When you get these jobs that you have been so brilliantly trained for, just remember that your real job is that if you are free, you need to free somebody else. –Toni Morrison I come from generations of women who have emboldened me to cling to what inspires me. I am a firm believer that your purpose in life reveals itself when you tap into your innate passions and curiosities. Through a transformative experience at my first service-oriented internship, I discovered my passion for working with neurodivergent children and their families. While this motivated me to pursue a major in Child Study and Human Development, with a concentration in family well-being, I particularly became interested in understanding the intersections between childhood disability, communication, and education. My mentors and advisors oriented me toward the field of Speech-Language Pathology (SLP), where I can pursue a career dedicated to working with children and families with communication disorders in educational settings. I want to gain the academic and clinical knowledge needed to help children and their families navigate complex disorders, so I’m confident that pursuing a clinical graduate program is the next logical step. I hope to contribute my personal and professional strengths, such as my multilingual background and prior hands-on experience, to my work following training in graduate school. Since my junior year of high school, I’ve worked with Spectrum Support Group near my hometown in Georgia. The organization provides education and resources to autistic people and their families. I cherished connecting with families and their young children through Spectrum’s respite services, identity-specific small groups, and seasonal camps. Through Spectrum, I learned that children with a cognitive or developmental delay can have differences in receptive and expressive communicatory abilities that complicate how they learn and engage with the world. After my time with Spectrum Support Group, I wanted to diversify my training, which led me to intern at Eliot Early Intervention through Tufts University. The summer before my senior year, I got the opportunity to connect with primarily immigrant families who had infants or toddlers with developmental delays. I learned the efficacy of employing consistent, evidence-based techniques like narrative play and modeling. I witnessed how speech therapy empowers children and their families by implementing individualized strategies focused on language articulation, comprehension, and expression. This experience gave me the confidence to work with families of diverse backgrounds and has equipped me with soft like active listening, teamwork, and flexibility, which are translational to other areas in the SLP field. SLPs have the responsibility to practice cultural responsiveness and carefully center their clients’ unique lived experiences into interventions and assessments. I believe this career will allow me to achieve my purpose to empower and honor the multifaceted communities I come from and aim to serve. Growing up as a first-generation Haitian American, I gain an added sense of fulfillment when I work with families and children with similar backgrounds as my own. I am excited to join the growing field of bilingual SLPs and hope to develop literacy interventions like Haitian Kreole articulation cue cards. I plan to be the SLP who works to effectively equip parents and children with the necessary resources to thrive.

When you get these jobs that you have been so brilliantly trained for, just remember that your real job is that if you are free, you need to free somebody else. –Toni Morrison I come from generations of women who have emboldened me to cling to what inspires me. I am a firm believer that your purpose in life reveals itself when you tap into your innate passions and curiosities. Through a transformative experience at my first service-oriented internship, I discovered my passion for working with neurodivergent children and their families. While this motivated me to pursue a major in Child Study and Human Development, with a concentration in family well-being, I particularly became interested in understanding the intersections between childhood disability, communication, and education. My mentors and advisors oriented me toward the field of Speech-Language Pathology (SLP), where I can pursue a career dedicated to working with children and families with communication disorders in educational settings. I want to gain the academic and clinical knowledge needed to help children and their families navigate complex disorders, so I’m confident that pursuing a clinical graduate program is the next logical step. I hope to contribute my personal and professional strengths, such as my multilingual background and prior hands-on experience, to my work following training in graduate school. Since my junior year of high school, I’ve worked with Spectrum Support Group near my hometown in Georgia. The organization provides education and resources to autistic people and their families. I cherished connecting with families and their young children through Spectrum’s respite services, identity-specific small groups, and seasonal camps. Through Spectrum, I learned that children with a cognitive or developmental delay can have differences in receptive and expressive communicatory abilities that complicate how they learn and engage with the world. After my time with Spectrum Support Group, I wanted to diversify my training, which led me to intern at Eliot Early Intervention through Tufts University. The summer before my senior year, I got the opportunity to connect with primarily immigrant families who had infants or toddlers with developmental delays. I learned the efficacy of employing consistent, evidence-based techniques like narrative play and modeling. I witnessed how speech therapy empowers children and their families by implementing individualized strategies focused on language articulation, comprehension, and expression. This experience gave me the confidence to work with families of diverse backgrounds and has equipped me with soft like active listening, teamwork, and flexibility, which are translational to other areas in the SLP field. SLPs have the responsibility to practice cultural responsiveness and carefully center their clients’ unique lived experiences into interventions and assessments. I believe this career will allow me to achieve my purpose to empower and honor the multifaceted communities I come from and aim to serve. Growing up as a first-generation Haitian American, I gain an added sense of fulfillment when I work with families and children with similar backgrounds as my own. I am excited to join the growing field of bilingual SLPs and hope to develop literacy interventions like Haitian Kreole articulation cue cards. I plan to be the SLP who works to effectively equip parents and children with the necessary resources to thrive. I look forward to the possibility of bringing my experiences, ideas, and dreams to graduate school.

