Through my work with Safe Living Spaces (SLS), a nonprofit research organization dedicated to understanding traumatic brain injuries (TBI) in underserved populations, I developed a deeper understanding of the complexities of trauma, especially when it comes to veterans who suffer from service-related PTSD. Although I am not a veteran myself, my research into how chronic trauma affects the brain has given me a new lens through which to view PTSD, not as a weakness, but as a deeply human response to repeated exposure to violence, threat, or instability. At SLS, I focused on women impacted by domestic violence, particularly in Black and Hispanic communities, where traumatic experiences often go unrecognized or misdiagnosed. These women showed symptoms similar to those seen in veterans with PTSD and TBI, such as memory lapses, anxiety, emotional dysregulation, and difficulty sleeping, but their symptoms were often attributed to unrelated conditions like Alzheimer’s disease. This overlap made me question: How many veterans are also misdiagnosed or underserved due to a lack of culturally sensitive and trauma-informed care? One of the most powerful things I learned through this work is that trauma looks different in everyone. It can be silent and internal, but still alter behavior, relationships, and health in profound ways. Through literature reviews and working closely with professionals in the field, I began to understand how PTSD is not just a psychological issue but a neurological and social one. It's tied to access to care, community support, and the stigma that often prevents people, especially veterans, from seeking help. This insight fundamentally changed how I view mental health. I’ve come to see that healing from trauma requires more than therapy or medication alone. It requires validation, understanding, and systems of care that recognize how diverse backgrounds and experiences shape the way trauma is expressed. Veterans, like many of the women we worked with at SLS, often carry invisible wounds. I want to be someone who sees those wounds and helps build systems that acknowledge and address them compassionately. In the future, I hope to continue working in clinical and community-based settings that center trauma-informed care. My goal is to contribute to programs that support veterans by using research-backed interventions while also advocating for mental health resources that are accessible, culturally competent, and rooted in dignity. I believe my experience at SLS, especially in working to dismantle the misdiagnosis and mistreatment of trauma, will serve as a foundation for this work. Above all, my experience has taught me that healing is possible, but only if we are willing to truly listen to those who are suffering. I want veterans to know they are not alone in their pain. Whether through research, advocacy, or clinical work, I plan to use my knowledge and empathy to walk beside them in their journey toward recovery. Just as SLS helped bring overlooked suffering to light, I hope to shine that same light for those who have served our country and continue to carry its weight long after their service has ended.

My name is Sarah Krystkowiak, and I am a student at Northeastern University, pursuing a degree in Neuroscience. I begin my Doctoral program in the Fall. Throughout my academic journey, I’ve learned that success isn't just about achieving personal milestones but about making a positive difference in the world. I want to use my education to pursue a career in Neuropsychology where I can contribute to helping others, especially those in underrepresented or marginalized communities. Throughout my life, I’ve drawn inspiration from many sources, but none have influenced me more deeply than the music and messages of TXT. How I Became a MOA!! <3333 I became a MOA in 2019, shortly after TXT’s debut. A friend shared their song "Crown," and I was instantly hooked. The catchy energy, meaningful lyrics, and their presence made me feel like I was part of something bigger. As I explored more of their music, I discovered that TXT’s songs were more than just pop hits; they spoke to deeper emotions and experiences. Their lyrics about self-reflection, resilience, and growth resonated with me in ways that few other artists could. From that moment, I knew I wasn’t just a fan of their music—I was a member of a global community of beautiful MOAs. TXT’s authenticity, kindness, and relatability helped me feel connected to them, and it pushed me to become more active in the fandom. Why TXT Over Other Groups What makes TXT stand out from other groups is their ability to blend introspective, often difficult themes with upbeat, accessible music. They aren’t afraid to address issues like mental health, self-worth, and emotional struggles, which makes them stand out in the world of K-pop. The members of TXT, including Soobin’s leadership, Yeonjun’s charisma, Beomgyu’s playful nature, Taehyun’s intelligence, and Hueningkai’s warm-heartedness, each bring something unique to the group. I deeply admire their transparency and how they share their vulnerabilities, creating a genuine bond with fans. This openness has encouraged me to take a similar approach in my own life, being honest about challenges and supporting others through their own struggles. My absolute favorite Song/Moment One of my favorite TXT songs is “Blue Hour.” The song’s catchy beat