Every morning on the way to school, my siblings and I are greeted by the loud volume of the radio station covering current events in my parent’s home country, Haiti. I notice the hope of restoration for Haiti sinking into my mother’s chest whenever we hear more news about the deadly protests, continuing gang violence, and the kidnappings of women and children in the streets my family grew up in. My parents immigrated to the United States with little funds and a dream to go beyond the poverty they experienced in Haiti. I watched the long-time goals of my parents disappear and their fear of my siblings and I never reaching success began to haunt me. There is a great joy that comes from seeing a child of an immigrant family defy the odds. To receive a college degree in my family’s name means everything, but my decision to go to college does not only stem from the story of my parents, but the choice to not be another statistic. First-generation college students are four times more likely to drop out compared to students with at least one parent with a degree. I choose to break out of the cycle and redefine the image of all first-generation students, showing that we are capable of succeeding as well. Our journeys may come with more crossroads ahead than usual, but we move with determination and the want to triumph, no matter what is in the way. There was a moment in my life where I thought that my chances of seeing a bright future for myself was stunted because of my background and identity, but my experiences at this school proved that I was truly meant to excel and never look back.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, active involvement and appointed leadership positions throughout my high school career have sparked high interest in my intended English major on the pathway of Public Relations. The best aspect of leading an organization is being able to engage all members, present new information, and provide a safe place to advance our mission. In my positions, I have had the opportunity to plan and delegate the vision of our organizations and develop strong critical reasoning, as well as communication and problem-solving. What truly inspired me to go forth into the field of Communications was the mistreatment of my fellow Black peers and myself due to the false notion that Black students were not capable of professionalism. For four years, I have attended an institution where less than five percent of Black students made up the participation in leadership-associated classes and clubs. When I came to this realization during my sophomore year of high school, I set the goal of reaching officer positions in most of the clubs I was a part of and I began to immerse myself into hours of research to find the right career for me to break those barriers. As I continued my journey in finding my desired career pathway, I came across the field of Public Relations, an industry in which only about eight percent of its professionals represent the Black demographic. At that moment, it was as if a light bulb had lit up within me. Initially, when I chose to involve myself in more leadership opportunities at school I had been met with a plethora of challenges, but with those challenges came true growth and a path paved for students that looked like me. Although I realized that going into the field of Public Relations would bring obstacles to overcome in regards to the lack of representation of Black people, I was reminded how vital the presence of our voices is. Pursuing a career in the field of Public Relations which will allow me to create professional connections and a shared experience as a community. Ten years from now, I envision myself adding to a positive impression of the diversity in the field, existing as living proof that Black and marginalized students are indeed capable of true leadership and professionalism and are deserving of increased representation in the field. I intend to open the doors for those who come after me and hold them wide open, especially in times when some would seek to close them.

For the last five years of my life, I have dedicated my weekends to the ritual of waking up at the crack of dawn to perform and deliver speeches in nearly half-empty classrooms in suits drenched in sweat. In other words, I participate in Speech and Debate. From debating on topics ranging from healthcare to race relations to speaking on personal experiences that have shaped me into the person I am today, I can wholeheartedly say that Speech and Debate has not only provided me with the pleasures of awards and trophies, but it has most importantly served as a platform for fellow competitors and I to exhibit the importance of diversity, equity, and inclusion. My first and forever coach, Mrs. Farris, pushed me to my limits to excel in an activity in which few Black girls held a strong presence. As a way to give back what I was thankfully given, I volunteer at novice and middle school tournaments and teach at an online Speech and Debate camp dedicated to assisting low-income competitors in creating and perfecting their speeches. I have been privileged to help put together the curriculum as well as lessons to ensure that each student would walk away with an in-depth understanding of Speech and Debate. Primarily, I mentor them in preparing for the competitive season and finding confidence and authenticity through their voice. It has brought me much joy to see the future of Speech and Debate continue to grow in the competitors I have mentored and taught. As I am about to graduate from high school, I plan to serve the community by continuing to volunteer to judge at local tournaments, mentor youths at Space City Camp, and start providing private coaching at no cost. When I initially read the prompt for this essay, I thought about every club, activity, and organization in which I have participated for the last seven years of my life. I thought about all of the lessons and takeaways that each activity has given me that would apply beyond high school. Speech and Debate has given me more than I thought I deserved at times. I have been given opportunities to prove stereotypes of low-income, first-generation, and students of color entirely wrong. I often ask myself how I can ever repay those who have encouraged me to continue my journey with this activity. Each time I judge a middle or high school novice tournament or coach a student, I see myself in some of the students. I am reminded of the timid, insecure little Black girl practicing her speech over and over again in the hallways until no mistakes were made, attempting to be perfect at something I grew to love so much. I remember to continue to use the voice within me, knowing that one day, it may change the lives of the next generation of competitors. This fall semester, I will be attending Spelman College with the intention of majoring in English with a minor in Fiim and Visual Culture. I have set my heart on pursuing a career in the entertainment industry as an actress, screenwriter, and director. Through my education, I am bound to continue my commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion as I plan to and will be one of the very prominent faces and a representation for Queer, First-Generation, and Black communities on the big screen. Although I am not sure where exactly the future will lead me, I am confident in continuing to make extra space for those that have been used to being confined in boxes that limited their opportunities.

