"I’m a good daughter," I think as I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, my body tired but my mind still racing. "I’m good enough," I whisper while brushing my teeth, adjusting my uniform like armor before another long shift. "I can do it," I tell myself again, smiling as I hand a printed photo to a happy family at Six Flags, their joy briefly eclipsing my exhaustion. "This is for us," I remind myself. Every time I get paid, I send my mom half my paycheck, for food, clothes, school supplies. I send it without a word, then retreat to my room. No one asks how I’m doing, and I’ve stopped expecting them to. But I still fold my uniform neatly. I still wake up early. I still smile at strangers. Because if I stop, who will hold us together? Growing up with a single Black teen mother, young, strong, and doing her best with what little we had, I learned responsibility early. As the oldest of three, I held my siblings’ hands while my mom worked late shifts. I learned to stretch a dollar when payday was too far away. All I wanted was to make her proud—not just for what she sacrificed, but for who she is. I wanted to break the cycle. To rise above what we were handed. I wanted to give my mom, my grandma, and my siblings the life we never had. A home. Freedom. Choices. Dreams that didn’t feel too big to chase. But some nights, I still lay in bed wondering why? why I felt like I wasn’t enough, even when I gave my all. I’ve worked since I was 15, after school, often on weekends. I pushed myself in honors classes, trying to prove I belonged. I was the funny friend, the strong one, the peacemaker. But the problem was, I left myself out of the equation. Was I not good enough? Because I didn’t get straight A’s like the other kids? Was it because I wasn’t pretty enough, not light enough, not loud or quiet enough? Why did I feel so behind, when I’d been doing everything right? Why did I have to grow up so fast, while others got to take their time? Eventually, I stopped hiding it. I opened up to the one person I trusted most—my mom. She never finished high school and depends on government aid, but she’s always been my strength. That night, I broke down in her arms. I told her everything: how I felt invisible, tired, not good enough. I was a sixteen, almost seventeen-year-old Black girl trying to hold it all together. And then she said something that changed everything. “I may not know much about your schoolwork,” she said, “but I’m so proud of you, Shayla. More than you’ll ever know.” She told me I was beautiful. That I was intelligent. That I was enough. The only thing she hated was how long I’d carried it all alone. At that moment, I realized that strength doesn’t mean doing everything by yourself, and worth isn’t measured by perfection. I understood that love and pride don’t depend on grades or trophies, they come from the heart. That night didn’t fix everything. But it sparked a new understanding of myself and my worth. It helped me start healing and showed me that I can ask for support without losing strength. When I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, body tired but mind still racing, I remind myself with more certainty, and a quiet smile: I am a good daughter.

I want to pursue a degree in nursing because I want to be a safe space for African American mothers. Black women face significantly higher risks during pregnancy and childbirth, and often their voices go unheard in medical settings. This isn’t just an issue of healthcare; it’s an issue of humanity. I want to be a nurse who listens, advocates, and supports women who are too often dismissed or neglected during the most vulnerable times in their lives. Growing up, I saw how healthcare can feel cold and distant, especially for people who don’t feel represented. I’ve watched loved ones struggle to be taken seriously by doctors or feel like they had to “stay strong” even when they were in pain. That shouldn’t be normal. No one should have to fight to be heard while they’re already fighting to stay healthy. That’s why I feel so strongly about becoming a nurse, not just to help people feel better physically, but to make sure they feel safe, understood, and valued. Nursing is more than just a job to me; it’s a path where I can turn my compassion into action. I’ve always been someone others feel comfortable around. Whether it's friends, family, or even strangers, people often come to me when they need to vent, ask for help, or just feel seen. I take pride in being that person. I want to carry that same energy into patient care; creating a space where my patients, especially Black women, know they are truly cared for and respected. In my career, I hope to work in labor and delivery or at a women’s hospital where I can support mothers before, during, and after childbirth. I want to make sure they not only receive excellent medical care, but also emotional and mental support. I want to explain their options clearly, answer their questions without rushing, and advocate when something doesn't feel right. I want to be someone they trust; not just because of my training, but because they can feel that I genuinely care. Beyond direct patient care, I also hope to give back to my community in deeper ways. I want to mentor young women, especially Black girls, who are interested in healthcare but don’t see many people who look like them in the field. Representation matters. Seeing someone who understands your background, your culture, and your struggles can make all the difference. I want to be that role model and help open doors for others the way I’m trying to open them for myself now. By becoming a nurse, I hope to heal, advocate, and uplift. This isn’t just my dream, it’s my purpose. And I’m ready to dedicate my future to helping others feel seen, safe, and supported, one patient at a time.