Before starting the 8th grade, I remember telling my parents how I vowed to make my last year of middle school the best. I wanted to have sleepovers, go on a Washington D.C. school trip, visit family, and attend all of the school activities. Although most of these ideas were complete fantasies and would most likely never happen, my excitement masked those truths. By the end of August, all of my anticipation for an unprecedented year of middle school faded, when I became overwhelmed with my dark, droopy, dry eyelids that left me functionless. I could no longer blink without feeling it; I experienced daily migraines from eyelid pain. After a lengthy process of eye examinations, MRI and CT Scans, and an eye biopsy, I found out I have Sarcoidosis: a chronic condition causing inflammation and dryness in various organs; the most noticeable symptoms were in my eyelids. I felt that I was in a never-ending cycle of daily lubricating eye drops, folic acid pills, and a Sunday night methotrexate injection. I struggled to accept that my weekends would be shorter since the side effects of my treatment made me drowsy, or that I could not participate in school extra-curricular activities as much as before because of my immune deficiency. Though the treatments would eventually control most of the symptoms, as a 14-year-old, I felt as if my world was ending. In July, I only grappled with how to persuade my parents to agree to my absurd plans. Two months later, I wanted a guide to surviving the constant pastoral visits, prayers, and phone calls. Since I no longer lived my definition of the life of a normal middle schooler, I felt suffocated by the sympathy. However, the sympathy I believed would eventually consume me, became the motivation I needed all along. Though I dreaded going to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, it became my second home. Subconsciously, I looked forward to the visits, so I could go to the waiting room. I told myself that I would only interact with children to pass the time and calm my nerves, while I waited for my lab work test results. But, I actually enjoyed knowing that my small game of rock-paper-scissors made a child smile or took a weight off of their parents’ shoulders for some minutes. Since I enjoyed these interactions so much, I decided to volunteer at an Easter Egg Hunt for kids with learning and physical disabilities. As I blew bubbles for the kids or spoke to families about their experiences, I realized my passion for childcare. Currently, I work with Spectrum Autism Support Group and intend to become a speech-language pathologist. I am majoring in Child Study & Human Development and minoring in Cognitive Brain Sciences and Africana Studies. As I reflect back on the years since my diagnosis, I learned that in college and beyond, there will be obstacles and challenges that may seem like a malediction or the worst circumstance, but if channel those feelings instead into determination, I will be unstoppable. Four years ago, I could not see how I could live with Sarcoidosis. Now, I know that I did not yet notice the underlying message: a Haitian proverb my parents always used to tell me: “yon jou wa konpran.”

bell hooks eloquently said, “Beloved community is formed not by the eradication of difference but by its affirmation, by each of us claiming the identities and cultural legacies that shape who we are and how we live in the world.” My dream for life is to serve people and live happily and comfortably in a Black or POC community. By this, I want to pursue speech-language pathology and help autistic children gain language and communication skills.

