I grew up in Bakersfield, California—a city full of spirit, but also challenges. For years, I watched my community fight hard to hold onto safety, opportunity, and hope. When it came time to raise my own children, I knew I needed a quieter place where they could grow with less fear and more possibility. So I moved to the Kern River Valley—and began the work of building a future that felt safe, sustainable, and meaningful. I’m a first-generation student, a caregiver, and a grassroots advocate. My journey into higher education hasn’t been traditional—but it’s been intentional. I began with caregiving: supporting elders, patients, and vulnerable neighbors during times when healthcare access felt like a gamble. From providing in-home support to tracking medical needs during power outages, I didn’t just serve—I studied the systems failing us. I researched water access, mapped generator placements, and helped navigate infrastructure gaps that directly impacted health and survival. These experiences taught me how much overlooked communities carry—and how much brilliance they hold. I learned to notice patterns, connect data to daily life, and create visual maps to push for policy changes. I launched a small creative venture, Aunties’ Hand-Me-Downs Collecting Dust, to preserve local stories and honor the everyday wisdom that often goes ignored. My work blends advocacy, caregiving, design, and history—all driven by a love for my region and a deep respect for those who shaped it. College isn’t just my next step—it’s my toolbox. I’m pursuing degrees in public health and policy, aiming to transform care systems and prevent families like mine from being left behind. My ultimate goal is to design infrastructure and services that protect rural residents, eliminate access barriers, and reflect the realities of communities like Kern River Valley and Imperial Valley. The work I’ve done as a caregiver will guide how I lead as a changemaker. This scholarship is more than support—it’s breath. It would allow me to continue my education while staying present in my community work. It would ease the financial load so I can invest in field research, creative projects, and long-term solutions without sacrificing the care that shaped me. While building my education and advocacy work, I trusted family to help secure a home for my children—only to discover recently that the property is being foreclosed on despite my consistent on time payments. What nearly broke me only ignited me further: I’ll use the education I earn not just to serve others, but to protect and empower families navigating deceptive practices and housing instability. I don’t come from wealth or legacy. I come from grit, resourcefulness, and relentless love. And that’s exactly what I bring to every classroom, project, and conversation about equity and access. I’m not just applying as a student—I’m stepping forward as someone who’s already building change. By funding my education, you’re fueling a vision that goes beyond me. You’re investing in someone who will use every ounce of knowledge to uplift others—to light the path and then walk beside those still finding their way.

When I first stepped into the role of an in-home care provider, I thought I was just helping people get through the day. What I didn’t expect was how profoundly this work would shape my worldview—and my commitment to changing it. From assisting elderly neighbors isolated during the pandemic to advocating for better infrastructure in my rural community, healthcare for me has never just been about physical needs. It’s about dignity, survival, and bridging the gaps where systems fall short. My decision to serve began with necessity but grew into purpose. Living in a region where power outages, water access issues, and medical transportation delays are more than inconveniences—they’re life-threatening—I saw how often vulnerable individuals were left behind. I couldn’t unsee it. So I started showing up—first as a caregiver, then as a connector: researching power grid reliability, mapping generator placements, helping neighbors access medication during lockdowns. What started as care became advocacy. Over time, caregiving sharpened my ability to notice patterns: who had access, who didn’t, and why. That lens carried into my broader community work, where I began creating visual maps to highlight infrastructure shortcomings and using my voice to advocate for vulnerable residents. Whether it was identifying who had reliable wells or helping seniors access mobile medical units, I leaned into action. But the truth is, band-aid solutions aren’t enough. I’ve seen how underserved regions like the Imperial Valley pay the price for outdated policies and ignored infrastructure. That’s why my next step is pursuing higher education in public health and policy. I want to bring the same persistence and compassion I bring to caregiving into systemic reform—so the safety net doesn’t tear when people need it most. One day, I hope to sit at the table with decision-makers and say, “Here’s what I’ve seen. Here’s how we fix it.” Not from theory, but from lived experience—mine and the countless patients, elders, and families I’ve served. My goal is to elevate rural health initiatives and advocate for smarter investments in prevention, access, and infrastructure. To me, healing communities means honoring their stories. It’s why I named my small venture “Aunties’ Hand-Me-Downs Collecting Dust.” It’s a tribute to the overlooked wisdom and legacy that surrounds us in underserved areas—where people may be worn down, but never lacking in strength. That belief has fueled everything I do. This scholarship isn’t just financial relief. It’s fuel for a mission built on love, strategy, and an unshakable sense of duty to the people who made me who I am. I’m not just applying as a student—I’m showing up as someone who’s already been working on the ground and is now ready to carry that work into classrooms, boardrooms, and beyond. Because healthcare doesn’t stop when the shift ends. For some of us, it’s a way of living—and a way of leading.

