My decision to pursue a degree in social work was deeply personal and rooted in my lived experiences as the child of hardworking immigrant parents in Chicago. Growing up in a Latino household, I witnessed the quiet struggles that came with navigating systems that weren’t built for people like us, barriers like language differences, cultural misunderstandings, limited access to resources, and the stigma surrounding mental health and asking for help. I realized early on how much these unseen challenges impact families in my community, and how few professionals truly understand or represent our realities. These experiences sparked in me a desire to become someone who could bridge that gap as a social worker who not only understands these struggles but who has lived them. At first, I saw social work primarily as a tool for direct service. I imagined myself working one-on-one with children, teens, and families in underserved communities, providing mental health support, connecting them to resources, and advocating for their needs in schools, hospitals, and social service agencies. This vision made sense to me because I have personally seen how difficult it is for immigrant families to get help, and I wanted to be the person who could make those services feel safe and accessible. Since starting the program, however, my view of social work has expanded. I now understand that social work is not only about direct service but t’s also about addressing the systems that cause inequality in the first place. I’ve learned the importance of advocacy, policy change, and community organizing. I’ve come to see myself not just as a future counselor or case manager, but as someone who can work on multiple levels to create long-term change for my community. Whether that means influencing mental health policies, improving language access in public services, or helping design programs that meet the unique needs of immigrant and first-generation families, I now see that my role can be much bigger than I originally imagined. When I think about who I want to help, I see the faces of people like my own family, immigrant parents trying to build a future while carrying the weight of cultural and financial struggles, and their children who are caught between two worlds, trying to succeed while feeling misunderstood. I plan to focus on Latino, immigrant, and bilingual communities, especially youth and families who face mental health challenges but have no one they can turn to who truly understands their culture and language. In the future, I hope to work both in clinical settings as a bilingual therapist and in community organizations that serve immigrant families. I also plan to be involved in advocacy work that pushes for better mental health access, more cultural competency training for service providers, and policy changes that reduce barriers for marginalized communities. Giving back, to me, means not only helping individuals heal but also helping reshape the systems that failed them. Ultimately, I want my degree in social work to be a tool for empowerment that lifts up voices that have been ignored and makes sure the next generation of Latino and immigrant families has the support they deserve.

Growing up in Chicago as the daughter of hardworking immigrant parents shaped the foundation of who I am and how I see the world. My family’s journey is full of sacrifice, perseverance, and quiet strength which has taught me lessons that no teacher ever could. Like so many Latino families, mine came to this country in search of opportunity, even if it meant starting from nothing and building a life piece by piece, with their bare hands and unwavering hope. Chicago is a city full of stories like ours. I grew up surrounded by other immigrant families, parents who woke before the sun to go to their second or third job, who gave up their dreams so their children could chase new ones, who navigated a country that was not always welcoming but refused to give up. In this environment, I learned that Latinos are among the hardest working people in the world, not because we have to prove our worth, but because for us, work is survival, dignity, and love expressed through sacrifice. I once read a quote that has still resonated with me especially during the current political climate of the world: "Immigrant parents who have their wings cut still teach their kids to fly." Life in a new country clipped their wings in many ways with limited opportunities, language barriers, discrimination but they never let that stop them from teaching me how to dream boldly, to strive for more, and to carry pride in where I come from. Their dreams for me were bigger than the walls they faced. My Mexican background has made me see the world differently. I understand that success is not always measured by titles or wealth, but by the ability to keep going, to lift others as you rise, and to remain grounded in community and family. I see the quiet labor behind every clean office building, every stocked store shelf, every served meal often done by immigrant hands, too often unrecognized. It has made me deeply aware of the inequalities in this country, especially for people of color, and the urgent need for change, not just in words, but in real opportunity and justice. The current state of the world only highlights these realities more. Economic instability, political tension, and global crises have made it even harder for immigrant families to survive. Yet, Latino communities continue to work, to give, to care for their children and elders with courage and heart. My background makes me feel connected to these struggles not as distant issues, but as lived truths in my own family and community. Because of this, I am driven to make a difference not only for myself but for the countless other children of immigrants who deserve to fly even when their parents were never given the chance. Whether it’s through my future career in mental health, advocacy, or simply showing up for my community, I want to honor the sacrifices my parents made. I carry their story in everything I do, and it fuels my hope to build a more compassionate, fair, and inclusive world.

