My inspiration for pursuing a career in nursing comes from a moment that changed my life in a way I never expected. I went to the ER for what should have been a simple abscess drainage. Because there was no Nurse Anesthetist on staff, I received inadequate sedation and remained fully conscious during the entire procedure. I remember lying there, scared and confused, waiting for someone to notice that something wasn’t right. No one did. I felt invisible in a moment when I needed reassurance and protection the most. Directly after the procedure, I couldn't walk, I was told this would go away yet for the next 48 hours that followed, my body reacted in ways I didn’t understand. I was eventually diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), something I had never been prone to before. The physical symptoms were frightening, but the emotional impact of feeling unheard stayed with me even more. That experience opened my eyes to how deeply a lack of compassion and communication can affect a patient, not just in the moment but long afterwards. Rather than letting that experience break me, it gave me purpose. I came to the conclusion how important it is to have nurses and medical staff who listen, who explain things clearly, and who treat every patient with dignity and not like a statistic nor metric number. I want to be the person who notices the fear in someone’s eyes, who slows down long enough to make sure they understand what’s happening, and who advocates for my patients when something doesn’t feel right. My inspiration for nursing comes from wanting to give others what I needed that day: safety, clarity, and genuine care. Nursing isn’t just a career path for me, as it’s a calling impacted by my lived experience, and it’s the way I plan to turn something painful into something meaningful. To me, human touch means seeing the person before the procedure, prior to the diagnosis, or the chart notes. It’s the part of care that goes beyond the medical tasks, the tone of your voice, the patience in your explanations, the way you make someone feel safe when they’re at their most vulnerable. Human touch is the reminder that every patient is a human being first and to be treated with respect. My understanding of human touch comes from experiencing what it feels like when it’s missing. I would not want one of my future patients to experience the lack of human connection that made an experience like mine far more traumatic than it ever needed to be. In healthcare, I firmly believe that human touch can change everything. A nurse who listens can calm fear before it spirals. A simple explanation can turn confusion into understanding. A moment of kindness can give a patient a sense of control in a situation where they may feel powerless. These small but steady acts build trust, improve communication, and help patients feel grounded during appointments or emergencies that may stay with them for the rest of their lives. I believe that human touch is not about perfection, as it’s about presence. It’s about slowing down long enough to notice the person in front of you. It’s about understanding that even routine procedures can be life‑altering for the patient experiencing them. This is why human touch is at the center of the kind of nurse I want to become. I want to bring compassion, clarity, and authentic connection into every room I walk into. I know firsthand how much it matters, and I want every patient I care for to feel seen, protected, and human.

My educational and professional goals come from a mix of where I am right now and what I’ve lived through. Currently, I am a student in the Running Start program at Clark College, finishing my senior year of high school while completing most of my nursing prerequisites. Starting college courses early has encouraged me to take responsibility for my education in the best way. It taught me how to manage my time, stay organized, and handle real college level expectations while still being in high school. More than anything, it confirmed that nursing is the path I want to follow. My main educational goal is to earn my Bachelor of Science in Nursing and become a Registered Nurse. From there, my long‑term goal is to become a Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist (CRNA). This isn’t a random choice or something I picked because it sounded interesting. As this comes from a personal experience that changed the direction of my life. I went in for what should have been a simple medical procedure, but because of how it was mishandled, I developed Functional Neurological Disorder (FND). What stayed with me most wasn’t just the diagnosis, but it was the feeling of being ignored and not taken seriously during the process. That experience opened my eyes to how important it is for patients to feel safe, respected, understood, and treated with compassion instead of just a metric number within the healthcare system. Because of that experience, I want to build a strong foundation in nursing. I want to further grow my skills to communicate clearly, support patients emotionally, and provide safe, careful care. In the future, my plan after gaining experience as a Registered Nurse with a BSN, I aim to apply to a CRNA program. Anesthesia care needs precision, calmness, and strong attention to details as this is an absolute must. It also requires someone who understands how vulnerable patients feel when they’re about to undergo a procedure. I know that feeling firsthand, and it motivates me to make sure no one else feels the way I once did. Professionally, I hope to work in a hospital setting where I can advocate for patients and make sure, they feel seen and protected. I want to be the person who explains things in simple terms, listens without judgment, and brings comfort to people during some of the hardest moments of their lives.

