When I was seven, I immigrated from Alexandria, Egypt to the United States. When my father told me we were moving, I was terrified of leaving, however, I was so excited. I recall watching movies and tv shows of America and wanting live there. We moved to Carmel, NY, a mostly homogeneous community with less than one percent of a Middle Eastern/North African population. While the change from seeing almost everyone who looked like me to virtually no one was stark, I was still so excited. Even though I was young, I was so proud to be Egyptian and to share my culture with anyone who would listen. I dreamed of having friends over every day, like portrayed in those movies. Unfortunately, while I saw myself as a person who came from a country so vibrant, filled with history, and kind people, that is not how most peers and teachers viewed me. After years went by, I took the isolation, anger, and sadness I felt and poured it all into school. At first, I thought if I showed them who I was, they would like me, and then I realized that how I performed in school was the only thing I could control most. Right before high school, my family moved to a more diverse community, and through that, I knew that how I grew up should not be normalized, but it was. I am pursuing a degree in child and adolescent development to understand how a child’s ecosystem impacts their development with a minor in peace and conflict studies. Ultimately, I aspire to obtain my doctorate in pediatric clinical psychology and help children who have encountered traumas and been diagnosed with various disorders. After receiving my degree, I will continue to advocate for communities who may feel like the world is against them through my occupation and through organizing, protesting, and being part of communities that work to reform legislation that pushes an oppressive and stigmatizing narrative. While I cannot speak for every immigrant’s experience, I can talk from mine, and from that, I learned to keep going and not prove those who placed labels those who did not understand, and those who view me as “other” right. I learned to work to prove them wrong, and while that meant having to work two or three times as hard as others, I worked harder. In addition, I worked to be an advocate, and I want to push others to be. Chances are, if you are experiencing something, it means that at least one other person is experiencing something similar; no one is alone and never will be. While pursuing my degree, I am working full-time at a nonprofit in NY that supports those in addiction and mental health recovery. In addition, I work part-time as a pet sitter. While I enjoy my full-time and part-time jobs, it has taken a lot of sacrifice. I pay out of pocket for my Master’s degree, mainly due to not having a cosigner and having outstanding undergraduate loans. While my jobs allow me to pay for my tuition and some of my living expenses without loans, I cannot pay anything else. Despite having had to cut most of my hobbies due to working and attending school, I know that I will be one step closer to my dream of becoming a child clinical psychologist. Obtaining this scholarship would be a breath of fresh air and allow me to dedicate more time to my studies while also helping me feel less burnt out. I appreciate your consideration!

While there are a plethora of global, national, state, and local issues I care about such as protecting our planet, protecting endangered species, protecting the rights of unprivileged communities, and improving the child welfare system, the one I will discuss is supporting immigrants. At seven, I immigrated with my father to the United States from Alexandria, Egypt. When my father told me we were moving, I was terrified to leave my family (aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents), however, I was so excited. I recall watching movies and tv shows of what America was like and wanting to be someone who lived there. We moved to Carmel, NY a mostly homogeneous community that had at the time less than 10 percent of any communities of color and less than one percent Middle Eastern/North African. While the change from seeing almost everyone who looked like me to virtually no one was stark, I was still so excited. Even though I was young, I was so proud to be Egyptian and to share my culture with anyone who would listen. I dreamed of having friends over every day like portrayed in those movies. Unfortunately, that was not reality. While I saw myself as a person who came from a country so vibrant, filled with history, beautiful, and such kind people, I quickly realized that is not how people viewed me. After years went by, I took the isolation, anger, and sadness I felt and poured it all into school. At first, I thought if I showed them who I really am, they would like me, and then I realized that how I performed in school was the only thing I could control most. Right before high school began, my family moved to a more diverse community and through that, I knew that how I grew up should not be normalized, yet it was. Currently, I am pursuing my graduate degree in child and adolescent development to understand how a child’s ecosystem impacts their development and also peace and conflict studies. I want to help change the way the U.S views immigrants and populations of color, especially by having conversations with those who have opposing views. After I obtain my current degree, I hope to pursue a doctorate and become a pediatric clinical psychologist offering support to children who have encountered traumas. In addition, I want to continue pushing for legislation that supports children in the welfare system and immigration. I greatly appreciate your consideration!

