I returned to school because I had to. Not for a title or to prove something, but because I needed to finish what I started. I enrolled in college four times across two decades. Each time, I came with hope. Each time, life stepped in. And still, each time, I came back. I raised three children through years most people would call impossible. During the Great Recession, I was laid off and struggled to feed my kids. I was attending the Fashion Institute of Technology then and had to drop out. A few years later, Hurricane Sandy flooded our apartment. We lost nearly everything. I packed up my children and moved to the country, the only place I could afford housing. And once more, I enrolled. Then my brother died, and I fell into a long depression. There were days when I did not recognize myself. Weeks when I did not get out of bed. But eventually, I got up, I kept going, not because I felt strong, but because there were children to raise. By the time I was back in school, and taking classes between my work shifts, the pandemic hit. All of a sudden classes became remote, my kids were back home. And I had to leave school, once again. These are the facts. They don’t need decoration. What I know now is this: each time I was knocked down, I got up and moved forward. Not quickly, not easily, but forward. That rhythm became my way through. Eventually, I earned my associate degree in communications from FIT. Then, against all odds, I completed my bachelor’s degree in creative writing at Columbia University. No one in my family had gone to college before me. That mattered. Now, I am enrolled in a graduate program at Hunter College in creative writing (the most competitive MFA program in NYC with an acceptance rate of 1.9%). I return not as someone starting fresh but as someone bringing her whole life into the room. I write in the early mornings, work during the day, and raise my kids in between. They see me doing this: reading, working, sometimes tired, but never turning away. We share our time differently. They have learned to wait when I write. I have learned to stop when they need me. I write to make space for women like my mother, my grandmothers, and now myself. Women who held everything together but yet were rarely seen. I write so that my children understand what it means to begin again. And I write because the stories I carry deserve a place in this world. This scholarship would ease the pressure. It would free up hours spent working, help me stay in school, and allow me to keep showing up, for my kids, for the page, and for the future I am still building. I am not starting over. I am continuing something that has long been interrupted. And this time, I intend to finish.