Every Life, Every Breath: From Loss to Purpose I grew up surrounded by loss. I lost my mother at age three, later learning she ended her life after struggling with mental illness and addiction. I lost the uncle who raised me to an overdose at 14, and that was the start of my own shutdown. My brother died by suicide. My sister passed after a long battle with cancer. Each of these heartbreaks left deep scars—but they also helped shape my deeply held belief in the value and dignity of all human life. In the quiet that followed those tragedies, I began to see how easily society disregards certain lives: the unborn, the disabled, the addicted, the grieving. I’ve seen how systems neglect rural families, medically vulnerable individuals, and children traumatized by loss. It made me realize that life is not measured by convenience or perfection, but by its sacred potential—no matter the circumstance of conception, condition, or stage. My pro-life belief is not rooted in politics, but in lived experience. Every life I’ve lost could have been helped by a system that truly valued humanity. And every life I've fought for in my role as a care provider and advocate affirms that mission. I now work with medically fragile residents in rural California, many of whom rely on oxygen or well water. During PSPS (Public Safety Power Shutoff) events, I map power outages, track generator gaps, and advocate for families left without resources. This work has exposed how infrastructure neglect mirrors the disregard often shown toward the voiceless—including the unborn. For me, protecting life means more than most are even concerned with—it means fiercely standing up for anyone at risk of being dismissed. It’s why I’ve pursued therapy to confront my own grief, so I can break the cycle for my children. It’s why I’m studying Social and Behavioral Sciences, so I can support families navigating trauma, CPS, and broken healthcare systems. And it’s why I speak openly about my losses, so others know they’re not alone. I also raise awareness locally, especially around pregnancy loss, suicide prevention, and postpartum care. I mentor young women, homeschool my own children, and advocate for mental health access in underserved communities. I believe being pro-life means stepping up when it’s uncomfortable, inconvenient, or unseen—and doing so with compassion. Some might call my life path broken. I see it as beautifully rebuilt. I am proof that when life is honored—even in its hardest forms—it can grow into something powerful. I want to be the person who helps others realize that too. Whether it's an unborn child, a teenager battling depression, or a senior nearing their last breath, every life holds meaning. This scholarship would support my journey to become a trauma-informed advocate who defends the dignity of all human beings—from the womb to the margins. Because I know that once a life is gone, you can't rewrite the ending. But you can be someone who helps others write a different story.

“Breaking the Silence: From Grief to Advocacy” For most of my life, I believed my mother died in a car-related accident caused by a drunk driver. I was 33 before I uncovered the truth. While searching for her biological father through DNA testing, I found an article that changed everything—my mother, at just 21, lost her battle with mental illness and jumped in front of that vehicle. She had been self-medicating her pain, drowning in the silence of demons, like so many others who never get the help they need. I was only 14 when I lost my uncle—the father figure who helped raise me—to an overdose. He had stepped in when my mom couldn’t and my dad didn't make the changes he should have. My uncle faced the challenge of raising girls with grace and humor, even when the tasks weren’t easy. Losing him sent me spiraling into isolation. I stopped speaking for eight months, gripped by panic attacks at school, in any crowded place, and even at parks. I’ve lost other loved ones—my older sister to cancer, my brother to suicide (a total shock), my grandparents to separation, and then, unsettlingly, my grandfather married my late uncle’s widow. It was a break in the foundation I once trusted. Each of these losses cracked me open in ways I’m still learning to mend. They shaped how I trust, how I show love, and how I protect my children from ever feeling the depth of abandonment I’ve known. But they also taught me something powerful: that silence, untreated grief, and a system that fails to respond with empathy are deadly. It took years—and a return to therapy—for me to find my footing. But through the pain emerged a purpose. I now work as an in-home care provider and community advocate, focusing on medically vulnerable residents, especially in rural areas like mine, where infrastructure fails those who need support most. When power shutoffs threaten oxygen-dependent families and water access collapses for households reliant on wells, I fight for change. I document, map, and challenge policy decisions—not just for my family, but for every family left behind by a system that doesn’t listen. My personal experiences fuel my desire to pursue a degree in mental health. I want to become the kind of professional who sees pain before it becomes a tragedy. The kind who listens without judgment. Who understands that addiction is often rooted in untreated trauma and that grief doesn’t operate on a timetable. I want to be the person I needed back then—the one who catches people before they fall through the cracks. The red flags are all there; people just need to be educated on how to see them. My vision for mental health care is rooted in dignity, empathy, and accessibility. That means providing trauma-informed services in communities often overlooked, creating culturally competent support systems, and treating people as humans, not cases. This scholarship means more than financial relief. It’s a lifeline to a future where my pain has a purpose, a purpose I've always felt inside me. Where I can take the scars I carry and use them to build something better for someone else, I may never be able to rewrite the past, but I can help someone else write a different ending. My healing begins the moment I help someone else and they realize they’re not alone, because I know that pain too well. I appreciate this opportunity and have high hopes that it ends up with someone who has a genuine heart to help break the cycle.

