From a young age, I’ve always been drawn to the world of science and medicine. I was the kid who asked too many questions, stayed curious about how the human body worked, and lit up at the thought of helping others. Over time, that curiosity grew into passion, and that passion turned into purpose. I want to be in the medical field not only to heal but to lead, to serve, and to inspire. As a woman in STEM, I know this journey will not always be easy—but I’m eager to face the challenges head-on because I know what’s waiting on the other side: impact, change, and lives transformed. Being a woman in science has already taught me how to hold space for myself in rooms where I’m not always expected. It’s taught me the power of resilience, especially when people assume I’m not capable or question my potential before I even have a chance to show it. These experiences don’t discourage me—they push me to go harder. They remind me that every step I take forward is not just for me, but for the girls coming after me who need to see that they, too, belong in labs, clinics, research centers, and operating rooms. My eagerness to enter the medical field comes from a deep desire to help people—not just treat their symptoms, but to truly care for them as human beings. I’ve seen how health care can change lives. I’ve also seen how disparities in access, trust, and representation can make people feel invisible. I want to be part of the solution. I want to bring not just knowledge, but empathy and understanding into every patient interaction. As a woman, and especially as someone committed to equity in care, I believe that healing is more than physical—it’s emotional, cultural, and human. The science itself excites me—the way biology and medicine work together to solve complex problems. But what excites me more is the opportunity to use that science to make a difference. Whether it’s developing better treatments, supporting families through difficult diagnoses, or educating communities about preventive care, I want to be on the front lines of change. I want to serve with heart and lead with intention. There’s a unique strength that comes from being a woman in STEM. It’s the strength of defying expectations, of proving your worth in systems that weren’t built with you in mind, and of using your voice when it's easier to stay quiet. I carry that strength with pride. And as I look ahead to a future in medicine, I know that every obstacle I overcome today will only make me a more compassionate, capable, and courageous health care professional tomorrow. This path is not just a career choice—it’s my calling. I am ready to study, work, and grow into a leader who advocates for her patients and her peers. I want to use my education and my experiences to uplift others and to pave the way for more women, especially young women of color, to pursue their place in STEM. Because the truth is, the world needs more of us. More women who are curious, brilliant, kind, and bold enough to change the face of medicine. And I am eager, more than ever, to be one of them.

Being a Black woman in ice hockey—a sport that has traditionally excluded people who look like me—has shaped me into a stronger, more resilient, and more confident individual. I’m the only Black girl on my team, and the first person in my entire family to ever play the sport. That alone made me feel like an outsider in not only one community-but two. My family is a basketball family; each uncle or grandfather is a coach, each son or daughter a player. I never liked to play basketball, I only liked to watch from the sidelines. Ice hockey has never just been a sport for me. It has been a lesson in grit, mental toughness, and self-belief. From the beginning, I knew I was entering a world where I would stand out—where no one else shared my skin color, cultural background, or experience. But instead of shrinking in that space, I learned how to thrive in it. I worked harder, trained longer, and carried myself with pride, knowing I was doing something that wasn’t just for me, but for every young Black girl watching, wondering if she belonged in these spaces. Balancing hockey with school and life taught me how to manage pressure, prioritize my goals, and keep pushing even when the odds weren’t in my favor. There were days when I was exhausted—physically and emotionally—but I still showed up. Being a student-athlete requires discipline, but being one in a sport where you are constantly underestimated requires something deeper: self-trust, vision, and the courage to stay when it feels easier to walk away. As a Black woman in a male-dominated, white-dominated sport, I’ve faced subtle judgments, low expectations, and moments of isolation. But those experiences made me sharper and more aware. I’ve developed a strong voice, not only to advocate for myself but to uplift others who feel unseen. I’ve learned how to lead, how to stand firm, and how to be proud of who I am—even when no one else in the room looks like me. Being part of something so rare has given me purpose. I carry my identity into every rink, every classroom, and every space I enter. It reminds me that I’m not just breaking barriers—I’m building bridges. Through hockey, I’ve gained the confidence to speak up, to dream bigger, and to know that my presence is powerful. This journey has taught me that strength isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. It’s intellectual. It’s cultural. And as a young Black woman navigating a world that wasn’t built for me, I’ve learned how to make space for myself—and for others—by showing up with authenticity, passion, and power.

