Living with a physical disability has shaped every part of who I am. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (RA) when I was four years old. Most people don’t associate childhood with chronic pain, joint inflammation, or fatigue, but that’s been my reality for as long as I can remember. Growing up with RA meant constantly balancing school, doctors, medications, and learning to mask pain just to function. I’ve spent years adapting—not just to my body but to a world that rarely accommodates it. Despite the challenges, I’ve always pushed forward. I started college while managing flare-ups and hospital visits, and I’m proud to be graduating this fall with an associate degree in psychology. But the truth is, RA has also made me rethink everything I thought I could do. I used to work as a makeup artist, helping clients feel beautiful and confident. It was something I loved. But standing for long hours and holding up my arms became too painful. Then, last year, I suffered a serious fall that tore my hip and changed everything. Recovery has been long and slow, and I’ve come to accept that I can’t pursue physically demanding jobs anymore. Still, I refuse to give up on my dream of helping others feel beautiful. That’s why I’ve decided to go into nails. It’s a creative field that allows me to use my hands and artistic side, but one where I can stay seated and protect my body. I haven’t done nails professionally yet, but I’ve been getting mine done for years and studying the techniques. I’m eager to train, learn, and eventually run my own business that’s both accessible for me and welcoming to other disabled clients. My journey has been shaped not only by my disability but by my family experiences. My father struggles with addiction, and I lost my uncle to suicide when I was a child. These losses pushed me to understand people on a deeper level and inspired my interest in psychology. I know what it feels like to face obstacles, to feel like the odds are stacked against you. That’s why I want to create a safe, inclusive space where others can feel seen and cared for, even in small ways like getting their nails done. I’m applying for this scholarship because continuing my education and getting nail training means the world to me. It’s my way forward, a path where I can be independent, creative, and still honor everything I’ve overcome. Living with RA has made life harder, but it’s also made me more determined, more empathetic, and more focused than ever.

My name is Myst, and I’m applying for this scholarship not just to fund a career change, but to rebuild a future shaped by resilience, pain, and purpose. I’ve lived through more than most my age—chronic illness, family loss, and trauma—but I’ve never stopped pushing forward. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis when I was four years old. It’s been a constant in my life, shaping how I move, work, and dream. For a long time, I tried to ignore its limits. I worked as a makeup artist and then went to college and worked at the same time, but a fall that injured my hip reminded me—painfully—that my body can’t keep up with being on my feet every day anymore. That experience changed my perspective. I still want to help people feel confident and beautiful, but I need to do it in a way that works with my body, not against it. That’s what led me to nails. I’ve never done nails professionally, but I’ve gotten them done for years. I’ve seen firsthand how a set of nails can make someone feel polished, empowered, and seen. I want to be part of that. I want to build a business that offers people not just beauty, but a little relief from the world—a chair to sit in, a conversation, a moment to feel special. My path hasn’t been smooth. My father struggled with drug addiction for most of my life. My uncle died by suicide when I was four, and that loss continues to shape my family and my mental health to this day. I live with bipolar disorder. I’m not ashamed of it. If anything, these experiences have made me more compassionate, more understanding, and more determined to be someone others can count on. I’m proof that broken things can still be beautiful. I’m currently finishing my associate’s degree in psychology and will graduate this fall. Though I don’t plan to go into traditional counseling, everything I’ve studied—from mental health to behavior—has deepened my desire to help others, especially those who’ve been through trauma or feel like they don’t belong. That’s where nails come in. It might sound small, but sitting down with someone, holding space for them while you work, can be a powerful way to connect. I want to offer my own nail services to and maybe open my own studio —a space that’s physically accessible, emotionally safe, and inclusive of all people, especially those who live with chronic pain, disabilities, or mental health challenges. I want to make beauty feel possible for those who are often left out of the conversation. This scholarship would give me the chance to get licensed, learn the skills I need, and finally start a new chapter—one that honors what I’ve been through, what I live with, and the kind of impact I want to have in my community. I don’t want pity. I want the tools to build something lasting.

