My primary goal is to complete my Master of Science in Victim Services Management in December 2026 and continue directly into a Ph.D. program in Criminology. My long-term objective is to conduct research that improves services for children and families affected by violence, trauma, and victimization while also teaching the next generation of criminal justice and victim services professionals. My research interests focus on children who survive the homicide of a parent due to intimate partner violence and identifying evidence-based interventions that improve their long-term outcomes. I have already applied to a doctoral program and have developed a clear plan to prepare for that next step. My immediate focus is completing my remaining graduate coursework while maintaining the academic excellence I have demonstrated throughout my program. I carefully organize each semester by breaking large assignments into weekly goals, setting aside dedicated time for research and writing, and balancing my coursework with my professional responsibilities and volunteer service. The remaining cost to complete my master's degree is approximately $5,000. Additional educational expenses include textbooks, research materials, reliable technology, transportation to and from doctoral classes, and professional development opportunities such as academic conferences. Scholarships play an important role in reducing my financial burden, allowing me to devote more time to research, volunteer work, and academic success rather than increasing my reliance on student loans. To support my education, I will continue operating my consulting company while carefully managing my work schedule around my academic responsibilities. This flexibility has allowed me to remain financially independent while maintaining an outstanding academic record. I also actively seek scholarship opportunities to minimize educational debt and ensure that I can focus on building the strongest possible foundation for my future career. After earning my Ph.D., I hope to combine research, higher education, and victim advocacy to improve services for vulnerable children and families. I want my research to influence policy, strengthen victim service programs, and provide practitioners with evidence-based strategies that improve outcomes for those who have experienced trauma. Teaching at the university level would also allow me to mentor future professionals who share a passion for serving victims and creating positive change within the criminal justice system. I recognize that achieving these goals will require continued hard work, discipline, and perseverance. Throughout my academic journey, I have balanced graduate school, professional responsibilities, volunteer service, and family obligations while maintaining an exceptional academic record. Those experiences have given me the confidence that I can successfully complete my education and dedicate my career to improving the lives of others through research, education, and service.

Selflessness, to me, is choosing to serve others even when it requires sacrificing my own time, comfort, or resources. Throughout my life, I have been drawn to people who are experiencing crisis, trauma, or loss because I believe everyone deserves someone willing to stand beside them during their most difficult moments. I began my career as a registered nurse, working in emergency departments, surgical intensive care units, and pediatric trauma intensive care. Every shift required putting the needs of patients and their families ahead of my own. Whether comforting frightened parents, caring for critically injured children, or helping families through unimaginable loss, I learned that compassion is often demonstrated through quiet acts of service rather than recognition. Although I eventually left nursing, my commitment to helping others never changed. For more than twenty years, I have volunteered as a missing persons advocate, assisting families searching for loved ones. During that time, I have worked on hundreds of cases, helping coordinate searches, reviewing information, and supporting families through uncertainty and grief. These are often emotionally exhausting situations with no guarantee of a positive outcome, yet I continue because every family deserves hope and someone who is willing to help carry their burden. I also volunteer each week with Exodus Ministries, a nonprofit that serves formerly incarcerated mothers and their children as they rebuild their lives. Having once participated in the program myself many years ago, returning as a volunteer has been especially meaningful. I understand the fear and uncertainty many of these women experience because I have lived it. Today, I have the opportunity to encourage children, mentor families, and give back to the organization that once helped me build a better future. That experience has reinforced my belief that service comes full circle and that those who have received support have a responsibility to extend it to others. Perseverance has been equally important in shaping who I am. As a first-generation college student, I returned to school later in life while operating my own business and balancing family responsibilities. Despite personal hardships, I have maintained a perfect academic record throughout my graduate studies because I believe education is the best way to increase my ability to serve others. My goal is not simply to earn another degree but to become a stronger advocate for children and victims of crime through research, policy, and evidence-based practice. I do not view selflessness as a single act but as a lifelong commitment. Whether caring for patients, searching for missing loved ones, mentoring families, or preparing for a career serving crime victims, I have always believed that the greatest impact we can make is to use our experiences to improve the lives of others. That belief continues to guide every personal, professional, and academic decision I make.

