Pursuing higher education as a first-generation student is not only a dream—it’s a promise to myself and my family that I will break cycles, open doors, and create a future rooted in growth and purpose. Although my mother graduated from college, my father did not finish school. And among my extended family—my cousins, aunts, uncles—I am the first to go to college and now the first to pursue a graduate degree. I carry that distinction with pride and responsibility. My academic journey began in the face of personal loss and transformation. When I was 12, my grandfather passed away from colon cancer. That loss left a lasting impact on me and sparked my interest in understanding health, biology, and the mind. I became fascinated with the connection between our physical and mental health, which led me to major in psychology. Over time, this passion grew into a desire to explore the biological foundations of mental processes and neurological disorders—guiding me toward a career in neuroscience. My motivation runs deeper than just personal ambition. I want to honor the sacrifices my grandparents made as Italian immigrants. They came to this country with little more than determination, grit, and the hope of building a better life for future generations. They worked tirelessly, often in physically demanding jobs, so their children—and one day their grandchildren—could have opportunities they never did. Their strength and perseverance shaped the values that guide me today. Being the first in my family to take this path isn’t just about success. It’s about legacy. I want my life and my work to reflect the resilience and hope they instilled in me. I want to make a difference in the world—not just for myself, but for others who come from humble beginnings and dream of something more. I believe that through science and service, I can be a bridge between struggle and progress. I’ve recently been accepted into the Molecular Cell Biology and Neuroscience master’s program at Rowan University, a milestone on my path toward a research career. But getting here wasn’t simple. Without close family members who had navigated the path before me, I had to learn how to apply for college, financial aid, and research opportunities entirely on my own. I’ve spent countless hours researching how to strengthen my application, connect with mentors, and prepare for graduate-level science without a background in biology. Despite these hurdles, I’ve remained focused and determined. I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout my academic career, published a peer-reviewed article on neurotoxins, and shadowed researchers at the Princeton Neuroscience Institute to gain real-world experience. Being a first-generation college student comes with emotional weight. There’s pressure to succeed, to make it all worthwhile—not just for myself but for those who never had the opportunity. I’ve had to juggle everything—deadlines, part-time jobs, family obligations—without the safety net many of my peers have. Still, every obstacle I’ve faced has only made me more resilient, resourceful, and passionate about my goals. In the future, I plan to pursue a doctoral degree and become a researcher focused on neuroscience, mental health, and healing. I want to contribute to scientific understanding in a way that leads to real solutions—especially for communities often overlooked in traditional research. This scholarship would be a tremendous support as I continue my academic journey. More than financial relief, it would symbolize recognition—proof that my hard work, ambition, and dreams matter. I may be the first in my family to do this, but I won’t be the last. I am building a legacy—one that honors the past and shapes a better future.

Cancer has been a constant presence in my life. At 12 years old, I watched my grandfather, who was like a father to me, suffer and pass away from colon cancer. I was there when he took his last breath, and that moment forever changed me. Since then, my family has been haunted by cancer. My grandmother, a woman of incredible strength, has been battling cancer for years. Despite the long, painful fight, she continues to inspire me with her resilience. On top of that, I lost my aunt to ovarian cancer, another painful reminder of the toll this disease can take on a family. The grief and fear cancer brings are overwhelming, but so is the sense of unity it creates among the people it touches. It has shown me how fragile life is, but also how important it is to hold onto love, hope, and perseverance in the face of hardship. Cancer has shaped much of my perspective on life and my education. Seeing my family struggle with the emotional and financial burdens of cancer has instilled in me a deep sense of empathy and a desire to help others who are facing similar challenges. Watching my grandmother fight each day with determination, despite her pain, has inspired me to push through my own struggles. The financial strain of battling cancer has made it difficult for my family to focus on anything beyond survival. The funds spent on treatment, medications, and hospital bills are staggering, often leaving little room for other aspects of life, including education. Despite this, I’ve always known that my education is a pathway to a better future—not just for myself, but for those who depend on me. I am currently pursuing my master's degree, and it is my goal to one day contribute to cancer research, working toward better treatment options and, ultimately, finding a cure. This scholarship represents more than just financial support to me—it is an opportunity to continue my academic journey and honor the sacrifices my family has made. It is a chance to turn the pain of loss into purpose. I hope to contribute to the growing body of cancer research, whether through clinical studies, lab work, or supporting patients in their journey. By combining my personal experiences with my academic goals, I want to help ease the suffering of those battling cancer. Cancer has taught me that life is unpredictable, and that it’s important to cherish every moment. It has shown me that the strength of the human spirit can overcome even the greatest obstacles. I’ve learned the importance of community, resilience, and compassion. These lessons continue to shape who I am as a person and as a student, and I carry them with me as I move forward in my education and life. I am determined to make the most of the opportunities I have, to honor my grandfather’s memory, to support my grandmother in her fight, and to ensure that my aunt’s passing was not in vain. This scholarship will allow me to continue my education, overcome obstacles, and work toward a future where I can make a positive difference in cancer research, helping others who are struggling, just as my family has.

