial struggles did not disappear. My family lives in an old house with a roof that leaks whenever it rains, sometimes dripping water onto my bed. My parents work hard every day, but after paying bills and supporting five children, there is little left for college tuition. On paper, it may appear that we can afford school, but our daily reality tells a different story. I managed these challenges by refusing to let them become excuses. I may cry, but afterward, I wipe my tears and keep pushing forward. I stay organized, study whenever I can, and remind myself to remain grateful, even when things get difficult. I have faith that I will achieve my dreams one day and that these challenges are only a part of my journey, not the ending of my story. Despite everything, I have maintained a 3.92 GPA and earned acceptance into Hunter-Bellevue School of Nursing. My circumstances may shape my journey, but they will never decide how far I can go.

Living with one parent can sometimes be better than living with both. Sounds crazy, right? Or maybe, unfortunately, you understand exactly what I mean. Ideally, every child grows up with both parents, but that isn't always what's best for them. I remember being in middle school when my teacher chose a few kids to stay after lunch. We started talking about our parents, and I was the only one who lived with both. Everyone else lived with their mom, and some rarely saw their dad. My friend Gabby said something I'll never forget: “Yeah, you probably have a harder life than all of us.” At first, I was surprised. How could someone with one parent understand how I felt? Having two parents doesn't always mean having less stress. Sometimes, it means living with two parents who argue with each other so loudly that the whole neighborhood can hear. When that becomes normal, you start to wonder what a peaceful home is even supposed to feel like. It can also mean having strict parents who limit your freedom, even at 20 years old. Going out with friends, spending time with my boyfriend, or simply enjoying myself can feel like a struggle. Instead, I spend much of my time doing chores and watching my younger siblings. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to make my own decisions without constantly feeling like I need permission to live my life. You might think I'm spoiled, but I'm not. I'm the oldest of six kids in a low-income household, and I've sacrificed a lot of my happiness, freedom, and peace. I've studied in a room with water leaking through the ceiling and watched my siblings for hours because we can't afford a babysitter. Balancing these responsibilities with school has not always been easy. But never mind. Maybe having two parents really is better than having one. As much as my parents stress me out, I love them to death. When I think about everything they have put me through, I realize that those experiences have also helped shape who I am. Their strictness sometimes made me feel trapped, but it also kept me away from certain choices that could have hurt my future, like wasting my time at parties or hanging out with the wrong crowd. They taught me patience, independence, and how to work hard even when things are difficult. My parents also work long hours, sometimes double shifts, to provide for our family. Even when money is tight, they do their best to support me through college. Although they may not always understand me emotionally, their sacrifices remind me that they love me and want me to succeed. My mom being a nurse inspired me to follow in her footsteps and become a nurse who helps others. However, my dad’s experience as a patient also shaped my career goals. After surgery, he struggled to breathe and felt that his NG tube was placed too far. His doctor dismissed his concerns until a nurse stepped in and recognized that something was wrong. His experience also motivated me to eventually become a doctor who listens to patients. So, maybe Gabby had a point, to a degree. Having two parents has brought me stress, but it has also brought me love, support, and lessons I will carry for the rest of my life. My parents aren't perfect but still, I wouldn't trade them for nothing. One day I hope to give back to them by helping them retire early, buying them a house, or taking them on vacations so they can enjoy their lives.

