For the first ten years of my life, my father was absent, not by choice, but by consequence. He got sent to prison when I was two years old, and in that instant, our family of five became my mother's sole responsibility. To keep us afloat, she worked three jobs. She was rarely home, and when she was, she was exhausted. So the rest of us had to step up. I was not the oldest, but somewhere along the way, I became the one who held things together. Every morning, I woke my siblings up for school. I did laundry, cooked dinner, and kept the house running as best a child could. At school, I made a quiet decision to stay out of trouble and keep my grades up. Not because someone pushed me to, but because I watched my mother carry more than any one person should, and I refused to add to her weight. While my siblings struggled with the instability around us, I suppressed my emotions and focused on discipline. My father came home when I was in the fifth grade. Our relationship exists, but it has never been simple. There is always a quiet voice in the back of my mind reminding me that he was not there. Not for the hard mornings, not for the dinners I cooked, not for the years my mother sacrificed her rest so we would not go without. That voice does not make me bitter. It makes me driven. Growing up as a caretaker shaped the way I see people. I notice when someone is overwhelmed. I know what it looks like to need help and be too proud or too tired to ask for it. Those instincts are exactly why I am pursuing a career in healthcare. Medicine allows me to combine two things my upbringing gave me: the ability to care for others and the desire to build a stable life that my mother never had the chance to build for herself. I want to be someone my family can depend on, the way I always wished we had someone to depend on. My father's incarceration took something from our family that we never fully got back. But it also built something in me. A resilience and a sense of purpose that I carry into every classroom and will carry into every patient's room.

When I was in 8th grade, my band director asked me if I was interested in auditioning for All State, which is a prestigious event that showcases middle and high school musicians in the state. I had no idea what I was getting into but I said yes anyway. When I saw the audition music I was immediately overwhelmed. It was far more advanced than anything I had seen before. Instead of asking for help, I pushed it to the side and told myself id figure it out later. Months went by. I went on vacation a week before the audition, and I realized that the day I returned was the same exact day as the audition. I told my band director to just cancel it. But for some reason I still can not explain, I changed my mind and went anyways. I arrived to the audition an hour late and proceeded to have the worst performance of my life. I stumbled through every piece of music I played. I had never felt more embarrassed leaving a room. That moment stuck with me. I realized it was not the audition itself that went terribly, but every decision I made in the months leading up to it. I avoided the hard work, ignored the timeline, and hoped that somehow everything would come together. It obviously did not. My sophomore year in highschool I was determined to do better. I started taking private lessons, practicing every day, and sought feedback on my work. When it came time for my audition, this time i left the room feeling confident. I did not make All State, but I advanced to the second round and placed first chair in District Honor Band, which is the band below All State. My experience taught me that preparation isn't just a music skill, but a life skill as well. Whether its an audition, exam, or a job interview, showing up unprepared is a choice that will cost you. That embarrassing afternoon taught me to stop leaving things to chance.