I want to pursue a degree in nursing because I want to be a safe space for African American mothers. Black women face significantly higher risks during pregnancy and childbirth, and often their voices go unheard in medical settings. This isn’t just an issue of healthcare; it’s an issue of humanity. I want to be a nurse who listens, advocates, and supports women who are too often dismissed or neglected during the most vulnerable times in their lives. Growing up, I saw how healthcare can feel cold and distant, especially for people who don’t feel represented. I’ve watched loved ones struggle to be taken seriously by doctors or feel like they had to “stay strong” even when they were in pain. That shouldn’t be normal. No one should have to fight to be heard while they’re already fighting to stay healthy. That’s why I feel so strongly about becoming a nurse, not just to help people feel better physically, but to make sure they feel safe, understood, and valued. Nursing is more than just a job to me; it’s a path where I can turn my compassion into action. I’ve always been someone others feel comfortable around. Whether it's friends, family, or even strangers, people often come to me when they need to vent, ask for help, or just feel seen. I take pride in being that person. I want to carry that same energy into patient care; creating a space where my patients, especially Black women, know they are truly cared for and respected. In my career, I hope to work in labor and delivery or at a women’s hospital where I can support mothers before, during, and after childbirth. I want to make sure they not only receive excellent medical care, but also emotional and mental support. I want to explain their options clearly, answer their questions without rushing, and advocate when something doesn't feel right. I want to be someone they trust; not just because of my training, but because they can feel that I genuinely care. Beyond direct patient care, I also hope to give back to my community in deeper ways. I want to mentor young women, especially Black girls, who are interested in healthcare but don’t see many people who look like them in the field. Representation matters. Seeing someone who understands your background, your culture, and your struggles can make all the difference. I want to be that role model and help open doors for others the way I’m trying to open them for myself now. By becoming a nurse, I hope to heal, advocate, and uplift. This isn’t just my dream, it’s my purpose. And I’m ready to dedicate my future to helping others feel seen, safe, and supported, one patient at a time.

I want to pursue a degree in nursing because I want to be a safe space for African American mothers. Black women face significantly higher risks during pregnancy and childbirth, and often their voices go unheard in medical settings. This isn’t just an issue of healthcare; it’s an issue of humanity. I want to be a nurse who listens, advocates, and supports women who are too often dismissed or neglected during the most vulnerable times in their lives. Growing up, I saw how healthcare can feel cold and distant, especially for people who don’t feel represented. I’ve watched loved ones struggle to be taken seriously by doctors or feel like they had to “stay strong” even when they were in pain. That shouldn’t be normal. No one should have to fight to be heard while they’re already fighting to stay healthy. That’s why I feel so strongly about becoming a nurse, not just to help people feel better physically, but to make sure they feel safe, understood, and valued. Nursing is more than just a job to me; it’s a path where I can turn my compassion into action. I’ve always been someone others feel comfortable around. Whether it's friends, family, or even strangers, people often come to me when they need to vent, ask for help, or just feel seen. I take pride in being that person. I want to carry that same energy into patient care; creating a space where my patients, especially Black women, know they are truly cared for and respected. In my career, I hope to work in labor and delivery or at a women’s hospital where I can support mothers before, during, and after childbirth. I want to make sure they not only receive excellent medical care, but also emotional and mental support. I want to explain their options clearly, answer their questions without rushing, and advocate when something doesn't feel right. I want to be someone they trust; not just because of my training, but because they can feel that I genuinely care. Beyond direct patient care, I also hope to give back to my community in deeper ways. I want to mentor young women, especially Black girls, who are interested in healthcare but don’t see many people who look like them in the field. Representation matters. Seeing someone who understands your background, your culture, and your struggles can make all the difference. I want to be that role model and help open doors for others the way I’m trying to open them for myself now. By becoming a nurse, I hope to heal, advocate, and uplift. This isn’t just my dream, it’s my purpose. And I’m ready to dedicate my future to helping others feel seen, safe, and supported, one patient at a time.