In my International Baccalaureate (IB) high school program, I had a biology class where I got to create a small, self-sustaining ecosystem in a closed jar using soil, plants, and tiny insects. I created a tiny world inside a glass jar, observing how the ecosystem survived and saw how the living things depended on one another. However, I saw something deeper than just plants living and ants running around. This terrarium showed me how we, too, can flourish and grow in our world if we create the right systems to survive. Me holding a world that I built myself showed me that STEAM is not just science, it's about life itself. Just like the plants and insects in my jar depended on each other to survive, we depend on the systems we build, like government, policies, and healthcare. The choices we make can help people flourish, or leave them struggling to survive. That made me realize how important it is to help create a world where people actually have the support and resources they need to grow. Just as I had a role in shaping the environment inside my jar, I realized that I, too, could make an impact on the world around me. My love for science and helping others pushed me to want to become a nurse and eventually a doctor. Just like in my terrarium, I want to help create an environment where people have the care, support, and resources they need to thrive. Through nursing and medicine, I hope to use what I learn in STEAM to make a difference in people's lives, just as I was able to make a difference in the small world I built inside my jar. Even while performing a Tollens test in a lab, I saw how doing the right things can create something beautiful, both in science and in society. I watched as a chemical reaction created a shiny silver coating inside a glass tube, transforming it into something shiny and beautiful. It amazed me how something ordinary could become something so beautiful through a reaction, and I did that. When I look in the mirror, I hope to see a nurse who is not only there for her patients in the hospital, but also outside of it, making sure they have the support they need. It is important to advocate for my patients and make sure they have the resources they need to live healthy lives. Just like that reaction transformed the glass into something beautiful, I want to use STEAM to help create positive transformations in people's lives. In my life, I haven't always grown up in the best environment. In my habitat, I have a hole in my roof that allows rainwater to leak into my room and flood parts of the house. There are also other challenges, such as the yelling and arguing between my parents and the crying babies I have to watch while trying to focus on school because we can't afford a babysitter. Despite these challenges, I have continued working toward my goals and maintaining a 3.92 GPA. Just as the plants in my terrarium needed the right conditions to grow, I know that having the right support can help me reach my full potential. This scholarship would ease some of my financial burden and allow me to focus more on my education. With this support, I hope to flourish in my studies, reach my goals, and eventually use my knowledge in STEAM to help others grow and thrive as well.

The traffic came to a standstill. Police officers lined the streets, children gathered in crowds, and the park that usually brought life to my neighborhood had become the center of a frightening scene. I was on my way to my friend’s house when an older man suddenly approached our car window. I watched him lean toward us, unaware that the next few words out of his mouth would change the way I looked at my own community. A child had been shot at the park. My heart sank. Before I could even process what he had told us, I reached for my phone and frantically checked my family’s location. My fingers moved quickly across the screen as I searched for each of them. One by one, I confirmed that they were all home. I could finally breathe. My family was safe. But as the relief settled in, an uncomfortable thought crossed my mind. While I was checking my phone to make sure my family could come home, someone else might be praying for the chance to bring theirs home. Someone else's parents might be waiting for a phone call, a knock at the door, or news that their child would be okay. I could return to my day knowing my loved ones were safe, but another family might never experience that same relief. That realization stayed with me. I believe that building a strong community starts with advocating for each other and making sure that the people in our community are getting the support that they need. It is important to be aware of what is happening and support who you can in your community because one day you may need that same help. During the summer, I participated in a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) training program, where I helped care for elderly residents in a nursing home. I assisted with daily tasks, including feeding, washing, and changing residents. During my first week, I witnessed residents being ignored and mistreated, so I made it my mission to do the opposite by treating each resident with patience, kindness, and respect. I have also tried to support my community by helping other students academically. Since I get very good grades, I help tutor students and even my little sister who needs help. I believe education is one of the ways people can support one another and create better opportunities for the future. I have also worked with friends on an appreciation project in which we baked and bought baked goods to different healthcare workers, such as nurses, CNAs, and also fire fighters and pharmacy workers. We wanted to show appreciation for people who spend their time caring for others and contributing to our community. Although it was a small gesture, I hoped it would remind them that their work and presence mattered. A couple of days after the shooting, I heard about a gathering at the park to protest gun violence and bring awareness to the pain it caused our community. I went to the park and handed out stickers that said “Stop Gun Violence” and “Black Lives Matter” to help spread awareness and show support for people in the black community affected by violence. Later that week, another child was shot at another park close by. This showed me that just my support isn't enough. My community needs more people willing to give enough support and make changes to help make our parks safer.