Time to time I find myself scavenging through the medicine cabinet. Being a clumsy child, I’d often trip and get scrapes all over my body which would then cause scabs. I’d pick at them despite the sting, thinking the scabs would magically vanish and I would avoid the embarrassment of being covered in crusty patches. I now see the scabs represented parts of me I could not love and appreciate for fear of not being accepted by others. Growing up in an Afro-Caribbean household, God was always centered. I believe I was familiar with the church before I came into the world. My mother who suffered multiple miscarriages, prayed for a child night and day. After my birth, every birthday included hours of prayer and celebration at church. Church for most Black folks has always been more than just a building. Church was therapy and healing when the world seemed to be crashing down. My mother and father were raised to believe that a woman should hide her confidence and that a woman was looked down upon if she chose to follow what did not seem to reflect God. Those beliefs were passed on to me; I questioned my identity and perception of what true freedom and maintaining a relationship with God looked like. Religion, a strong foundation in many Black families, presented both beautiful and ugly sides to me. Before accepting that I was queer a few months ago, I had battled with my beliefs, fearing being cast into hell by family, church peers, and God himself. I tried to drown myself in the King James Bible my mother gifted me for my 8th birthday. I thought Scripture could wash me clean of the sin I was hiding. I had been abused for being outspoken as a woman. I could not imagine the amount of pain I would put my mother through and the danger I would put myself in for letting the truth slip out of my lips. My identity was the large scab I had tried to rip away, erasing all of what truly was me. This scab meant to be kept secret, became my scar. Eventually, I learned how to take care of my scabs and not to let my flesh linger too long in the air to avoid infections. I learned to clean wounds with alcohol despite the burn and place a band-aid on the injury for protection. I searched for sanctuary within myself for healing. Choosing to find God myself opened up a different definition of what freedom looked like. Accustomed to seeing freedom as extra legroom in a confined box, I decided to affirm my sexuality and my bold tongue in all of my femininity. There was no further need to pick at anything. I now know that God loves me for who I am. I will always be a church girl saying prayers on my birthdays and I no longer believe I must erase my identity for my seat at the table with God.

March 4th, 2021 9:23 AM. I log into my second-period class for virtual study hall and as the teacher calls attendance, I am getting ready to shield the camera from seeing my father plunge his fists into my face. For a moment I thought I fell into a black hole and the one-sided fight seemed to last for an eternity. Really it was about seven to ten minutes. I did not know if his fists had the ability to make cherry red and grape purple spots until it was all over. As I stepped into the shower later that night to wash off his touch, I began to plan. Education seemed to be the only avenue to a doorway of success and an end to the adversity I endured. I came to learn that there was indeed a way out. There are many words I could use to describe my sophomore year of high school. Traumatic. Nightmarish. But over the years I have summarized that year as simply a rebirth. The day after the attack I logged back into class. That time, I was in Algebra II. I tried my best to keep track of the lecture on parabolas but my mind wandered to the previous day. I could smell him all over my body, even when he was not home. Then I heard my name being called repeatedly. It was Mrs. V. I had not noticed the period was over. She decided to speak to me after class and said she noticed I zoned out a couple of times on camera. I admit that I was not in the best situation at the moment, but coming to class was the closest thing to feeling alive again. She told me that in situations when it feels like I have been defeated, my education and my persistence are the two things no one can take from me. And from that moment, I promised myself to fight to graduate high school and enroll in college and receive a degree. What kept me steadfast in achieving my goals was realizing that I had to save myself. After the authorities eventually became involved in my case, I was left to stay at home. For a moment I contemplated the idea of dropping out of high school for good and looking for temporary outlets to help me cope with what I did not realize to be adverse trauma. I then remembered the words of Mrs. V after class that day after the attack and I slowly began to fall onto the track of reaching beyond the sky for dreams to hold onto. As I am beginning to close out my senior year of high school, I will be on track to becoming the first in my family to enroll in college and graduate in the span of four years. I became a national finalist in competitive speech and debate at over five Ivy League and nationally-ranked schools over the past two years. I founded the Black Student Union at my school and helped raise over $8,000 to fund future college tours to invest in the future of students who look like me. And now, I work towards the goal of receiving a bachelor’s degree in Communications and eventually a master’s degree in Acting at the David Geffen School of Drama at Yale. The obstacles I have faced remind me that we as humans sometimes must face the inevitability of pain and adversity, but in the midst of overcoming obstacles, we must let them bring out the absolute best in us.