Cancer has changed every part of my family’s life over the past year. My father was diagnosed with leukemia, and since then we have been living through the painful reality of watching someone we love slowly disappear despite every effort to save him. The treatments have not worked the way we hoped, and with each passing day, we have watched him become weaker and more fragile. There is a helplessness that comes with cancer that I do not think anyone can fully understand until they live through it themselves. Before his diagnosis, my parents had been helping raise my grandson, who has special needs. When my father became ill, everything changed almost overnight. I took custody of my grandson and became responsible not only for helping him through a difficult transition, but also for helping care for both of my parents. My mother has been emotionally devastated by my father’s illness. Watching the person she has built her life around slowly decline has completely overwhelmed her. In many ways, it feels as though our entire family has been grieving while my father is still here. One of the most difficult parts of this experience has been watching my parents refuse to leave their home despite how difficult daily life has become. My daughter and I now spend much of our time helping manage their care, checking on them, handling responsibilities they can no longer manage alone, and trying to support them emotionally while also balancing our own families, work, and school responsibilities. There are days when it feels impossible to keep everything together. At the same time, I am pursuing my graduate degree in Victim Services Management. Continuing school while navigating this situation has been emotionally exhausting. There have been many nights spent studying after medical appointments, caring for my grandson, or helping my parents through another difficult day. Financial stress has also become a significant burden as medical expenses, caregiving responsibilities, and household demands continue to increase. Although this experience has been heartbreaking, it has also taught me important lessons about family, resilience, and compassion. Cancer affects far more than the patient. It impacts entire families emotionally, financially, and physically. I have learned that caregiving often requires people to quietly carry enormous responsibilities while still trying to function normally in everyday life. I have also learned how important patience and presence can be. Sometimes there is no solution that can fix the situation, and all you can do is continue showing up for the people you love. This experience has also deepened my understanding of trauma and caregiving in ways that directly connect to the work I hope to do professionally. I have become even more aware of how quickly families can become overwhelmed when facing illness, disability, financial strain, and emotional exhaustion all at once. It has strengthened my desire to work in fields focused on advocacy, support services, and helping vulnerable families navigate crisis situations with dignity and support. Most of all, this experience has reminded me not to take time with loved ones for granted. Cancer has changed my family forever, but it has also shown me the strength that can exist even in the middle of heartbreak.

Returning to school later in life has been one of the most rewarding decisions I have ever made, but it has also been one of the most difficult. Unlike many traditional students, I did not return to school with unlimited time, financial stability, or the ability to focus solely on academics. I returned as a parent and grandmother with significant family responsibilities, while also balancing work, volunteer commitments, and the realities of adulthood that do not pause simply because someone decides to pursue an education. One of the biggest challenges I faced was overcoming the fear of returning to an academic environment after many years away. I originally earned my nursing degree in 1991 and spent years working as a pediatric trauma nurse at Parkland Hospital in Dallas. Although I had extensive professional experience, returning to school decades later felt intimidating. Technology, research expectations, online learning platforms, and academic writing standards had changed dramatically. I often questioned whether I could still succeed in a rigorous academic setting, especially in graduate-level coursework. At the same time, I was balancing family obligations that many younger students do not yet face. As a mother and grandmother, my responsibilities extend far beyond assignments and exams. There are always competing priorities, unexpected family needs, financial pressures, and moments when the needs of others naturally come before my own. Unlike traditional students who may be able to study uninterrupted for hours, my education has required learning how to work in small pieces of time while managing a household and supporting my family emotionally and financially. Financial concerns have also been a major challenge. Returning to school later in life often means making sacrifices that younger students may not fully experience yet. There are bills, household expenses, transportation costs, and the reality that time spent studying is time not spent earning additional income. Pursuing higher education as a nontraditional student requires constant balancing between long-term goals and immediate responsibilities. Another challenge has been learning to believe that my age and unconventional path are not disadvantages. Early on, I sometimes felt out of place among younger students. Over time, however, I realized that life experience can be a strength rather than a weakness. My years working in healthcare, raising children, surviving personal hardships, and volunteering in the community have given me perspective that directly informs my education and career goals. Today, I am pursuing my Master’s degree in Victim Services Management at Sam Houston State University after completing my Bachelor’s degree in Forensic Psychology. My experiences have strengthened my commitment to serving vulnerable populations, particularly women and children affected by trauma, violence, and instability. Returning to school has required persistence, discipline, humility, and sacrifice, but it has also shown me that personal growth does not have an expiration date. The challenges I have faced while returning to school have ultimately made me more determined. I want my children and grandchildren to see that education remains valuable at every stage of life and that it is never too late to pursue meaningful goals. I hope my journey encourages other nontraditional students to believe that their experiences, responsibilities, and age do not disqualify them from success.