and reflective lyrics about change and personal growth remind me of the importance of moving forward, even when things feel uncertain. I vividly remember watching the “Blue Hour” performance on a variety show, where the members spoke candidly about how they deal with personal struggles. That moment reminded me of the power of vulnerability and the strength that comes from facing challenges together. Seeing the group be so open with their fans reaffirmed my belief that it’s important to show both your strengths and weaknesses in order to connect with others and grow. How TXT Influenced My Career Choice or Aspirations for Good TXT’s music has had a significant influence on my career ambitions. Their lyrics about resilience, support, and self-discovery have inspired me to pursue a career in mental halthcare. I want to help others, especially those who may be struggling emotionally or mentally, just as TXT has done for me. The group’s messages of hope, perseverance, and self-empowerment have shaped the way I approach my work and relationships. Just like TXT, I want to be a source of positivity and strength for others. Whether I’m working in healthcare, social work, or education, I want to make a real difference in people’s lives by offering support and creating a space where people can feel seen and understood. How I Am Funding My Education Currently, I am funding my education through a combination of personal savings, financial aid, and a part-time job. However, the increasing cost of tuition and living expenses has made it difficult to cover all my educational expenses. This scholarship would provide vital support, helping me focus more on my studies and less on financial stress. It would allow me to continue pursuing my academic and professional goals without the constant worry of how to pay for my education.

During my time at Northeastern University, I realized the importance of prioritizing my mental and emotional health, especially as I faced pressures from academics, research, and extracurricular activities. While academic achievements were meaningful, they often came with heightened stress, which led to burnout. This imbalance started affecting my focus and overall well-being. I knew that to succeed in all areas of my life, I had to address my mental health. In response to this, I co-founded the Art and Creative Therapy Club at Northeastern University. The club’s mission was to create a supportive space for students to engage in creative activities as therapy. Many students, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, face challenges like cultural expectations and limited support systems. I wanted to offer a space for students to freely express themselves and prioritize mental health. Through the club, I learned that creative expression—whether through art, music, or writing—can be therapeutic. Engaging in creative activities allowed students to process emotions they couldn’t express with words. Watching peers express themselves freely reaffirmed that creative therapy can help people cope with stress and emotional challenges. Personally, facilitating the club was transformative. It allowed me to focus on something meaningful beyond academics. As I helped others express emotions, I felt more grounded. Helping others prioritize mental health helped me care for my own well-being. It allowed me to balance the stress of school and improve my focus and productivity. The feedback from students further solidified the importance of creative outlets for emotional expression. Many students expressed how grateful they were for a space where they could release the pressures of academic life. It was rewarding to see students from diverse backgrounds find comfort in a space where mental health could be discussed openly. The Art and Creative Therapy Club became a refuge where vulnerability was met with understanding. As I continued with the club, I realized how much students’ emotional well-being is tied to their support systems. The act of creating the club made me more aware of how emotional health is often overlooked in academic settings. It empowered me to push for more inclusive mental health resources that consider the unique needs of students. This experience taught me that emotional health is just as important as academic success. It reinforced my belief that self-care is essential for personal and professional success. Focusing on my mental health through the club helped me perform better academically and build stronger connections with peers. Moving forward, I’m committed to making mental health a priority in my life, both personally and professionally. The lessons I learned from the Art and Creative Therapy Club have shaped my approach to self-care and reinforced that caring for one’s emotional health is essential for long-term success. I now understand that I can’t pour from an empty cup, and to be effective in my work and relationships, I must continue prioritizing mental health. This experience has also shaped my future career in clinical psychology. I hope to create spaces where people, especially from marginalized communities, feel empowered to explore and express their emotions in healthy, creative ways. Addressing mental health involves more than treatment, it requires creating environments where people feel safe, supported, and understood. This mindset will guide me as I continue pursuing my goals in mental health.

