Pursuing a Master of Social Work as a first-generation, low-income student has required not just academic dedication, but deep personal resilience. I am currently training to become a licensed clinical social worker with a focus on neurodivergent mental health care. My goal is to build a private practice that offers trauma-informed, neurodiversity-affirming therapy for autistic and AuDHD adults- particularly those who are multiply marginalized. This scholarship would directly support my ability to stay enrolled and move forward with this work. I come from a background where mental health was rarely acknowledged, much less supported. As an autistic, queer, and chronically burned-out student from an immigrant family, I spent years trying to meet external expectations while silently struggling. When I finally sought mental health support, I found that most providers didn’t understand my experiences. This is a common reality for neurodivergent adults. We are often misdiagnosed, dismissed, or pressured to mask in order to appear “well.” This gap in care is what motivated me to change careers and pursue clinical social work. Before entering graduate school, I earned a Master’s in Industrial and Organizational Psychology and worked for four years as a life coach for autistic adults. I supported clients through late diagnoses, burnout, self-advocacy, and identity formation. That work made it clear that coaching alone wasn’t enough. My clients needed affirming therapy, not just support. They needed professionals who could understand their experiences and help them heal. I decided to become the kind of therapist I had needed but could not find. Now, I am midway through my MSW program. In addition to building a private practice, I plan to consult with and train other providers. My goal is to help shift the mental health field toward more affirming, accessible care for autistic individuals. I believe education should not be gatekept, and I hope to create tools, workshops, and community-based resources that others can use to serve neurodivergent clients with more competence and compassion. However, social work education is expensive and structurally inaccessible for many students. Programs often require unpaid internships, inflexible hours, and licensing fees that disproportionately affect low-income and disabled students like me. I am fully committed to this path, but I cannot walk it without support. Receiving this scholarship would reduce the financial burden I carry and allow me to continue investing my time, energy, and focus into becoming a well-trained, community-focused therapist. My vision for my career is not only to serve individual clients, but to contribute to a broader cultural shift in mental health care. I want to help normalize neurodivergence, dismantle internalized ableism, and train others to do the same. Every step I take in my education brings me closer to this goal. I am deeply motivated, academically strong, and personally invested in this work. This scholarship would not just help me finish my degree. It would directly contribute to the growth of a therapist who will dedicate their career to equity, healing, and affirming care for marginalized communities.

For most of my life, I lived with undiagnosed disabilities and chronic mental health challenges while appearing, from the outside, to be thriving. I was a high achiever, often praised for my work ethic and intellect. What people didn’t see was the toll it took on me to survive in systems that didn’t understand or accommodate my needs. When I finally sought support, I was met with confusion, gaslighting, and stigma- especially as a neurodivergent woman of color from an Afghan immigrant family. That experience is the reason I am pursuing a Master of Social Work today. I am an autistic, queer, first-generation graduate student dedicated to providing mental health care that centers the needs of people who have historically been excluded or harmed by traditional systems. My work is deeply influenced by my personal experiences, my cultural background, and my community. I know what it feels like to fall through the cracks, to be unseen by providers, and to be told that my pain must be invisible because I look like I have it all together. I also know the power of being truly seen, and how transformative that can be. After earning a Master’s in Industrial and Organizational Psychology, I spent four years as a life coach for autistic adults- most of whom were late-diagnosed, burned out, and navigating complex identities around gender, race, and ability. Through that work, I saw how rare it was for neurodivergent people to receive affirming, trauma-informed care. It became clear that the only way I could help change that was to become a therapist myself. Now, as a clinical social work student, my focus is on building a private practice that serves autistic and neurodivergent adults, especially those who are BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, AFAB, or otherwise marginalized. My therapeutic approach centers identity, intersectionality, and trauma recovery. I plan to offer sliding-scale services, group support spaces, and accessible educational tools to expand mental health awareness and reduce stigma within marginalized communities. Beyond my direct work with clients, I also aim to train other therapists so that culturally and neurodivergently affirming care becomes the standard, not the exception. I believe it is not enough to be one good provider. We need systems-level change, and I want to be part of that movement by mentoring providers and developing community-based mental health resources. Mental health has never been abstract to me. It has shaped my survival, my advocacy, and my purpose. As someone who comes from both cultural stigma around mental health and direct experience with medical neglect, I am passionate about breaking cycles of silence and creating spaces where healing is possible. I want my clients to know that they don’t have to earn care by performing or pretending to be someone they’re not. They are worthy as they are. The Arnetha V. Bishop Memorial Scholarship represents more than financial relief. It is a form of recognition for students like me who are building something new, rooted in justice, identity, and collective care. With this support, I will continue working to make mental health services more affirming, more accessible, and more deeply connected to the communities they are meant to serve.