My resident, who used to laugh and smile at me, was now trying to hit me with a comb. She went from calling me every two seconds to talk, whispering that I was her favorite CNA, to threatening to kill my entire family. Seeing her in her room yelling, asking where she was, begging to go home, kicking, hitting, and calling me out my name was so unsettling. I knew what dementia was, but I had never truly understood what that meant until I watched it happen right in front of me. I was shocked. I had only known her for a week, but I had already grown fond of her. I never expected to feel hurt by someone I had known for such a short time. I do not have any loved ones with Alzheimer's disease or dementia. However, during my first week as a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA), I experienced a glimpse of the heartbreak these illnesses can cause. One moment, my resident was happy to see me. Next, she seemed to see me as a threat. Before this experience, I knew Alzheimer's disease could affect a person's memory, but I had never witnessed its effects so closely. It was heartbreaking to witness. An hour later, she was smiling at me again. As a CNA, I met many residents with dementia and Alzheimer's disease who had once been doctors, fire fighters, policemen, served in the military, and worked as politicians. They had lived full lives, traveled the world, raised children, and collected memories that made them who they were. Yet, now they struggle to remember where they are or recognize the people that were important to them. This day taught me something: when a patient is aggressive and forgets who you are, that does not mean they have stopped deserving your kindness. Even though my residents' entire demeanor changed and she was being mean to me. Someone who had seemed comfortable around me suddenly became frightened, confused, and aggressive, as though I were someone trying to hurt her. I realized that I was witnessing more than memory loss. I was witnessing someone's sense of safety disappear right in front of me. Even though at the moment she didn't know it, my resident needed me. She needed me to be there and reassure her to make her comfortable again. She was being aggressive because she genuinely was confused and didn't know the harm she was causing. I could not control her confusion or restore her memories, but I could control how I responded to her. It was difficult to process because I genuinely cared about her. Even though she was not my family member, seeing her experience such a drastic change affected me emotionally. I couldn't imagine how worse this can feel for a person who has a loved one going through this. I began thinking about the families of people living with Alzheimer's disease. Imagine visiting a parent you have known your entire life, only for them to look at you as though you are a stranger. Imagine wanting to comfort someone you love, but they become frightened of you because they no longer recognize your face. It's like the person you love is still standing right in front of you, but the memories you shared seem to be gone. Although my parents do not have Alzheimer's disease or dementia, my experience helped me empathize with families who face these painful realities. I realized that the illness does not affect only the person diagnosed. It also affects the people who love them and care for them. Importantly, my experience also taught me something about the responsibility of being a caregiver. During my week at the nursing home, I noticed that some CNAs seemed impatient with residents who repeatedly asked questions or struggled to understand their surroundings. Most of the time, the residents were told to sit down or be quiet. Nobody really took the time to sit with their residents and understand what they needed. I was confused when I seemed to be the only one who got up and went over to a resident in the dayroom. I don't know if it was because I was new and the other CNAs were more experienced than me... or maybe the caregivers had become so used to the residents' confusion that they had stopped caring. Perhaps they were exhausted. Perhaps the demands of their jobs had worn them down. I could not know what each caregiver was experiencing, but I knew I did not want to lose sight of the humanity of the people I was caring for. I never wanted to become so accustomed to someone's suffering that I stopped caring or being affected by it. During my week at the nursing home, I met another resident with dementia who repeatedly asked to go for a walk. She would walk around the nursing home, sit down, and then ask to go again. After the third time, a CNA became irritated and told her to sit down. Over and over, I noticed CNAs showing irritation and annoyance toward residents who repeated themselves or struggled to understand their surroundings. I found this upsetting because, as healthcare workers, we have a responsibility to treat our patients with patience and respect. A resident's memory loss should never be a reason to dismiss their feelings or make them feel like a burden. When the resident asked me if she could go for a walk, I told her she could, as long as it was safe. I wondered if she was simply bored from sitting in the same place for hours. If walking made her happy, why should she be prevented from doing something she enjoyed when it could be done safely? To someone else, her repeated requests might have been frustrating because she would forget that she had already gone for a walk. To me, each request was another opportunity to respond to her needs. She might not have remembered her previous walk, but that did not mean she had to spend the rest of her day sitting in a chair. I tried to explain things to residents, reassure them when they were confused, and treat them with patience rather than dismissing them. The residents often called for me, and I felt that they had grown comfortable with my presence. A lot of them would vent to me and tell me I was the only CNA that acknowledged them and cared for what they had to say. Then, when my week at the nursing home ended, they were sad to see me leave. A few even cried and made me tear up too. I had only known them for a short time, yet I had grown attached to them. I wished I could stay longer and continue giving them the attention and kindness they deserved. Their reactions reminded me that even small acts of compassion can make a difference in someone's day. That is what I want to remember as I continue my journey into nursing. I know that healthcare can be emotionally demanding, and I cannot promise that I will never experience exhaustion or frustration. However, I hope that when those moments come, I will remember the residents who taught me why patience matters. I want to recognize when someone is frightened rather than simply labeling them difficult. I want to explain things when they are confused, comfort them when they are afraid, and protect their dignity when they cannot fully express what they need. After all, people living with Alzheimer's disease and dementia are not simply patients with failing memories. They are people who were once young, who had dreams, who loved others, and who experienced life. They deserve to be treated with the same respect we would want for ourselves. One day, I might grow old and find myself confused about where I am or unable to remember the people around me. If that happens, I would hope someone would be patient with me instead of becoming frustrated. I would want someone to remember my humanity. My week as a CNA made me more grateful for my life and for the memories I sometimes take for granted. It reminded me that being able to remember my memories was a privilege.