Throughout my life, I have always been passionate about working with children. One experience that stands out for me, one that truly affirmed my desire to become a teacher, was during my time volunteering at a local after-school program. It was there that I had the privilege of working with a young boy named Elijah, a child who was struggling academically and emotionally. Over time, I was able to make a positive and lasting impact on his life, something that continues to inspire my work with children today. When I first met Elijah, he was a shy, withdrawn 9-year-old. He came from a single-parent household where his mother worked long hours, leaving him with limited support at home. Elijah was an average student but lacked confidence in his abilities. He had experienced emotional turmoil in his early years, which made him feel isolated. He often struggled with reading and got frustrated easily when he didn’t understand something. At first, Elijah was hesitant to engage with the other children. As a volunteer, I was assigned to work closely with him on his reading and homework, but I realized Elijah's difficulties went beyond academics. His lack of confidence was preventing him from even attempting tasks. Instead of forcing him into tasks, I decided to take a different approach. I began talking with him one-on-one, asking about his interests. I learned that he loved playing soccer, and we bonded over this shared interest. This connection helped Elijah open up and feel more comfortable. Over the weeks, I continued to encourage Elijah in small but consistent ways. I praised his efforts, even when the results weren’t perfect, and celebrated his progress. One of the most important things I did was reassure him that it was okay to fail, as long as he kept trying. Slowly, Elijah began to open up more during our sessions. His self-esteem started to improve, and he began showing more interest in his homework. One pivotal moment came during a reading exercise. Elijah had previously struggled with reading, often skipping over words he didn’t recognize. Instead of correcting him right away, I let him read aloud at his own pace. After finishing, he looked up and said, “I actually liked it. It wasn’t so bad.” That moment was a breakthrough. Elijah realized that reading didn’t have to be something to fear, and he could succeed with practice. As time passed, Elijah’s progress became more evident. He started participating more in group activities and helping his peers when they needed assistance. His academic performance improved, and so did his social interactions. His teachers began to notice a change as well, praising his efforts in class. Elijah’s emotional well-being improved too. He became more open and expressive, less afraid to ask for help or share his thoughts. Perhaps the most rewarding part of this experience was seeing Elijah’s pride in himself. One afternoon, he finished his homework ahead of schedule and said, “I’m ready to play soccer now!” I could see the spark in his eyes, a quiet sense of accomplishment. Elijah had gone from a child who struggled with self-doubt to someone who believed in his own abilities. Reflecting on my experience with Elijah, I realized how important it is to address not just a child’s academic needs, but their emotional needs as well. For children like Elijah, the emotional barriers they face often outweigh academic challenges. It’s essential to build trust, offer support, and create a safe space where they can explore their potential without fear of judgment. Every child has unique strengths, and sometimes, all they need is someone who believes in them enough to help them discover those strengths. This experience reinforced my passion for working with children, especially those who need extra support. It reminded me that the impact we have on a child’s life goes beyond grades or behavior. What truly matters is helping them believe in their worth and potential, empowering them to overcome challenges, and showing them that they are capable of more than they realize.

I am passionate about becoming a special education teacher because I believe in the transformative power of education, especially when it is grounded in empathy, patience, and the belief that every student has unique potential. Teaching, to me, is not simply about sharing knowledge. It is about helping students understand their worth, develop their identities, and find confidence in who they are. That is why the quote by Professor Harold Bloom resonates deeply: “I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” This quote captures the idea that teaching is not just academic instruction; it is about helping students become fully aware of themselves. A student's “sense of presence” means being conscious of their individuality, their strengths, and their place in the world. For students with special needs, finding this sense of self can be difficult. They often face stigma, exclusion, or internal doubt. As a future special education teacher, my mission is to guide students toward that awareness by helping them recognize their capabilities, their value, and their growth. To accomplish this, I will focus on building relationships that are rooted in trust and respect. It is essential to see the student as a whole person, not just a list of diagnoses or learning challenges. I will take time to learn about each student’s interests, communication style, and emotional needs. When students feel seen and heard, they begin to understand that their presence in the classroom matters. A key part of helping students recognize their own presence is creating an environment that encourages autonomy and choice. Even small decisions, like picking a preferred learning activity or choosing how to respond to a question, can build confidence. For students who may feel powerless in other areas of life, the classroom can become a space of empowerment. It is here that they begin to understand that they are active participants in their own learning, not passive recipients. I will also emphasize progress and personal achievement. Many students with disabilities have been told, directly or indirectly, what they cannot do. I want to shift that narrative by showing students what they can do and celebrating every milestone, no matter how small. Whether a student speaks a new word, completes an assignment independently, or demonstrates a new social skill, I will ensure that those moments are acknowledged and valued. These experiences help students build a more positive and confident sense of self. Building a sense of community in the classroom is equally important. Peer relationships contribute greatly to a student’s sense of belonging. I will foster an inclusive classroom culture where students support each other and learn from one another. When students feel accepted and respected by their peers, it strengthens their confidence and their sense of identity. Family involvement will also be central to my teaching philosophy. A student’s identity is shaped both in and out of school, so open communication with caregivers is essential. I plan to collaborate closely with families, not only to support academic success but also to build consistency and connection between home and school. Above all, I know that being a special education teacher means being present myself. I must model the kind of reflection, adaptability, and openness I hope to instill in my students. Each child will bring a unique perspective, and I must remain open to learning from them just as much as I teach. Teaching is not just my career goal—it is a deeply personal calling. I want every student I work with to feel seen, valued, and capable. That is how I will guide them toward their own sense of presence. That is the kind of legacy I hope to build as a teacher.