There are moments in life when everything changes in a single day, and for myself that moment happened during what was supposed to be a simple medical procedure. I walked into the hospital expecting something routine, something I didn’t have to think twice about. Instead, I walked out with a neurological condition called Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), a diagnosis that changed my world more than I could have ever imagined. I didn’t understand what was happening to my body, and even worse, I felt unheard and dismissed by medical professionals at a time when I needed reassurance the most. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life, and it pushed me into a season where I had to rely on my faith more than ever before. In the beginning, I felt so lost. I didn’t know what my future would look like or how I was supposed to move forward, I was forced to drop my honors courses, friends left me, and I was unsure what my recovery timeline would even look like. I had moments where I questioned everything, my strength, my purpose, and even whether I would ever feel like myself again. But in those two years of fear and confusion, my faith became the one steady thing I could hold onto. I prayed constantly, at times with words and sometimes with nothing more than tears. I asked God for clarity, for strength, and for the courage to face each day even when I didn’t know what the next day might bring. My faith didn’t take away the challenge, but it changed how I walked through it. Instead of feeling completely alone, I began to feel guided. Instead of seeing my situation as something that broke me, I started to see it as something that was shaping me. I realized that even in the midst of the storm, though it feels painful and unfair, God was still working. He was teaching me patience, resilience, and trust. He was reminding me that even when I didn’t understand the “why,” He was still in control of the “how.” As time went on, my faith helped me see my experience in a new light. What happened to me wasn’t just a hardship, but it became the reason I discovered my purpose. That experience further taught me how important it is for patients to feel safe, heard, and cared for. I realized how deeply it matters to have someone in the room who is paying attention, who is present, and who treats you like a human being. That realization is what led me to pursue nursing and set my goal to become a Nurse Anesthetist/CRNA. My faith helped me understand that my pain wasn’t pointless; it was preparing me to help others in a way I never could have before. Looking back, I can see that my faith carried me through a time when I didn’t have the strength to carry myself. It helped me turn fear into purpose, confusion to direction, and challenges into motivation. My journey wasn’t easy, but it taught me that faith doesn’t remove obstacles, as it gives you the strength to overcome them. And because of that, I am stepping into my future with confidence, knowing that what once felt like the end of my story was really the beginning of my calling.

I never thought a commonly routine medical procedure could completely change my life, yet it did. I went in expecting something simple, an abscess drainage, and walked out of that Emergency Room with a neurological condition called Functional Neurological Disorder (FND). At first, it was truly terrifying. I didn’t know what my body could do, and I wasn’t sure what my future would look like. The hardest part wasn’t even the diagnosis but it was feeling like nobody really cared. I felt dismissed, ignored, and invisible, and it made me question whether I could ever trust the medical system again. After the initial shock, I began a long recovery with the help of truly compassionate professionals. My occupational therapist, speech therapist, and physical therapist didn’t just follow routines but they treated me like a person, not a patient file or a metric number. They encouraged me, listened to me when I was frustrated and felt like an outcast, and celebrated even the smallest victories like relearning to tie my shoes! Because of them, I had to start over completely. I had to relearn how to walk, how to eat with a fork, and even how to write essays, do math, and use skills that most of us take for granted. Every small step, every bite, every sentence I wrote became a reminder that progress is possible when someone believes in you and cares enough to guide you. Equine therapy also played a huge role in my recovery. Working with the horses and instructors taught me lessons in trust, patience, and perseverance. I had to learn to connect with them, follow their cues, and stay calm and consistent, as horses are good mirrors to human emotions. Those sessions reminded me that recovery isn’t just about the physical but also confidence, mental focus, and being present in the moment. Experiencing such deep, compassionate care completely changed how I view healthcare. Being a nurse is far from reciting medical knowledge but also about listening, advocating, and supporting people when they feel most vulnerable. The professionals who helped me didn’t just restore my body: they restored myI want to become a nurse, and eventually a Nurse Anesthetist (CRNA), because I want to be that person for patients who are scared, overwhelmed, or unsure. I want to make them feel safe, heard, and cared for, the way I was. Compassion and skill go together and my experience showed me how powerful it can be when someone combines both. I want to give patients not just medical care, but confidence, reassurance and hope, some things I know can completely change a person’s experience. Without the dedication, patience, and humanity of my therapists and instructors, I wouldn’t be where I am today. They gave me another chance to believe in healing and in people. Their example inspires me to be a healthcare professional who treats patients not only with knowledge, but with heart, empathy, and patience, giving them the same compassion that helped me rebuild my life. hope, independence, and confidence. Without them, I wouldn’t be here today, ready to start college and pursue my dream of a career in nursing.

