Mental health is important to me because it is not something I can separate from my own life, my education, or the work I do with other people. I live with borderline personality disorder and bipolar disorder, and I have also experienced the effects of mental illness through my family. These experiences have taught me that mental health can affect every part of a person's life, including their education, relationships, confidence, and ability to see a future for themselves. When I was four years old, I lost my nineteen-year-old uncle to suicide. As I grew older, I began to understand what his death meant and how deeply it affected my family. My father later struggled with addiction after losing his brother, and our family experienced the effects of that struggle for many years. Today, my father is in recovery. Watching both my family members and myself navigate mental health has shown me that these struggles do not affect only one person. They affect entire families and communities. As a student, these experiences have made me more determined to continue my education rather than allow my mental health to define what I am capable of accomplishing. I am studying psychology because I want to understand mental health more deeply and eventually use my education to help people who may feel misunderstood or alone. I also advocate for mental health through the work I do in my community. I currently work at a high school supporting students with their education and futures. I help students find scholarships and educational opportunities, and I support refugee students as they navigate an unfamiliar school system. While my job is not solely a mental-health position, I know that supporting students' well-being is part of helping them succeed. Sometimes advocacy means connecting someone with a resource. Sometimes it means listening without judgment. Sometimes it means reminding a student that struggling does not mean they are incapable. Outside of my work, I also help my father organize drug awareness and recovery walks. These events bring people together to remember those affected by addiction and to show people struggling that recovery is possible. For me, this is another form of mental-health advocacy because it helps challenge the shame and isolation surrounding addiction. I believe mental-health advocacy begins with making people feel safe enough to be honest. I want to help create communities where students do not feel ashamed to say that they are struggling and where asking for help is viewed as strength rather than failure. My experiences have given me a personal understanding of why mental health matters, but they have also given me purpose. I want to use my education in psychology to continue learning, reduce stigma, and eventually build a career where I can help people feel understood and supported. Mental health has affected my life in profound ways, but I do not want those experiences to only represent hardship. I want them to become part of the reason I help others. My goal is to become the person who reminds someone else that they are not alone, their struggles do not define them, and their future is still worth fighting for.

Mental illness has affected my life in ways that began long before I understood what mental illness was. When I was four years old, I lost my uncle to suicide. He was only nineteen. At that age, I did not understand why he was gone or what he had been experiencing. I only understood that someone I loved was no longer there. As I grew older, I began to understand the impact his death had on my family. My uncle was someone I remember as happy, funny, and full of life. I remember playing with him, spending Christmas mornings together, and going to the zoo. Those memories are precious to me, but they also remind me that mental illness and suicidal thoughts are not always visible from the outside. After my uncle's death, my father struggled deeply with the loss. He eventually turned to drugs to cope, and addiction became a major part of our family's life. For years, I experienced the effects of addiction as a family member. There were times when my father was physically present but emotionally or mentally unavailable. There were missed birthdays, holidays, and years of uncertainty. Today, my father is in recovery. Watching him reach that point after so many years has taught me something important: mental illness and addiction can affect entire families, but recovery can affect them too. His recovery has given our family hope and has shown me that people are capable of changing the direction of their lives. I have also experienced mental illness personally. I live with borderline personality disorder and bipolar disorder. Learning to navigate my own mental health has given me an understanding of the emotional and practical challenges that can come with mental illness. It has also taught me that a diagnosis does not define a person. There is still a whole person behind the symptoms, and that person deserves compassion, respect, and the opportunity to build a meaningful life. These experiences are a major reason I chose to study psychology. They have given me a personal reason to understand mental health beyond what I can learn from a textbook. I want to understand why people struggle, how their experiences shape them, and how they can be supported. My interest in psychology also influences the work I do now. I work at a high school supporting students as they navigate their education and futures. I help students find scholarships and opportunities, and I support refugee students as they adjust to unfamiliar educational systems. I chose this kind of work because I know how important it can be to have someone who listens, understands, and believes that your future is still worth pursuing. Mental illness has caused pain in my life, but it has also shaped my empathy, resilience, and purpose. I cannot change what happened to my uncle or erase the difficult years my family experienced. What I can do is use those experiences to become someone who helps others feel less alone. I want my education and future career to turn the things I have experienced into something meaningful. I hope to help people understand that mental illness is not a personal failure and that asking for help is not a weakness. Everyone deserves the opportunity to be more than the hardest thing they have experienced, and I want to spend my life helping people believe that.