For most of my life, I worked hard to appear successful. I earned good grades, completed advanced degrees, and pushed myself to meet every expectation. But beneath the surface, I was struggling. I lived for years with undiagnosed disabilities and chronic mental health challenges. When I finally sought help, I was met with misunderstanding, dismissal, and pressure to mask who I was. That experience stayed with me. I am now a first-generation graduate student from a lower-income background, pursuing a Master of Social Work with the goal of becoming a licensed clinical social worker. My field is mental health care, and I specialize in serving autistic and other neurodivergent adults. I chose this path not just because I care about mental health, but because I know how damaging it can be to seek help and find only judgment or ignorance. After completing a Master’s in Industrial and Organizational Psychology, I worked for three years as a life coach supporting autistic adults. Many of my clients had stories like mine- burnout, identity confusion, and trauma from seeking support that was not built for them. They didn’t need to be fixed. They needed someone who understood them. That was the turning point for me. I wanted to become the therapist I couldn’t find when I needed one most. Now, I am working toward opening a private practice designed for neurodivergent adults who have been overlooked or harmed by traditional models of care. My practice will center trauma-informed, identity-sensitive therapy. I also plan to keep my services financially accessible through sliding-scale pricing and community-based workshops. But I know that real impact means going beyond my own caseload. My long-term goal is to train and consult with other clinicians so that more providers can offer affirming care to neurodivergent populations. The need is too great for any one therapist to meet. By training others, I can help shift the field toward a more inclusive future. As a first-generation student from a low-income background, this path has not been easy. Social work education is notoriously expensive and often includes unpaid internships and licensing costs that make it hard for people like me to stay enrolled. I have overcome so much to get here, and I am determined to finish- but I can’t do it without financial support. Scholarships like this one don’t just reduce financial stress. They allow students like me to continue pursuing work that can directly transform communities. Dr. Michael Paglia’s legacy of compassion and mentorship reflects the kind of provider I aspire to be. He believed in helping others achieve their dreams, and that is what I hope to do through this work. I want to create a therapeutic space where people are seen, respected, and understood- not in spite of who they are, but because of it. This degree is more than a career move. It is a way to make mental health care more just, more accessible, and more human. I am proud to walk this path, and with support, I hope to lead others along it too.

