Sacrifices—a word I learned far too early. I grew up watching my mother work tirelessly, to give me the best childhood and opportunities she could, even when it meant putting aside her own dreams. Her resilience gave me a deep desire to make those sacrifices worthwhile. From an early age, I felt a natural connection with children, which is why Elementary and Special Education never felt like a career choice, but rather the purpose God placed on my life. I am passionate about becoming the kind of teacher who sees children fully—beyond their disabilities, beyond their limitations, and beyond the labels society puts on them. I want to be the person who helps a child feel safe, seen, capable, and worthy every single day. That calling has shaped every sacrifice I have made, including the life-changing decision to leave my home country in pursuit of this dream. I was born and raised in The Bahamas, in a community where opportunities in education were limited and where many children went without the support they deserved. I spent years watching this, wishing I could do more, but knowing I needed an education to make a true impact. As a single mother, the idea of uprooting my life felt impossible, yet the desire to become a teacher never left me. I worked long hours, between jobs, saved every dollar I could, and slowly built the courage to try. When I finally saved enough to cover one year of tuition, I took a leap of faith that changed everything. I resigned from a secure job, packed whatever I could fit into two suitcases, held my daughter’s hand, and migrated to the United States—with no safety net, no family nearby, and no guarantee that I would succeed. All I had was a dream and the determination to create a better future for my daughter and the children I one day hoped to serve. Starting over has not been easy. I became solely responsible for tuition, rent, childcare, food, transportation, and managing my daughter’s health—while balancing school and work. There were nights I studied beside my daughter while she slept, mornings I rushed to class after dropping her off, and countless moments when the weight of it all felt heavier than my own body could bear. But every sacrifice reminded me why I came: to transform lives through education. My passion for education is very personal. Growing up, I watched my grandmother care for her non-verbal sibling with nothing but love and patience teaching me that communication is deeper than words—it is connection, consistency, and compassion. Later, when my daughter temporarily lost the ability to walk and write due to juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, I learned what it means to adjust your world around a child’s needs. I learned empathy in a way textbooks could never teach. These experiences didn’t just inspire my passion—they strengthened it. They showed me how powerful a caring educator can be in a child’s life, especially for those who struggle in silence. I want to be that support for my students: someone who celebrates their strengths, adapts to their needs, builds predictable routines, and creates a classroom filled with joy, safety, and learning. Every sacrifice—the move across countries, the financial strain, the late nights, the moments of doubt—has been worth it. I am building the life I once prayed for. Becoming a teacher is not only my dream; it is the contribution I want to give the world. I want to change the lives of children who need it most, one classroom, one family, and one moment of compassion at a time.

A child like Rebecca deserves a teacher who doesn’t just meet them where they are, but celebrates who they are. They deserve someone who sees the meaning behind their laughter, unique quirks, quiet ways of communicating, and the joy that lights up their world. That is the kind of educator I am determined to become—one who leads with empathy, patience, and heart. My understanding of special needs comes from a personal place. Growing up, I watched my grandmother care for her non-vocal sibling through creativity, patience, and simple, predictable routines. Even without words, there was rich communication—trust built through consistency and love. Her example taught me that communication is not limited to speech; it is presence, understanding, and connection. Years later, when my daughter temporarily lost the ability to walk and write due to juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, I learned how quickly a child’s ability can change. For three years, I adapted everything—daily tasks, expectations, even how I encouraged her. It demanded emotional strength I didn’t know I had. While her recovery is a blessing, it helped me understand what families of children with disabilities often face daily. It deepened my commitment to supporting children who may never fully “recover,” but who still deserve joy, love, and learning. With children like Rebecca, the goal is to build trust by learning their interests, comforts, and unique ways of expressing themselves. Students thrive when they feel valued and safe. I want every child to know they matter simply because they exist. In my classroom, I would use playful, sensory-friendly, and interactive methods to connect with all students, especially those non-verbal. Music, rhythm, and movement—even silly dances—can open communication pathways that words cannot. I would follow each child’s interests and build the environment around what excites them. If they love sports like Rebecca did, our classroom might become a stadium—scoreboards for progress, cheers for effort, and activities that make learning fun. To support communication, I would narrate actions and emotions to build vocabulary, and use interactive play—games, pretend scenarios, music, and movement—to create opportunities for connection. I would provide choices through picture cards, yes/no prompts, pointing responses, and simple visuals to help students express preferences independently. Visual schedules, routine boards, and single-step images would reduce anxiety and create structure. I would incorporate AAC devices, gestures, simplified language, allowing the necessary time children need to respond. Success would never be measured by grades, but by growth. My goal is to help each child feel proud, confident, and understood. Above all, I would teach through love. Children sense when adults genuinely care, and sometimes a gentle reassurance is all they need to keep trying. Family is central to this process. Families know their child’s joys, triggers, comforts, and fears better than anyone. I would collaborate closely with them to recreate familiar routines and support meaningful progress. I am committed to earning my degree in Elementary and Special Education and to working in special education from pre-K through 12th grade. As a first-generation college student and single mother, I am responsible for tuition, rent, food, transportation, childcare, and managing my daughter’s health. Without a financial safety net, scholarships like this make it possible for me to continue my education. What drives me most is knowing that not every child is as fortunate as my daughter, who recovered. Many need lifelong support, and I want to be someone who guides, encourages, and uplifts them. My heart is in this work, and I am committed to being the teacher who lights up a room the way Rebecca once did, helping them to feel valued, understood, and excited to learn.