I believe I deserve this scholarship because I am not pursuing an education simply to improve my own future. I am pursuing it because I want to use what I learn to improve the futures of other people. I am studying psychology because I have always been interested in understanding people, their experiences, and the circumstances that shape their lives. My own experiences have taught me that people can face challenges that are invisible to everyone around them. Those experiences have made me more compassionate and determined to become someone who helps others feel understood rather than judged. What gives me an advantage is the perspective I bring with me. I have had to overcome personal, financial, and educational challenges while continuing to work toward my goals. Instead of allowing those challenges to become reasons to stop, I have used them as reasons to keep going. I have learned how to adapt, ask for help, advocate for myself, and continue moving forward when the path is not easy. I also work at a high school, where I support students and help connect them with opportunities for their futures. My responsibilities include helping students find scholarships and supporting refugee students as they navigate their education. This work has shown me that sometimes a person does not need someone to solve everything for them. They need someone who believes in them, helps them find the right resources, and reminds them that their circumstances do not define their potential. That is the kind of person I want to become. A scholarship would help me continue my education without allowing financial limitations to determine how far I can go. In return, I intend to make my education count. I want to build a career in which I can support people, advocate for those who are overlooked, and help students recognize opportunities they may not otherwise know exist. There are many talented students competing for this scholarship. What sets me apart is that I have a clear reason for why I am pursuing my education and what I intend to do with it. I am not simply working toward a degree. I am building the knowledge, experience, and perspective I need to make a difference in other people's lives. I may not have had the easiest path, but that path has given me resilience, empathy, and purpose. I believe those qualities will make me not only a successful student, but someone who makes the opportunity I receive meaningful long after I graduate.

Being a first-generation college student means learning how to find a path when there is no clear roadmap. It means figuring out applications, financial aid, classes, degrees, and career decisions while entering a world that my family had not navigated before me. It can be intimidating, but it has also taught me that I am capable of figuring things out, asking questions, and continuing forward even when I do not have all the answers. My path to higher education has not always been easy. I have faced personal and financial challenges while working toward my education, but I have continued to move forward because I believe education can change the direction of a person's life. I am studying psychology because I want to understand people and the experiences that shape their lives. I want to use that knowledge to help others, particularly people who may feel overlooked, misunderstood, or unsure of where to turn. My education has also influenced the work I do outside the classroom. I work at a high school supporting students and helping them find opportunities that can shape their futures. I have taken on responsibilities related to scholarships and supporting refugee students as they navigate their education. Helping students discover opportunities has become especially meaningful to me because I understand how overwhelming it can feel to navigate systems that are unfamiliar. One of my biggest goals is to become the kind of person I needed when I was learning how to navigate higher education myself. I want to help students understand that their circumstances do not have to determine what they can accomplish. Whether that means helping someone find a scholarship, encouraging a student who feels behind, or simply being someone who believes in them, I want my education to have an impact beyond myself. Being first-generation has also changed the way I think about success. I am not pursuing a degree simply because I want a credential. I am pursuing it because I want to create opportunities for myself while eventually creating opportunities for others. I want the work I do to become part of a larger legacy of people who make education and support more accessible. This scholarship would help reduce the financial pressure of continuing my education and allow me to keep moving toward my academic and career goals. More importantly, receiving this scholarship would remind me that the path I am creating matters. I may not have started with a roadmap, but I am building one as I go. I hope that someday another student can look at the path I created and realize that they can build one too.

My interest in women’s health comes from recognizing how often women’s physical and mental health are treated as separate issues when, in reality, they can be deeply connected. I am pursuing an education in psychology because I want to understand the experiences that shape people’s mental health and eventually use that knowledge to help people receive better, more informed care. Learning about PMDD and PME has made me realize how important it is for that education to include the menstrual cycle and the ways hormonal changes can interact with mental health. What particularly draws me to PMDD and PME is the gap between how many people are affected and how little recognition they receive. Millions of people experience severe cyclical changes in mood and functioning, yet many spend years trying to understand what is happening to them. Even more concerning is that PME can worsen existing conditions such as depression, bipolar disorder, PTSD, ADHD, and anxiety. When clinicians do not recognize the connection between symptoms and the menstrual cycle, patients can spend years being treated for individual symptoms without anyone identifying the pattern. As someone studying psychology, I find that gap especially important. Mental health professionals are often among the people patients turn to when they experience depression, anxiety, mood changes, or thoughts of suicide. If those professionals are not trained to ask about menstrual-cycle patterns, an important piece of the clinical picture can be missed. I am still early in my academic journey, so I do not yet have a completed PMDD or PME research project to share. What I do have is a growing interest in this area and a clear vision for how I hope to contribute as my education progresses. I want to pursue opportunities in research, clinical practice, and education that allow me to better understand premenstrual disorders and help improve the way they are recognized. One concrete way I hope to contribute is by helping develop and promote routine menstrual-cycle screening as part of mental-health assessments. A simple, standardized screening process could ask patients whether their symptoms consistently worsen during the premenstrual phase and whether those changes improve after menstruation begins. This would not replace professional diagnosis, but it could help clinicians recognize patterns that deserve further evaluation. I also believe education needs to extend beyond patients. People should not have to become experts in their own condition before a healthcare professional takes their symptoms seriously. Future clinicians should learn about PMDD and PME during their education rather than having to encounter these conditions accidentally in practice. I would like to contribute to that change through research, patient education, advocacy, or clinical practice. My interest in psychology has always been connected to helping people understand themselves and feel understood by others. PMDD and PME represent an area where that understanding is desperately needed. I want my education to help move women’s health away from dismissing difficult symptoms as something people simply have to endure and toward recognizing patterns, investigating causes, and providing appropriate support. I am especially drawn to this scholarship because its goal is not simply to treat individuals after they have already struggled for years. It is to change the system so that future patients do not have to spend those years searching for answers. I want to be part of creating that change. Whether through clinical practice, research, education, or advocacy, I hope to help make recognition of PMDD and PME a normal part of healthcare rather than an exception.