People often say, “Work smarter, not harder,” but not everyone has the same resources or opportunities to do so. When I tell people that I want to become a doctor but plan to become a nurse first, they often ask why I don't just go straight to medical school. What they may not understand is that, as a young Black woman from a low-income family, my decisions are influenced by more than my ambitions. I believe I can get into medical school, but I also worry about the cost of pursuing that dream and what would happen if I were not accepted on my first attempt. I want to build financial stability early, support myself, and avoid placing additional financial pressure on my parents, who are already working hard to care for me and my five siblings. Becoming a nurse first is not about thinking smaller or giving up on becoming a doctor. It is about finding a path that allows me to pursue my dreams while being realistic about my circumstances. I also believe that working as a registered nurse first will give me valuable hands-on experience and allow me to understand patient care from a different perspective. My dream after nursing school is to attend medical school and become a dermatologist. According to research published by the National Institutes of Health, only about 3.6% of dermatologists in the United States identify as Black or African American. This underrepresentation highlights the need for greater racial diversity in dermatology. We need more doctors from different backgrounds so that the healthcare field can better understand and serve patients from all communities. Increasing racial diversity in healthcare is important because patients deserve to have their concerns understood, their experiences respected, and their needs taken seriously. When we have healthcare professionals from different backgrounds it allows a wider range of perspectives to patient care, which helps address the experiences of communities that have historically been underrepresented. I want to contribute to a healthcare system where a person's race, background, or appearance never determines whether they feel heard or receive the care they deserve. As someone living with alopecia areata, I have become inspired to pursue a career as a doctor specializing in hair loss, scalp conditions, and hair follicle disorders. My own experience has taught me how conditions affecting a person's hair and appearance can impact their confidence and emotional well-being. Having experienced firsthand the pain, insecurity, and frustration that come with hair loss, I want to help others who may be struggling with the same feelings. My commitment to patient representation and advocacy comes from an experience when my dad had surgery. After his procedure, he repeatedly told his doctor that his nasogastric tube felt too far down and that he was having trouble breathing. I was scared because he looked like he was struggling, yet his concerns did not seem to be taken seriously. As a Black man, I worried that stereotypes were causing his doctor to dismiss his concerns or underestimate his ability to recognize when something was wrong with his own body. No one should have to fight to be believed when they are struggling to breathe. Eventually, one of his nurses listened patiently and recognized that something was wrong. A few days later, it was confirmed that the tube had been placed incorrectly. This experience showed me how important it is for healthcare professionals to listen to patients and take their concerns seriously. As both a future nurse and doctor, I want to advocate for my patients and make sure they feel heard and respected.