“You have a voice. There is a message that I know you want to let out and Speech and Debate would be perfect to do that through. We need more Black girls like you here.” I am reminded of the words of my middle school Speech and Debate teacher and coach, Mrs. Farris daily, wondering what path my life would have gone had she not spoken those words to me. During the 7th grade, the course of my life took a turn in an instant when my parents decided to enroll me in a new school while transitioning to the second semester. As I entered my first block of the day, which happened to be Debate 1, I eavesdropped on the conversations of the students and heard some mention which events they would be competing in the following weekend. I watched as some of the other students practiced their speeches in front of the wall outside the classroom. I sat in confusion, wondering when exactly it would be appropriate to quickly drop out of the class. As I pondered on potentially quitting the team before I could even join, Mrs. Farris began a conversation with me to officially welcome me into the class and school. She explained each competition event to me and offered a package of resources to help me construct my first speech. When she noticed I was not convinced to join the team, she grabbed her laptop and scrolled through an archive of winning speeches from the National Speech and Debate Tournament to show me. Once she finally found the perfect speech, she told me to pay attention to the words and passion of the speaker. I immediately noticed how the speaker looked just like me. She performed with a small black binder in hand and used multiple genres of literature to highlight the silent struggles of Black women left behind in the fight for gender and racial equality. For the first time, I felt a connection, something special and real enough to lift me to my feet to get to work. I envisioned myself being on the same stage and winning a trophy one day. Since then, Mrs. Farris pushed me to the fullest extent to achieve my goals even when my fellow peers doubted my potential to medal at our local tournaments. The next school year I began to medal at each tournament and proved my peers wrong, but most importantly, I felt proud of myself. I had finally broken out of the shell I struggled to come out of and gained adrenaline from the ten minutes I would get to speak in front of a crowd. Mrs. Farris did not only inspire me to use and believe in my voice, but she encouraged me to pursue the education of my dreams, not letting any factor deter me from the goals I am bound to achieve. For the last five years of my life, I have mastered the ability to use my words to advocate for communities and inspire fellow competitors. As a way to give back what I was thankfully given, I volunteer at novice and middle school tournaments and teach at an online Speech and Debate camp dedicated to assisting low-income competitors in creating and perfecting their speeches. When I reflect on the timid, anxious student I used to be and how one person was able to change that by supporting me every step of the way, I remember to continue to use the voice within me, knowing that one day, it may change the life a student similar to me.