For much of my life, I’ve wrestled with a fear that most people don’t see. On the outside, I appeared quiet, reserved, or maybe even disinterested. But inside, I was constantly battling thoughts that made even the smallest social interactions feel overwhelming—what if I say the wrong thing? What if they judge me? What if I embarrass myself? Social anxiety has been a quiet shadow following me for years. It made school difficult in ways most people wouldn’t understand—group projects felt like punishment, presentations kept me up the night before, and even walking into a crowded cafeteria felt like stepping onto a stage I never auditioned for. Friends were hard to make, and harder to keep, not because I didn’t care, but because anxiety convinced me I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t diagnosed until later in high school. By then, I had become good at masking my discomfort, but it didn’t make the internal struggle any easier. Getting the diagnosis helped me put a name to the invisible wall I had been pushing against. Therapy and self-reflection helped me learn coping tools, and little by little, I started to challenge the voice in my head that told me I wasn’t capable. Choosing to pursue a college education is my way of fighting back. It’s a daily decision to grow beyond fear and to believe in the future I want for myself. I’m working toward a degree in psychology because I want to help others understand themselves and their mental health. I want to normalize conversations around anxiety, especially for those who feel isolated by it like I once did. College is more than a degree to me—it’s a symbol of progress, resilience, and hope. It represents the courage it takes to show up every day, even when your mind is filled with doubt. I’ve learned that ambition isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s quiet determination. And I carry that with me as I work toward a future where I can help others rise above the same struggles I’ve faced. The truth is, anxiety still affects me—but I’ve learned that healing is not about being “cured.” It’s about finding the strength to keep moving forward anyway. Every time I speak up in class, apply for a scholarship, or introduce myself to someone new, I feel myself growing. These moments used to terrify me. Now they empower me. Through this experience, I’ve gained a deep understanding of empathy. I’ve learned how to meet people where they are, how to listen without judgment, and how to support others who may be fighting battles no one else can see. These are the skills I hope to bring into the world as a future mental health professional. I want to create spaces where others feel safe, seen, and supported—especially those who feel silenced by anxiety. Receiving this scholarship would not only lighten the financial burden of higher education but would also validate the journey I’ve taken to get here. It would remind me that strength looks different for everyone and that overcoming personal obstacles deserves to be recognized. Most importantly, it would help me continue pursuing the life I once thought anxiety had stolen from me. I’m no longer just the “quiet one.” I am a determined, passionate, and resilient student who is working every day to reclaim my voice—and to help others do the same.