Before starting the 8th grade, I remember telling my parents how I vowed to make my last year of middle school the best. I wanted to have sleepovers, go on a Washington D.C. school trip, visit family, and attend all of the school activities. Although most of these ideas were complete fantasies and would most likely never happen, my excitement masked those truths. By the end of August, all of my anticipation for an unprecedented year of middle school faded, when I became overwhelmed with my dark, droopy, dry eyelids that left me functionless. I could no longer blink without feeling it; I experienced daily migraines from eyelid pain. After a lengthy process of eye examinations, MRI and CT Scans, and an eye biopsy, I found out I have Sarcoidosis: a chronic condition causing inflammation and dryness in various organs; the most noticeable symptoms were in my eyelids. I felt that I was in a never-ending cycle of daily lubricating eye drops, folic acid pills, and a Sunday night methotrexate injection. I struggled to accept that my weekends would be shorter since the side effects of my treatment made me drowsy, or that I could not participate in school extra-curricular activities as much as before because of my immune deficiency. Though the treatments would eventually control most of the symptoms, as a 14-year-old, I felt as if my world was ending. In July, I only grappled with how to persuade my parents to agree to my absurd plans. Two months later, I wanted a guide to surviving the constant pastoral visits, prayers, and phone calls. Since I no longer lived my definition of the life of a normal middle schooler, I felt suffocated by the sympathy. However, the sympathy I believed would eventually consume me, became the motivation I needed all along. Though I dreaded going to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, it became my second home. Subconsciously, I looked forward to the visits, so I could go to the waiting room. I told myself that I would only interact with children to pass the time and calm my nerves, while I waited for my lab work test results. But, I actually enjoyed knowing that my small game of rock-paper-scissors made a child smile or took a weight off of their parents’ shoulders for some minutes. Since I enjoyed these interactions so much, I decided to volunteer at an Easter Egg Hunt for kids with learning and physical disabilities. As I blew bubbles for the kids or spoke to families about their experiences, I realized my passion for childcare. Currently, I work with Spectrum Autism Support Group and intend to become a speech-language pathologist. I am majoring in Child Study & Human Development and minoring in Cognitive Brain Sciences and Africana Studies. As I reflect back on the years since my diagnosis, I learned that in college and beyond, there will be obstacles and challenges that may seem like a malediction or the worst circumstance, but if channel those feelings instead into determination, I will be unstoppable. Four years ago, I could not see how I could live with Sarcoidosis. Now, I know that I did not yet notice the underlying message: a Haitian proverb my parents always used to tell me: “yon jou wa konpran.”

“Brown skin girl...your skin just like pearls...your back against the world...never trade you for anybody else…” Sitting on my bed – on a hot summer day in July – I found myself replaying that hook over and over again. Eventually, I began imagining every one of my experiences as a dark-skinned Black, Haitian girl, living in Georgia. Before beginning high school, I remember telling my dad that I cannot go and succeed at a STEM school because I am not Asian. To me, what I said was completely normal. TV shows and movies told me that I am most likely destined to be a single parent in a household of multiple kids. The atmosphere of my middle school classes told me that I probably will not be as good at math and science, as my Asian classmates. Students told me that the only way I could attend Yale or Columbia was not by my academic merit, but through Affirmative Action policies. My dad reassured me and told me to remember that I come from excellence, a culture of people who defeated slavery and established the first Black Republic in the world. He finished his lecture, with his favorite quote from the United Negro College Fund, “The mind is a terrible thing to waste.” Though I was half-listening to the lecture, I will never be more grateful for his encouragement because attending high school pushed me to stop limiting myself, based on nothing more than, false assumptions and stereotypes. With his challenge in mind, before beginning my freshman year, I committed to proving to myself that I can and will succeed, no matter the school I attend. It was then I realized that during