November 22nd, 2018, a day meant for joy, gratitude, and indulgence in deliciously homemade feasts: Thanksgiving. However, this time, the holiday left me with mixed emotions of melancholy and curiosity, which consequently led to awakening my life's purpose. My family gathered around the table as we continued our tradition of each family member stating what they were thankful for in the past year. My cousin, and newly first-time mother, confessed through welling eyes that she was grateful to have given birth to a healthy baby with her life intact, given the context of the state of healthcare in our country and identity as a racial minority.  Her emotional response came from a place of genuine fear yet gratitude. What did she mean? I made a bee-line to the computer and opened Google when I got home. A pit formed in my stomach; the first webpage flooded with information on high maternal mortality rates and complications for women delivering in the United States, especially for black women like myself. Google provided the confirmation and data that high birth mortality rates of women of color were a cause for concern, but on those infinite pages of Google, there was no solution in sight. At that moment, I knew I had to be a part of solving the problem. Systematic sexism and the lack of cultural literacy have added fuel to the fire of gender disparities that plague our country. Black women disproportionately have the highest birth mortality rates in the U.S. Approximately 13 -14% of the U.S. population identify with the black demographic. Despite this, 6.3% of nurses in the U.S. are black. The correlation between low representation in employment and high fatalities is not a coincidence. Cultural competency is vital for providing the best possible patient care. Diversity not only cultivates the self-esteem of POC seeking professional careers but enhances the learning environments of health professionals by exposing them to learn about various socioeconomic and racial backgrounds through their coworkers, resulting in better communication, trust, and equitable care between providers and their minority patients. There won't be a simple or quick solution to flattening the curve of increasing birth mortalities in women of color; it will require a generational commitment to awareness and action.  I aspire to be a nurse practitioner specializing in women's health, specifically working in labor & delivery and Neonatal Intensive Care Units, because I believe that no woman should die at the hands of health negligence. I plan to use my nursing license to improve health outcomes for BIPOC women by using my care and compassion to rewrite new positive, equitable, and birthing experiences for this at-risk demographic of birthing mothers. Eventually, I want my ambitions of opening my practice to create a safe place for these women dedicated to providing medical care, doulas, midwives, and birthing/newborn education. To invest in our youth is to encourage more future doctors, nurses, surgeons, etcetera.  I'm motivated to chase my dreams to make space for the next generation of young black girls, even if that means being uncomfortable in underrepresented workplaces to pioneer a way. I want to be a figurehead and explore mentorship for young children from underrepresented racial groups interested in highly esteemed and certified healthcare careers. Additionally, I desire to contribute to the accessibility of higher education and health science courses. I want to expand my small business, where I sell affordable study guides on anatomy and physiology to help nursing students succeed in class so they can advance and make an impact in the real world.

A typical symptom experienced by college-aged young adults is a discombobulation about their purpose or place in the world and the countless opportunities their future may hold, but not for me. Knowing the value and impact I wanted to contribute to society was never the kind of question that keeps tired eyes open as one lays in bed trying to count sheep. From a young age, I was aware of my calling on this earth. I knew that I aspired to be a nurse to promote the gift of life, a social media personality that promotes lifestyle and faith, and an educator to share life lessons and the beauty of knowledge. I've always been the girl you'd often catch staring into oblivion, lost but not looking to be found amid all her vivid daydreams. My mind bursting at the seams with ideas, ambitions, and innovations that yearned to materialize in the physical world. My creativity, fueled by the pursuit to create things to enhance people's lives, knew no limits. The potency and power of my purpose was indeed a force destined to garner outstanding achievements, but simultaneously, it almost led me to my downfall.  