I had a best friend for nine years who was like a sister to me. She was at my house so often that she practically lived there, and I never imagined a day when we would become strangers. However, when COVID hit, I opened Snapchat and saw her post a picture with someone we both considered an enemy, captioned “my best friend.” What made it hurt even more was that this person had been her enemy first. At that moment, nine years of friendship felt like they meant nothing. I felt betrayed, and I never spoke to her again. Years later, I found myself facing a question I never expected to answer: Would I help someone connected to a person who had hurt me so deeply? Would I put my pain aside for someone who had once felt like family, even after that friendship had fallen apart? I did, and that experience taught me what selflessness truly means. It is easy to help someone who loves you, appreciates you, and would do the same for you. It may also be easy to help a random stranger in the street. However, I believe true selflessness reveals itself when helping someone requires you to put your own pride and pain aside. It means choosing kindness not because someone owes you anything, but because you refuse to let your experiences change the kind of person you want to be. One day, years after my friendship ended, my former best friend's mother reached out to my mom and me because she was experiencing abuse from her husband. She needed somewhere safe to go, so I welcomed her and her new baby into my home. I even gave her my bedroom, allowing her and her baby to stay there for an entire month. This meant giving up much more than a place to sleep. I sacrificed my privacy, comfort, and study time while trying to keep up with college and prepare for major exams. I struggled to concentrate because she often needed someone to talk to, and her baby wanted my attention. Every night, a grown woman, her baby, and I shared my small, full-size bed. My room no longer felt like my own, and balancing my responsibilities with their needs was not easy. Still, whenever I felt overwhelmed, I reminded myself that a mother and her baby needed safety more than I needed the comfort of having my room to myself. I listened when she needed to vent and stayed by her side during a difficult time. I did not help her because I expected anything in return. I helped because I believed she and her baby deserved to feel safe. Although my friendship with her daughter ended painfully, I have never regretted helping her mother and baby. Their need for safety was separate from the hurt I had experienced, and I did not want my resentment toward one person to determine how I treated another. I could have let the pain of my past friendship become a reason to turn them away, but I chose not to let someone else's actions dictate my own. To me, selflessness is not simply about helping someone without thinking. It is about choosing to help someone in need even when doing so is uncomfortable, inconvenient, or emotionally difficult. I could not change how my friendship ended, but I could choose what I did with the pain it left behind. When a mother and her baby needed a safe place to call home, I chose to open my door.

When first reading the question, “How has your experience with mental health shaped your goals, relationships, and understanding of the world?,” I froze for a moment. My head was so chaotic and all over the place with different ideas that I couldn't formulate the perfect words to explain my experience. How can I answer this question in a way that perfectly explains exactly what I have gone through? It's just too deep and too complex. I struggled to find the words, and it made me realize that mental health had affected my life in ways I had not fully learned how to explain. I realized that the question was asking me to reflect on something that I haven't ever reflected on at all in my life. I usually just ignore and push aside the mental health problems I deal with, with the hope that eventually one day I can escape them. In a way, this question became a form of therapy for me. It forced me to reflect on the struggles I usually push aside, and acknowledge the reality of what my family and I have been through. Mental health shaped the way I see my family, the relationships I make, and the world around me. The main thing I learned growing up around mental health problems is that they do not affect just one person, but generations. My family's experiences have shown me how trauma can be passed down when people do not get the help they need. This is why I believe it is important to break the silence surrounding mental health, especially in the Black community, where our families carry pain from past generations, including the effects of slavery, racism, and discrimination. My family's struggles began long before I was born. My mother and aunt were placed for adoption because my grandmother struggled with crack cocaine addiction and couldn't take care of them. Unfortunately, parental substance abuse can increase the risk of mental health and developmental issues in children, which is apparent in my mom and auntie. Although they were adopted and given a different home, they entered another environment that negatively affected their mental health even more. My mom and aunt did not only experience physical abuse in their adoptive household, but they were also exposed to sexual predators and women who encouraged them to grow up too fast. The woman who adopted them, my “grandma,” had adopted many other children. However, she also had a son who sexually assaulted people in the household, and this behavior continued to trickle down to other