One pressing public health issue that I've noticed within my community is the lack of breastfeeding education, and the overall lack of pre/postpartum education and support. I am passionate about this issue because the women and families in my community have a right to this information. These disparities cause a lack of medical trust in POC communities due to poor experiences. When mothers face stereotyping and other racial inequalities in healthcare spaces, they often avoid necessary and crucial follow-up care. Even hearing about the mistreatment can cause mothers to refrain from reaching out for help or information that would benefit them and their babies. But it is easy to understand their fears. According to the CDC, Georgia has the worst maternal mortality ratio of any state. When the black maternal mortality rate is significantly higher than white counterparts, going into such a space can be absolutely terrifying for a new mother. The black mothers who do survive childbirth lack support after the baby is born. They are discharged from hospitals with little to no information and nothing to support them in their breastfeeding journey. When it comes to breastfeeding, most black mothers do not breastfeed past six months. In the black community, breastfeeding is often looked down upon. During slavery, black women were used as wet nurses for white women and their babies. As a result, they lacked the milk supply necessary to feed their own babies. This degrading practice continued for years after slavery, causing multigenerational trauma and a strong disdain for breastfeeding. When formula came out, it was targeting black families by promoting it as a sophisticated lifestyle choice, which appealed to black families fighting racist stereotypes that labeled them as the opposite. White women had the luxury to choose whether to breastfeed or not, but for black families, there was never a choice. In order to survive, everyone had to work, leaving formula as the only option for a baby. As the years went on, even more harmful practices emerged, such as adding rice cereal to the milk or mashed-up fruits. The mothers who did these things and the ones who still do them today are not trying to harm their babies. They are simply continuing the practices they were taught by their mothers and grandmothers. So when you combine mistreatment in healthcare before the baby is born, mistreatment after the baby is born, and lack of adequate support at home, you get a mother with postpartum depression, anxiety, and an irritated baby. What can be done to help stop this cycle that has plagued the black community for centuries? One solution is to make the information and care accessible. This can be done by going to where the people are instead of hoping they stumble across you. For example, I know a lot of women today use social media to ask questions and look up information, so I could make informative posts with certain tags to reach them. I could also meet them in real life at hospitals and birth centers and hand out flyers directing them to free and educational resources. I am currently working with a local nonprofit whose main mission is getting black mothers the needed support, care, and information they need. We offer free childbirth and breastfeeding classes, and we are constantly out in the community providing practical needs such as diapers and baby clothes. As I continue to work with this nonprofit and begin my journey to becoming a nurse, my mission is to erase the stigma that healthcare experiences have to be bad for expectant black women.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” This question has haunted me all of my life. Back in elementary school, I probably would have said a unicorn or a princess, but as I got older, those answers were no longer socially acceptable. So the search began. All through middle school, I decided I wanted to be a Veterinarian, but after realizing I only really like dogs and didn’t have the same affection for other animals, so I abandoned that idea. When I got to high school, I knew I had to make a decision fast. I knew my high school years would pass by quickly, and I wanted to have a goal I was committed to as college and adulthood approached. That is when I truly discovered nursing. Nursing has always been close to home. My mother along with several other women in my family are Registered Nurses. But it was not until recently that I realized how the career aligned with me personally. I have always been a quiet, observant person, but within that quietness, I found my strength: the ability to listen. My desire to care for others, hear their needs when no one else does, and showing up for them with compassion and respect led me to the conclusion that becoming a nurse is the perfect job for me. What drives me most is the lack of equity in healthcare, especially for minority communities. Too often, their needs ignored, symptoms overlooked, and voices silenced. This not only leads to the mistrust of healthcare professionals, but lasting physical harm as well. I want to be a part of the change. I hope to become a nurse who actively listens, advocates, and makes sure no patient feels invisible. Their lives are in our hands, and that responsibility should never be taken lightly. After exploring all the different branches of nursing, I found myself resonating the most with nurse anesthesia. The idea of being able to care for a patient during one of their most vulnerable moments - surgery, pain, and uncertainty - really stuck with me. Becoming a nurse anesthetist means being calm under pressure, technically skilled, and most importantly advocating for patients when they are unable of doing so themselves. That is the kind of nurse I want to become. I hope to leave a positive impact on every person I come across. Whether I am easing someone's anxiety before a surgery, monitoring their vital signs during surgery, or helping them achieve a smooth recovery, I want my patients to feel like they are in capable, caring hands. Knowing that I was able to make at least one person's hospital experience more enjoyable will bring me the utmost satisfaction. Becoming a nurse anesthetist is not just a career goal, but a calling. It’s the path that allows me to be exactly who I am while making a difference in people's lives. I believe I can bridge the gap between high-level medical care and human connection, and I am ready to take on the challenge through advocacy, attentiveness, and compassion.