I despised keeping agendas. Making my bed in the morning felt pointless. I was never a friend of time or punctuality. Order and structure felt so rigid that I had marched freely to the beat of my drums. The lack of order often led to half-done projects with very little progress made. I lived in an Illusion of free time chasing an out-of-touch fantasy. As I entered college, I was greeted with a rude awakening. I knew that I had to shed these bad habits, or I was going down with them. Consistency has been my biggest opponent in my life. With its sky-scraping stature and gleaming red eyes peering down at me, consistency mocked my hopes and dreams. It is like the final boss in the last level of a video game that stands between you and your precious treasure; it's so close you practically taste the sweet victory, but you can't seem to conquer and progress past it. Successful consistency requires various personal commitments and principles: time management, motivation, organization, self-discipline, delayed gratification, and so on. But most importantly, learning accountability allowed me to relinquish my potential for progress. Accountability can take many forms. It can be a person, plan, punishment, process, etcetera. I realized that I'm the only one responsible for my future. I decided to leverage my motivation to make a difference and become the kind person who could do it. I created daily routines to increase productivity and efficiency. I unlearned bad habits like revenge bedtime and social media binges and substituted them for beneficial hobbies like reading books and learning Spanish. Currently, my favorite sources of accountability are my dry-erase calendar whiteboard, habit tracker app, and various spreadsheets that help me never miss a deadline and keep my active mind organized. Every day feels like a win because I have become a more improved version of myself. At 19 years old, I started a business selling affordable study guides to aid pre-nursing students in scientific subjects. By 20, I had accumulated over 100 volunteer hours participating in various community service projects and events. Accountability helped me get accepted into my dream nursing school and win my first scholarship to help finance my education. The fruits of accountability and self-discipline grant a rewarding harvest of succulent nectar, sweeter than honey and more indulgent than chocolate. There is nothing better.

I was in elementary school when I self-actualized that society saw me as black and not the various warm tones of brown that speckled across my body. Through the relentless teasing and microaggressions, the hostility towards my skin was apparent; I recognized the differences before I knew multiplication. In the moments I was most beaten down, I remember yearning that I’d been born a different race, in actuality, I wanted to be desired and respected. My confidence was planted in weed infested dirt but was still expected to grow into a big, beautifully strong flower. No recognition or representation to water the seed of my beauty. Nothing to reaffirm my existence. Nothing to prove that how I come is how I should be. I had to fight and break through the colorism, racism, and texturism that would constantly degrade and pin me down. I didn't have blonde hair or blue eyes, and I had to make peace with that. It wasn't the type of beautiful I was meant to be. I dug deep inside and forged my own beauty standard from my insecurities and doubts. I learned how to be confident in my skin, and my color returned. I wasn't just black because I was the color of brown sugar, rich molasses, and the autumn leaves that litter the earth in the fall. I replanted my confidence in nourishing soil and pulled out the weeds. I tended to my self-esteem like a fragile sapling, and soon, I sprouted into a confident young woman. The internal war that raged within me had finally ended, but the obstacles didn't stop there. As I mature and advance in my education, I'll soon be approaching the life milestone of securing a career. My dream job is to be a nurse practitioner specializing in the Pediatric/Neonatal ICU or Labor & Delivery unit. This summer, I landed a volunteer opportunity in my dream specialty! I had prayed and pleaded for this position, and by God's grace, my wishes came to fruition! On my first volunteer shift, I was so infatuated with getting a glimpse into my future as a nurse to notice – but on my second shift, the rose-colored glasses lowered, and it dawned on me. I was the only black woman working on the floor at the lowest possible position. There were zero nurse role models in my demographic, and I truly felt like a black sheep. This experience thoroughly highlighted the lack of diversity in highly skilled and elite careers. Diversity not only cultivates the self-esteem of POC seeking professional careers, but enhances health professionals' learning environments and quality of care. Black women have the highest birth mortality rates in the U.S. About 6.3% of nurses in the U.S. are black. The correlation between low representation in employment and high fatalities is not a coincidence. Cultural competency is vital for providing the best possible patient care, and studies have shown that diversity can lead to better patient health outcomes. Professional environments are not exempt from the harsh reality that racial inequality and inequity are still significant problems in our society. Being a black woman in the U.S. doesn't mean that I cannot achieve my goals, but I must be mindful that I live in a culture that resists my progress. I’m motivated to chase my dreams to make space for the next generation of young black girls, even if that means being uncomfortable in underrepresented workplaces. In fact, I want to be an example to all young girls of color that we are capable and qualified to work in predominantly white careers.