years of schooling, I had been struggling with self-confidence because I wanted to prove to others that I was not the “angry, stupid, poor dark-skinned, Haitian female.” So, now, as a junior in college, when a teacher asks me how I am so good at chemistry, I participate more and study harder to make an A in that class. When another teacher is surprised at my eloquence, I mention my mother seeking a master’s degree program in French and Spanish. When I am questioned or challenged about my Haitian heritage by another student, I remind them that I represent a rich culture with a rich history. When someone wonders how I can be prideful of being Haitian when a president publicly diminishes its worth, I postulate the parallels between the state of America and Haiti. When I feel frustrated by normalized, derogatory language and comments, I discuss and debate at my school’s Black Student Union or my church’s youth group. When I feel discouraged by my timidness, I work my hardest to stand out academically. On that hot summer day in July, I remember smiling at the line, “your skin is not only dark, it shines and it tells your story.” Yes, I am that dark-skinned, Black, Haitian girl from Loganville, Georgia, but I am also that smart, opinionated, and driven young woman. In the upcoming four years, I envision that I, the young woman, will seek new learning opportunities, get out of my comfort zone, start and add to important conversations, develop personal relationships, become independent, always remain prideful of who and what I represent, and most importantly – create my own story.

Before starting the 8th grade, I remember telling my parents how I vowed to make my last year of middle school the best. I wanted to have sleepovers, go on a Washington D.C. school trip, visit family, and attend all of the school activities. Although most of these ideas were complete fantasies and would most likely never happen, my excitement masked those truths. By the end of August, all of my anticipation for an unprecedented year of middle school faded, when I became overwhelmed with my dark, droopy, dry eyelids that left me functionless. I could no longer blink without feeling it; I experienced daily migraines from eyelid pain. After a lengthy process of eye examinations, MRI and CT Scans, and an eye biopsy, I found out I have Sarcoidosis: a chronic condition causing inflammation and dryness in various organs; the most noticeable symptoms were in my eyelids. I felt that I was in a never-ending cycle of daily lubricating eye drops, folic acid pills, and a Sunday night methotrexate injection. I struggled to accept that my weekends would be shorter since the side effects of my treatment made me drowsy, or that I could not participate in school extra-curricular activities as much as before because of my immune deficiency. Though the treatments would eventually control most of the symptoms, as a 14-year-old, I felt as if my world was ending. In July, I only grappled with how to persuade my parents to agree to my absurd plans. Two months later, I wanted a guide to surviving the constant pastoral visits, prayers, and phone calls. Since I no longer lived my definition of the life of a normal middle schooler, I felt suffocated by the sympathy. However, the sympathy I believed would eventually consume me, became the motivation I needed all along. Though I dreaded going to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, it became my second home. Subconsciously, I looked forward to the visits, so I could go to the waiting room. I told myself that I would only interact with children to pass the time and calm my nerves, while I waited for my lab work test results. But, I actually enjoyed knowing that my small game of rock-paper-scissors made a child smile or took a weight off of their parents’ shoulders for some minutes. Since I enjoyed these interactions so much, I decided to volunteer at an Easter Egg Hunt for kids with learning and physical disabilities. As I blew bubbles for the kids or spoke to families about their experiences, I realized my passion for childcare. Currently, I work with Spectrum Autism Support Group and intend to become a speech-language pathologist. I am majoring in Child Study & Human Development and minoring in Cognitive Brain Sciences and Africana Studies. As I reflect back on the years since my diagnosis, I learned that in college and beyond, there will be obstacles and challenges that may seem like a malediction or the worst circumstance, but if channel those feelings instead into determination, I will be unstoppable. Four years ago, I could not see how I could live with Sarcoidosis. Now, I know that I did not yet notice the underlying message: a Haitian proverb my parents always used to tell me: “yon jou wa konpran.”