I want to pursue a degree in nursing because I want to be a safe space for African American mothers. Black women face significantly higher risks during pregnancy and childbirth, and often their voices go unheard in medical settings. This isn’t just an issue of healthcare; it’s an issue of humanity. I want to be a nurse who listens, advocates, and supports women who are too often dismissed or neglected during the most vulnerable times in their lives. Growing up, I saw how healthcare can feel cold and distant, especially for people who don’t feel represented. I’ve watched loved ones struggle to be taken seriously by doctors or feel like they had to “stay strong” even when they were in pain. That shouldn’t be normal. No one should have to fight to be heard while they’re already fighting to stay healthy. That’s why I feel so strongly about becoming a nurse, not just to help people feel better physically, but to make sure they feel safe, understood, and valued. Nursing is more than just a job to me; it’s a path where I can turn my compassion into action. I’ve always been someone others feel comfortable around. Whether it's friends, family, or even strangers, people often come to me when they need to vent, ask for help, or just feel seen. I take pride in being that person. I want to carry that same energy into patient care; creating a space where my patients, especially Black women, know they are truly cared for and respected. In my career, I hope to work in labor and delivery or at a women’s hospital where I can support mothers before, during, and after childbirth. I want to make sure they not only receive excellent medical care, but also emotional and mental support. I want to explain their options clearly, answer their questions without rushing, and advocate when something doesn't feel right. I want to be someone they trust; not just because of my training, but because they can feel that I genuinely care. Beyond direct patient care, I also hope to give back to my community in deeper ways. I want to mentor young women, especially Black girls, who are interested in healthcare but don’t see many people who look like them in the field. Representation matters. Seeing someone who understands your background, your culture, and your struggles can make all the difference. I want to be that role model and help open doors for others the way I’m trying to open them for myself now. By becoming a nurse, I hope to heal, advocate, and uplift. This isn’t just my dream, it’s my purpose. And I’m ready to dedicate my future to helping others feel seen, safe, and supported, one patient at a time.

Many students face overwhelming challenges such as financial hardship, family struggles, and lack of resources that make pursuing higher education feel impossible. Yet motivated and high-achieving students from disadvantaged backgrounds deserve opportunities like scholarships because their determination and resilience show they will make the most of these chances. These students do not just want to succeed for themselves; they want to uplift their families and communities. I am one of those students. Growing up in a single-parent household where my mom is currently unemployed, I have seen firsthand how financial hardship shapes every part of life. We struggle to cover basic needs like groceries and bills. I knew that if I wanted to change our story, I had to work harder than most because I am not only working for myself but for my family’s future. Despite these obstacles, I have pushed myself to succeed academically and personally. I work a job during the summer and school year to help with expenses. I have spent countless late nights studying for standardized tests, teaching myself topics I missed in school, and preparing for a future I hope will look very different from my past. I am committed to becoming a nurse because I want to serve my community and provide care to those who are often overlooked, especially Black women facing healthcare disparities. The determination I have shown so far is only the beginning. With the support of this scholarship, I would be able to focus more on my studies and less on financial stress. It would give me the freedom to purchase textbooks, attend extra prep classes, and dedicate time to volunteer opportunities that will build my skills. Most importantly, it would remind me that someone believes in my potential and wants to invest in my success. I am motivated not only by my own dreams but by the responsibility I feel to help others. Becoming a nurse will allow me to give back in a powerful way to support mothers during childbirth, be a voice for those who feel unheard, and contribute to closing the gap in healthcare inequities. I believe that with the right support, students like me can rise above difficult circumstances and create real change. Scholarships are more than financial aid. They are lifelines that enable students to break cycles of poverty and reach goals that once felt unreachable. I am ready to put in the work, face every challenge head-on, and turn this opportunity into a future of healing and hope for myself, my family, and my community. Please consider investing in my potential. I promise to honor that investment with dedication, passion, and success.