For most of my life, I worked in environments where people were often experiencing the worst moments of their lives. I spent years as a pediatric trauma nurse at Parkland Hospital in Dallas, caring for children and families affected by violence, accidents, abuse, and crisis. That work taught me how deeply trauma affects people long after the immediate emergency is over. Over time, I realized that many of the problems families faced could not be solved through medical treatment alone. They needed long-term support, advocacy, stability, and access to resources that often only nonprofit organizations are willing or able to provide. That realization is one of the reasons I returned to school and pursued degrees in forensic psychology and victim services management. I am currently completing my Master’s degree in Victim Services Management at Sam Houston State University, and much of my work has focused on vulnerable families, trauma-informed care, and community-based support systems. Through both my education and volunteer work, I have become increasingly committed to pursuing a career in the nonprofit sector because I believe nonprofits are often the organizations closest to the real needs of communities. One organization that has deeply influenced me is Exodus Ministries, where I volunteer with women and children affected by incarceration, poverty, trauma, substance abuse, and family instability. Many of the mothers in the program are trying to rebuild relationships with their children while also overcoming enormous barriers such as housing insecurity, lack of transportation, limited education, and untreated trauma. Working alongside these families has shown me how important compassionate, community-based organizations are in helping people rebuild their lives. What draws me to nonprofit work is the opportunity to make a direct and personal impact. In many nonprofit settings, relationships matter just as much as services. People are not treated like case numbers or statistics. They are treated like human beings who deserve dignity, patience, and support. I have seen firsthand how something as simple as consistent encouragement, mentoring, counseling, or helping a parent access childcare can completely change the direction of a family’s future. In the future, I hope to work in victim services and trauma-informed nonprofit programming focused on women and children impacted by violence and incarceration. I am especially interested in helping children who are often overlooked in the criminal justice system. Many children experience trauma related to domestic violence, parental incarceration, addiction, or unstable home environments, yet they frequently do not receive the long-term emotional support they need. I hope to contribute to programs that provide counseling, advocacy, educational support, and family-centered services that help break cycles of trauma across generations. I also hope to use my education to strengthen nonprofit programs through evaluation and research. Many nonprofits do incredible work with very limited funding and staffing. By improving program evaluation and demonstrating measurable outcomes, organizations can strengthen services, secure funding, and expand their impact within the community. To me, nonprofit work is not simply a career choice. It is a commitment to standing beside people during some of the most difficult periods of their lives and helping create opportunities for stability, healing, and hope. That is the kind of work I want my life to contribute to.