It was a scorching August afternoon. My forehead glistened as I sprinted to the playground and eagerly slammed down on the swing set. As I began to pump my legs back and forth, I started to feel it—a faint breeze. As I gathered momentum, I was soon soaring through the sky; bliss settled on my face as the cold air enveloped me, and I felt the gaps between my clothes and skin. There was no better feeling— Suddenly! A commotion and a crowd formed underneath me as I whizzed past them, looking down from my haven in the clouds. They were trying to alert me: “Your brother broke his arm!” A frenzy of wood chips flew in the air as I dug my heels into the earth, coming to a screeching stop. I was at the scene in mere moments. And lo and behold, there was my lethargic five-year-old brother, his humerus oddly misshapen in a jagged zigzag. Other kids grimaced and looked away, but seven-year-old me reacted as if all the times I had played pretend doctor with my toys had prepared me for this moment. I gently helped him to his feet and walked him inside, and soon, we were off to the hospital. The next couple of months involved me carrying his backpack, walking him to class before school, and reminding him to remove his brace and stretch his arm after school. Fast forward thirteen years. My not-so-little baby brother is eighteen—an adult by law—with four freshly extracted wisdom teeth. While my mother worked, I gracefully and effortlessly stepped into my caregiver role. I grabbed pudding cups, microwaved mashed potatoes, refilled his water cup, and reheated hot packs. Not once did I feel burdened attending to his recovery. I attentively measured out his prescribed 10 mg of Ketorolac and cooked him hot cereal to eat before taking his medication. I went the extra mile to organize everything on a tray for his convenience. I proudly presented the tray to him, knowing that my care and consideration for my brother’s well-being were apparent. My brother has matured into a compassionate and intelligent individual, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. Nurturing others is something I take pride in, so it fills me with joy knowing that I’ve positively contributed to his upbringing. Aging and growing up is a beautiful thing to observe, and I’ve been extremely fortunate that I haven’t lost a loved one close to me. I used to think that because I hadn’t experienced a close death, people wouldn’t consider my passion for nursing to be profound. The truth is, I am blessed to have the privilege of watching my loved ones thrive. You don’t have to lose something to understand the value of love. I want to fight for people’s health and pass that privilege on so that their family members can experience the joy of watching one another walk through the stages of life despite health challenges, loving them the hardest while they are still here. Loving my family is how I found my purpose in nursing. There is nothing more fulfilling than knowing your purpose and pursuing it. I want to be a nurse because I want the gift of life to prosper and be celebrated. I’ve cared for family members and communities I volunteer for, but I know that a vital part of fulfilling my purpose is advancing and growing my skills. By investing in my education, I can provide more aid to more people. This is why graduating from nursing school and seeking higher education are essential for me.