When I was four years old, I lost my uncle to suicide. He was only nineteen. No one saw it coming. He was the person who made everyone laugh and seemed to bring happiness wherever he went. His death shattered my family, and although I was too young to understand what had happened, I grew up carrying the memories and consequences of that loss. I remember Christmas mornings with him playing beside me. I remember going to the zoo with him and learning that red pandas were his favorite animal. I remember a sunny spring day when he showed me the “wicked scar” from a motorcycle accident. I remember him tossing Dots candy into his mouth and playing with me. These small memories are some of the most precious things I have left of him. After my uncle died, my father struggled to cope with the loss. He turned to drugs to numb the pain, and what may have started as a way to survive his grief eventually became years of addiction. His addiction affected much more than him. It affected our entire family. I grew up experiencing the uncertainty that comes with loving someone who is struggling with addiction. There were birthdays and holidays he missed, periods when he disappeared, and years when I felt like I was losing my father even though he was still alive. For nearly two decades, addiction was part of my family's story. Then, in 2025, my father entered rehabilitation. That decision changed the way I understood recovery. Recovery is not a single moment when everything suddenly becomes better. It is the courage to admit that something has to change and to take the first step toward that change. After years of watching addiction take pieces of my father's life, seeing him finally seek help showed me that a person's worst chapters do not have to be their ending. Dr. Mozell Haymon's belief that “life begins with sobriety” resonates with me because I have seen how much possibility can exist when someone chooses recovery. His commitment to education also speaks to me. I believe education can be another form of a second chance. It can give people the knowledge, confidence, and opportunities to build a different future. My experiences with loss and addiction are a major reason I chose to pursue psychology. I want to understand people, trauma, addiction, and the circumstances that influence the choices we make. I currently work in a high school, where I support students and help them find educational opportunities, including scholarships. I also work with refugee students as they navigate school and pursue their own goals. These experiences have shown me that sometimes what a person needs most is someone willing to see their potential when they cannot see it themselves. My father's recovery has shaped the kind of person I want to become. I do not want my family's experiences with addiction to only represent pain. I want to turn what I have learned into compassion, understanding, and service. I want my education to help me support people who are struggling and remind them that their circumstances do not have to determine their future. The title of this scholarship reminds me that life does not always follow a straight line. Sometimes the path is painful, complicated, and difficult to understand. But a crooked path can still lead somewhere beautiful. My family's story is not finished, and neither is mine. I want to continue learning, helping others, and building a future that proves that recovery, education, and second chances can change the direction of a life.

My journey through education has taught me that success is not always about having an easy path. Sometimes, success means continuing to move forward when life presents challenges you never expected. Living with Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis (JIA) and Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA) since I was a young child has shaped the way I understand perseverance, resilience, and the importance of having people who believe in you. Having a chronic health condition from such a young age has meant that some things have been more difficult for me than they may be for other people. There have been times when my health has affected my ability to do everyday things, attend school, work, or participate in activities the way I wanted to. However, I have never wanted my health to determine what I am capable of accomplishing. Instead, it has taught me to adapt, keep going, and appreciate the accomplishments that come from working through obstacles. This is one of the reasons Kalia D. Davis's story stood out to me. I know that our health experiences were very different, and I would never compare them. However, I connected with the idea of continuing to pursue your goals while living with challenges that can affect your life physically. Kalia did not allow the obstacles in her life to define her. She excelled academically, competed in track and cross country, worked, served as a leader in the Black Student Union, and planned to pursue a future in the military. Her dedication to excellence is something I deeply admire. My own experiences have also influenced the direction I want to take in life. I am studying psychology because I want to understand people and the experiences that shape them. I currently work at a high school, where I have the opportunity to support students as they work toward their futures. In my role, I help students find educational opportunities and scholarships, and I also support refugee students as they navigate school and work toward academic success. I know how meaningful it can be when someone takes the time to encourage you and remind you that your circumstances do not determine your potential. Kalia's values of Living, Loving, Laughing, Learning, and Legacy are values I want to carry with me. I want to continue learning, build meaningful relationships, find joy even during difficult circumstances, and use my experiences to help other people. I especially want my education to become something that benefits more than just me. I want to use what I learn to encourage students who may feel that their circumstances are standing in the way of their dreams. Receiving this scholarship would help me continue my education and reduce some of the financial burden associated with pursuing my degree. It would also be meaningful to receive support from a scholarship created to honor someone whose life represented determination, leadership, kindness, and excellence. I hope that my own legacy will be defined not only by what I accomplish, but by the people I encourage along the way. Kalia's story reminds me that we can face difficult circumstances while still choosing to pursue our goals, serve others, and strive for excellence. I would be honored to carry those values forward in my education, career, and life.

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.