One story that changed my life was not told by a famous person, politician, or professor. It came from a mother sitting in a small office at Exodus Ministries after being released from prison. She spoke quietly about losing years of her children’s lives while trapped in addiction, abusive relationships, and incarceration. What stayed with me was not only the pain in her story, but the shame she carried. She genuinely believed society had already decided who she was and what she would always be. Before volunteering with Exodus Ministries, I think I understood hardship mostly from a professional and academic perspective. I had worked as a pediatric trauma nurse for many years and later pursued degrees in forensic psychology and victim services. I understood statistics, trauma, and criminal justice systems. But hearing women openly talk about domestic violence, manipulation, homelessness, incarceration, and trying to reunite with their children changed the way I saw people. I began to understand how often trauma repeats itself across generations when nobody intervenes early enough. One problem in my community that many people walk past is the invisible struggle of children whose parents are involved in the criminal justice system. People often notice the adult offender, but they overlook the children standing beside them. These children are frequently carrying trauma from domestic violence, substance abuse, poverty, instability, or parental incarceration. They may struggle in school, experience anxiety or depression, or feel isolated and ashamed. Many become emotionally invisible because their pain is quieter than other social problems. Because of my volunteer work, I notice things that others often miss. I notice the child who acts out because they are terrified of being abandoned again. I notice the mother trying desperately to rebuild trust with her children while also learning how to survive independently. I notice how difficult it is for families to heal when resources are fragmented and temporary. What many people do not see is that these families are often trying very hard. They are attending counseling, parenting classes, probation meetings, work programs, and recovery programs all at the same time while attempting to rebuild their lives. Yet support systems are often limited, underfunded, or focused only on short-term crisis management instead of long-term healing. If I had the resources to act, I would create a trauma-informed family support center specifically for children affected by domestic violence, incarceration, and family instability. I would combine counseling, educational support, mentoring, parenting assistance, and case management in one location so families would not have to navigate disconnected systems alone. I would also prioritize services for children because early intervention can change the entire course of a child’s future. My education in victim services management and forensic psychology has shown me that communities become stronger when people stop viewing struggling families as hopeless cases and start viewing them as people worthy of investment and support. The women and children I have met through volunteer work changed the way I define resilience, leadership, and community. Their stories changed mine, and they are the reason I want to spend my career advocating for people society too often overlooks.

Intimate partner violence is often discussed in statistics, policies, and criminal justice terms, but behind every number is a family whose entire life has been changed. My interest in victim services and social justice did not begin in a classroom. It began through life experience, years of working with people in crisis, and eventually through volunteer work that allowed me to see how trauma affects women and children long after the violence itself ends. Those experiences led me to pursue higher education in forensic psychology and victim services management so I could contribute to meaningful change in a more informed and effective way. I am currently pursuing my Master’s degree in Victim Services Management at Sam Houston State University after earning my Bachelor’s degree in Forensic Psychology with a minor in Criminology. Before returning to school, I spent many years working as a pediatric trauma nurse at Parkland Hospital in Dallas. During that time, I saw firsthand how violence impacts entire families. Although hospitals treat physical injuries, many victims leave carrying emotional trauma, fear, financial instability, and isolation that cannot be resolved in an emergency room. Those experiences stayed with me and shaped the direction of my education and volunteer work. Today, I volunteer with Exodus Ministries, an organization that supports formerly incarcerated women and their children as they rebuild their lives. Many of the women served by the program have experienced intimate partner violence, childhood trauma, substance abuse, homelessness, or coercive relationships. Through this work, I have gained a deeper understanding of the barriers victims face when trying to leave abusive situations. Lack of housing, financial dependence, untreated trauma, childcare concerns, and fear of retaliation often keep victims trapped long after the abuse becomes dangerous. I have also seen how community partnerships can make a significant difference. Counseling agencies, schools, faith communities, case managers, and victim advocates all play important roles in helping survivors regain stability. My graduate studies have strengthened my understanding of evidence-based victim services and program evaluation. One issue I have noticed in many initiatives addressing intimate partner violence is that programs are often underfunded and evaluated primarily through short-term outcomes. While crisis intervention is critical, long-term support for survivors and their children is equally important. I believe victim services must focus not only on immediate safety, but also on long-term emotional stability, housing security, education, and prevention of intergenerational trauma. In the future, I intend to use my education to improve victim-centered programs through research, program development, and advocacy. I am especially interested in studying how intimate partner violence affects children and family systems over time. My goal is to help organizations develop stronger trauma-informed services that address both the immediate and lasting effects of violence. I also hope to contribute to policy discussions surrounding victim rights, access to services, and coordinated community responses. Ending intimate partner violence will require more than awareness campaigns or temporary solutions. It will require professionals who are willing to challenge ineffective systems, support survivors with dignity, and create collaborative approaches grounded in research and compassion. Through my education, volunteer work, and future career, I hope to be part of that effort.