To me, legacy is not about status, wealth, or titles. It is about impact—the way our values, actions, and choices echo beyond our own lives. Legacy is the imprint we leave on others, especially those we may never meet. It is found in the lessons we pass on, the barriers we dismantle, and the compassion we show even when no one is watching. Legacy is about using what we have been given, whether blessings or burdens, and transforming it into something meaningful for the next generation. My upbringing has been a complex blend of resilience, pressure, and quiet strength. I grew up in an environment where success was defined in narrow terms, mostly through academic achievement, stability, and quiet perseverance. Conversations about mental health, emotional struggle, or personal identity were not always welcomed. Like many in immigrant or working-class households, I felt the weight of unspoken expectations: to be strong, to be grateful, and to make everything look easy. There was deep love in my family, but also a fear of failure that shaped how we approached the world. That fear was passed down through worry, perfectionism, and silence about emotional pain. This upbringing influenced the early direction of my life in both powerful and limiting ways. On one hand, I became incredibly driven and hardworking. I learned to navigate systems, advocate for myself, and take pride in being dependable. On the other hand, I struggled with internalizing stress and pushing through emotional pain without addressing it. I often wore resilience like armor, even when it was breaking me down. For a long time, I believed vulnerability was a weakness and that asking for help was a luxury I could not afford. But as I began volunteering and working in mental health settings, I saw reflections of myself in the clients I met, especially those from underrepresented backgrounds. I saw the shame they carried around emotions, the pressure to be strong for others, and the internal battles they never shared. It was through this mirror that I started to unlearn the silence I had grown up with. I began to understand that healing, like legacy, is not only about personal survival. It is also about creating space for others to thrive. Now, my legacy will not be about keeping cycles going, but about breaking them gently, with love and purpose. I plan to continue the legacy of hard work and family loyalty that my upbringing instilled in me, but I refuse to pass on the legacy of silence, shame, or emotional suppression. I want to help others, especially young people from marginalized communities, see that they can honor their roots while also choosing a new path. Through my future work as a clinician and researcher, I hope to challenge systems that make people feel invisible or unworthy of care. I plan to create mental health spaces that reflect the communities they serve, where cultural identity is embraced and emotional needs are met without judgment. I want to empower others to speak their truths, access care, and rewrite their own narratives. My legacy will be one of advocacy, inclusion, and healing. I want to be remembered not just for what I achieved but for how I showed up for others, for the ways I helped people feel safe, understood, and capable of change. I believe we honor the people who came before us by building better conditions for those who come after. That is the legacy I strive to leave behind, one rooted in courage, compassion, and transformation.