When I initially read the prompt for the Eunice Richardson Scholarship for Girls, I began to reflect on each aspect of my life, aspirations, and goals. I thought about the experiences I had endured the past 17 years of my life, wondering what could have lit up my world even if it was temporary, and what could change the world of many strangers completely. Writing. Writing down my overflow of thoughts and taking readers and audiences on a rollercoaster of emotions is what seemed to help me envision myself as a superhero with a mighty cape on. When the COVID-19 pandemic began to climb up to its peak and the world began to shut down, I began to write more often. I wrote about the new adventures I went on all while being entrapped between the four walls of my house. I wrote about the parts of myself I began to discover the more time I spent alone. I found writing to be a simple, yet beautiful way of letting my thoughts find their way on pieces of paper or hidden beneath my iPhone notes, but I truly discovered the power of sharing stories when I wrote about the physical abuse I endured back in March of 2021. When I finally felt comfortable, I began to share some of my writing and experiences in various forms. Whether it was speeches, poetry, or a snippet from my personal journal entries, I wanted to provide the world a form of release, entertainment, and euphoria to latch onto, especially in times when those feelings were difficult to sense. As I continued to peel the parts of myself I was not so used to sharing, I noticed how I taught readers and audiences concepts they were not entirely educated on and how I had the power to take them on an emotional rollercoaster with just a group of words. I began to realize that I could touch the very bottom of any individual’s soul when I share my stories. I saw how audiences who did not share my racial and ethnic background as well as personal experiences were able to convey their emotions after every written performance of mine. I saw how I helped mend the wounds of those who have also struggled with trauma after abuse to those that fear for their lives as people of color in this country to those that have to hide their queerness in order to survive in their households. As a first-generation queer Afro-Caribbean girl, I am aware that there are many communities I automatically speak and advocate for in and outside of writing. However, to change the world of any person that comes into contact with my writing in any form is a gift that deserves to be shared with the world in its entirety, a gift that sees past color, sexuality, religion, or race. A gift for all.

March 4th, 2021 9:23 AM. I log into my second-period class for virtual study hall and as the teacher calls attendance, I am getting ready to shield the camera from seeing my father plunge his fists into my face. For a moment I thought I fell into a black hole and the one-sided fight seemed to last for an eternity. Really it was about seven to ten minutes. I did not know if his fists had the ability to make cherry red and grape purple spots until it was all over. As I stepped into the shower later that night to wash off his touch, I began to plan. Education seemed to be the only avenue to a doorway of success and an end to the adversity I endured silently. I came to learn that there was indeed a way out. There are many words I could use to describe my sophomore year of high school. Traumatic. Nightmarish. But over the years I have summarized that year as simply a rebirth. The day after the attack I logged back into class. That time, I was in Algebra II. I tried my best to keep track of the lecture on parabolas but my mind wandered to the previous day. I could smell him all over my body, even when he wasn’t home. Then I heard my name being called repeatedly. It was Mrs. V. I had not noticed the period was over. She decided to speak to me after class and said she noticed I had zoned out a couple of times on camera. I let my tears go. I admit that I was not in the best situation at the moment, but coming to class was the closest thing to feeling alive again. She told me that in situations when it feels like I have been defeated, my education and my persistence are the two things no one can take from me. And from that moment, I promised myself to fight to graduate high school and enroll in college and receive a degree. What kept me steadfast in achieving my goals was realizing that I had to save myself. After the authorities eventually became involved in my case, I was left to stay home. For a moment I contemplated the idea of dropping out of high school for good and looking for temporary outlets to help me cope with what I did not realize to be adverse trauma. I then remembered the words of Mrs. V after class that day after the attack and I slowly began to fall onto the track of reaching beyond the sky for dreams to hold onto. As I am beginning to close out my senior year of high school, I will be on track to becoming the first in my family to enroll in college and graduate in the span of four years. I became a national finalist in competitive speech and debate at over five Ivy League and nationally-ranked schools over the past two years. I founded the Black Student Union at my school and helped raise over $8,000 to fund future college tours to invest in the future of students who look like me. And now, I work towards the goal of receiving a bachelor’s degree in English and eventually a master’s degree in Acting at the David Geffen School of Drama at Yale. The obstacles I have faced remind me that we as humans sometimes must face the inevitability of pain and adversity, but in the midst of overcoming obstacles, we must let them bring out the absolute best in us.