I was raised in a Christian household, so faith has always been around me, but it became truly personal on Easter in 2023. That was the day I decided to fully give my life to Jesus Christ and was baptized. It was not a sudden or emotional decision, but one that came from growth, prayer, and understanding what it meant to trust God with my whole life. From that point on, my faith stopped being something I just believed in and became something I tried to live out every day. Before COVID, I spent a lot of time volunteering at a local senior living community. I helped with worship services by playing the piano and helped once a month alongside the activities director for leading worship. Many of the residents looked forward to those moments, especially worship, because it brought comfort and familiarity. Playing music for them showed me how faith can bring peace, even when someone is struggling physically or emotionally. Some days were simple, quiet, and slow, but those were often the most meaningful. I learned how important it is to be present and patient with people who need companionship and care. I also volunteer in my church’s children’s ministry. Being around children has taught me how much influence words and actions can have. Kids are honest, curious, and trusting, and they notice when someone genuinely cares. Helping create a space where they feel safe, supported, and loved has been one of the most rewarding parts of my service. It has pushed me to be more patient, understanding, and consistent, especially when things feel challenging. My goal to become a nurse is deeply personal. I went to the hospital for what was supposed to be a simple procedure, but it ended up changing my life. Because there was no nurse anesthetist present, I left with a neurological condition called Functional Neurological Disorder (FND). More than the diagnosis itself, what hurt the most was how little compassion I received. I felt ignored, unseen, and dismissed at a time when I was scared and vulnerable. That experience opened my eyes to the power of care and advocacy in healthcare, and it made me want to be the kind of nurse who makes patients feel safe, heard, and valued. I hope to bring my faith into my future career, not just through words, but through how I treat patients, families, and coworkers. Living for Jesus means serving others with humility, kindness, and integrity. Whether through nursing, volunteering, or daily interactions, I want my life to reflect love, faith, and service in real and meaningful ways.

I walked into the hospital expecting a quick drainage procedure, those seconds when I entered the facility I would never of guessed I would walk out with my life changed, and it was far from positive. There was no nurse anesthetist present when I should have been sedated, and after that day, I was diagnosed with a neurological I never should have developed called Functional Neurological Disorder (FND). What hurt just as much as the diagnosis was how invisible I felt. I wasn’t listened to, reassured, or cared for in the way a patient should be. That experience has ever so stayed with me and became the main reason why I want to enter healthcare. I come from a family of immigrants who taught me what strength resilience looks like long before I could describe it. My mother came to the United States from Trinidad when she was just eighteen years old. She faced racism, prejudice, and was even told to “go back to where she came from.” Still, she worked hard, stayed determined, and never gave up on building a better future. Watching her sacrifice and push forward shaped who I am today. Because of her, I will be the first-generation immigrant in my family to earn a college degree. Living with FND has not been easy. Recovery has been frustrating, exhausting, and at many times hit my lowest of lows. But it also opened my eyes to how powerful compassionate healthcare can be, but also the dark side of how harmful and traumatic it is when compassion is missing. I know what it feels like to be scared, confused, and unheard in a medical setting. That is why my goal is to become a nurse and eventually a Nurse Anesthetist (CRNA). I want to advocate for my patients, make sure they feel safe, and provide care with empathy and respect, especially for those from minority communities. I don’t want patients to remember their experiences the way I remember mine. I want them to remember someone who listened, explained, and genuinely cared. This scholarship surely would help he financial pressure of my education and allow me to focus on becoming the healthcare professional I needed when I was at my most vulnerable. My background, my family’s sacrifices, and my personal health journey drive me to turn challenges into purpose and to make a real difference in patients’ lives.