I AM PROUD TO BE A CANCER SURVIVOR. But let’s rewind for a moment. My name is Takiya Henson, and I am a Division I Track and Field athlete at Cornell University. Before that, I was a little girl battling stage 4 childhood cancer, a moment that completely changed my life and my family. My family was facing financial strain, as my treatment required constant hospital visits, medications, and care. They made sacrifices every day. I still carry memories from that time. I used to blame myself for having cancer. Why did I put my family through so much pain? Would it be better if I died? Why didn’t my father visit me? Why did the child next to me not survive, but I did? Those questions stayed with me for years and took a deep emotional toll on me. Nobody chooses to have cancer. It just happens to you, and that is one of the hardest things to accept. Growing up, I never felt normal. No one around me could truly relate to what I was going through. Children questioned if I was a boy or a girl, not understanding how much their words hurt. During playtime, I was always made to be the “husband” because I had no hair. I carried that pain with me for years, constantly questioning myself and how I was seen. In that same period, my uncle gave me something that has stayed with me. He would make me say, “I’m bald and I am beautiful.” Anytime I doubted myself, I repeated those words. At the time, they helped me survive. Now, they shape how I see myself. My uncle became my strength and my father figure. He reminded me that I could achieve anything, even when I didn’t believe it myself. But when I was 11, he was arrested and incarcerated for life. Losing him was devastating, especially after everything he had helped me overcome and taught me. Even through that loss, the lessons from cancer stayed with me. I learned how to keep going, even when life feels out of your control, and how to find strength in difficult moments and use pain as motivation. Today, I carry those lessons into everything I do. As a student-athlete, I push myself every day with the same resilience that helped me fight through cancer. I am also an Ivy League champion, and I use that as fuel to continue striving for more. Outside of track, I am involved in the Cornell Prison Education Program (CPEP), where I tutor incarcerated individuals. This experience has taught me compassion and, most importantly, how to see people as human beings. I have learned that a person should never be defined by their worst moment. My experiences have shaped my purpose. I plan to pursue a law degree and build a career in public defense so I can advocate for those who do not have a voice and help create change within the justice system. As a low-income student, this scholarship would tremendously support my education and allow me to continue pursuing my passions. More than anything, I want to be someone that little Black girls who have faced illness or hardship can look up to and say, “If she did it, I can do it too.” I don’t just want to succeed for myself, I want to be the reason someone else believes they can. I also hope to honor Sharra Rainbolt by continuing a legacy of strength, resilience, and impact through everything I pursue.

I am proud to be a “YOU GOT IT GIRL.” Hello, my name is Takiya Henson. A little bit of backstory about me, I am a Division I Track and Field athlete at Cornell University. How did I get here, you may ask? Being an athlete is all I’ve known. From being an All-American, receiving scholarships to attend a private high school, being featured in news headlines, and setting school records, that was my life at a young age. Something that reminds me of “YOU GOT IT GIRL” is a phrase my uncle made me say when I had stage 4 childhood cancer: “I’m bald and I am beautiful.” I carry those words with me every day. Anytime I doubted myself, he made me say those words. Anytime I was bullied, I would say it again. That mindset is something I still carry with me not just in track, but in life. From a young age, my family pushed us to make something of ourselves. I have two sisters, Tanaya, the singer, and Tahira, the actress, and then there’s me, the athlete. I have been running since I was 10 years old, which was not an easy journey. The pressure I faced at a young age was a lot to handle. I was the “miracle child,” so everything I did felt like it had to make my family proud. The first time I made it to nationals was in 2016, but that day also marked a tragedy that was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of my life. My uncle was arrested and incarcerated for life. As an 11-year-old girl, my only father figure was taken from me forever. He was my mentor, my coach, the one who taught me I could do anything I wanted in life and just like that, he was gone. I remember sitting in my room that night, not understanding why everything in my life had changed in a matter of hours. Instead of letting that moment break me, I used it as fuel. He is the reason I run, the reason I push myself, and how I became a DI athlete at a prestigious university. It has been ten years since that day, and I still remember it vividly, the confusion, and the nights I spent