March 4th, 2021 9:23 AM. I log into my second-period class for virtual study hall and as the teacher calls attendance, I am getting ready to shield the camera from seeing my father plunge his fists into my face. For a moment I thought I fell into a black hole and the one-sided fight seemed to last for an eternity. Really it was about seven to ten minutes. I did not know if his fists had the ability to make cherry red and grape purple spots until it was all over. As I stepped into the shower later that night to wash off his touch, I began to plan. Education seemed to be the only avenue to a doorway of success and an end to the adversity I endured. I came to learn that there was indeed a way out. There are many words I could use to describe my sophomore year of high school. Traumatic. Nightmarish. But over the years I have summarized that year as simply a rebirth. The day after the attack I logged back into class. That time, I was in Algebra II. I tried my best to keep track of the lecture on parabolas but my mind wandered to the previous day. I could smell him all over my body, even when he wasn’t home. Then I heard my name being called repeatedly. It was Mrs. V. I had not noticed the period was over. She decided to speak to me after class and said she noticed I had zoned out a couple of times on camera. I let my tears go. I admit that I was not in the best situation at the moment, but coming to class was the closest thing to feeling alive again. She told me that in situations when it feels like I have been defeated, my education and my persistence are the two things no one can take from me. And from that moment, I promised myself to fight to graduate high school and enroll in college and receive a degree. What kept me steadfast in achieving my goals was realizing that I had to save myself. After the authorities eventually became involved in my case, I was left to stay at home. For a moment I contemplated the idea of dropping out of high school for good and looking for temporary outlets to help me cope with what I did not realize to be adverse trauma. I then remembered the words of Mrs. V after class that day after the attack and I slowly began to fall onto the track of reaching beyond the sky for dreams to hold onto. As I am beginning to close out my senior year of high school, I will be on track to becoming the first in my family to enroll in college and graduate in the span of four years. I became a national finalist in competitive speech and debate at over five Ivy League and nationally-ranked schools over the past two years. I founded the Black Student Union at my school and helped raise over $8,000 to fund future college tours to invest in the future of students who look like me. And now, I work towards the goal of receiving a bachelor’s degree in Communications and eventually a master’s degree in Acting at the David Geffen School of Drama at Yale. The obstacles I have faced remind me that we as humans sometimes must face the inevitability of pain and adversity, but in the midst of overcoming obstacles, we must let them bring out the absolute best in us.

My favorite extracurricular activity is Forensics. My first and forever coach, a Black woman, pushed me to my limits to excel in an activity in which few Black girls held a strong presence. Beyond the trophies, the real reward stems from the lessons and healing I receive from creating speeches about my personal struggles and experiences. As a way to give back to the community, I teach at an online Forensics camp dedicated to assisting low-income students in creating and perfecting their speeches. Primarily, I mentor them in preparing for the competitive season and finding confidence and authenticity within their voice. I was also inspired by Howard University Alumna Jenee Edgerton, who highlighted the silent struggles of Black women being left behind in the fight for gender and racial equality. She sparked a connection, something special, something real enough to lift me to my feet to get to work. Since then, I've competed and received national titles at over 30 tournaments from Yale, Harvard, the University of Florida, and Duke. Throughout my five years in Speech and Debate, I've mastered the ability to use my words to bring awareness and change. I realize that I'm the woman I am today because of the Black women I've met through Forensics. My passion for advocacy and social justice has strengthened. I have a place to use my voice and make a difference, continuing to use my skills and the lessons I have received to inspire the next generation of young Black women.

i still think of you of the first time you taught me how to ride a bike the times you sat me on your lap watching hours of hannah montana episodes even though you were looking forward to watching the game instead the times you helped me learn my times table over the phone during an eight hour shift at work i still smell you the times you've came home drenched in sweat, exhaustion and the aroma of pizzas at work but still built up the courage to take sissy and i to the park every wednesday i still sense you i remember our first big fight the moment where years of rage within the both of us crashed into one sitting and how the world seemed to visually shift that day i had been convinced that you were the light i were to run to when afraid of the dark i had saw you as the first example of what love was supposed to look and feel like how gentle it was supposed to be how understanding it was supposed to be i still see you i see you in my nightmares i remember the day your demons could no longer stay still within you how the spirit of your father, his father and his father's father managed to break, spit and fracture another relationship how the little boy in you managed to take out all of the years worth of anger and agony he had been told to keep and lock away with his fists i forgive you i no longer feel the physical aches of fear the moment i hear your name your voice or even smell you the nightmares do not scare me anymore i have healed and i am hoping that you can do the same