My journey through neuroscience and psychology, have shaped how I see the world, build relationships, and envision my future. What began as observations in clinical and community settings grew into a commitment to reshaping mental health systems so they are more accessible and responsive to marginalized populations. Every experience I have had, whether in a research lab, nonprofit, or care facility, has influenced my goals and strengthened my belief in equity and empathy. I was first drawn to the external barriers that impact health care but are often invisible. While volunteering at an assisted living community, I noticed the emotional toll on patients whose families rarely visited. At first, this seemed like neglect, but I began asking deeper questions. Were these families unable to take time off work? Did they lack transportation? Did guilt or shame prevent them from showing up? These reflections reframed my understanding of mental health. It is not just an internal experience; it is shaped by systemic pressures and cultural expectations. I saw how stigma can prevent people from seeking help, especially in communities where emotional vulnerability is discouraged. At the ophthalmologic surgery center, I saw these barriers directly impact treatment. Many patients came from underserved backgrounds, especially children with neurodevelopmental conditions. Their struggles stemmed less from their diagnoses and more from limited support systems. Missed follow-up appointments were often the result of parents juggling multiple jobs or lacking transportation. These experiences showed how rarely treatment plans account for real-life constraints and reinforced my belief in the need for contextually relevant care. These clinical encounters also changed how I relate to others. I now understand that behaviors like withdrawal or detachment are often signs of unspoken pain or burnout. This shift has helped me become more patient and present in my relationships. As a research assistant at Safe Living Spaces, I studied traumatic brain injuries in women affected by domestic violence, especially in Black and Hispanic communities. These women were often misdiagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease due to the lack of culturally sensitive diagnostic tools. Through this work, I saw how race, gender, and socioeconomic status affect outcomes. I also learned that research is not neutral. The populations we study and the questions we ask reflect our priorities. Inclusive research is essential for creating equitable care. On campus, I co-founded the Art and Creative Therapy Club after a mental health crisis impacted students. The club gave students a space for creative expression and access to culturally attuned therapists. This work deepened my dedication to building services that reflect the experiences of the communities they serve. At Harvard’s Mind Brain Behavior Research Lab, I helped study how neurodevelopmental disorders affect reward processing in children. I worked on EEG protocols, data collection, and analysis. We found that children from lower socioeconomic backgrounds often had more severe symptoms, aligning with my past observations. External stressors affect not just behavior, but also development. In Belgium, I led a capstone project on the anterior olfactory nucleus in mice and its role in exploratory behavior. I used DREADDs, antibody staining, and confocal microscopy to study how novelty is processed in the brain. Collaborating with international researchers showed me how other countries emphasize prevention and community-based care. These models often support marginalized groups more effectively than those in the United States. This global perspective broadened my vision of what mental health care can be. These experiences taught me that mental health is both a clinical concern and a social justice issue. I am committed to creating systems that treat the whole person and remove barriers to healing.

My journey through mental health, both personally and professionally, has shaped how I see the world, how I build relationships, and how I envision my future. What began as observations in clinical and community settings evolved into a deep commitment to reshaping mental health systems so they are more accessible, inclusive, and responsive to the needs of marginalized populations. Every experience, whether in a research lab, nonprofit organization, or care facility, has influenced my professional goals and strengthened my belief in equity, compassion, and the importance of context in human behavior. I was first drawn to the external barriers that impact mental health but are often invisible. While volunteering at an assisted living community, I noticed the emotional toll on patients whose families rarely visited. At first, this seemed like neglect, but I began asking deeper questions. Were these families unable to take time off work? Did they lack transportation? Did shame prevent them from showing up? These reflections reframed how I understood mental health. It is not just an internal experience; it is shaped by systemic pressures and societal expectations. I also saw how shame and stigma can prevent people from seeking help, which I am driven to change. At the ophthalmologic surgery center, I saw these barriers directly affect treatment outcomes. Many patients came from underserved backgrounds, particularly children with neurodevelopmental conditions. Their struggles were not due only to their diagnoses but to limited support systems. Missed follow-up appointments often resulted from families juggling multiple jobs or lacking transportation. These experiences strengthened my belief in the importance of context-aware care. I now recognize that behaviors like withdrawal or disengagement often reflect exhaustion or unspoken pain. This shift has helped me become a more patient, curious, and present person in all my relationships, both personal and professional. As a research assistant for Safe Living Spaces, I examined traumatic brain injuries in women affected by domestic violence, especially within Black and Hispanic communities. These women were often misdiagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease due to a lack of culturally sensitive diagnostic tools. I saw how race, gender, and socioeconomic status can influence outcomes. The ways we conduct studies reflects our values and inclusive research is essential. On campus, I co-founded the Art and Creative Therapy Club, providing a space for students to engage in creative expression and connect with culturally attuned therapists. I saw how essential it is for resources to reflect the lived experiences of the communities they serve. At Harvard’s Mind Brain Behavior Research Lab, I helped investigate how neurodevelopmental disorders influence reward processing in children. We observed that children from lower socioeconomic backgrounds often exhibited more severe symptoms. This supported what I had already seen: external stressors affect not only mental health but also neurodevelopment. These findings increased my interest in a home-based therapeutic approach. In Belgium, I led a capstone research project studying the anterior olfactory nucleus in mice and its role in exploratory behavior. I used antibody staining and confocal microscopy to investigate olfactory systems. Collaborating with international researchers, I saw how other countries approach mental health with a preventative and community-centered model. Their systems are much more beneficial for minority populations than those in the United States. This expanded my vision of what mental health care can and should be. These experiences taught me that mental health is both a clinical concern and a social justice issue. I am committed to building systems of care that help remove the cultural, financial, and structural barriers that keep people from healing. I will contribute to research and practice that is inclusive, culturally informed, and rooted in equity.