I became a suicide loss survivor when my husband died, leaving me to raise our young children without him. His death was sudden and disorienting. In one moment, we were an intact family planning our future; in the next, I was explaining to small children that their father was gone. The challenges that followed were emotional, practical, and long-term. Grief after suicide is complicated. It carries not only sadness, but confusion, guilt, anger, and unanswered questions. As a mother, I had to manage my own shock while protecting my children’s sense of safety. They were too young to fully understand suicide, yet old enough to feel the absence deeply. Their grief showed up in different ways over time - through behavior, anxiety, and questions that grew more complex as they matured. I learned quickly that children revisit loss at each developmental stage. What they can process at five is different from what they can process at fifteen. Beyond the emotional toll, there were immediate responsibilities. I became the sole provider and the steady center of our home. Stability became my priority. Even when I felt overwhelmed, I maintained routines, structure, and predictability. I understood that children need consistency when their world has been shaken. Perseverance, for me, did not look dramatic. It looked like waking up every day, going to work, helping with homework, and keeping life moving forward despite the weight of grief. Over time, I sought counseling and leaned on faith, trusted friends, and community. I allowed myself to acknowledge the complexity of suicide loss rather than suppress it. I learned that healing is not linear. Some seasons felt steady; others reopened wounds. What sustained me was the decision to move forward with intention. I refused to let tragedy define the limits of my children’s future or my own. This experience reshaped my beliefs and my path. I developed a deeper understanding of how mental health struggles affect entire families, not just individuals. I saw firsthand how stigma and silence can isolate survivors. That realization influenced my decision to return to school and pursue advanced education focused on victim services and child trauma. I now volunteer with children who have experienced instability and separation, where I see how early, trauma-informed support can change outcomes. Resilience, I have learned, is built through responsibility and purpose. Hope does not erase grief; it grows alongside it. My husband’s death will always be part of our story, but it does not define its ending. Instead, it strengthened my commitment to mental health awareness, honest conversation, and systems that support families in crisis. As a suicide loss survivor, I carry both the pain of what was lost and the determination to build something meaningful in its wake. Education is part of that healing process. It equips me to serve others with understanding, discipline, and compassion, ensuring that families facing similar tragedies encounter informed and steady support rather than isolation.

Courage did not come to me in a single moment. It developed over years of responsibility, loss, and reflection. I returned to school because life made it clear that standing still was not an option. When my husband died by suicide, I was left raising young children on my own. In that season, survival required structure, discipline, and steady decision-making. I learned to function through grief because my children needed stability. I worked, managed a household, and carried responsibilities that did not pause for heartbreak. That period reshaped me. It forced me to confront fear directly and act anyway. Courage, I discovered, is often quiet. It looks like getting up early, paying tuition bills, helping with homework, and refusing to let circumstances dictate the future. As my children grew older, I began reflecting more intentionally on the systems that respond to families in crisis. I saw how trauma affects children long after headlines fade. I saw gaps in mental health services and fragmented support for families navigating loss, incarceration, and instability. I realized that if I wanted to contribute meaningfully, experience alone was not enough. I needed advanced education to engage those systems with knowledge and authority. Returning to school in my fifties required sacrifice. I was no longer a traditional student. I carried financial obligations, family responsibilities, and a history that could have easily become an excuse to stay comfortable. Instead, those realities became motivation. I enrolled with a clear purpose and a disciplined mindset. I am now pursuing a Master’s degree in Victim Services Management with a 4.0 GPA, not because the path is easy, but because I understand what is at stake. Part of my courage also came from the example I wanted to set. I wanted my children to see that growth does not stop with age and that adversity does not eliminate opportunity. I wanted them to witness resilience modeled in real time. Education became more than personal advancement; it became a statement about responsibility and long-term vision. I volunteer weekly with children who have recently been reunited with their formerly incarcerated mothers. That work reinforces why I returned to school. I see firsthand how structured support, trauma-informed care, and informed advocacy can alter a child’s trajectory. I am not pursuing education for status. I am pursuing it to strengthen systems that serve vulnerable families. The courage to return to school came from loss, from motherhood, and from the recognition that purpose demands preparation. I chose to reshape my future deliberately, knowing it would require grit and endurance. Like Susie Green, I am building a second chapter defined not by circumstance, but by conviction.