From a young age, I was aware of my calling on this earth. Young children are very intuitive and, due to their innocence, lack the biases and insecurities that often negatively distort our perspectives of ourselves and the world. Starry-eyed seven-year-old me would tell you, likely with a lisp due to her missing two front teeth, "I'm gonna be a princess doctor!" From elementary school until now, I have always been aligned with the purpose of working in healthcare to cure the sickness and ailments of good people experiencing a tricky thing. I recall a photo of me from 1st grade when I dressed up as a doctor for Halloween, and it's clear. I could have been a princess, a ghoul, or a cat like most kids my age, but I chose to dress up as my dream career field. I find that photo nostalgic as if it alluded to or foreshadowed the future I'm currently pursuing in healthcare. Although I cannot remember sassily posing for my picture with my hand propped up on my hip or much of the events of 1st grade, I'm still that same little girl in that photo with the same passion for healing. Another undeniable love that survived my childhood is my love for children, especially babies. As a little girl I had too many baby dolls! I would feed and care for them as if they were real because they were to me. I was a baby pretending to take care of babies; the irony of that! Combine these two things I have cherished deeply over the years, and you get the impact I wish to make on the world. I will become a nurse practitioner working in the labor and delivery as well as neonatal intensive care units (NICU) to promote the health of women who desire to bring a blessing in the form of a baby into this world. Then, I'd want to support the health of these newborns to ensure that they receive a fair chance to grow into generous individuals who also want to spread a loving impact into the world because we all can agree that the world is in dire need of more love and compassion. What made my child-like fantasies materialize into a work-in-progress reality is a combination of life experiences and personal realizations. There wasn't a specific "ah-hah" moment when I knew I wanted to be a nurse. Over time, life has molded me into an individual who would thrive in a career: the personality to connect with people, a heart filled with compassion, and a brain that enjoys science and anatomy. From when my little brother broke his arm and I carried his backpack to class every day or getting honest with myself that I was not cut out to be a surgeon because of my shaky hands! Or the Thanksgiving my cousin got emotional when she shared her gratefulness to have a safe birth in a hospital as a black woman, which ignited my natural curiosity to lead me down a rabbit hole of research to discover the high birth mortality rates in the U.S. especially in woman of color like myself, which further inspired me to create a project on it for school assignment and to specialize in women's/newborn health. It's the volunteer hours in my church's nursery, the challenges and adversities I've overcome, the role models and support systems, the stories of the people I've met, and my faith that have led me to nursing. I could tell you that I chose nursing, but in reality, nursing chose me.

My entire life felt like it was constantly changing around me. Since the tender age of 5, every Thursday and every other weekend, I had to pack my belongings in a bag, go to my dad's house, and then again for July. I attended three elementary schools and two different colleges during my freshman year. I’ve had to uproot my life, relocate, and then uproot again and return many times. What pained me wasn't that I didn't have the typical suburban outline of a two-parent household but that I yearned for a consistent environment to grow up in. It's hard to figure out your identity and purpose when things continually morph around you. However, my upbringing has made me strong, determined, and focused. I've learned how to transform uncertainty and change into resilience and purpose. Amid it all, I was able to hone in on my life’s goal, which is to be a pediatric/NICU nurse. Nursing is my passion; it steadies me when life trips me up. Children are like tiny oak saplings. How can a sapling grow into a strong tree if the amount of water, sunlight, and nutrients it receives constantly changes? Change can only waiver you (or overwhelm a sapling) if you don't have a firm foundation or strong roots to dig into when the winds get rough or the water floods high. Stability can be a person, a principal, or even a place. We must provide steady affection, safety, and love so that kids have a fighting chance to grow into mighty oak trees that can hold their own. Reflecting back, I’ve formed many relationships and memories that made a lasting impact on my character, even if it was a brief season of my life. And I cherish the people who’ve accompanied me along my journey, who made the growing pains bearable and even fond to reminisce. I desire to be that person for children. I want to be the person in their memories whose consistent kindness and warmth seemingly distracts them from their pain, struggles, and worries. I want to share my strength with the children battling health issues who only know change because they're constantly in and out of hospitals, schools, and surgeries. Although sometimes one cannot control health circumstances, as a nurse, I will always be able to provide persistently personable and quality healthcare so that their time in hospitals is more than just treatment, but also valuable connections. When I first started writing this essay, I struggled with the prompt. I realized I'd have to revisit my childhood to connect with this scholarship, so I prayed and pondered. Then, something came over me, and I was inspired to write. As I came down from the bliss from the burst of inspiration, I decided to look up the beloved Kylee Govoni. After reading her touching story, I saw trees planted in light of her. Chills ran over me. It resonated so much with the oak tree analogy I had developed to explain my innate nature to nurture children. This scholarship aligns so profoundly with my values and reasonings for choosing nursing I knew I had to apply. As I write this essay, I set my sights on another major change, perhaps the most significant move I'll ever make. Moving cities and getting an apartment to attend my dream nursing school. Will there be growing pains? Will I be far from home? Will school be challenging? Yes! But I've learned that change can bring beautiful outcomes and incredible growth when you have the proper purpose, people, or principal to guide you through it.