One of the most urgent and overlooked health issues today is the lack of accessible, affirming mental health care for neurodivergent individuals, particularly autistic adults. While mental health is gaining visibility in national and global conversations, many autistic people remain misunderstood, misdiagnosed, or entirely left out of the conversation. This is a population disproportionately affected by trauma, suicidality, and chronic mental health challenges, yet consistently underserved in clinical settings. This issue is deeply personal to me. I am an autistic graduate student pursuing a Master of Social Work, with the goal of becoming a licensed clinical social worker and opening a private practice that centers neurodivergent adults. Like many in my community, I was diagnosed late in life after years of struggling silently. My achievements masked the emotional toll of surviving in systems that didn’t recognize my needs. By the time I understood what I was dealing with, I was already in burnout. When I looked for help, I couldn’t find therapists who understood my experience or even believed me. I’m not alone. Autistic adults face high rates of unemployment, anxiety, depression, and trauma, but often avoid seeking care because they’ve been pathologized, infantilized, or gaslit by mental health providers. Those who do find support frequently encounter clinicians who are unfamiliar with neurodiversity, rely on outdated models of care, or focus on masking behaviors rather than authentic healing. After earning a Master’s in Industrial and Organizational Psychology, I worked for several years as a life coach for autistic adults. Through that work, I saw just how widespread this problem is. Clients were exhausted, misunderstood, and desperate for affirming support. That’s when I decided to return to school to become a therapist myself. My vision is to create a practice that offers trauma-informed, neurodiversity-affirming, and financially accessible therapy, especially for late-diagnosed, AFAB, and multiply marginalized autistic adults. But I also want to do more than see individual clients. I plan to consult with and train other therapists to better serve neurodivergent populations. The demand is too great for any one provider to meet, and long-term change requires shifting how mental health care is taught and practiced. I’ve already begun developing community resources and am active in peer support spaces. My long-term goal is to change how the field understands autistic mental health, moving from deficit-based models to affirming, identity-informed approaches. This work is not easy, and it is not financially accessible. Social work programs often require unpaid internships, expensive licensing processes, and inflexible schedules that make it difficult for disabled students to remain enrolled. Like many first-generation and disabled students, I face both financial barriers and structural inaccessibility in pursuing this path. But I believe the work is too important to walk away from. I’ve already seen what happens when people finally receive care that honors their full identity, and I want to make that care available to many more. Mental health is healthcare. And affirming mental health care for neurodivergent people is not a niche concern. It is a national and global public health issue that deserves urgent attention. With the support of this scholarship, I will continue building a future where neurodivergent people are no longer left behind.

I am a first-generation Afghan-American and autistic graduate student pursuing a Master of Social Work. My long-term goal is to become a licensed clinical social worker in private practice, where I can provide trauma-informed, neurodivergent-affirming therapy to autistic adults, particularly those who are multiply marginalized and have struggled to access safe or effective care. Growing up in a family shaped by asylum-seeking, cultural dislocation, and survival, I witnessed firsthand how systems can either uplift or silence people based on where they come from and how they present. My own late-diagnosed disabilities and years of internalized ableism taught me how often people like me are misread or dismissed in healthcare spaces. These experiences shaped my belief that mental health care must be grounded in cultural humility and justice. I began my career after earning a Master’s in Industrial and Organizational Psychology, then worked for several years as a life coach for autistic adults. Most of my clients had been harmed or misunderstood by the mental health system. Many were late-diagnosed, burned out, and unsure if healing was even possible. I saw a consistent pattern: they did not need to be fixed. They needed providers who understood their lived experience and could meet them with respect and nuance. I wanted to be one of those providers. That led me to pursue clinical social work, with the goal of opening a private practice designed specifically for autistic adults. My future practice will focus on serving clients often left out of traditional therapy models, including those who are AFAB, queer, disabled, or newly navigating their neurodivergent identity. I also plan to offer sliding-scale pricing and work with mutual aid networks so that financial need is never a barrier to care. However, my impact will not stop with the clients I serve directly. One of my biggest goals is to help train and consult with other therapists so they can also offer neurodivergent-affirming care. The demand for this kind of support far exceeds what any one provider can offer. By equipping other therapists to understand our community better, I hope to expand access on a much larger scale. Like many disabled and first-generation students, I have faced challenges in pursuing this path. Social work education is often structurally inaccessible, with unpaid internships and financial expectations that disproportionately harm students like me. I am pursuing this career not because it is easy, but because it is needed. Mental health care is not just about treatment- it is about justice, safety, and survival. Catrina Celestine Aquilino’s legacy of multilingual, cross-cultural, justice-driven work resonates deeply with my values. She believed that care and compassion should never be limited by someone’s background. That belief is central to everything I am building. Through this scholarship, I would be better able to focus on what matters most: helping others heal, and creating a more inclusive and ethical future for mental health care. This scholarship would not only relieve financial pressure. It would help me continue working toward a future where mental health care is more human, more accessible, and more just- for my clients, for my colleagues, and for the communities we serve.