My mental health significantly impacts both my academic performance and personal life. As I navigate the challenges of graduate school, I’ve learned how essential it is to maintain a healthy mental state in order to excel academically and manage relationships. When my mental health is in a good place, I am able to stay focused, engage deeply with my coursework, and perform at my best. However, when I am feeling stressed, anxious, or overwhelmed, it becomes much harder to manage my time, meet deadlines, and keep up with the demanding nature of my studies. Academically, mental health plays a central role in my ability to engage with material. If I am feeling mentally drained or stressed, I struggle to concentrate and absorb information. It becomes difficult to retain what I’m studying. During particularly stressful periods, I have noticed that I can become easily distracted and this cycle of stress can reduce productivity. In addition to academic performance, my mental health also influences my personal life. When I’m feeling mentally unwell, I tend to withdraw from others and feel overwhelmed by social obligations or unable to connect emotionally, which makes it harder to maintain strong, healthy relationships. I’ve also learned that neglecting my mental health can result in feelings of isolation, as I may avoid seeking support from others out of shame. To ensure that my mental health doesn’t negatively impact my academic work and personal life, I’ve taken several steps to prioritize self-care. First, I maintain a consistent routine that includes time for rest, relaxation, and social connection. Maintaining a balance between school and personal time is essential to keeping my stress levels in check. Going for a walk, practicing mindfulness, or simply stepping away from my work to recharge is essential. Sleep and nutrition are the foundations of wellness, so I maintain healthy habits that prioritize them. Another key strategy I use to prioritize my mental health is setting realistic expectations for myself. As a graduate student, it’s easy to fall into the trap of perfectionism and put immense pressure on myself to be flawless in every aspect of my work. I’ve learned that this mindset can lead to burnout and self-criticism, so I focus on progress rather than perfection. I break larger tasks into more manageable steps, which allows me to stay focused without feeling overwhelmed by the bigger picture. I also make it a point to seek support when needed. Whether it’s through a therapist, mentor, or friend, I’ve realized that it’s crucial to have a support system in place to navigate difficult moments. Support a vital part of maintaining my mental health and ensuring that I can continue to thrive academically and personally. Reaching out for help has allowed me to stay grounded and regain perspective during stressful times. Additionally, I practice mindfulness regularly. These practices help me recognize when stress is beginning to build up. By checking in with myself, I can take proactive steps to manage my mental state. Journalling techniques have been especially helpful in increasing my resilience, as I navigate such a demanding field. Ultimately, I’ve learned that prioritizing mental health is not only important for academic success but for overall well-being. By actively taking steps to care for myself, I’m better equipped to succeed academically, nurture meaningful relationships, and pursue my goals of becoming a clinical psychologist who can help others. Prioritizing mental health has become a foundational aspect of my approach to both my personal life and academic journey, and I will continue to make it a priority as I move forward in my career.