“Brown skin girl...your skin just like pearls...your back against the world...never trade you for anybody else…” Sitting on my bed – on a hot summer day in July – I found myself replaying that hook over and over again. Eventually, I began imagining every one of my experiences as a dark-skinned Black, Haitian girl, living in Georgia. I felt a girl beside me obsessively touching my hair because it is “so different.” I looked down in shame at my lunch table my peers told me if my skin was light enough, I would be like Beyoncé. As the only Black student in my high school Honors American Literature class, I awkwardly read about Jim in Huckleberry Finn. Twice, I sat in my assistant principal’s office, listening to her asking if I had anything to do with a cheating scandal in engineering, and I asked myself if she questioned my honesty and capability to make an A on a test. I stood and stared in complete shock at a young, White boy, who just finished saying “n----a move out of my way” to me in the lunchroom, surrounded by laughter. I replayed my favorite series of questions: “Do your parents believe in voodoo?” “Why do they speak with that accent?” “Did your family die in the earthquake?” “Did you come out of a boat?” “Are you an illegal citizen?” “Why are you so dark, are there any light-skinned Haitians?” Each question, interrogation, or stare ended in one of two ways: I was told that I am too sensitive and needed to calm down, or I ignored it – nothing was too unusual or surprising anyways. My dad reassured me and told me to remember that I come from excellence, a culture of people who defeated slavery and established the first Black Republic in the world. He finished his lecture, with his favorite quote from the United Negro College Fund, “The mind is a terrible thing to waste.” Though I was half-listening to the lecture, I will never be more grateful for his encouragement because attending high school pushed me to stop limiting myself, based on nothing more than, false assumptions and stereotypes. With his challenge in mind, before beginning my freshman year, I committed to proving to myself that I can and will succeed, no matter the school I attend. However, when I entered my school, I initially felt comforted when I entered because it is a predominantly-minority school. So, now, when I am questioned or challenged about my Haitian heritage by another student, I remind them that I represent a rich culture with a rich history. On that hot summer day in July, I remember smiling at the line, “your skin is not only dark, it shines and it tells your story.” Yes, I am that dark-skinned, Black, Haitian girl from Loganville, Georgia, but I am also that smart, opinionated, and driven young woman. In the upcoming four years, I envision that I, the young woman, will seek new learning opportunities, get out of my comfort zone, start and add to important conversations, develop personal relationships, become independent, always remain prideful of who and what I represent, and most importantly – create my own story.

Before starting the 8th grade, I remember telling my parents how I vowed to make my last year of middle school the best. I wanted to have sleepovers, go on a Washington D.C. school trip, visit family, and attend all of the school activities. Although most of these ideas were complete fantasies and would most likely never happen, my excitement masked those truths. By the end of August, all of my anticipation for an unprecedented year of middle school faded, when I became overwhelmed with my dark, droopy, dry eyelids that left me functionless. I could no longer blink without feeling it; I experienced daily migraines from eyelid pain. After a lengthy process of eye examinations, MRI and CT Scans, and an eye biopsy, I found out I have Sarcoidosis: a chronic condition causing inflammation and dryness in various organs; the most noticeable symptoms were of my eyelids. I felt that I was in a never-ending cycle of daily lubricating eye drops, folic acid pills, and a Sunday night methotrexate injection. I struggled to accept that my weekends would be shorter since the side-effects of my treatment made me drowsy, or that I could not participate in school extra-curricular activities as much as before because of my immune deficiency. Though the treatments would eventually control most of the symptoms, as a 14-year-old, I felt as if my world was ending. In July, I only grappled with how to persuade my parents to agree to my absurd plans. Two months later, I wanted a guide to surviving the constant pastoral visits, prayers, and phone calls. Since I no longer lived my definition of the life of a normal middle schooler, I felt suffocated by the sympathy. However, the sympathy I believed would eventually consume me, became the motivation I needed all along. Though I dreaded going to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, it became my second home. Subconsciously, I looked forward to the visits, so I could go to the waiting room. I told myself that I would only interact with children to pass the time and calm my nerves, while I waited for my lab work test results. But, I actually enjoyed knowing that my small game of rock-paper-scissors made a child smile or took a weight off of their parents’ shoulders for some minutes. Since I enjoyed these interactions so much, I decided to volunteer at an Easter Egg Hunt for kids with learning and physical disabilities. As I blew bubbles for the kids or spoke to families about their experiences, I realized my passion for childcare. Currently, I intern with Spectrum Autism Support Group, and I plan to major in neuroscience or public health, with the intent of becoming a pediatric neurologist. As I reflect back to the years since my diagnosis, I learned that in college and beyond, there will be obstacles and challenges that may seem like a malediction or the worst circumstance, but if channel those feelings instead into determination, I will be unstoppable. Four years ago, I could not see how I could live with Sarcoidosis. Now, I know that I did not yet notice the underlying message: a Haitian proverb my parents always used to tell me: “yon jou wa konpran.”