I didn’t always understand mental illness, but I have lived in its shadow for most of my life. My late husband, a man I loved deeply, struggled silently with the weight of depression and PTSD. He was proud, private, and determined to carry that weight alone. By the time I realized how much he was suffering, it was too late to help. He died young, and I became a widow with children to raise and no roadmap for what came next. Losing him shaped the trajectory of my life more than any other event. At first, I tried to survive the only way I knew how - by working long shifts as a nurse and pretending I was okay. But I wasn’t okay. Grief, stress, and emotional exhaustion led to my own spiral. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus, and I began to feel like I was falling apart on the inside, even though I looked strong from the outside. I realized that if I didn’t start paying attention to my own mental health, I might not survive either. That awareness didn’t change everything overnight, but it did redirect me. I stepped away from the bedside and began to look at the system from another angle. I went back to school to study forensic psychology because I had seen how often people were punished or ignored instead of helped. I volunteered with homeless outreach programs and missing persons advocacy groups - places where untreated mental illness is the rule, not the exception. I started listening more closely to the stories of the people around me, especially those our system seems to forget. Mental health challenges changed the way I look at nearly everything: my family, my work, and even the way I understand justice. I no longer believe people “just snap” or “make bad choices.” I believe people carry more than we can see, and when the weight gets too heavy and there’s no support in sight, the outcome can be tragic. That belief has pushed me to speak more openly about the pain I’ve experienced and to meet others where they are, without judgment. As a mother, I’ve tried to raise my children with the understanding that emotional health matters just as much as physical health, and that asking for help is not weakness, it’s wisdom. As a business owner, I’ve built relationships with my clients based on clarity and compassion. As a student, I’ve studied the link between trauma and criminal behavior and focused on solutions that prioritize healing over punishment. I want to work with people who are often caught in the revolving doors of hospitals, jails, and shelters - people like my husband, who deserved more than a prescription and a short-term discharge plan. Mental health has never been a theoretical concept to me. It’s personal, permanent, and urgent. I carry the loss of my husband every day, but I’ve also used that loss as fuel. I’m not a therapist, but I am someone who listens, shows up, and keeps going. My career path is about building better systems, ones that don’t turn away from people in crisis or silence them with medication alone. Receiving the Elevate Mental Health Awareness Scholarship would support me as I complete my degree and continue working toward a future where people are treated with dignity and care, not dismissed or forgotten. I believe we can do better. I’m working to be part of the reason we do.