Trade careers like nails, cosmetology, and other personal services are often overlooked when people think about "trades," but they are just as essential in helping communities thrive—especially in how they build confidence, self-expression, and healing through human connection. I’ve chosen to pursue nails not just as a job, but as a way to keep doing what I love: helping others feel good about themselves. Although I’ve spent years in college and will graduate with my associate degree in psychology this fall, I’ve come to realize that traditional four-year paths aren’t always the right fit for every passion. I was once a makeup artist, trained while working at a cosmetics store and I saw the transformation people went through—not just in how they looked, but in how they carried themselves afterward. That feeling of helping someone feel powerful and beautiful is what I want to keep bringing to others, but in a way that works for where I am in life now. I’ve lived with rheumatoid arthritis since I was four, and while I’ve tried to push through, my body has started telling me it needs a different pace. After a bad fall that injured my hip, I realized I couldn’t keep doing work that required me to be on my feet for long hours. That ruled out a lot of traditional career paths—but not nails. This trade lets me sit, work closely with clients, and still use my creativity and interpersonal skills to make a difference. Even though I haven’t done nails professionally yet, I’ve been getting them done for years. I understand what makes a good experience from the client’s perspective—clean tools, attention to detail, and a tech who actually listens. I plan to take those insights and pair them with proper training to open a welcoming space where clients can relax, feel safe, and leave feeling more like themselves. Like any path, I know there will be challenges. Physical limitations will always be something I have to navigate, and I may need more rest or adjustments in how I work. Financially, getting started can be hard too—paying for classes, licensing, and supplies adds up. But I’m resourceful and determined. I’ve already started my own small business selling handmade jewelry and resin art, and I’m not afraid of building something from the ground up. My plan is to learn, practice, and eventually create a business that includes both nails and beauty products, blending everything I love in a way that supports my body and my future. Pursuing a trade like nails is not a “backup plan.” It’s a bold decision to invest in something meaningful, both for myself and the people I’ll serve. I’m excited to turn my passion into a profession and to continue making others feel seen, strong, and beautiful—one set of nails at a time.

When I was four years old, I lost my uncle to suicide. He was only nineteen. No one saw it coming. He was the happiest person in the room, the kind of guy who made everyone laugh. He died during a hike with his brother—my other uncle—right beside him. He said, “I’m going to jump,” and did. It happened in a split second, and it shattered my family. I wasn’t on that hike, but I have vivid memories of him. I remember Christmas mornings with him playing beside me. I remember him at the zoo, telling me red pandas were his favorite animal. I remember a sunny spring day when he showed me his “wicked scar” from a motorcycle crash—pulling down the collar of his white shirt to reveal it. I can still smell the flowers from that day. I remember him tossing Dots candy into his mouth and playing with me, and I haven’t been able to eat Dots since. After he died, my dad started doing that same candy toss with me, maybe as a way to remember his little brother and have fun. These tiny memories are all I have, and they mean everything to me. My uncle wanted to be an architect. He was a talented artist. I still keep his sketchbook with me, and it’s what inspired me to start drawing. His death changed the direction of my life, even though I was too young to fully understand it at the time. After he died, my dad couldn’t cope. He fell into addiction. What started as a way to numb the pain turned into years of drug use, jail time, and disappearing acts. I went from missing my uncle to watching my dad slowly disappear too—but in a different way. He was still here, but not really. He missed birthdays, holidays, and most of my childhood. It’s 2025 now, and he’s finally in rehab. It took two decades to get here. Seeing him struggle for so long made me want to help people—to be someone who listens, understands, and offers support. That’s how I found beauty. At first it was just makeup and drawing, then I started doing nails, making jewelry, and building a business. It became my therapy. I learned that helping people feel good about themselves—through art, style, or even a small accessory—can be healing. I believe in retail therapy, not just in a consumer sense, but as a way of helping people reconnect with themselves. Losing my uncle and growing up in the shadow of addiction taught me resilience, creativity, and compassion. My education isn’t just for a degree—it’s for the future I’ve worked hard to build, despite everything. I want to keep creating, helping, and honoring both my uncle’s memory and my father’s recovery. I think my uncle and my dad would be proud of the person I’m becoming.