If I could create one class that every student from K-12 would be required to take, it would be Emotional Intelligence and Life Skills for the Modern World. This course would teach children how to understand their emotions, communicate with empathy, handle challenges with resilience, and live with balance and purpose. In a world where technology shapes so much of our daily lives, I believe it’s more important than ever to teach students how to be emotionally grounded, self-aware, and kind — both to themselves and to others. The idea for this class came from both my personal journey and my studies. During my first semester of college, I took a prerequisite course centered on purposeful mindfulness. It emphasized being present, prioritizing mental and emotional health, and finding balance amid life’s demands. That course transformed how I approached learning — it reminded me that success is not just about academic excellence, but about developing the emotional strength and clarity to handle whatever life brings. It made me realize how much students of all ages would benefit from learning these skills early on. My life experiences as a single mother and caregiver deepened this belief. When my aunt suffered from a prescribed medical condition that caused depression, panic attacks, and extreme fatigue, I had to become her emotional anchor while raising my young daughter and continuing college. Those days tested every ounce of my patience and strength. But through it, I learned that emotional intelligence isn’t just about managing stress — it’s about empathy, compassion, and connection. I realized that if young people were taught these skills early, they’d be better equipped to handle adversity with courage and kindness. This class would combine emotional learning with practical life skills. Students would learn to identify emotions, set boundaries, manage conflicts, and build healthy relationships. They would explore mindfulness, coping strategies, and gratitude through interactive lessons. Technology would be used purposefully — digital journals, reflective storytelling, and collaborative online projects could enhance learning without replacing human connection. Hands-on experiences, such as group discussions, art therapy, or community service projects, would give students opportunities to put empathy into action. Inclusivity would be at the heart of this class. As a future special education teacher, I envision a classroom that celebrates every child’s unique way of learning and expressing themselves. Lessons would be designed to accommodate diverse needs, with activities that are sensory-friendly, visually supported, and emotionally accessible. Students with disabilities would learn not just academic content but also confidence, self-advocacy, and belonging — skills that empower them beyond the classroom. The impact of this course would reach far beyond school walls. Students would grow into adults who are not only educated but also emotionally intelligent — individuals who can lead with compassion, adapt with grace, and contribute to their communities with purpose. I want to teach children that success is not measured by how fast they achieve goals, but by how well they understand themselves and uplift others along the way. Through this class, I hope to plant seeds of empathy, self-awareness, and resilience that will grow for a lifetime. Because when we teach children to care for their hearts as much as their minds, we shape not only better students, but better people.

I was born and raised in Nassau, Bahamas, where access to opportunity often depends on financial means. Neither of my parents earned a college degree, and after high school, I couldn't afford to study in the U.S. Though I dreamed of higher education, it felt out of reach. My mother worked tirelessly, often holding more than one job, to provide for me. Watching her sacrifice without complaining taught me the meaning of strength, determination, and selflessness. Her example ignited my ambition, even before I had the courage to chase my dreams. As a shy, soft-spoken girl, I allowed others to dictate my path for years. I didn’t believe my voice mattered, but everything changed when I became a mother. I realized I needed to become the kind of woman I wanted my daughter to look up to: one who speaks up, leads with purpose, and break generational barriers. In Spring 2025, I finally began my college journey in the U.S. as a first-generation immigrant and mother, achieving a 4.0 GPA. I'm studying Elementary and Special Education because I want to help children grow up feeling confident, valued, loved, and heard. One day, I hope to open a nursery and preschool that serves all children with compassion and care. My journey is fueled by my mother’s sacrifices and my desire to build a better future for my daughter. This scholarship would support not just my education, but the legacy of strong women I represent—and the many lives I hope to impact.