It took me a while to realize that living in my Black skin brought forth a cost. The cost of constantly being pushed down to the bottom of the barrel to the difficult journey of breaking generational cycles rooted in racism to simply having to live in a world that still does not love your skin. In the midst of this realization, I wanted to provide a form of healing not just for myself, but the Black community. I started attending a predominantly white institution during my freshman year of high school and let’s just say that many Black students shared the same discomforts regarding the lack of diversity and the rampant racism from our fellow peers and administration. In light of our struggles in and outside of the school, I decided to create the Black Student Union. The process to bring the up-and-coming club to life was strenuous, but I knew that this was going to be the first time change took place on-campus. I began the process by purchasing snacks for after-school meetings out-of-pocket and gathering a couple friends to help set up before the meetings started. We gathered to speak on topics ranging from misogynoir to homophobia and transphobia in the Black community to generational trauma. Every meeting was packed with almost 40 students and there was not a moment where laughter and smiles did not exist. We were able to hold multiple events throughout the year, bringing in approximately $5,000. For the first time, it felt exciting to be at school. I had never seen our community so close-knit before. For the last five years, I have also dedicated my time and talents in Speech and Debate to the Black community through speaking on topics that single handedly affect us. I chose to join the activity because of my first coach who identified as Black woman. She noticed I had a habit of doubting myself and my abilities, so she pushed me to believe that I could compete and do soar in Speech. As she started to expose me to the activity more, she made sure to show me speeches from Black competitors. Seeing those speeches from people that looked like me made me want to also be an example for future Black competitors. Before I wrote every speech and arranged any monologues, I always dedicated them to multiple groups within the Black community. As a Black Queer Woman, I have had to suffer the worst ends of racism, homophobia, and sexism, but I understood the impact of speaking about my experiences, especially for the Black competitors and judges that would see my speeches. Today, I can thankfully say that I hold multiple national titles as a Yale, Harvard, and Duke finalist and state champion of my events within Speech and Debate. Although the cost of being Black in society has brought us a journey of trials and tribulations, I can wholeheartedly say that my identity plays a big role in why I give back to my community. Everyday, I am reminded that there are Black children in the future who will need people that look like them to look up to. Through my choices and actions, I choose to be an example. I choose to live our ancestors’ wildest dreams. I choose to give back.

The day was March 3rd, 2021, nearly a year after the pandemic. I was logging into my study hall online class when I was physically attacked by my father in my own room. I was left in bruises along with physical pain all over my body, but I was left more in emotional distraught and trauma. After that attack, I was never the same. For the first time ever, I did not have the strength to get up and just move on like I always had. That night I sat in the bathtub listening to Andra Day's Rise Up on repeat and cried for days and experienced what it meant to be in a true state of brokenness. Eventually, the incident was reported and nothing was done, but I knew I had to keep going. As a little girl, my future was always something I looked forward to. I knew I wanted to do something big and meaningful, whether it was helping others get through their personal problems or taking leadership. Going into the summer after that experience, I accomplished the goals of bringing my grades up, becoming a National Speech and Debate Quarterfinalist in Dramatic Interpretation, and successfully obtained the position as President of my school's Black Student Union. Looking back to five-year-old Noldine, I know she is smiling from ear to ear right now. I still have lots of healing to do today, but I understood the significance of persistence. I learned that there were going to be moments where I would I break down, and when those moments did come, I was able to rely on my mentors and those closest to me. This journey never stops, no matter how old or young you are. Keep going, because I did and I don't regret a darn thing.

The day was March 3rd, 2021, nearly a year after the pandemic. I was logging into my study hall online class when I was physically attacked by my father in my own room. I was left in bruises along with physical pain all over my body, but I was left more in emotional distraught and trauma. After that attack, I was never the same. For the first time ever, I did not have the strength to get up and just move on like I always had. That night I sat in the bathtub listening to Andra Day's Rise Up on repeat and cried for days and experienced what it meant to be in a true state of brokenness. Eventually, the incident was reported and nothing was done, but I knew I had to keep going. As a little girl, my future was always something I looked forward to. I knew I wanted to do something big and meaningful, whether it was helping others get through their personal problems or taking leadership. Going into the summer after that experience, I accomplished the goals of bringing my grades up, becoming a National Speech and Debate Quarterfinalist in Dramatic Interpretation, and successfully obtained the position as President of my school's Black Student Union. Looking back to five-year-old Noldine, I know she is smiling from ear to ear right now. I still have lots of healing to do today, but I understood the significance of persistence. I learned that there were going to be moments where I would I break down, and when those moments did come, I was able to rely on my mentors and those closest to me. This journey never stops, no matter how old or young you are. Keep going, because I did and I don't regret a darn thing.