crying, trying to understand why someone so loving was taken away. Growing up in an African American household, I have long been aware of the realities surrounding the justice system. But instead of holding me back, it motivates me to make the future better. I promised my uncle that his voice would be heard and that he would receive the fair trial he deserves, not just him, but others facing unjust sentences that tear families apart. At YGIG, I truly value the support you give to student-athletes. Being a student-athlete is not just about sports or college, it’s about what you make of your experiences. At Cornell, I serve as a team captain on the track and field team, where I make sure everyone feels comfortable enough to communicate their needs. I try to uplift my community no matter how time-consuming it may be, even just asking, “How are you feeling?” can go a long way. I have also won gold at the Ivy League Championships, turning moments of pain into motivation. Outside of track, I am deeply focused on advocacy. I am involved in the Cornell Prison Education Program (CPEP), where I tutor incarcerated individuals. This experience has taught me patience, compassion, and the importance of seeing people beyond their circumstances. You learn quickly that you cannot define someone by their worst moment, something my uncle has shown me firsthand. I have also been involved with the NAACP at Cornell, where I helped push to reactivate the organization because it is so important to ensure students have a strong voice and organized advocacy to address inequality and drive meaningful change. Through this scholarship, I am not only seeking support for my track career such as recovery tools, travel, and proper nutrition, but also to help fund my unpaid internship with The Legal Aid Society, an organization dedicated to supporting individuals who cannot afford legal representation. As an independent student, balancing athletics, academics, and unpaid work is challenging, but I am deeply committed to pursuing a career in public defense. I continue to strive for greatness, with track opening the door to my discipline and drive. But my purpose goes beyond the sport. I want to carry my story forward for future generations and be someone that little Black girls can look up to and say, “I can do this too.” I don’t just want to succeed for myself, I want to be the reason someone else believes they can. Thank you for hearing my story!

My interest in law began at a young age. I was just a girl, filled with the joys of youth, when that innocence was suddenly stripped away. When I was eleven, my uncle was arrested. I remember the police coming into my home, searching through everything, even taking some of my personal belongings that I cherished. I remember watching them carry my PlayStation out of my room, not understanding why. My world felt like it was being turned upside down. My family did not fully understand our rights or how to respond, and that left a lasting dent in our lives. My uncle had stepped in to take care of me and my siblings after the loss of my father. At the time, my mother was balancing so much working and taking care of me and my siblings while I was battling cancer. He became everything for us. He raised me, guided me, and taught me the values I carry today. He is the reason I run, the reason I push myself, and ultimately how I became a Division I athlete at a prestigious university. He always told me that no matter what I chose to do in life, I could achieve it. It has been ten years since that day, and I still remember it vividly the confusion, and nights I spent crying, trying to understand why someone so loving was being taken away. Growing up in an African American household, I have always been aware of the realities that surround the justice system. As I’ve gotten older, that awareness has deepened into an understanding of how fear, discrimination, and inequality can shape outcomes. While the Sixth Amendment guarantees the right to a fair trial, I have come to realize that this right is not always fully realized for everyone. That experience changed me, It shifted my goals toward advocacy and justice. At Cornell, I have become involved in the Cornell Prison Education Program (CPEP), where I tutor and mentor incarcerated individuals. Through this work, I have learned compassion, and the importance of seeing people beyond their circumstances. I have learned that you cannot define someone solely by their worst moment. I have developed a deep passion for understanding the law not just how it works, but how it can be improved. My uncle taught me that no matter what happens, you get up and you keep going. I carry that with me every day. I made a promise to him that I would make sure his voice is heard and that he receives the fair trial he deserves. I am pursuing a Juris Doctor (JD) with the goal of advocating for those who feel unheard and overlooked, my interest is going into public defense. I want to be part of a future where justice is not selective, where fairness is not conditional, and where the next generation does not have to grow up questioning whether the system will protect them or fail them.