I am an autistic woman raised at the intersection of multiple marginalized identities, including disability, queerness, and being the daughter of an Afghan asylum seeker. My early experiences were shaped by cultural complexity, survivalism, and the pressure to perform in systems that weren’t built for people like me. I was never seen as underachieving. I learned to focus my effort on what others could see: grades, achievements, outward competence. All the while, I was privately struggling with severe burnout and declining mental health. Because I appeared successful, my distress was overlooked or dismissed. It took me years to understand that meeting expectations on the outside wasn’t the same as being okay on the inside. For a long time, I believed that if I just worked hard enough, I could overcome these obstacles. When that didn’t happen, I blamed myself. It wasn’t until I discovered the voices of other autistic people that I began to understand my experiences in context. Community helped me shed the shame I had internalized and reframe my identity as something powerful, not broken. I stopped striving to pass and started building a life that honored who I actually am. After earning a Master’s in Industrial and Organizational Psychology, I spent four years as a life coach supporting other autistic adults. My clients were often late-diagnosed, in burnout, and struggling with isolation, medical gaslighting, and identity confusion. Many had never received affirming mental health care. Again and again, I saw the same need: support that came not from a place of fixing or masking, but from someone who truly understands. Someone who knows neurodivergence from lived experience. That realization led me to pursue my Master of Social Work. I am working toward becoming a clinical social worker and opening a private practice that centers autistic and AuDHD adults, especially those who are multiply marginalized or dealing with internalized ableism. My work is grounded in trauma-informed, neurodiversity-affirming, and identity-sensitive care. I want to create a therapeutic space where clients don’t have to explain their existence or decode a provider’s biases before healing can begin. I am also committed to making my services financially accessible. Many autistic people are underemployed, living with chronic stress, or ineligible for care because of high costs and rigid insurance models. At the same time, I am working to create financial stability for myself as a disabled professional in a field where it is often difficult to earn a livable income- especially while prioritizing accessibility. Balancing these goals is challenging, particularly within the structure of social work education. Social work remains an inaccessible career path for many disabled and neurodivergent students. Unpaid internships, rigid expectations, and limited accommodations leave students like me navigating impossible choices. Scholarships like this one do more than ease financial strain. They help people like me remain in programs we are often pushed out of, and they bring much-needed perspectives into the field. My lived experience is not just a backdrop to my future practice. It is the foundation of it. I have spent my life attuning to complexity, surviving systems that weren’t designed for me, and developing a deep sense of empathy and insight. These traits are not obstacles. They are my strengths as a future therapist. Ultimately, I want to help reshape mental health care to be more inclusive, more honest, and more human. Social work doesn’t just need more disabled professionals. It needs our leadership. I’m proud to be part of that movement.

My interest in understanding and helping others has shaped my decision-making since childhood. As a teen, I spread myself across multiple causes and passionately endeavored to help fix everything I thought was wrong in the world. After years of being engulfed in social justice work, I began to feel worn out and disheartened. I took a break to prioritize my own health, thinking I'd bounce back quickly. By the time I finished my bachelor's degree it became very apparent that despite my attempts to prioritize my own care, I was still feeling anxious and burnt out. Over the next decade, I would find myself continuously struggling to juggle my daily needs, career, and community involvement. When I focused on improving in one area, I'd lose the progress previously made in other areas. It seemed the harder I tried to make life work, the worse it got. Then, one day I went home from work and woke the next morning to find myself unable to return. My body and mind had shut down in revolt. My mouth felt like it had been glued shut, my skin stitched to the bed, and my eyelids rendered useless. After hibernating for what seemed like an eternity, I started to scour the internet for videos on depression in hopes it would unlock the clues I needed to free myself from the prison my bedroom had become. Accidentally, I ran across a video of a woman describing what her life had been like before being diagnosed autistic as an adult. Watching the video, I felt I was hearing my life story come from someone else's mouth. I feverishly researched autism and spent months trying to find an autistic therapist who might be able to help me chart a path that would help me make use of all the knowledge I was gathering. Being unable to find an autistic therapist, I selected a therapist who could help me navigate a path towards diagnosis. I'd hoped the diagnosis and the new information I was armed with would break down the barriers I'd experienced prior to knowing I was autistic. Unfortunately, I learned there weren't many support services for autistic adults and employers weren't as accommodating as they claimed to be. Even still, being able to learn greater empathy for myself did soften my lifelong depression and allowed me to start building a life that I hoped would be more sustainable for me. When the world all but shut down in 2020, I took the leap to begin an I/O Psychology Master's program and began working for a neurodiversity workplace inclusion consulting agency. While I originally started as a job coach for neurodivergent employees, it became apparent that being successful at work was heavily influence by life outside of work. Once my MAIOP degree was conferred, I started my own business as an autistic life coach, helping other autistics chart their own path towards a sustainable life. The experiences I’ve had as a neurodivergent coach are the most immediate catalyst for why I am now an MSW student en route to becoming an LCSW. Being autistic often means tirelessly explaining yourself to others, only to have them still misunderstand. Having similar lived experiences to my clients allows me to understand them without lengthy explanation, something I hope to bring into my future career as a therapist. As a coach, I can see the positive impact I have on those I work with, but as a therapist I will be armed with increased knowledge, greater skill working with trauma, and the ability to accept insurance instead of strictly self-pay.