family members, including my uncles, aunties, and even my cousins. Whenever anyone tried to tell my “grandma” what was happening, she would say they were lying and refuse to believe them. These experiences left lasting effects on my family. Learning about this at a young age and seeing how this environment affected my mother and auntie made me realize that mental health is not something you can easily fix. Due to their childhood environments, my mother and aunt have struggled with mental health issues, including bipolar disorder, depression, and other undiagnosed issues that nobody knows about. My dad has tried to get my mom professional help, but she has never fully followed through with treatment. My mom's reluctance to seek help has shown me how difficult it can be for someone to confront their struggles and accept the help they need, even when their loved ones are trying to support them. However, untreated mental health struggles have shown me that the effects do not stop with the individual but also affects the people closest to them, including me, my dad, my siblings, and my cousins. One of the hardest parts of this experience has been watching how these struggles affect my family as a whole. Along with my mom, my dad has his own struggles with mental health, particularly with anger, which greatly affects the mood of the house. My parents argue every day, which puts a strain on me and my siblings. Their constant arguments make our home feel tense and emotionally draining. They weren't always like this though, it just got worse through the years. I feel bad for my siblings, especially the babies, because they have to sit in my parents room while they argue. This has made me realize that when I get into a relationship, I want communication to be key. I never want to argue in front of my children or put them in a position where they have to experience the same stress and emotional pain that I have experienced growing up. I want my future home to be a place where my children feel safe, loved, and heard. It has taught me that children can carry the emotional burdens of their parents' problems. I have also seen the effects of childhood trauma on my cousin, who struggled with self-harm and suicidal thoughts while dealing with her mother's absence. She was also exposed to sexual abuse at a very young age. Her experiences have helped me understand that children need to feel safe, protected, heard, and supported. These experiences have also shaped the goals I have for my future. I want to be someone who helps people feel comfortable seeking help instead of feeling like they have to deal with everything alone. This is another reason why I am pursuing a career in healthcare. I want to be a nurse who understands people beyond their physical symptoms and recognizes the emotional struggles they may be facing as well. On a personal level, I also want to help my family find peace and relief from the stress that we have experienced. What I can do is encourage healthier communication, support my family when they need me, and help create an environment where we feel comfortable expressing our emotions and seeking help. I also hope that one day, I will be financially stable enough to take my family on a nice vacation, and see them relax and smile.

Now that I’m getting older, why do I keep hearing about so many nurses treating patients unfairly all over the media? Why does this seem to be getting worse, or has it always been this way and I’m only noticing it now? I have so many questions, but what I do know is that I want to be the one to help change this by becoming the best nurse I can be. Besides the stories from the media, my mom has also told me what it is like being an RN in New York hospitals. She told me that while some nurses are kind, others are mean, gossip about their coworkers, and don’t show compassion for their patients. Every time I hear these stories, it makes me even more determined to be different and treat both my patients and my fellow nurses with kindness and respect. In addition, as someone who has been diagnosed with alopecia areata, my experiences with this condition have given me the ability to connect with patients and care for them in a way that addresses both their physical and emotional needs. The reason I am so devoted to patient advocacy comes from my experience when my dad had surgery. After his procedure, he kept telling his doctor that his nasogastric tube felt too far down and that he was having trouble breathing. I was so scared for him because he looked like he was struggling to breathe. His doctor didn’t take his concerns seriously, but one of his nurses listened, stayed patient, and recognized that something was wrong. A few days later, it was confirmed that the tube had been placed incorrectly. This experience showed me how important nurses are in advocating for their patients and truly listening to them. It made me want to become a nurse who not only understands clinical care but also speaks up, listens carefully, and makes sure patients are treated with respect. This fall, I will begin the Hunter-Bellevue School of Nursing with a 3.92 GPA. My dream is to follow the RN-to-MD path. I want to first become a registered nurse because I believe there is no better way to understand patient care than by working directly with patients and learning from experienced healthcare professionals. After gaining that experience, I plan to attend medical school and become a doctor. I believe that having both nursing and medical experience will allow me to provide compassionate, well-rounded care and better advocate for my patients while making a positive impact in my community.