My career goal is to serve underserved communities by working in public health advocacy or healthcare navigation, helping families like my own access the resources they need. As a mother of three, currently pursuing a degree in Social and Behavioral Sciences, I’ve balanced homeschooling, caregiving, and academic work with resilience. This award would ease financial burdens and allow me to continue my education while supporting my children and clients. One of my proudest accomplishments is advocating for my friend Alyssa during a workplace injustice—researching labor laws, drafting appeals, and helping her find her voice. That experience affirmed my drive to support others through complex systems. My skill in crafting compelling narratives and breaking down information has also helped me sell vintage collectibles—another outlet I have used to supplement my income and practice entrepreneurship. My children see me study late into the night and speak up when something isn’t fair. I want them to know that leadership isn’t about titles—it’s about action, integrity, and showing up when it matters most. I’ve led by example in my home and community—homeschooling, caregiving, and mentoring friends through hardships. The early loss of my mother and many family members shaped my understanding of what it means to show up for others. That grief became fuel for compassion, and I’ve learned to turn adversity into action. ACHE of Southern California’s commitment to healthcare leadership, diversity, and equitable access deeply resonates with my own purpose. I’m pursuing a degree in Social and Behavioral Sciences so I can serve communities that are often overlooked—families navigating poverty, disability, or rural isolation—by helping them access the healthcare and support they deserve. As an in-home care provider and homeschooling mother of three, I see firsthand how systemic gaps leave vulnerable people behind. I want to bridge those gaps by becoming a healthcare advocate rooted in empathy, education, and real-world understanding. That’s where my goals and ACHE’s mission meet. We both believe in empowering tomorrow’s leaders and improving care for all—not just those with resources. I also align with ACHE’s focus on ethics, lifelong learning, and community representation. I’ve lived through loss, navigated hardship, and never stopped learning or leading—from mentoring friends through labor disputes to guiding my children’s education at the kitchen table. My life has been shaped by service—and I want to build a career that turns that service into lasting change. I want to be a bridge—connecting underserved families to systems that were never built with them in mind, and reminding them that they deserve compassionate, equitable care. ACHE of SoCal isn’t just shaping leaders—it’s shaping advocates. I’m ready to become the voice I once needed and the steady hand I never had.

From an early age, my grandparents, Nana and Papa, instilled in me the importance of education. Unlike most of my friends, who had a mom and dad, I was raised by them after losing my mother and being left behind by my father. At just three years old, I had no idea how different my life would be compared to others, but my grandparents ensured I was shielded from hardships while reminding me that learning could be my way forward. All my life, I believed a drunk driver had killed my mother. It wasn’t until I was 22 years old that I took a DNA test to search for her birth father, and I uncovered the truth. An old article revealed that she had intentionally walked in front of a vehicle, and the driver fled the scene. No witnesses saw the moment it happened, so they were never caught. `This discovery shattered me. It made me realize how deeply mental health struggles had impacted my family. I have personally battled depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, struggling to regulate emotions shaped by things outside of my control. Despite this, I always reminded myself of a promise I made after graduating high school over 11 years ago—to finish my education and build a better future for my children. At 21, I had my first child, breaking a generational cycle—many of my cousins and sisters had children between the ages of 14 and 18. Becoming a teen mom was something I worked hard to avoid, and I succeeded in keeping that promise. But life didn’t stop testing me. With many deaths happening and my Grandmother and grandfather separating, what happened next was unfathomable. In 2023, my sister passed away from cancer, a week before Christmas. Losing her brought back all the emotions I had once learned to manage in therapy, forcing me to start over. In my own grief, I failed to recognize the signs in my young daughter, who was struggling with the loss of her aunt. She constantly complained of feeling ill, and despite multiple doctor visits and emergency room trips, every test came back normal. Then, one ER doctor asked me: "Has there been any big changes in your family's life recently?" That moment changed everything. I told him about my sister’s passing, and he recommended therapy for my daughter. For the first time, I saw how deeply grief was affecting her, and how mental health struggles don’t just disappear with time. That experience, along with guidance from a caseworker I had been working with, helped me discover my passion: advocating for children and families who don’t know their rights. Many families struggle to navigate life’s most painful moments, whether it’s loss, financial instability, or mental health challenges. I want to be a voice for them, offering support and knowledge that can help them regain control of their lives. My journey has been shaped by grief, resilience, and determination. Returning to school isn’t just about earning a degree—it’s about fulfilling a promise, proving to myself and my children that no matter how difficult life becomes, you keep going. I want them to see that education is the key to making a difference—not just in our own lives, but in the lives of others. Through my career in advocacy, I will fight to ensure families get the help they need, the rights they deserve, and the resources to heal and grow. I refuse to let my past define me. Instead, I will shape my future into something meaningful—one where I help others rise, just as I fought to rise myself.