The day was March 3rd, 2021, nearly a year after the pandemic. I was logging into my study hall online class when I was physically attacked by my father in my own room. I was left in bruises along with physical pain all over my body, but I was left more in emotional distraught and trauma. After that attack, I was never the same. For the first time ever, I did not have the strength to get up and just move on like I always had. That night I sat in the bathtub listening to Andra Day's Rise Up on repeat and cried for days and experienced what it meant to be in a true state of brokenness. Eventually, the incident was reported and nothing was done, but I knew I had to keep going. As a little girl, my future was always something I looked forward to. I knew I wanted to do something big and meaningful, whether it was helping others get through their personal problems or taking leadership. Going into the summer after that experience, I accomplished the goals of bringing my grades up, becoming a National Speech and Debate Quarterfinalist in Dramatic Interpretation, and successfully obtained the position as President of my school's Black Student Union. Looking back to five-year-old Noldine, I know she is smiling from ear to ear right now. I still have lots of healing to do today, but I understood the significance of persistence. I learned that there were going to be moments where I would I break down, and when those moments did come, I was able to rely on my mentors and those closest to me. This journey never stops, no matter how old or young you are. Keep going, because I did and I don't regret a darn thing.

I was always taught that there was a difference between joy and happiness. One lasted longer than the other, meaning joy was closer to an eternal feeling. I think of joy as a moment where I am at the fair and I’m on one of the craziest rides and as I’m screaming out of excitement and nervousness, there is absolutely nothing in that moment that can shake that feeling. Throughout my life I have found joy in many things, from competing in Forensics to acting and to simply advocating for my people. I constantly remind myself that I don’t know when my life can come to an end, so every chance I get to live, I seek joy in the smallest yet most special ways possible. Even if it is just a friendly wave to a stranger or a random phone call to a friend I haven’t spoken to in while or a binge on “The Office” for the 5th time. There is a thrill waiting for all of us that we have to make the decision to experience, unleashing an emotion much stronger than just happiness. At the end of the day, life is short, so I’m going to receive ALL the joy I can get and in the mean time, I’ll be sure to bring that joy across others as well.

I’ll be honest…. I was not the best looking child growing up. I got used to the bullying and horrible experiences growing up, but I’ll never forget the day when a group of random people stood up for me despite the trouble they’d be in for doing so. I was in the second grade with lazy eyes which was something I was EXTREMELY insecure about. A group of girls that sat in front of me laughed as they watched me. In that moment I sat there, reminding myself that I have to push through but there was really no strength I could gather at that moment. As they got closer to me they started to comment on my lazy eyes and then out of nowhere these group of 5th graders come out of nowhere defending me. I sat there in shock not saying anything. These kids really got out of their way to intervene in a situation they could’ve ignored or even be on the wrong side of. I never got the chance to say thank you, but every time I travel back to this memory, I tear up. I have no idea where the people that stood up for me are today, but they inspired me to speak up and stand against the mistreatment of others. I have learned to accept my flaws and embrace them, which has helped me inspire others as well. I learned that it doesn’t hurt to intervene and do what’s right. I was in need of saving in that moment and they did just that. From that moment I knew I had to return the favor for others that might not be able to speak up in that moment and I haven’t stopped doing so since then.

“Until you do right by me, everything you even think about is gonna fail.” Spoken by Whoopi Goldberg's character (Celie) in the movie "The Color Purple." The film spans forty years in the life of a black woman living in the South who survives years of abuse and bigotry. The part that stuck out to me was when Celie finally stood up to one of the men that abused her. She goes on to state one of the most breathtaking lines of the film, “Until you do right by me, everything you even think about is gonna fail. Everything you’ve done to me, already done to you.” And at that moment, she breaks the generational cycle of abuse that she had endured for so long. After watching the film, I thought back to my own experiences with the trauma and abuse I endured. Being abused by my parents silenced me and made me extremely insecure. When Celie finally took a stand for herself and reclaimed her confidence and hope I was inspired to do the same thing for not just myself but others. I say the quote to myself as an affirmation and reminder that I WILL break the cycle of generational trauma. As a black girl who has been beaten down with fists and words from those who were supposed to love me and society, this quote gave me hope, hope that got me out of bed and bad days. This quote gave me the strength to look my abusers and trauma in the eyes and speak up for myself. I remind myself daily that my negative experiences do not define me and how I view life. I was never aware of the power and wisdom that a group of words could hold on one until hearing that quote.

