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.

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.