From an early age, my grandparents, Nana and Papa, instilled in me the importance of education. Unlike most of my friends, who had a mom and dad, I was raised by them after losing my mother and being left behind by my father. At just three years old, I had no idea how different my life would be compared to others, but my grandparents ensured I was shielded from hardships while reminding me that learning could be my way forward. All my life, I believed a drunk driver had killed my mother. It wasn’t until I was 22 years old that I took a DNA test to search for her birth father, and I uncovered the truth. An old article revealed that she had intentionally walked in front of a vehicle, and the driver fled the scene. No witnesses saw the moment it happened, so they were never caught. `This discovery shattered me. It made me realize how deeply mental health struggles had impacted my family. I have personally battled depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, struggling to regulate emotions shaped by things outside of my control. Despite this, I always reminded myself of a promise I made after graduating high school over 11 years ago—to finish my education and build a better future for my children. At 21, I had my first child, breaking a generational cycle—many of my cousins and sisters had children between the ages of 14 and 18. Becoming a teen mom was something I worked hard to avoid, and I succeeded in keeping that promise. But life didn’t stop testing me. With many deaths happening and my Grandmother and grandfather separating, what happened next was unfathomable. In 2023, my sister passed away from cancer, a week before Christmas. Losing her brought back all the emotions I had once learned to manage in therapy, forcing me to start over. In my own grief, I failed to recognize the signs in my young daughter, who was struggling with the loss of her aunt. She constantly complained of feeling ill, and despite multiple doctor visits and emergency room trips, every test came back normal. Then, one ER doctor asked me: "Has there been any big changes in your family's life recently?" That moment changed everything. I told him about my sister’s passing, and he recommended therapy for my daughter. For the first time, I saw how deeply grief was affecting her, and how mental health struggles don’t just disappear with time. That experience, along with guidance from a caseworker I had been working with, helped me discover my passion: advocating for children and families who don’t know their rights. Many families struggle to navigate life’s most painful moments, whether it’s loss, financial instability, or mental health challenges. I want to be a voice for them, offering support and knowledge that can help them regain control of their lives. My journey has been shaped by grief, resilience, and determination. Returning to school isn’t just about earning a degree—it’s about fulfilling a promise, proving to myself and my children that no matter how difficult life becomes, you keep going. I want them to see that education is the key to making a difference—not just in our own lives, but in the lives of others. Through my career in advocacy, I will fight to ensure families get the help they need, the rights they deserve, and the resources to heal and grow. I refuse to let my past define me. Instead, I will shape my future into something meaningful—one where I help others rise, just as I fought to rise myself.