There are days when just waking up feels like climbing a mountain. Living with Complex PTSD from sexual assault has made many parts of life feel heavier than they should be. Add to that ADHD, OCD, tics, body dysmorphia, anxiety, and depression, and sometimes I feel like I’m juggling storms while trying to walk a straight path. But despite it all—or maybe because of it all—I’ve become someone who refuses to give up. Mental health hasn’t been a chapter in my life; it’s been the whole book so far. There were moments when the weight of it all almost pulled me under. Times when I questioned my worth, my future, and whether I had the strength to keep going. But each time, I chose to stay. I chose to keep showing up for myself, even when the world felt too loud and my mind too heavy. School wasn’t just about grades for me—it was a battlefield of focus and self-doubt. With ADHD, staying present was a challenge; with OCD and anxiety, I’d spiral into overthinking every word, every movement. But I pushed through. I found strategies. I built routines. I asked for help when I needed it. And when shame told me to stay silent, I spoke anyway—because I knew staying quiet only made the shadows grow. My identity and mental health are deeply intertwined. There’s a particular loneliness that comes with feeling misunderstood, especially in systems not built for neurodivergent or trauma-affected minds. I know what it’s like to sit in a classroom, heart racing, trying to mask a tic or a panic attack. I know the sting of looking in the mirror and not recognizing the body staring back, consumed by body dysmorphia. And yet, here I am—still learning, still reaching, still trying to make something beautiful from all the pain I’ve carried. What keeps me going is the belief that my survival has a purpose. That maybe my story can help others feel less alone. I hope to one day use my education and lived experience to contribute meaningfully to the fields of mental health and neuroscience, to research the very conditions that shaped me, and to advocate for others who have been silenced or dismissed. The Elijah’s Helping Hand Scholarship would not only ease the financial weight of my education—it would honor a legacy I feel deeply connected to. I understand the darkness that can make someone feel like there’s no way out. And I want to be part of building a world where there is always a hand reaching back. Where there is always a reason to stay. I didn’t choose my challenges, but I choose, every day, to persevere through them. That, to me, is what strength looks like.

Entering higher education as a second-generation immigrant has been a journey marked by both hope and concern. The hope comes from the belief that I can build a better future for myself and my family, but the concern arises from the overwhelming barriers that come with being an outsider to a system that wasn’t built for people like me. As the first in my family to pursue a graduate degree, I’ve had to navigate an educational landscape that is often unfamiliar and unwelcoming. This journey has been shaped by both the opportunities and challenges that come with being a second-generation immigrant in the United States. My grandparents immigrated from Italy, and while their experience is part of my family’s legacy, it also means I didn’t grow up with direct access to the systems and knowledge that many of my peers had. My parents, who were born in the U.S. but didn’t have the opportunity to attend higher education themselves, didn’t have the resources or experience to help guide me through the complexities of applying to college, managing finances, or navigating academic expectations. There were no family members who had gone through this process, and no one who could provide insight into how to succeed in a collegiate environment. This lack of familiarity with the system has sometimes felt isolating, but it has also fueled my determination to succeed. The challenges of being a second-generation immigrant pursuing higher education have shaped my future goals in profound ways. I’m currently pursuing a master’s degree in Molecular Cell Biology and Neuroscience at Rowan University, driven by a passion for understanding the brain and its connection to behavior. However, the road ahead is not without its challenges. The cost of education remains a constant concern, and the pressure to excel in an unfamiliar environment can be overwhelming. Balancing my work, studies, and the emotional weight of being an outsider to a system that doesn’t always recognize my unique struggles has been difficult at times. Despite these obstacles, my experience as a second-generation immigrant has given me resilience and a sense of purpose. It has taught me the importance of perseverance, resourcefulness, and self-advocacy. My journey has also shaped my future goals: to help bridge the gap in access to education for other underrepresented students and to contribute to groundbreaking research that can improve lives. I want to use my education not only to create opportunities for myself but to help others in my community who may feel like outsiders in the system. The challenges I’ve faced as a second-generation immigrant have certainly impacted my educational journey, but they have also strengthened my resolve. I am committed to using my experiences to make a difference in the world, and I hope to be a source of inspiration for others who feel they don’t belong in higher education. My ultimate goal is to break the cycles of limited opportunity and to show that with persistence and the right support, anyone can succeed, regardless of their background.