Growing up in an immigrant household shaped nearly every part of who I am, how I see the world, how I connect with others, and why I have chosen to dedicate my life to mental health service. In my family, like in many immigrant families, survival came before self-care, and resilience was expected in the face of hardship. Emotional struggles, anxiety, or grief were not spoken of openly; these things were quietly carried, often mistaken for personal weakness or brushed aside as the price of building a better life in a new country. As a result, I learned early on how deeply cultural stigma can silence mental health needs and how important it is to change this for future generations. One of the most defining experiences in my life, and the one that most shaped my passion for mental health advocacy, was the loss of a parent. Losing a parent at such a young age is difficult in any circumstance, but doing so in a household where grief had no space to breathe made the process even more isolating. My family, like many in our community, didn’t have access to culturally sensitive mental health resources. There were no words in our home for depression, for grief counseling, or for the simple truth that it is okay to hurt. I carried that grief silently, while still trying to meet expectations in school, help my family, and maintain the image of strength that was so important in our culture. Through this personal journey, I came to understand how much harm silence can do—and how vital it is to create spaces where people from marginalized backgrounds, particularly immigrant families, can process and heal without shame. My own healing came only when I found the courage to seek support outside of my community, through friends, mentors, and eventually therapy. This experience transformed my understanding of mental health and inspired me to pursue a career where I could offer the support I wish my family and I had received. Today, I am deeply committed to making a positive impact in marginalized communities as a future mental health professional. I want to specialize in working with children and families from immigrant, bilingual, and multicultural backgrounds, groups who are often overlooked, misunderstood, or underrepresented in mental health services. My goal is to provide therapy that not only acknowledges cultural differences but embraces them, offering care that is both linguistically accessible and culturally informed. I also hope to engage in community education and advocacy to reduce stigma, break cycles of silence, and empower families to seek help without fear or shame. My lived experience has taught me that healing is not just personal, it is communal. When one family learns to talk about mental health, the ripple effects can reach an entire community. By becoming a therapist who understands these cultural complexities from the inside out, I hope to be part of that change. Winning this scholarship would help me continue my education and training, so I can return to these communities as a trusted, compassionate, and effective advocate for mental health and well-being.

Reflecting on my journey within my multicultural sorority at Denison University, I am profoundly grateful for the transformative impact it has had on me and our campus community. Joining the sorority initially felt like stepping into the unknown, but what I discovered was a supportive family of sisters from diverse ethnic backgrounds. Despite our differences, we share a powerful bond rooted in mutual upliftment and empowerment. This environment has not only enriched my college experience but has also deepened my understanding of the importance of community, especially in navigating the challenges of attending a predominantly white institution. One of the most impactful initiatives I have been involved in was the organization of "Voices for Gaza: A Roundtable Discussion" in collaboration with our Students for Justice in Palestine organization. This event aimed to educate our fellow students about the historical and current realities in Gaza. I'll admit, initially, I had limited knowledge about the complexities of the region. However, through this initiative, I embraced vulnerability, openly acknowledging my initial lack of awareness. Engaging in meaningful dialogue and learning from diverse perspectives allowed me to move beyond superficial understandings perpetuated by social media, fostering a deeper appreciation for global issues. Beyond educational initiatives, my sorority and I have actively engaged in advocacy efforts on campus. We joined SJP in calling for transparency and divestment from institutions supporting Israel, challenging our university's policies despite facing resistance and threats. These experiences have strengthened my resilience and commitment to advocating for institutional accountability and justice. Personally, these experiences have been pivotal in my growth as a leader and advocate for diversity, equity, inclusion, and social justice. Interacting with peers from various backgrounds has broadened my perspectives and deepened my empathy. I have honed skills in collaboration, communication, and strategic planning through organizing events and navigating challenging conversations. These skills are essential as I continue to work towards creating a campus environment where every voice is heard and valued. Looking ahead, I am inspired to continue leveraging my platform within my sorority and across campus to foster dialogue, raise awareness, and advocate for meaningful change. My journey with my sorority has not only provided me with a supportive community but has also empowered me to actively contribute to a more just and inclusive society. I expect the next three years at Denison push me to open my horizons and continue to fight for what I believe.