My Journey Into Human Services Advocacy As a mother of three, an in-home care provider, and a student, I intimately understand the sacrifices and complexities each of these roles bring to life. These experiences have shaped me into a resilient, driven individual committed to helping others, especially children, in navigating their challenges. My journey has been filled with adversity, growth, and self-discovery, which ultimately sparked my passion for human services advocacy. Growing up, I faced the profound loss of my mother at a very young age and was raised by my grandparents. Despite their challenges, they instilled in me values that have defined my character—compassion, perseverance, and the importance of kindness. My grandmother taught me the strength of a woman’s resolve, the impact of keeping promises, and the fulfillment of giving without expecting in return. These lessons became the foundation of my approach to motherhood, caregiving, and community service. One example of my commitment to helping others occurred during a wildfire crisis in my town. With school less than two weeks away, I raised funds and collected donations to provide backpacks filled with supplies for 25 students whose families had been impacted by the disaster. My own neighborhood faced potential evacuation, yet I remained focused on easing the burden for families during a challenging time. This effort was deeply rewarding and demonstrated the importance of collective action to address community needs. My life took a further emotional turn when my sister passed away after a long battle with cancer. While processing my grief, I remained dedicated to providing stability for my family, returning to work, and preparing to continue my education. However, I discovered that my loss had profoundly affected my daughter, who began to quietly struggle with her emotions. She exhibited frequent stomach aches and tearful drop-offs at school, which led me to tirelessly seek answers through medical visits and consultations. When it became clear that her behavior was tied to unprocessed grief, I worked with her pediatrician to connect her to a therapist. Despite informing her school about her care plan and declining there offer of a school psychologist, I was faced with unfounded accusations of neglect, resulting in a report to CPS. Although this experience was painful, it introduced me to a local advocate who shared invaluable resources and support. This interaction shifted my perspective and inspired me to pursue a career in human services. I saw firsthand the importance of advocating for children’s well-being and equipping parents with the tools to recognize and address their children’s needs. Issues like grief, anxiety, and trauma can significantly shape a child’s future, and I am determined to empower families to act early to provide the support children need. I envision my career in human services as an opportunity to be a voice for children and families navigating difficult circumstances. I aim to educate parents about available resources and help them understand the signs that may indicate a child is struggling. Early intervention can prevent lifelong challenges, and I am committed to ensuring that children have access to the care and guidance they need to thrive. Servela Theodore’s legacy of kindness and service deeply resonates with me, as her mission mirrors my own determination to make a positive impact. Through my work in human services, I hope to carry forward her vision, transforming challenges into opportunities for growth, healing, and brighter futures.

Navigating the Challenges of Dementia as an In-Home Care Provider My name is Summer Provience, a First Generation freshman at Cerro Coso Community College and a mother to three. Working as an in-home care service provider, I’ve had the privilege—and the emotional burden—of witnessing firsthand the profound effects of dementia on both individuals and their caregivers. My most recent client’s journey with dementia was one of the most challenging experiences of my career, as it tested my patience, empathy, and advocacy skills. The Impact on My Role as a Caregiver For over four years, I provided care for an elderly woman who had begun to show signs of cognitive decline. At the start, she was kind and appreciative, and we established a trusting relationship. But as her condition worsened, her behavior changed dramatically. She became verbally abusive, accusing me of acts I had no relation to and undermining the years of care and dedication I had given her. These accusations extended beyond me and into my personal life, even targeting my children. What hurt most was hearing her insist that I had only been with her for one year, despite the countless hours I had spent caring for her over the last two years. Her decline also impacted our day-to-day interactions. She would forget what day it was and send me shopping with a list, only to hand me a new list upon my return, insisting I had misunderstood or purchased the wrong items. These moments of confusion and frustration were compounded by financial disputes—she had always reimbursed me for groceries, but in her declining state, she began refusing unless I went back to the store. These incidents highlighted how much her condition had progressed and underscored the emotional and logistical challenges of caregiving for someone with dementia. Advocating for My Client’s Well-Being One of the most difficult parts of this journey was advocating for her when it felt like no one else believed me. As her condition deteriorated, I expressed concerns that she needed more comprehensive monitoring and care, but those concerns often fell on deaf ears. Despite no longer working for her, I continue to advocate for her well-being because I understand how vital it is for her to receive the support she needs. Dementia is not just a personal struggle; it’s a communal one, requiring awareness and collaboration from caregivers, families, and healthcare providers. What I’ve Learned This experience has been both heartbreaking and enlightening. I’ve learned that caregiving is not just about providing physical assistance—it’s about navigating complex emotions, behaviors, and relationships. Dementia reveals the fragility of memory and identity, but it also reminds us of the importance of empathy and persistence. I’ve gained a deeper understanding of the patience required to care for individuals with cognitive decline and the resilience needed to advocate for those who can no longer advocate for themselves. Above all, I’ve learned the importance of early intervention and support networks. Dementia is a condition that requires constant vigilance and adaptability. For caregivers, self-care and mental health support are just as critical as the care provided to the individual. While this chapter of my caregiving journey has come to an end, the lessons I’ve learned will stay with me. I will continue to advocate for individuals with dementia and support efforts to raise awareness and improve care. This experience has solidified my commitment to making a difference in the lives of those affected by this illness, whether through direct care or by sharing my story to inspire understanding and change.