Usain Bolt, the world’s fastest runner, is not only known for his athleticism but also for his openness about living with ADHD. His story resonates with me, as I too have ADHD, and it has shaped much of my life. Like Bolt, I’ve learned to channel my energy into something positive, though my path has been far from easy. As a child, I always felt different from my peers. I struggled to fit in, often sitting alone and dealing with frequent emotional outbursts. Yelling, screaming, and kicking at teachers seemed normal to me. My parents recognized my challenges and put me into sports, with track and field becoming the perfect outlet. A gym teacher once told me, “Nobody can beat you, you’re as fast as me!” Although he was out of shape at the time, it was hysterical to me. During cancer I was bullied for being bald, often called names and made to feel like a freak. I cried to my mother and she responded with love, creating a song for me: "I’m bald and beautiful, and I know it.” Singing it together helped me find confidence, and I confronted a bully, telling her with pride, “I’m bald and beautiful.” She apologized, and that moment taught me the power of standing up for myself. As a college student at Cornell University, new challenges occur. Along with ADHD, I was diagnosed with dyslexia.I often struggle with assignments and require extra time on exams. The stress can be overwhelming, especially as I juggle my academic and extracurricular commitments. To cope, I’ve developed strategies that help me manage my mental health. One of my key coping mechanisms is going for walks. When my mind feels foggy, I step outside and listen to “Another Love” by Tom Odell. The song helps clear my head and ground me. After stressful periods like exams, I treat myself—whether that means catching up on anime or going out with friends. These small moments of self-care remind me of the importance of balance in my life. I also wake up at 5:00 a.m. each day to give myself time to prepare mentally for the day ahead. This quiet time allows me to organize my thoughts and practice self-care, such as doing a face-care routine or simply reflecting on the challenges I face. On weekends, I unwind by gaming with friends. It’s a space where I feel confident and in control, knowing I can outplay my friends in any game! Despite these strategies, the pressures of college have been intense, especially with the high suicide rates at Cornell. Several students have tragically taken their lives this year, which has affected me deeply as I suffer from depression. The stress from exams, practice, and daily responsibilities can feel overwhelming,I’ve learned that reaching out for support is crucial. I’ve had meaningful conversations with professors and coaches about my struggles, and these talks have reminded me that it’s okay to ask for help. Being around people, especially my teammates, has also been vital for my mental health. Working out together helps because of constant motivation, drive and provides a sense of connection. I’ve learned that mental health isn’t just about individual self-care—it’s also about reaching out to others and being open about my challenges. Looking to the future, I aspire to become a psychiatrist to help others navigate mental health challenges. I want to guide people in taking care of their mental health, just as I have learned to do for myself. The journey hasn’t been easy, but I’m committed to using my experiences to help others find resilience and healing.

Usain Bolt, the world’s fastest runner, is not only known for his athleticism but also for his openness about living with ADHD. His story resonates with me, as I too have ADHD, and it has shaped much of my life. Like Bolt, I’ve learned to channel my energy into something positive, though my path has been far from easy. As a child, I always felt different from my peers. I struggled to fit in, often sitting alone and dealing with frequent emotional outbursts. Yelling, screaming, and kicking at teachers seemed normal to me. My parents recognized my challenges and put me into sports, with track and field becoming the perfect outlet. A gym teacher once told me, “Nobody can beat you, you’re as fast as me!” Although he was out of shape at the time, it was hysterical to me. During cancer I was bullied for being bald, often called names and made to feel like a freak. I cried to my mother and she responded with love, creating a song for me: "I’m bald and beautiful, and I know it.” Singing it together helped me find confidence, and I confronted a bully, telling her with pride, “I’m bald and beautiful.” She apologized, and that moment taught me the power of standing up for myself. As a college student at Cornell University, new challenges occur. Along with ADHD, I was diagnosed with dyslexia.I often struggle with assignments and require extra time on exams. The stress can be overwhelming, especially as I juggle my academic and extracurricular commitments. To cope, I’ve developed strategies that help me manage my mental health. One of my key coping mechanisms is going for walks. When my mind feels foggy, I step outside and listen to “Another Love” by Tom Odell. The song helps clear my head and ground me. After stressful periods like exams, I treat myself—whether that means catching up on anime or going out with friends. These small moments of self-care remind me of the importance of balance in my life. I also wake up at 5:00 a.m. each day to give myself time to prepare mentally for the day ahead. This quiet time allows me to organize my thoughts and practice self-care, such as doing a face-care routine or simply reflecting on the challenges I face. On weekends, I unwind by gaming with friends. It’s a space where I feel confident and in control, knowing I can outplay my friends in any game! Despite these strategies, the pressures of college have been intense, especially with the high suicide rates at Cornell. Several students have tragically taken their lives this year, which has affected me deeply. The stress from exams, practice, and daily responsibilities can feel overwhelming, but I’ve learned that reaching out for support is crucial. I’ve had meaningful conversations with professors and coaches about my struggles, and these talks have reminded me that it’s okay to ask for help. Being around people, especially my teammates, has also been vital for my mental health. Working out together helps boost my dopamine levels because of constant motivation, drive and provides a sense of connection. I’ve learned that mental health isn’t just about individual self-care—it’s also about reaching out to others and being open about my challenges. Looking to the future, I aspire to become a psychiatrist to help others navigate mental health challenges. I want to guide people in taking care of their mental health, just as I have learned to do for myself. The journey hasn’t been easy, but I’m committed to using my experiences to help others find resilience and healing.