My journey through mental health, both personally and professionally, has deeply transformed how I see the world, how I engage in relationships, and how I envision my future. What began as a set of observations in clinical and community settings evolved into a commitment to reshaping mental health systems so they are more accessible, inclusive, and attuned to the real needs of marginalized populations. Each experience I’ve had, whether in a research lab, nonprofit setting, or care facility, has shaped not only my professional goals but also my core beliefs about equity, compassion, and human behavior. I was initially drawn to the psychological impact of external, often invisible, barriers. While volunteering at an assisted living community, I noticed the emotional weight that accompanied patients whose families rarely visited. It may have appeared to be neglect, but I began to ask: Were these families unable to take time off work? Did they lack transportation? Could guilt or shame be preventing them from showing up? These questions reshaped how I viewed mental health—not as a purely internal experience but one shaped by systems, obligations, and societal structures. It highlighted how shame and stigma prevent people from seeking care or connecting with others, especially in communities where vulnerability is rarely discussed. These realizations pushed me to think critically about how cultural and socioeconomic pressures shape emotional expression and treatment engagement. At the ophthalmologic surgery center, I saw how these barriers affected real recovery. Patients from marginalized backgrounds, especially children with neurodevelopmental conditions, didn’t struggle due to severity of condition, but due to fragmented support systems. Families lacked reliable transportation. Parents worked multiple jobs. Follow-up care was often missed not because of disinterest, but because families were forced to choose between care and survival. These moments made it clear how rarely treatment plans account for these external realities and support the families that are care for individuals with mental illnesses or disorders. My belief in culturally responsive care solidified: effective treatment must consider the full context of a patient’s life. These clinical experiences didn’t just shape my professional direction. They changed how I engage in personal relationships. I now understand that behaviors that seem distant or disengaged often come from exhaustion or trauma. I’ve learned to ask questions with curiosity, not assumption. In mental healthcare, it’s essential to let your lived experiences inform your understanding and guide your actions with wisdom and intention. However, those experiences should never become a barrier to growth. True competence requires remaining open to new information, perspectives, and evolving science—because each client, context, and moment brings something unique to learn from. These relational changes have made me more grounded, both as a clinician and as a friend, daughter, and colleague. In my research with Safe Living Spaces, I encountered the consequences of exclusion in science. We studied traumatic brain injuries in women affected by domestic violence, especially those in Black and Hispanic communities. These women were often misdiagnosed with Alzheimer’s due to a lack of inclusive diagnostic tools. Literature reviews revealed how the intersections of race, gender, and socioeconomic status impacted outcomes, and how the absence of culturally attuned research perpetuated harm. It became clear to me: science and research are not neutral. Who we include, the questions we ask, and the outcomes we measure reflect our values. If we want equity, we must design research with equity in mind. My desire to create change extended to my campus. After a mental health crisis impacted my community, I co-founded the Art and Creative Therapy Club to support students, especially those from immigrant families facing intense academic and financial pressures. I saw how cultural identity and instability shaped students’ mental health in ways traditional university services weren’t equipped to address. The club provided a space to be seen, express complex emotions, and connect with therapists who reflected the students’ experiences. This reinforced my dedication to building interventions that allow people to bring their full selves into healing environments. I backed these insights with data during my time at Harvard’s Mind Brain Behavior Research Lab. We studied how neurodevelopmental disorders affected reward processing in children. I helped develop protocols, ran EEG and eye-tracking studies, and analyzed data. One trend stood out: children from lower socioeconomic backgrounds often displayed more severe symptoms. It affirmed what I’d seen—external stressors don’t just impact emotions; they affect brain development. This sparked a lasting interest in how early, school-based and family-centered interventions could reduce disparities in developmental outcomes. During my senior year, I deepened my scientific skills by leading a capstone project in Belgium. There, I investigated how the anterior olfactory nucleus in mice influences exploratory behavior, especially in response to new vs. familiar odors. I designed protocols, introduced younger mice into the model, and used DREADDs, antibody staining, and confocal microscopy to examine neural pathways. But the most meaningful part of the experience was working with international colleagues. I saw how other countries emphasized prevention, community-based treatment, and mental health access as a public health priority. These systems often served minority populations more effectively than what I’ve seen in the U.S., and I left determined to advocate for global collaboration in mental health research and policy. Across each of these roles, I have been guided by the belief that mental health is both a clinical and a social justice issue. My commitment is to create care systems that don’t just alleviate symptoms, but remove barriers to healing. I want to work with providers and researchers who share this vision—who want to develop treatment that is not only evidence-based, but inclusive of each person’s cultural, social, and economic reality. Mental health care should be a right, not a privilege. This belief has shaped how I show up in every area of my life. In relationships, it has helped me meet others with compassion instead of criticism. In research, it has guided me to ask questions that center lived experiences. And in my career, it has become my mission: to advocate, to study, and to lead toward a more equitable and human-centered mental health system.