Advocating for a Brighter Future My journey towards advocacy began with personal experiences that have deeply impacted me. At 32, I'm taking my second shot at college, studying social and behavioral sciences to guide me towards a career in advocacy for children who cannot speak for themselves and parents who are unaware of their rights. Growing up with a cousin who has Down syndrome has been a significant source of inspiration for me. Despite her disability, she is a shining example of resilience and generosity. She works, sings in the church choir, and is the most giving soul you could ever meet. However, her kindness has sometimes led to financial challenges, and she now lives in an assisted living situation with support from a case worker and mentor. Her unwavering determination to overcome her disability has inspired me to advocate for those who face similar challenges. Another pivotal moment in my life was when my niece, who was developing typically until she was three or four years old, suddenly became non-verbal. After numerous doctor visits, she was finally diagnosed with autism. Over time, she began to communicate again and has shown incredible resilience and determination. My sister's passing from stage four colon cancer was a difficult time for our family, but my niece's strength and determination have been a source of inspiration. She has taught herself to be better in every way, refusing to let her autism become a crutch. My goal is to help families with young or disabled children live fulfilling lives in safe environments. I want to support parents who face challenges with Child Protective Services (CPS) and ensure they are aware of their rights. I have firsthand experience with this issue when my daughter, who has social anxiety, was reported to CPS due to misunderstandings at school. The situation was uncalled for, but it highlighted the need for better advocacy and support for families. I aspire to make a positive social impact by organizing community fundraisers, social events, and outings for children who may not have the opportunity otherwise. Disabilities should not define or limit individuals, nor should they burden families financially. I want to guide families in accessing the education, health, and social support they need to thrive. In conclusion, my personal experiences and passion for advocacy have shaped my commitment to serving those with special needs. By pursuing a career in this field, I hope to make a lasting difference in the lives of individuals and their families, ensuring they receive the support and opportunities they deserve. I thank you for this opportunity to help better my life and future for myself and my family. Summer Provience Student ID #00492006 March 1,2025 Cerro Coso Community College S

Mental health challenges aren't always easily pointed out in the beginning. One of my children's own experiences has brought to my attention that this is what i want to do with my life. I don't just want to make a difference. I want to be the difference. Anxiety, depression, severe panic attacks are no stranger to myself. Now many years of therapy the obvious reasons of my attacks were death. I started therapy when i was 14 after a very close family member passed away from an overdose. my world stopped spinning and i stopped speaking. I couldn't sit in a classroom, i could not be around large crowds, and I didn't know how to process any of it. Death is also no stranger to myself or my family. Starting at the age of 2 my mother died at the age of 21 due to the negligence of a drunk driver. To the most recent my Oldest sister passing from long battle of cancer. With to many deaths to count in-between. High school was a blur the first couple years. The doctors thought that it would be easier if i went onto independent studies. It did help and with out it i may not have graduated. I am the first in my family to graduate high school. I took double the classes to stay busy while going to therapy regularly. Many medicines were pushed at me and two times i did take medications back to the doctor. Being born a Drug addicted baby some medications can affect me differently, and to add to it an addictive personality. I have a strong hold on willpower. I want to do everything my mother never got to do. I graduated high school early, like three months early. When graduation time came around i didn't think it would matter so i refused to walk across the stage. Luckily a friend and my family talked me into it. I walked across the stage holding my mother's photo. We did it i said. Fast forward to 2011 when i started my first semester in college at Bakersfield College. I was trying my best and also started seeing a new therapist because i ran out of time with insurance to pay for the sessions. In 2013 I had received a phone call in the middle of one of my classes. I was told i needed to hurry down to the local hospital to say my goodbyes to my aunt. She was slowly fading away. After this death i kind of just spiraled and walked away from college. I couldn't concentrate. I started self-medicating with now what they call medical marijuana. Hey just trying to be honest. What saved me was my children the day I found out I was going to be a mother the world looked so different. The doctors could never pinpoint my triggers, to this day I can manage the episodes if I do have one. My daughter started having issues after my sister passed and I never put two and two together. Finally, it hit me, anxiety, and panic. She needed help, and it was the type of help I couldn't give her. So, we started searching. it is actually difficult to find a therapist that work with children. Hince why I want to go back to college so I can help children such as my own overcome these obstacles. Help the parents see the signs as I did not. I want to be the difference not just make a difference. Thank you.