Before starting the 8th grade, I remember telling my parents how I vowed to make my last year of middle school the best. I wanted to have sleepovers, go on a Washington D.C. school trip, visit family, and attend all of the school activities. Although most of these ideas were complete fantasies and would most likely never happen, my excitement masked those truths. By the end of August, all of my anticipation for an unprecedented year of middle school faded, when I became overwhelmed with my dark, droopy, dry eyelids that left me functionless. I could no longer blink without feeling it; I experienced daily migraines from eyelid pain. After a lengthy process of eye examinations, MRI and CT Scans, and an eye biopsy, I found out I have Sarcoidosis: a chronic condition causing inflammation and dryness in various organs; the most noticeable symptoms were of my eyelids. I felt that I was in a never-ending cycle of daily lubricating eye drops, folic acid pills, and a Sunday night methotrexate injection. I struggled to accept that my weekends would be shorter since the side-effects of my treatment made me drowsy, or that I could not participate in school extra-curricular activities as much as before because of my immune deficiency. Though the treatments would eventually control most of the symptoms, as a 14-year-old, I felt as if my world was ending. In July, I only grappled with how to persuade my parents to agree to my absurd plans. Two months later, I wanted a guide to surviving the constant pastoral visits, prayers, and phone calls. Since I no longer lived my definition of the life of a normal middle schooler, I felt suffocated by the sympathy. However, the sympathy I believed would eventually consume me, became the motivation I needed all along. Though I dreaded going to Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta, it became my second home. Subconsciously, I looked forward to the visits, so I could go to the waiting room. I told myself that I would only interact with children to pass the time and calm my nerves, while I waited for my lab work test results. But, I actually enjoyed knowing that my small game of rock-paper-scissors made a child smile or took a weight off of their parents’ shoulders for some minutes. Since I enjoyed these interactions so much, I decided to volunteer at an Easter Egg Hunt for kids with learning and physical disabilities. As I blew bubbles for the kids or spoke to families about their experiences, I realized my passion for childcare. Currently, I intern with Spectrum Autism Support Group, and I plan to major in neuroscience or public health, with the intent of becoming a pediatric neurologist. As I reflect back to the years since my diagnosis, I learned that in college and beyond, there will be obstacles and challenges that may seem like a malediction or the worst circumstance, but if channel those feelings instead into determination, I will be unstoppable. Four years ago, I could not see how I could live with Sarcoidosis. Now, I know that I did not yet notice the underlying message: a Haitian proverb my parents always used to tell me: “yon jou wa konpran.”