One of the most pressing social issues I am working to address is the intersection of mental illness, homelessness, and the criminal justice system. These are not isolated issues - they are deeply intertwined, and they disproportionately affect the most vulnerable members of our communities. My background in healthcare, my education in forensic psychology, and my community involvement have all converged around a single goal: to bring dignity, advocacy, and change to those who are often ignored or underserved by existing systems. As a former ICU nurse, I saw firsthand how mental illness and poverty impact people’s physical and emotional health. Often, patients would cycle through emergency rooms and hospitals without access to the long-term care or resources they needed. These experiences stayed with me and influenced my decision to return to school, where I am now pursuing a degree in forensic psychology at Arizona State University. I plan to continue through my master’s and eventually earn a PhD, with the goal of working at the intersection of healthcare and the legal system. My long-term objective is to reform how mental health is understood and treated within criminal justice structures - specifically by promoting alternatives to incarceration for individuals with psychiatric conditions and trauma histories. Beyond academics, I am active in my local community. Since the pandemic, I’ve volunteered with outreach programs that serve individuals without homes and those living with untreated mental illness. Whether it’s organizing food drives or helping connect people with services, this work is deeply personal and reinforces the belief that real, lasting change begins on the ground - with empathy, consistency, and accountability. I also help coordinate missing persons efforts, a role I’ve held since 2007, which has brought me into contact with families in crisis, law enforcement, and the public. This work has taught me how systems sometimes fail to communicate or cooperate effectively - and how persistent, compassionate individuals can help close those gaps. I believe education has the power to inform practice and policy. Through my coursework, I am learning not only about clinical aspects of forensic psychology, but also how legislation, case law, and social structures impact those struggling with mental health issues. I want to use this knowledge to become a voice for those whose stories go unheard. My ultimate goal is to work as an expert in the justice system, using both my healthcare background and forensic training to advocate for diversion programs, better mental health evaluations, and expanded treatment opportunities. Addressing these social issues isn’t a one-time project - it’s a lifelong commitment. The systems that marginalize people are complex, but they are not immovable. By combining lived experience, education, and service, I hope to contribute to solutions that are both compassionate and effective. In doing so, I aim to honor the communities I serve and help build a future where dignity and justice are accessible to all.

Being a single parent is not something I planned for, but it’s a role I have embraced fully. I’m the mother of four children, and when I lost my husband at a young age, I suddenly found myself raising them on my own. At the time, I was working as a nurse and had no idea how I would manage everything, but I knew I had to keep going - for them. Pursuing a college education as a single mother has been one of the most challenging and rewarding decisions I’ve ever made. I returned to school to earn my degree in forensic psychology because I’ve always believed in the power of mental health support and its role in building stronger, safer communities. Balancing coursework, parenting, and household responsibilities hasn’t been easy. There have been late nights, early mornings, and moments where I questioned whether I could finish. But with each class I complete and every semester I pass, I move one step closer to showing my children what perseverance looks like. Now, I’m heading into my final year of college, just as my oldest child is preparing to start their own college journey. The financial and emotional pressure of supporting us both is heavy, but I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished and excited for what’s ahead. I’ve put myself through school while parenting full-time, and this scholarship would help relieve some of the financial strain that comes with supporting two students under one roof. My goal is to use my degree to advocate for improved mental health services, particularly within the correctional system. I’m passionate about community-based treatment and early intervention, and I believe that with the right support systems, we can reduce incarceration rates and change lives. In my own community, I actively help individuals facing housing instability and mental health challenges. I’ve connected young mothers to shelter and support services and provided guidance to people in crisis. I make it a point to talk openly about mental health because breaking the stigma starts with everyday conversations. Being a single parent has taught me patience, resilience, and the value of community. It’s why I will always be someone who steps up for others. I know what it feels like to need help and not know where to turn, and I never want someone in my community to feel that alone. Education has given me purpose and direction, but more importantly, it has prepared me to give back in ways that matter. This scholarship would help me continue that work - both by supporting my final year of study and by setting an example for my children that no challenge is too great when you believe in the future you’re building.