Being a first-generation college student means carrying the hopes and sacrifices of my entire family on my shoulders. My mom has worked so hard for me, even though she doesn’t have a job right now. She has given me everything she can, but we still struggle every day just to pay for groceries and keep the lights on. No one in my family has walked this path before, so I don’t have a roadmap or someone to show me the way. I have to figure it out on my own, step by step, often feeling lost and overwhelmed. I have faced many challenges, financial, emotional, and academic. Sometimes the pressure feels crushing. Balancing school, a job to help support my family, and the dreams I carry for myself is exhausting. I have stayed up late, missing sleep just to prepare for tests or finish assignments. I have felt the weight of doubt, wondering if I am strong enough to make it. But every time I want to give up, I remember why I started. I want a better life not only for myself but for my family and community. I want to be the first to break the cycle and prove that where you come from does not have to define where you go. This scholarship is more than just financial help. It is a lifeline. Without it, the fear of not affording college, textbooks, and basic needs feels overwhelming. It would allow me to focus fully on my studies and my goal of becoming a nurse. I want to be someone who changes lives, especially for Black women like me who are often overlooked and underrepresented in healthcare. I want to give back by providing care and comfort to mothers who deserve to be heard and valued. My dream is to work in labor and delivery, supporting women in some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives. I want to be their advocate, their safe space, and their strongest ally. I am driven by the stories I have heard and the struggles I have witnessed in my community. I want to rewrite those stories with hope and healing. I am asking for a chance, not just for myself but for all the people who believe in me and depend on me. This scholarship would bring me one step closer to making a real difference. I promise to carry that gift forward by lifting others as I rise. Please believe in me as I believe in the power of education to transform lives.

My vision for myself as a nurse goes far beyond providing physical care. I want to be a safe space, especially for African American mothers who are often ignored, dismissed, or overlooked in healthcare. Too many Black women go through pregnancy and childbirth scared, silenced, or unsupported. My goal is to change that experience. I see myself standing beside my patients, not just as a nurse, but as a listener, an advocate, and someone they can trust. I envision working in labor and delivery or a women’s hospital, where I can support mothers through every step of their journey, from prenatal education to labor to postpartum healing. I want to be the kind of nurse who notices the unspoken signs, who asks the questions others forget, and who never lets a patient feel invisible. I want my care to be grounded in both clinical skill and deep compassion. My patients should feel seen, safe, and heard, because their lives and their voices matter. In the long term, my vision includes helping close the gap in maternal healthcare outcomes, especially for Black women. I want to take part in creating safer systems where bias doesn’t impact care and where every woman’s pain is taken seriously. I plan to be involved in community health education, speaking on panels, leading workshops, or simply being available in local spaces to help women understand their bodies, their rights, and their care options. Another part of my vision is mentorship. I want to uplift young women, especially Black girls, who dream of entering healthcare but may not see themselves represented. I want to show them that they belong in scrubs, in hospitals, and in leadership. I want them to know they can care deeply and still be taken seriously in a system that doesn’t always reflect who they are. Being a nurse, to me, means more than just working in a hospital. It means carrying compassion into every room I enter. It means educating, protecting, and standing up for people when they are at their most vulnerable. It means making sure no one feels alone or unheard. My vision is to be the kind of nurse who doesn’t just heal bodies but helps rebuild trust in a system that has failed too many for too long. This vision is personal. It comes from what I’ve seen, what I’ve experienced, and what I deeply believe can change. I know the path ahead will not be easy, but I am committed to walking it with heart, purpose, and strength. One patient, one voice, and one step at a time.

I Want to Be a Nurse and Serve My Community I want to pursue a degree in nursing because I want to be a safe space for African American mothers. Black women face significantly higher risks during pregnancy and childbirth, and often their voices go unheard in medical settings. This isn’t just an issue of healthcare; it’s an issue of humanity. I want to be a nurse who listens, advocates, and supports women who are too often dismissed or neglected during the most vulnerable times in their lives. Growing up, I saw how healthcare can feel cold and distant, especially for people who don’t feel represented. I’ve watched loved ones struggle to be taken seriously by doctors or feel like they had to “stay strong” even when they were in pain. That shouldn’t be normal. No one should have to fight to be heard while they’re already fighting to stay healthy. That’s why I feel so strongly about becoming a nurse, not just to help people feel better physically, but to make sure they feel safe, understood, and valued. Nursing is more than just a job to me; it’s a path where I can turn my compassion into action. I’ve always been someone others feel comfortable around. Whether it's friends, family, or even strangers, people often come to me when they need to vent, ask for help, or just feel seen. I take pride in being that person. I want to carry that same energy into patient care; creating a space where my patients, especially Black women, know they are truly cared for and respected. In my career, I hope to work in labor and delivery or at a women’s hospital where I can support mothers before, during, and after childbirth. I want to make sure they not only receive excellent medical care, but also emotional and mental support. I want to explain their options clearly, answer their questions without rushing, and advocate when something doesn't feel right. I want to be someone they trust; not just because of my training, but because they can feel that I genuinely care. Beyond direct patient care, I also hope to give back to my community in deeper ways. I want to mentor young women, especially Black girls, who are interested in healthcare but don’t see many people who look like them in the field. Representation matters. Seeing someone who understands your background, your culture, and your struggles can make all the difference. I want to be that role model and help open doors for others the way I’m trying to open them for myself now. By becoming a nurse, I hope to heal, advocate, and uplift. This isn’t just my dream, it’s my purpose. And I’m ready to dedicate my future to helping others feel seen, safe, and supported, one patient at a time.