“You must be one of the good ones”... " if every one of your kind was like you, the world would be a better place”... "oh wow, you speak English so well”. When I as seven, I immigrated with my father to the United States from Alexandria, Egypt. When my father told me we were moving, I was terrified to leave my family (aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents), and move, however, I was also so excited. I recall watching movies and tv shows of what America was like and wanting to be someone who lived there. We moved to Carmel, NY a mostly homogeneous community that had at the time less than 10 percent of any communities of color and less than one percent Middle Eastern/North African. While the change from seeing almost everyone who looked like me to virtually no one was stark, I was still so excited. Even though I was young, I was so proud to be Egpytain and to share my culture with anyone who would listen. I dreamed of having friends over every day like portrayed those movies. Unfortunately, that was not reality. While I saw myself as a person who came from a country so vibrant, filled with history, beautiful, and such kind people, I quickly realized that is not how people viewed me. My father caught on to this earlier than I did as he listened to me talk about my day at school, and because of this, he stopped speaking Arabic to me and told me not to speak about Egypt because people just wouldn’t understand. After years went by, I took the isolation anger, and sadness I felt and poured it all into school. At first, I thought if I showed them who I really am they would like me, and then I realized that how I performed in school was the only thing I could control most. Right before high school, my family moved a more diverse community and through that, I knew that how I grew up should not be normalized, yet it was. Answering the question of “how this experience shaped me” is challenging because I do not think I still fully know yet, what I know is that countless other students share similar stories. Other people are told false narratives about their own history, own culture, and who they are. Who are told to get out of a country that was built on immigrants and will collapse without them. Currently, I am pursuing my graduate degree in child and adolescent development to understand how a child’s ecosystem impacts their development and also peace and conflict studies. I want to help change the way the U.S views immigrants and populations of color, especially by having conversations with those who have opposing views. While I cannot speak for every immigrant’s experience, I can speak from mine, and from that, I learned to keep going and prove the doubters, those who place labels, those who do not understand, and those who just view you as “other”. Do not prove them right, and while that means having to work two or three times as harder as others, then work harder. In addition, be an advocate, and if you are experiencing something, it means that at least one other person is experiencing something similar. Find strength in numbers and do not isolate yourself because, as cliche as it may sound, you are not alone and never will be. Thank you so much for your consideration!

When I was 7, I immigrated with my father from Egypt to the United States. Our destination was Carmel, NY, a small town where over 90 percent of the population was White, and less than 1 percent were immigrants. My father, wanting me to acculturate to the city stopped speaking Arabic to me, and told me not to speak of Egypt or my culture at school. I was confused because I was proud to come from a country filled with life and history, however, he realized sooner than I did that was not how people may view me. Very quickly, I found myself living a double life, and despite trying to fit in, my classmates and teachers consistently reminded me that I was different. After a few years, I gave up and stayed to myself; while I did not have friends at school, at least I had my family and told myself that was more than enough. The truth is, while my dad was enough and provided an endless amount of support, I always felt like he did not understand because he never went to school in the U.S. and understood how mean children could be. However, as cliche as it could be I found solitude in school. While there were endless things at school, I could not control, at least I could control how well I did. While my father had goals for me, I enjoyed the challenge as it was also an opportunity to ahow my classmates and teachers that I was intelligent creative, and that the labels they tried to place on me were false. School allowed me to control the narrative, and that helped my mental health more than anything. For high school, I moved to a more diverse community and I realized that what I experienced for the first decade I was in the United States should not be normalized, and I would try to do what I could to decrease the hate, racism, and isolation that minoritized students feel. I currently work full-time at a nonprofit in Albany, NY that works to provide services to those struggling with addiction and mental health struggles. I coordinate our two scholarship and intern programs that allow those with lived experience to get a credential in mental health and substance use advocacy for free so they can support others who were previously struggling with the same things they were. In addition, I am a full time college student who is obtaining a degree in child and adolescent development, and I hope to obtain my doctorate in psychology. I could only think about how different my school experience could have been if I had a support system at school, and I want to be that support system for children. In addition, I will continue to advocate for immigrants because the truth is, everyone except native Americans is an immigrant of the U.S.