Growing up, I always imagined nurses as outgoing, energetic people who could light up a room with just their words. I, on the other hand, have found myself to be the opposite. I am reserved, soft-spoken, and quiet. I sometimes struggle to find the right thing to say in most situations as well. But within that quietness, I have found my strength. I have always been drawn to helping others, and I have found that the best way I can do that is by being a good listener. That is part of the reason why I believe nursing is the right path for me. A patient's concerns, no matter how big or small, deserve to be heard, as they can make a huge difference in their care. I hope to bring comfort to my patients through attentiveness and empathy, creating a space where they feel heard and supported. My biggest inspiration has been my mom. As a single mother of four, my mom juggled three jobs—one as a registered nurse—and yet she always found time to care for us. She showed me what it means to be hardworking, resilient, and compassionate. Even after long shifts at the hospital, she still found the energy to support us and listen to our concerns. Seeing how deeply she cared for her patients and how she simultaneously did the same for us made me want to follow in her footsteps. My mother was not my only inspiration when it came to choosing this career path. Many of the women in my family are also nurses, and they are forceful and resilient as well, which has caused me to associate nursing with strength. I had often struggled with feeling like I was not strong enough or like I did not have a clear purpose in life. But the more I learned about nurses and the nursing profession, I realized that it could be both a way to be there for others and a way to empower myself. Nurses are the backbone of the healthcare profession as they are advocates, protectors, and healers. I want to be one of them. Becoming a nurse is not just a career path; it is a lifestyle that encapsulates everything I value: compassion, resilience, and service. My life experiences, from watching my mother care for others to watching the women in my family be strong nurses, have led me to this path. Being able to find my own strength in listening to the needs of others has allowed me to make a firm decision about what I wish to spend the rest of my life doing. I am ready to dedicate myself to a profession that allows me to provide comfort for others not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well.

I have called the beautiful state of Georgia my home for all 16 years of my life. From an early age, my mother made it clear that she didn’t want her children to attend just any school. Our county offers School Choice, allowing families to enroll their children in schools outside their assigned zones. My mother took full advantage of this, knowing the schools we were zoned for might not offer the best educational experience. Because of her determination and the opportunities within Clayton County Public Schools (CCPS), I’ve had a unique and impactful academic journey. While I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given, my time in this school system has also revealed areas where growth is needed. These insights come not from criticism, but from a deep care for a system that helped shape me. I hope this reflection highlights how I’ve grown through Georgia’s educational resources and where I believe positive change can happen. In elementary school, I attended Unidos Dual Language School, where I learned Spanish through full immersion. My Pre-K teacher didn’t speak English, nor did most of my classmates. I had to adapt quickly, which helped me build resilience and flexibility—skills that have helped me far beyond the classroom. Being surrounded by a new culture also taught me to be more open-minded and accepting of differences in others. In middle school at M.D. Roberts, a magnet-public hybrid school, I was introduced to a more developed music program. Joining the band allowed me to grow as a trumpet player, which opened the door to my current school: Martha Ellen Stilwell School of the Arts. As a band major, I’ve continued to develop creatively while also being academically challenged. These experiences taught me not only discipline and time management but also what it means to persevere—skills that align with my future goal of becoming a nurse. However, as much as I appreciate what my schools have given me, I’ve also experienced areas that, if improved, could better support students. One pressing issue is the lack of mental health support. While counselors are available, they are often overwhelmed, making it difficult for students to access the help they need. Students today juggle academic pressures, extracurriculars, and personal struggles. Providing more mental health awareness programs, and peer-led support groups, and hiring additional counselors could help students feel more supported. Another area for improvement is career exposure. Aside from occasional career days in elementary school, many students don’t get a clear understanding of possible future careers until late in high school. I didn’t fully understand the different paths within nursing until recently. Schools could benefit from hosting guest speakers, offering job shadowing opportunities, and introducing career workshops earlier, starting in middle school. As someone planning to work in healthcare, I would love to return to my school one day as a guest speaker to mentor and inspire students. Georgia’s educational opportunities have helped me grow into someone who values adaptability, empathy, and service. From navigating a dual-language classroom to expressing myself through music, each experience has brought me closer to becoming the nurse I aspire to be—one who leads with compassion, listens closely, and serves with strength. There are still challenges within the system, but thoughtful, student-centered improvements can make a big difference. I’m committed to being part of that change, not only as a future healthcare provider but as a proud product of this state’s school system. Georgia's educational system has empowered me beyond my expectations, and I hope to one day empower others the same way.