I thought my voice wasn’t worth hearing, so I buried it deep inside me. I was convinced that anything I said would be judged, criticized, or dismissed. That fear didn’t just silence me, it made me shrink, hold back, and pretend to be someone I wasn’t. But over time, I began to understand that most people are too focused on their own lives to constantly judge mine. And even if they do, their opinions don’t define who I am or what I can become. I’ve learned to speak up, take risks, and be unapologetically myself, because I have goals too important to stay quiet about. I want to attend a college with a strong nursing program, become a labor and delivery nurse, and help improve the way Black women experience care in the medical field. I want every woman to feel seen, safe, and respected during some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives. In my community, I’ve found purpose through service. I’m a member of Land Scholars, a club focused entirely on protecting the environment. Everything we do is rooted in giving back to the Earth, from planting trees to organizing community clean-ups to raising awareness about sustainability. Being part of this group has helped me understand that making a difference doesn’t always require a spotlight. Sometimes it’s about showing up consistently and quietly doing the work that matters. Financially, my journey has not been easy. I come from a single-parent household. My mother is currently unemployed, and I work to help support our family, including contributing to groceries and basic necessities. I will be the first in my family to attend college, which is something I’m deeply proud of, but it also means I carry a lot of responsibility on my shoulders. I’m determined to succeed, but I know I can’t do it alone. A scholarship would make a significant difference in my life, allowing me to focus on my education without constantly worrying about how I’ll afford tuition, textbooks, and other expenses. This opportunity would give me the freedom to fully invest in my future. I believe keeping youth safe, whether in person or online—starts with being someone they know they can trust. While no one has directly come to me about bullying, many people know I’m someone they can turn to. I make it a point to be approachable and kind to everyone, no matter their age or background. Whether it’s helping a younger student feel included or supporting someone going through something hard, I try to be the kind of person others can rely on. Even simple acts like standing up against rude behavior or checking in with someone who’s quiet can make a big difference. Creating safety isn't always loud—it’s often found in the quiet moments of care and connection. I want to be a nurse who carries that same energy into every room I walk into. I want to advocate for my patients, especially those who are often overlooked or misunderstood. By awarding me this scholarship, you’re not just helping me pursue my dreams, you’re helping me uplift and protect others in the process.

1.I am a queer, first-generation Black woman raised by a lineage of teen mothers. As the oldest of three, I stepped into a caregiving role early, balancing school, work, and responsibilities at home. My experiences have given me a deep understanding of sacrifice, survival, and strength. I know what it feels like to be overlooked, to push through exhaustion, and still show up with love. These moments built the foundation of my passion for human health and wellness. I want to become a nurse who not only treats symptoms but understands stories. I care deeply about supporting underserved communities, especially Black women, who are often dismissed or doubted in healthcare systems. I want to make sure we are heard, respected, and cared for with dignity. Empathy is one of my core values. I want the best for everyone, no matter who they are, and I especially want to uplift other women of color. My goal is to provide the kind of care I wish my family had more access to—care rooted in listening, trust, and compassion. 2. To me, empathy means being able to see and feel beyond the surface. It is about being present with someone’s pain, listening without judgment, and offering care with compassion, not just solutions. Empathy is not about pity. It is about connection. In nursing, it is the foundation for building trust and treating patients as whole people. I grew up in a family where empathy was essential for survival. As a Black girl raised by a single teen mother, I became a caretaker at a young age. I saw firsthand how Black women, like my mom and grandmother, were dismissed in medical spaces. I watched them advocate for themselves because no one else would. These experiences opened my eyes to how often people, especially women of color, are failed by a healthcare system that lacks understanding and care. Empathy is the reason I want to become a nurse. It will guide every interaction I have with patients. I want to be the person who listens deeply, who creates space for patients to speak without fear, and who ensures that Black women in particular are never left to feel invisible or unheard. I want to be a nurse who empowers others to speak up and to trust that they will be believed. My commitment to empathy goes beyond one identity. I want everyone I care for to feel respected and seen. I believe that compassion should never be conditional. Whether someone is young or old, wealthy or struggling, Black, queer, or from any other background, they deserve dignity. I believe empathy is a daily practice, one that involves staying curious, asking thoughtful questions, and never making assumptions. To keep my work human-centered, I will continue to lead by listening. I will honor the lived experiences of others and recognize the individual behind every diagnosis. I will treat each patient as someone’s child, sibling, or loved one, because they are. Empathy is not just something I believe in. It is who I am. It shapes how I lead, how I love, and how I serve. And I am bringing that same energy into the healthcare field, ready to change the way people like me experience care—starting with how I show up every single day.