At the age of seven, I immigrated with my father from Egypt to the United States. Our destination was Carmel, NY, a small town where the SWANA (Southwest Asian and North African) population was less than 1 percent at the time—and remains so today. Arriving in this predominantly homogeneous community, I felt like a sunflower in a cornfield. My uniqueness stood out starkly against the backdrop of my new environment. As a child, I strived to find common ground with my peers, hoping to bridge the gap created by our differences. However, despite my best efforts, these differences were often highlighted in unsettling and isolating ways. I encountered unfounded rumors and misconceptions not just about me but about my country, my heritage, and my ethnicity. These rumors, devoid of any factual basis, painted a distorted picture that was deeply disheartening. The burden of representing an entire MENA (Middle Eastern and North African) population weighed heavily on my young shoulders. Whenever I strived to conform or to act “appropriately,” I was met with the peculiar comment, “You’re a good one,” implying that I was an exception to a negative stereotype applied to others. It became clear that this sentiment was less about me and more about the faulty narratives perpetuated by the broader community, often echoed by their parents. The prevailing stereotypes that cast MENA individuals as terrorists, thieves, or societal misfits have only partially waned over the years. While progress has been made, significant work is still required to dismantle these damaging narratives. The portrayal of MENA heritage as inherently negative remains a challenge that continues to affect perceptions and interactions. The historical context of this prejudice is rooted in the legacy of imperialism and colonization. Many SWANA countries have been subjected to centuries of foreign intervention that have contributed to their current economic and political struggles. These nations often grapple with poverty, financial instability, and high levels of corruption—issues exacerbated by ongoing Western influence that subtly ensures these countries remain dependent and underdeveloped. The systemic impact of such historical exploitation contributes to a misleading perception that these nations are incapable of stability or prosperity. The lack of accurate representation and understanding of SWANA countries further entrenches the prevailing false narratives. If the true history of these nations were taught more comprehensively and if the voices of individuals from these regions and their diasporas were not only heard but actively highlighted, the dominance of Western narratives would be challenged. By elevating these authentic voices, we can unravel the misconceptions and biases that persist. Furthermore, a more inclusive and accurate portrayal of SWANA history and culture could foster a greater appreciation for these nations' rich heritage and contributions. This shift in understanding has the potential to weaken the control exerted by dominant Western narratives and support the rebuilding efforts of SWANA countries. By promoting a more nuanced and respectful dialogue, we can work towards altering the negative stereotypes and enabling these nations to reclaim their narrative and achieve a more equitable global standing. Ultimately, the journey from feeling like an outlier to advocating for a more informed and empathetic perspective requires collective effort and perseverance. Through education, representation, and dialogue, we can challenge and transform the prevailing narratives, paving the way for a more just and accurate understanding of SWANA cultures and histories.

Currently, over 4 million people are living with traumatic brain injuries (TBIs), and the long-term effects can range from persistent headaches to serious mental health challenges. Seventeen years ago, I wouldn't have given much thought to the impact of a TBI. However, everything changed when my dad, who was both my primary caretaker and my guiding light, suffered a severe car accident. This accident not only altered the trajectory of his life but also fundamentally changed mine. My dad was a remarkable person. He had an innate ability to brighten any room he entered, making everyone feel at home, no matter how far they were from theirs. His presence was like the sun—warm, welcoming, and irreplaceable. But all of this changed drastically after his accident in 2007. Although he physically recovered after three months of intense rehabilitation, the emotional toll was far more profound. People often think of TBIs in terms of their physical impact, but the emotional and psychological consequences can be even more severe. My dad transformed from someone I confided in and shared everything with into a stranger I struggled to understand. His doctors reassured him that these changes were part of the healing process and that his brain simply needed time to recover. Yet, as time went on, the more he seemed unlike the person he once was. This emotional shift had a ripple effect on my own life, leading to my entry into the foster care system. Seven years later, when I aged out of the system, I was left grappling with a profound sense of loss, confusion, sadness, and guilt. A therapist once asked me if I harbored any anger toward my dad, and without hesitation, I answered "No." The therapist seemed surprised, and anticipating the follow-up question, I elaborated, "Because it wasn’t his fault. When he reported his behavioral changes to his doctor, he was told it was a normal part of the healing process. At that time, mental health issues were stigmatized, and therapy was often seen as a sign of weakness. My dad believed that seeking help would reflect poorly on him especially being a first generation immigrant" Today, I am encouraged by the growing acceptance of mental health discussions, but I yearn for a future where talking about mental health is not only normalized but seen as a sign of strength and respect. We must continue to challenge the stigma and create an environment where seeking help is encouraged, not discouraged especially with the immigrant population. I am currently enrolled at the University of Minnesota's Master's in Developmental Psychology Program. Through this program, I am aspire to continue studying the impacts of psychopathology-what the impacts of abnormal development are, and how we as a society can assist those individuals in the most effective and healing way possible. Thank you for your time and consideration.