Mental health is not just a topic I study - it’s something I’ve lived through, witnessed up close, and committed myself to advocating for. As a single mother of four, a full-time student nearing graduation, and someone who has navigated profound personal loss, I understand how central mental well-being is to a person’s ability to function, thrive, and succeed. Mental health became personal in the wake of tremendous loss. I became a widow at a young age, suddenly responsible for raising four children alone. While still working as a nurse, I had to manage my own grief while staying strong for my kids. There was no pause button, no chance to fall apart. I had to carry on, even when the emotional toll was overwhelming. I didn’t have access to therapy back then, and truthfully, I didn’t even know how to ask for help. Like so many others, I pushed my mental health to the side to survive. But I learned the hard way that ignoring emotional pain doesn't make it go away - it just makes it harder to carry. Eventually, I found the tools to manage my stress, grief, and anxiety - through education, community, and peer support. Now, mental health is at the core of what I study and advocate for. As a forensic psychology student, I focus on the intersection between mental health and the correctional system. I see clearly how untreated mental illness contributes to incarceration, and how much we need to shift toward treatment and community-based support. I believe we could significantly reduce the number of people behind bars by simply giving them access to meaningful mental health care before a crisis occurs. I also advocate in my everyday life. I’ve helped unhoused individuals find resources and shelter. I’ve personally helped young parents - especially mothers - who were on the verge of homelessness find stability. I talk openly about mental health with my peers, my kids, and my community, because silence only increases stigma. I’m the kind of person people turn to when they need help, and I take that role seriously. Beyond direct advocacy, I’m building my future around mental health reform. My academic research centers on the need for more community-based mental health treatment, especially for vulnerable and underserved populations. My goal is to use my degree to influence policy and push for funding and support of mental health clinics in high-need areas. I want to see a world where mental illness is treated with the same urgency and seriousness as physical illness - and where help is accessible before things fall apart. Mental health is important to me because I’ve lived through its impact - both the pain of not having enough support and the power of receiving it. It’s important because I’ve seen how often mental illness is misjudged, ignored, or punished instead of treated. It’s important because I’m raising four children in a world where they’ll face their own pressures and challenges, and I want them to know it’s okay to ask for help. This scholarship would support me at a time when I’m carrying the weight of my final year of college while helping my oldest child prepare for their first. Financial stress is a reality, but so is emotional strain. Scholarships like this do more than ease the burden - they show students that their mental health matters and that their advocacy has value. They encourage us to keep speaking up, keep showing up, and keep working toward a better future. Thank you for your consideration.

Caregiving has been a central part of my life for as long as I can remember. I am a single parent raising my children while maintaining a full-time academic schedule and running a business. I’ve balanced parenting, work, and school for years - handling everything from day-to-day responsibilities to the emotional support that comes with raising children who have also experienced loss. I am the one who manages their medical appointments, supports their education, and makes sure they feel safe and heard. This responsibility has never been easy, but it has been deeply meaningful. Being a caregiver has shaped not only how I live, but why I live the way I do. I lost my husband to suicide when I was a young nurse. That tragedy was the beginning of a long, painful chapter that forced me to rethink everything - from how I viewed mental health to how I wanted to serve others. In those early years, I was focused on survival - keeping things afloat for my children, carrying my grief quietly, and pushing through the demands of everyday life. But as time passed, that experience led me to return to school and pursue a degree in psychology. I realized I didn’t just want to care for people’s physical health - I wanted to understand and support their mental health as well. I’ve now maintained a 4.0 GPA for three years and have made the Dean’s List every semester. I’m passionate about forensic psychology and deeply involved in community service. I advocate for missing persons and support the homeless through outreach and volunteer work. These are people who often fall through the cracks, and I want to be part of changing that. My lived experience, combined with my academic drive, gives me a clear and focused purpose: to work in mental health spaces that serve people in crisis, especially those facing systemic barriers. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue that work without having to sacrifice either my education or the support I provide to my children. Like many caregivers, I face constant trade-offs - between time and money, between ambition and obligation. This scholarship would ease some of those burdens and give me more room to focus on what matters: my studies, my family, and my community service. It would also help me stay on the path toward my master’s degree, which is essential to achieving my long-term goal of working in forensic mental health and expanding access to care for vulnerable populations. I’m not just pursuing a degree; I’m building a life shaped by purpose, loss, and a deep desire to help others. Caregiving hasn’t held me back - it’s shaped me into someone more empathetic, more disciplined, and more determined to leave things better than I found them. That’s what this scholarship would support, and I’d carry that opportunity forward in everything I do.