For a long time, I believed that strength meant handling everything on my own. Growing up as the oldest child in a family with a teen mom, I carried the weight of responsibility quietly by supporting my siblings, helping my mom, working jobs, and pushing myself academically. I thought if I showed any weakness, I would be letting everyone down. But one night, everything changed. I broke down and finally shared my feelings with my mom—the exhaustion, the self-doubt, the fear of not being enough. I cried for hours in her arms, revealing the parts of myself I had hidden. In that moment, she told me something I will never forget: she was proud of me, more than I realized, and that being strong did not mean carrying the world alone. That realization transformed how I see myself. I began to understand that true strength comes from vulnerability, asking for help, and accepting love. It taught me that I am more capable than I thought, not because I do everything perfectly, but because I am willing to face my struggles honestly. This experience shapes the way I lead and serve others today. I strive to be a leader who listens, supports, and uplifts those around me, especially those who feel invisible or overwhelmed. Whether it is comforting a friend, mentoring younger students, or working in my community, I bring empathy and understanding that comes from my own journey. I now know that leadership is not about being flawless or unshakable. It is about being human, showing up authentically, and helping others find their strength just like I found mine.

Growing up as a queer, first-generation Black woman in a family with a long line of teen mothers has deeply shaped who I am and my dreams for the future. My mother was a teen mom, and so was her mother before her. Watching their struggles and sacrifices gave me a firsthand look at the challenges of limited resources, yet also revealed the incredible strength and resilience that runs through my family. As the oldest of three siblings, I quickly learned what responsibility meant. I helped take care of my younger siblings, supported my mom during long work shifts, and found ways to stretch every dollar to make sure we had food, clothes, and school supplies. Growing up with so much responsibility at a young age taught me compassion, perseverance, and how to care deeply for others, qualities that have inspired my passion for nursing. Being queer and Black adds another layer to my identity and my journey. I have faced the challenge of accepting myself in environments that don’t always understand or embrace who I am. This experience has strengthened my empathy and taught me the importance of unconditional support and kindness. It’s also fueled my commitment to be an advocate for those who feel unseen or unheard, especially in healthcare. My motivation to pursue nursing comes from wanting to be more than a caregiver; I want to be an advocate who listens and fights for my patients’ dignity and well-being. I’ve seen how lack of access and understanding can harm people in communities like mine. I want to bridge that gap to provide care that recognizes not just physical health but also the social and emotional factors that impact a person’s wellness. In school and in my community, I’ve worked hard to lead by example. I take challenging classes and balance multiple jobs to support my family. I volunteer when I can, whether helping younger students or participating in local health awareness events. These experiences have taught me the value of hard work and the power of giving back. What sets me apart is my lived experience combined with my determination to use it as fuel for positive change. I am not pursuing higher education just for myself; I am doing it to honor my family’s sacrifices, to break cycles of hardship, and to build a better future for my siblings and my community. Receiving this scholarship would be a critical step in making my dream a reality. It would ease the financial burden of college, allowing me to focus more on my studies and my goals. More importantly, it would affirm that my story, my identity, and my aspirations are valued. I am ready to become a nurse who brings not only skill but also heart and understanding to the profession. This scholarship would help me turn my dreams into action, transforming a legacy of struggle into one of healing, hope, and progress.