“Brown skin girl...your skin just like pearls...your back against the world...never trade you for anybody else…” Sitting on my bed – on a hot summer day in July – I found myself replaying that hook over and over again. Eventually, I began imagining every one of my experiences as a dark-skinned Black, Haitian girl, living in Georgia. I felt a girl beside me obsessively touching my hair because it is “so different.” I looked down in shame at my lunch table my peers told me if my skin was light enough, I would be like Beyoncé. As the only Black student in my high school Honors American Literature class, I awkwardly read about Jim in Huckleberry Finn. Twice, I sat in my assistant principal’s office, listening to her asking if I had anything to do with a cheating scandal in engineering, and I asked myself if she questioned my honesty and capability to make an A on a test. I stood and stared in complete shock at a young, White boy, who just finished saying “n----a move out of my way” to me in the lunchroom, surrounded by laughter. I replayed my favorite series of questions: “Do your parents believe in voodoo?” “Why do they speak with that accent?” “Did your family die in the earthquake?” “Did you come out of a boat?” “Are you an illegal citizen?” “Why are you so dark, are there any light-skinned Haitians?” Each question, interrogation, or stare ended in one of two ways: I was told that I am too sensitive and needed to calm down, or I ignored it – nothing was too unusual or surprising anyways. Before beginning high school, I remember telling my dad that I cannot go and succeed at a STEM school because I am not Asian. To me, what I said was completely normal. TV shows and movies told me that I am most likely destined to be a single parent in a household of multiple kids. The atmosphere of my middle school classes told me that I probably will not be as good at math and science, as my Asian classmates. Students told me that the only way I could attend Yale or Columbia was not by my academic merit, but through Affirmative Action policies. My dad reassured me and told me to remember that I come from excellence, a culture of people who defeated slavery and established the first Black Republic in the world. He finished his lecture, with his favorite quote from the United Negro College Fund, “The mind is a terrible thing to waste.” Though I was half-listening to the lecture, I will never be more grateful for his encouragement because attending high school pushed me to stop limiting myself, based on nothing more than, false assumptions and stereotypes. With his challenge in mind, before beginning my freshman year, I committed to proving to myself that I can and will succeed, no matter the school I attend. So, now when I am questioned or challenged about my Haitian heritage by another student, I remind them that I represent a rich culture with a rich history. When someone wonders how I can be prideful of being Haitian when a president publicly diminishes its worth, I postulate the parallels between the state of America and Haiti. On that hot summer day in July, I remember smiling at the line, “your skin is not only dark, it shines and it tells your story.” Yes, I am that dark-skinned, Black, Haitian girl from Loganville, Georgia, but I am also that smart, opinionated, and driven young woman.

“Brown skin girl...your skin just like pearls...your back against the world...never trade you for anybody else…” Sitting on my bed – on a hot summer day in July – I found myself replaying that hook over and over again. Eventually, I began imagining every one of my experiences as a dark-skinned Black, Haitian girl, living in Georgia. I felt a girl beside me obsessively touching my hair because it is “so different.” I looked down in shame at my lunch table my peers told me if my skin was light enough, I would be like Beyoncé. As the only Black student in my high school Honors American Literature class, I awkwardly read about Jim in Huckleberry Finn. Twice, I sat in my assistant principal’s office, listening to her asking if I had anything to do with a cheating scandal in engineering, and I asked myself if she questioned my honesty and capability to make an A on a test. I stood and stared in complete shock at a young, White boy, who just finished saying “n----a move out of my way” to me in the lunchroom, surrounded by laughter. I replayed my favorite series of questions: “Do your parents believe in voodoo?” “Why do they speak with that accent?” “Did your family die in the earthquake?” “Did you come out of a boat?” “Are you an illegal citizen?” “Why are you so dark, are there any light-skinned Haitians?” Each question, interrogation, or stare ended in one of two ways: I was told that I am too sensitive and needed to calm down, or I ignored it – nothing was too unusual or surprising anyways. Before beginning high school, I remember telling my dad that I cannot go and succeed at a STEM school because I am not Asian. To me, what I said was completely normal. TV shows and movies told me that I am most likely destined to be a single parent in a household of multiple kids. The atmosphere of my middle school classes told me that I probably will not be