At first, all I saw were beautiful elderly people sitting quietly around the nursing home, but it did not take long for me to realize that many of them were suffering in silence. On my first day of CNA training, I expected to see careful care of the elderly in the nursing home, but instead, I saw CNAs ignoring their patients and not treating them with the care and respect they deserved. It honestly shocked me because these are people who depend on us for their basic needs and deserve to be treated with dignity. Therefore, one problem in healthcare that I refuse to accept as inevitable is the mistreatment of elderly patients. During my Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA) training, I worked alongside experienced CNAs in a nursing home. While some of them treated residents with kindness and respect, others did not. When some of the residents asked CNAs for help, I saw them being ignored and talked over as if their voices did not matter. I even heard CNAs tell residents that they talked too much. The situation that affected me the most was seeing residents left sitting in their own pee because the CNAs did not want to take the time to help them to the bathroom. When I saw this, I refused to believe that this was simply part of healthcare. Instead of accepting this behavior, I decided to make sure my residents received the care and attention they deserved. I sat and listened to them because I knew that communication was important for their mental health. One conversation with a person can make their day 10 times better. I helped residents to the bathroom when they asked me, even when the CNAs told me to leave them. While working there, I noticed that the residents began to recognize me as someone they could trust. They would have bright smiles on their faces when they saw me, and they told me that nursing homes needed more people like me. They even cried when I had to leave on my last day of training. This showed me that they saw me as someone who genuinely cared about them and made them feel seen, heard, and valued. My experience taught me that healthcare is not just about completing tasks or taking care of someone's physical needs. It is also about showing compassion, listening, and making sure every patient feels respected and cared for. My commitment to patient advocacy became even stronger after my father had surgery. After the procedure, he repeatedly told his doctor that his nasogastric tube felt too far down and that he was having trouble breathing. His concerns were dismissed at first, but one nurse listened carefully and recognized that something was wrong. A few days later, the tube was found to have been placed incorrectly. This experience showed me how important it is for healthcare professionals to listen to their patients instead of assuming they are mistaken. It also showed me that sometimes, being the person who simply takes the time to listen can make a major difference in a patient's care. To sum it all up, experiences have shaped the kind of healthcare professional I want to become. I plan to become a registered nurse and eventually a physician because I want to combine compassionate nursing care with medical knowledge. I refuse to accept a healthcare system where patients feel ignored, disrespected, or invisible. Instead, I want to help build one where every patient is treated with dignity, their concerns are taken seriously, and compassion is never considered optional.

I know some people don't count this as a job, but before and after school I babysit my younger siblings until my parents come home late at night. My parents struggle with paying bills and cant afford a babysitter, so they make me watch them. Every day, I watch a two-year-old, a nine-month-old, and an eleven-year-old who never seems to sleep. While other students are able to go home and immediately start studying or relax, I have to watch my siblings. I make sure they are safe, fed, entertained, and taken care of before I can even think about my own schoolwork. However, these kids are always getting into something every second, so watching them is definitely not for the weak. It is hard to stay motivated and focused on my schoolwork while trying to keep up with three energetic kids who can never seem to just sit down. Balancing toddlers pulling my hair, slapping my laptop while I'm trying to do homework, crying, and changing diapers every few minutes while also earning good grades in college has not been easy. Many nights, I don't start my homework until everyone else is asleep. There have been times when I was exhausted after studying late into the night, only to wake up early the next morning and do it all over again. Even though babysitting my siblings is unpaid, it requires the same responsibility, patience, and commitment as any other job. One of the most challenging times balancing work and school was during weeks when I had multiple exams and assignments due at the same time. While my classmates could spend hours studying after class, I had to take care of my siblings first. Do you know how hard it is to read lecture notes while feeding a baby, help my eleven-year-old with homework while I'm struggling with my own, and at the same time stop my youngest sibling from literally trying to eat my papers? There were many moments when I felt overwhelmed, but I knew giving up wasn't an option. I overcame those challenges by becoming organized and making the most of every minute I had. I created study schedules, reviewed notes whenever I found free time, and stayed up late after my siblings were asleep to finish assignments and prepare for exams. It wasn't easy, but I stayed committed to my education because I knew my future depended on the sacrifices I was making. Although balancing school and caring for my siblings has been difficult, it has taught me responsibility, patience, time management, and perseverance. These experiences have prepared me for the demands of a career in healthcare, where caring for others and staying calm under pressure are essential. Most importantly, they have shown me that even when life is demanding, hard work and determination can help me reach my goals.