From the young age of 12, I realized that mental health was something that was never valued enough in my community. I can remember conversations with my fellow black peers and relatives about mental health, and hearing things like, “Only white people deal with depression and all those other mental illnesses.” Historically, the black community has experienced much trauma in many aspects, from slavery to the Jim Crow era to modern police brutality, yet never felt the need to address their mental state during those horrific moments.The disparities in mental health care for many black folks range from cost and insurance to discrimination to simply not having enough mental health professionals that looked like us, hence why mental health was never a concern for us. As I reached the end of my sophomore year in high school recently, I knew I wanted to become a therapist. After this discovery, I did countless hours of research on the requirements I would have to complete in order to reach my career goals. I would attend college and receive my doctorate in psychology, but I did not want to limit myself. I wanted to make sure that everyone had access to mental health services and resources, no matter what background they identified with and their socioeconomic status. I have always had a passion for advocacy, and the moment I knew this would be my career, I vowed to use my public speaking skills to spread awareness on social media platforms, along with discussions and projects with the nonprofit and student organizations I work for. Living in a country that has tried to tear down my community every chance possible, left us in poverty, generational trauma, mass incarceration, and addiction; all of those factors affecting our mental health in several negative ways. Going back to why I ended up choosing this career and passion, I myself have had struggles with my mental health this past year. Being emotionally and physically abused amid the virtual school setting this year and having to watch over my younger siblings in such a broken home, also made me realize the importance of mental health professionals. Unfortunately, I was put in a position where I could not afford mental health services and I still cannot till this day. The trauma I went through was damaging to me in multiple ways, but I was not going to let the odds beat me in this case. I was inspired to do research and read up more on how the mind works and the psychological roots of trauma in the black community. Even though I experience many rough days, what keeps me pushing through those moments is knowing the difference I can make to provide people with affordable and equitable mental health services in the future. After recently seeing Naomi Osaka and Simone Biles take a stand for their emotional well-being by stepping down from huge tournaments, I saw how the black community came together to support the two phenomenal women. As more safe spaces and resources for mental health are being created, I’ve seen progress within my community, but we must take it as a reminder to never stop at the bare minimum. Black Liberation is something that my community longs for day by day, but one of the first steps we must take to liberate ourselves from the chains of trauma we suffered from in this country, is to take care of ourselves, starting with our mental health. Thank you.

From the young age of 12, I realized that mental health was something that was never valued enough in my community. I can remember conversations with my fellow black peers and relatives about mental health, and hearing things like, “Only white people deal with depression and all those other mental illnesses.” Historically, the black community has experienced much trauma in many aspects, from slavery to the Jim Crow era to modern police brutality, yet never felt the need to address their mental state during those horrific moments.The disparities in mental health care for many black folks range from cost and insurance to discrimination to simply not having enough mental health professionals that looked like us, hence why mental health was never a concern for us. As I reached the end of my sophomore year in high school recently, I knew I wanted to become a therapist. After this discovery, I did countless hours of research on the requirements I would have to complete in order to reach my career goals. I would attend college and receive my doctorate in psychology, but I did not want to limit myself. I wanted to make sure that everyone had access to mental health services and resources, no matter what background they identified with and their socioeconomic status. I have always had a passion for advocacy, and the moment I knew this would be my career, I vowed to use my public speaking skills to spread awareness on social media platforms, along with discussions and projects with the nonprofit and student organizations I work for. Living in a country that has tried to tear down my community every chance possible, left us in poverty, generational trauma, mass incarceration, and addiction; all of those factors affecting our mental health in several negative ways. Going back to why I ended up choosing this career and passion, I myself have had struggles with my mental health this past year. Being emotionally and physically abused amid the virtual school setting this year and having to watch over my younger siblings in such a broken home, also made me realize the importance of mental health professionals. Unfortunately, I was put in a position where I could not afford mental health services and I still cannot till this day. The trauma I went through was damaging to me in multiple ways, but I was not going to let the odds beat me in this case. I was inspired to do research and read up more on how the mind works and the psychological roots of trauma in the black community. Even though I experience many rough days, what keeps me pushing through those moments is knowing the difference I can make to provide people with affordable and equitable mental health services in the future. After recently seeing Naomi Osaka and Simone Biles take a stand for their emotional well-being by stepping down from huge tournaments, I saw how the black community came together to support the two phenomenal women. As more safe spaces and resources for mental health are being created, I’ve seen progress within my community, but we must take it as a reminder to never stop at the bare minimum. Black Liberation is something that my community longs for day by day, but one of the first steps we must take to liberate ourselves from the chains of trauma we suffered from in this country, is to take care of ourselves, starting with our mental health. Thank you.