My interest in understanding and helping others has shaped my decision-making since childhood. As a teen, I spread myself across multiple causes and passionately endeavored to help fix everything I thought was wrong in the world. After years of being engulfed in social justice work, I began to feel worn out and disheartened. I took a break to prioritize my own health, thinking I'd bounce back quickly. By the time I finished my bachelor's degree it became very apparent that despite my attempts to prioritize my own care, I was still feeling anxious and burnt out. Over the next decade, I would find myself continuously struggling to juggle my daily needs, career, and community involvement. When I focused on improving in one area, I'd lose the progress previously made in other areas. It seemed the harder I tried to make life work, the worse it got. Then, one day I went home from work and woke the next morning to find myself unable to return. My body and mind had shut down in revolt. My mouth felt like it had been glued shut, my skin stitched to the bed, and my eyelids rendered useless. After hibernating for what seemed like an eternity, I started to scour the internet for videos on depression in hopes it would unlock the clues I needed to free myself from the prison my bedroom had become. Accidentally, I ran across a video of a woman describing what her life had been like before being diagnosed autistic as an adult. Watching the video, I felt I was hearing my life story come from someone else's mouth. I feverishly researched autism and spent months trying to find an autistic therapist who might be able to help me chart a path that would help me make use of all the knowledge I was gathering. Being unable to find an autistic therapist, I selected a therapist who could help me navigate a path towards diagnosis. I'd hoped the diagnosis and the new information I was armed with would break down the barriers I'd experienced prior to knowing I was autistic. Unfortunately, I learned there weren't many support services for autistic adults and employers weren't as accommodating as they claimed to be. Even still, being able to learn greater empathy for myself did soften my lifelong depression and allowed me to start building a life that I hoped would be more sustainable for me. When the world all but shut down in 2020, I took the leap to begin an I/O Psychology Master's program and began working for a neurodiversity workplace inclusion consulting agency. While I originally started as a job coach for neurodivergent employees, it became apparent that being successful at work was heavily influence by life outside of work. Once my MAIOP degree was conferred, I started my own business as an autistic life coach, helping other autistics chart their own path towards a sustainable life. The experiences I’ve had as a neurodivergent coach are the most immediate catalyst for why I am now an MSW student en route to becoming an LCSW. Being autistic often means tirelessly explaining yourself to others, only to have them still misunderstand. Having similar lived experiences to my clients allows me to understand them without lengthy explanations, something I hope to bring into my future career as a therapist. As a coach, I can see the positive impact I have on those I work with, but as a therapist, I will be armed with increased knowledge, greater skill working with trauma, and the ability to accept insurance instead of strictly self-pay.

Has your heart yearned for something your body refused to accommodate? Working to overcome a bout of depression, I made a trip to majestic Havasupai. Feeling accomplished by 8 miles of desert sun backpacking, I arose the next morning excited to visit the bottom of 200ft tall Mooney Falls. After carefully footing down endless caverns, the final sparsely-chained, slippery cliff-face descent revealed itself. I froze as others endeavored past to magical pools below. After 30 long minutes of watching people escape death, I took a deep breath, turned to face the rock-side, grabbed those rusty chains, and conquered my fears.