The discovery of medical graphology sparked a historic triumph not only in science but for black women in STEM. Bessie Blount born on November 24, 1914, in Hickory, Virginia made breakthroughs through two different industries, physical therapy, and forensic science. After completing her studies in Chicago, she became a physical therapist who helped amputee veterans, teaching them how to use basic functions without arms or legs. The most common challenge the vets faced was eating. Seeing this, Bessie invented a feeding tube and another feeding device on which she received patents. Attempting to get the American Veterans Association (A.V.A) attention, Bessie aired “The Big Idea” in 1953. Despite her efforts, the association showed a lack of support whereas the French government seemed to give in to it. She decided to donate both patents to the French and didn't stop there. Once again the AVA showed no interest after she invented disposable basins, which she sold to Belgium. In 1969 she conducted forensic science research and in less than 10 years she was sent to train and work in Scotland Yard. For the third time in her life, she made history as being the first African American woman to do so. After being denied from the FBI, she worked until 83 with forensic documents where she became the first Black female forensic scientist after her death at age 93 on December 30, 2009. Making history frequently throughout her life has taught me the sky's no limit. Knowing the impact she made, makes me obligated to not give up so I can be a leader and advocate for black women in STEM, so I can stand behind what she once said,” a black woman can invent something with the benefit of humankind.”

As a young teen who already experienced a drunken father, divorce, major relocation, depression, anxiety, surgeries, sibling separation, and new schools; my experience influenced my relationship with life as I grew to understand how mental health develops. Growing up, mental health wasn’t taught or “seen” as an illness. It was understood as a struggle that people moved on from, that people had to “grow out of” in a parent's sense. As in life, a tree may grow in any direction depending on sunlight exposure, water access, and surrounding forestation; but the one thing that never changes is the roots that dig deep in the ground. How it grows underground unseen, is how it develops for the world to see. This commonality between the life of a tree and childhood trauma is the unseen root, of most mental illnesses. It starts with childhood, and it starts at home. Parents often make a world of possibility turn into a world of negativity where one can’t prosper. They often create negative atmospheres toward life essentials such as communication, and the need to hold in emotions because if they are expressed; it is perceived as a sign of discourtesy. Even using eating habits as a disciplinary action if one has done wrong. Bringing a positive surrounding into all homes not only ends the “grow out of” stigma but generation teachings of negative actions. Doing so can create environments where children grow into adulthood with sound minds and are able to use tools to get through any situation that life throws at them. Worthwhile the constructive outcome of any tree reflects the unseen roots that more people take notice of to further themselves.

1. The same reason why there should only be one honey instead of two. I guess the pound it is. 2. Well the future is giving very much global warming, it's giving the worlds gonna end before I graduate. 3. I was so nervous about my driver's test but failed instantly because I got into the passenger side.

As a young teen who already experienced a drunken father, divorce, major relocation, depression, anxiety, surgeries, sibling separation, and new schools, my experience influenced my beliefs, relationships, and career aspirations as I grew to learn more from it. Growing up mental health wasn’t taught or “seen” as mental health. It was seen as a struggle that people moved on from. For me it was always there, I just couldn't quite put a name to it. None prepared me for the sleepless nights, or shaking during the day that I had to “grow out of” in a parent's sense. I grew up with an abusive in-and-out father who moved my family south of the east coast. I started having panic attacks so excruciating that I passed out in the middle of my freshman year English class. My anxiety grew after my parent's divorce. My close relationship with my other family became clouded by the divorce a few years later. Just a year later finding out I had a small tumor, and before that surgery on my stomach which was developed from added stress. I knew I wasn’t okay, but I was best at hiding it. Especially from the people I love, until the person I loved the most wasn’t hiding at all. From the effects of our father, and childhood trauma I had to watch my sister go through a dark depression that forced her to move back with another family member in an attempt to save herself. The trauma of standing there frozen, not being able to just flick a switch and everything be okay; became my reality for the next 3 months. For a moment after, my life became calm waters again, until the wave of junior year at a new school hit. First school year without my sister close by, divorced parents, depression, and anxiety. The pain of having past and present problems, struggles, and feelings on my shoulders started to become heavyweight. That weight influenced my relationship with my close family members whom I once saw every day, to only talking to bi-weekly, including my sister. An angry gloom came over me of blame. I didn’t want to blame my sister for leaving me to deal with my soon-to-be depression, but I was happy she got out of it. I knew that my depression overtook my daily life when it impacted the beliefs I once had a strong faith in. The biggest influence mental health had was on my beliefs. My religious belief was impacted as I questioned “why” more often than I counted days. My relationship with God became altered most negatively. I wanted to get closer to him but was becoming farther away as my depression grew. The words I would tell others as an uplift became my downfall. The belief that failure was a stepping stool to a new learning path wasn’t clear anymore. I was failing so much in life that the stepping stool was turning into a steep hill that I was falling down on. Even though I told myself time and time again that it would get better, I simply couldn’t understand when that was going to happen. I eventually stood up for myself, by myself. As the year went on I surrounded myself with people that care. It took me a while to realize, but I had to rebuild the circle that I had before I moved. Although my family was miles away, the distance was nothing when connections never lose their love. My friends that I cried to were still there in a matter of seconds. My teacher was just an email away at two in the morning if I needed her, and my self-mind was a mirror image of the positive outcomes of the terrible troubles I faced. What helped me persevere was knowing the future ahead. Eventually, three years was now less than one. Planning my future, and my career was keeping my head held high on the steep climb I was still going upon. My career aspiration of helping those come to peace was an easy choice. Science through the criminal justice system is more influenced by my mental health than ever. The sophistication of lab spaces, and evidence that meet the common goal of getting justice is what makes me the happiest. Because of my mental health, I want to be a youth activist. I want to bring mental awareness into every home to end the “ just a struggle” stigma. The best that can come out of this is knowing that I have the experience to help others. For a while, I wanted to volunteer as someone younger people of color can look up to, but it didn’t seem right knowing there was nothing to look up to during my own self need. Relating to my struggles gives me insight that none has because it “was” my struggle. And my biggest milestone is that I meant it when I finally said it was.