My experience with mental health has shaped every part of who I am today—my goals, my relationships, and my understanding of the world around me. It hasn’t been a single moment, but rather a series of experiences, challenges, and awakenings that have guided me toward a deeper awareness of the role emotional well-being plays in our lives. One of the most defining moments was the passing of my grandmother, a loss that was not only deeply personal but also transformative in the way I saw the connection between health, grief, and mental wellness. My grandmother was the heart of our family—strong, nurturing, and full of quiet wisdom. She had this incredible ability to make everyone around her feel safe and loved. But during her final years, as her physical health declined, I began to see the emotional weight she carried. The fear, the sadness, and the anxiety were often left unspoken, hidden beneath a brave face. Watching someone so strong struggle in silence made me realize how easily mental health can go unnoticed, especially when all the focus is on physical illness. Her passing left a hole in my heart, but it also opened my eyes. In the weeks and months that followed, I found myself overwhelmed by grief. I didn’t understand how to cope with something so heavy, and for a while, I tried to push through without fully acknowledging my emotions. That’s when I began to understand how mental health impacts every part of our lives. The pain wasn’t just sadness—it affected my motivation, my relationships, my physical energy, and the way I saw the world. I started to recognize that grief is not just a feeling; it’s a process. It affects your brain, your body, and your spirit. That experience was my first real encounter with the complexity of mental health. What surprised me most during that time was how few people talked about it. When someone is physically sick, people ask questions, offer help, and provide support. But when someone is emotionally struggling, it's often hidden, misunderstood, or brushed aside. I realized how important it is to create space for people to be honest about their feelings, to talk about their pain without shame or fear of being misunderstood. This realization changed the way I approach relationships—I’ve become someone who listens more deeply, asks real questions, and offers presence instead of just solutions. My journey with mental health also shaped my career goals. Initially, I was drawn to health care because I was fascinated by biology and the human body. But over time, my motivation evolved. I no longer just want to treat symptoms or understand how systems function—I want to care for the whole person. I want to work in a field where I can make people feel seen, heard, and valued. I want to advocate for mental health as an essential part of overall wellness, not something that’s secondary or optional. Because of this, I’ve become particularly interested in roles that allow me to blend science with empathy. I’ve explored career paths that don’t just focus on clinical treatment but also allow space for education, advocacy, and emotional care—fields like medical science liaison work, public health, or even roles within biotech that prioritize patient-centered communication and research. I believe we need more professionals who understand the science of medicine but also recognize the emotional realities that patients and families face every day. My experience has also inspired me to take better care of myself. I’ve learned how important it is to build habits that support my own mental wellness—whether that’s journaling, movement, connecting with supportive people, or simply allowing myself to rest. I’ve come to understand that taking care of yourself isn’t selfish; it’s necessary. It makes you stronger, more compassionate, and better equipped to help others. The death of my grandmother taught me many things, but perhaps the most important lesson was this: everyone is carrying something. Whether it’s grief, anxiety, burnout, or fear, we’re all moving through the world with invisible burdens. That understanding has made me more patient, more curious, and more driven to be a source of support and light for others. I don’t take relationships for granted anymore, and I try to be intentional about how I show up for the people in my life. In the future, I hope to be a health care professional who not only understands the science behind treatments but also the human experience behind every patient story. I want to advocate for accessible mental health care, fight stigma, and help create a system where emotional well-being is treated as a priority, not an afterthought. Whether I’m working in research, communication, or medical education, I want my work to be rooted in compassion and shaped by the lessons I’ve learned through my own experiences. Mental health is not just a part of life—it is life. It shapes how we think, connect, work, and heal. And for me, it’s not just a topic I care about; it’s the reason I do what I do. My past has given me purpose, and that purpose is to help others carry their burdens with a little more strength, hope, and support than they had before.