as good at math and science, as my Asian classmates. Students told me that the only way I could attend Yale or Columbia was not by my academic merit, but through Affirmative Action policies. My dad reassured me and told me to remember that I come from excellence, a culture of people who defeated slavery and established the first Black Republic in the world. He finished his lecture, with his favorite quote from the United Negro College Fund, “The mind is a terrible thing to waste.” Though I was half-listening to the lecture, I will never be more grateful for his encouragement because attending high school pushed me to stop limiting myself, based on nothing more than, false assumptions and stereotypes. With his challenge in mind, before beginning my freshman year, I committed to proving to myself that I can and will succeed, no matter the school I attend. However, when I entered my school, I initially felt comforted when I entered because it is a predominantly-minority school. But, my experiences proved me wrong. My freshman year, I shamefully remained quiet, while my teacher expressed to the class that she would never go back to Haiti for a mission trip, after she learned that I am Haitian. My sophomore year, I would hide my frustration when my friends would ask, “where even is Haiti, isn’t it in Africa?” It was then I realized that during years of schooling, I had been struggling with self-confidence because I wanted to prove to others that I was not the “angry, stupid, poor dark-skinned, Haitian female.” So, now, when I am questioned or challenged about my Haitian heritage by another student, I remind them that I represent a rich culture with a rich history. When someone wonders how I can be prideful of being Haitian when a president publicly diminishes its worth, I postulate the parallels between the state of America and Haiti. When I feel frustrated by normalized, derogatory language and comments, I discuss and debate at my school’s Black Student Union. When I feel discouraged by my timidness, I work my hardest to stand out academically. On that hot summer day in July, I remember smiling at the line, “your skin is not only dark, it shines and it tells your story.” Yes, I am that dark-skinned, Black, Haitian girl from Loganville, Georgia, but I am also that smart, opinionated, and driven young woman. In the upcoming four years, I envision that I, the young woman, will seek new learning opportunities, get out of my comfort zone, start and add to important conversations, develop personal relationships, become independent, always remain prideful of who and what I represent, and most importantly – create my own story.

Toni Morrison eloquently says, "When you get these jobs that you have been so brilliantly trained for, just remember that your real job is that if you are free, you need to free somebody else. If you have some power, then your job is to empower somebody else." Since I was young, I have participated in some sort of social work. I was raised in a Haitian church community, and I participated in the Children and Outreach Ministry. With this experience, I've always had a heart for purposeful service. When I got to my junior year of high school, I had an internship with Spectrum Support Group: an Autism support group for autistic people and their families. Since then, I have volunteered and worked at community meetings, overnight camps, daily camps, community events, and respite programs. I have worked with autistic people all over the spectrum, and these experiences fuel me to pursue a career in social sciences. Originally when I came to college, I wanted to pursue a career in pediatric medicine. Though I love science and medicine, I wanted to take more fulfilling classes and stretch the boundaries of traditional careers. I took classes in the fields of Child Study & Human Development, Africana Studies, and Cognitive Brain Sciences, and I brainstormed a career that would combine my interests in autism, biology, chemistry, and neurology. After I took the classes Preschool to Prison pipeline and Black Prison writing, I learned how much developmental disorders can further lead to incarceration because of misdiagnosis and discrimination. I wanted to pursue a career that would allow me to participate in early intervention and help underserved communities in a preventative way. I discovered speech pathology and finally felt that I found the perfect career for me. As a speech pathologist, I hope to serve marginalized and low-income communities because of the economic disparities in therapy. As a Black and immigrant woman, I understand how much stigma exists toward autism, therapy, and neurodivergence. In an Autism Across the Lifespan course, I learned that many Black boys are undiagnosed as autistic and simply labeled as disruptive and bad. Since I hail from a Black community, I am a first-hand witness to the mislabeling of not only Black boys but many Black children of different genders who unfortunately are victims of the stereotypical conceptions of Black childhood. I hope to change the perspective regarding people requiring therapy and add to the work already being done to serve Black neurodivergent people.