The phrase prosper with a purpose resonates deeply with me because it encapsulates the essence of my journey. Growing up, I lived in the middle of the country, with my family barely getting by, but we were still the happiest little family I could imagine. Those memories have only grown more precious as I’ve gotten older, and I find myself desperately trying to hold onto them. I often think back to the days when I was just a little girl, running around outside with my siblings climbing trees, riding tractors, and feeling the pure joy of racing down snow-covered hills, my heart pounding with excitement. I remember lying in the snow, making angels as the softest snowflakes fell on my hands, marveling at the world around me. It was a simple, carefree life, and I felt invincible.Then, in one swift moment, everything changed. I’ll never forget the day I saw blood, vivid and crimson. That moment led to a trip to the hospital, followed by the devastating news that I had stage four leukemia. In an instant, my world turned from vivid color to cold, lifeless black and grey. My life was no longer about the joy of climbing trees or racing down hills. It was about fighting for my life in a sterile hospital room that became my new home for nearly a year. But yet I didn't let that show, I still was a warrior, I did not cry once or complain for the sake of being strong for my family. I even pulled out a tube once because I didn't want it, I was sort of a rebel. Surprisingly, through all of it, there was one thing I always craved: a spicy chicken sandwich from McDonald's. It’s strange, but that small comfort became a symbol of my survival, a small piece of normalcy in a world that had been turned upside down. To this day, it’s still my favorite, not because of the taste, but because it reminds me of a time when I was fighting with everything I had, holding on to something familiar when everything else felt so uncertain. Years later, I found myself applying to Cornell University, driven by a deep passion for Animal Science. I believed that this path would allow me to make an impact on the world—on both animals and people. I entered Cornell with confidence, feeling like I had achieved something great by simply being accepted. I thought that because I had made it into such a prestigious school, the road to medical school and my dreams would be smooth. But as I soon realized, life doesn’t work that way. There were many nights when I found myself sitting outside, gazing at the sky, overwhelmed by doubt and uncertainty. Why am I here? Why am I not good enough? The weight of failure seemed unbearable at times, and I just wanted to give up. But then I reminded myself that life is rarely easy. Even the best doctors face struggles, and I am no different. I’m human. I fall, but I also have the strength to rise again. I knew that this was my one chance to prove to myself that I could keep going, no matter how hard it got. During Thanksgiving break, I decided to send a message to my friends, thanking them for their support. One of them replied with something simple yet powerful: “One thing about me is I am always trying.” Those words stayed with me, more than she will ever know. They reminded me that it’s not about being perfect; it’s about showing up every day and doing your best. That’s what drives me now to never stop trying, no matter how difficult the road may be. Being at Cornell has taught me that prosperity isn’t just about achieving success it’s about doing so with a sense of responsibility and purpose. Success, for me, means using my accomplishments to better the world around me. Whether it’s through being an athlete on the Track and Field team, my community service, or even completing an assignment, every step I take is part of a larger goal to uplift those around me and hold myself accountable for the future I want to create. As I sit here in this trailer, a far cry from the carefree days of my childhood, I realize that my journey has shaped me in ways I could never have imagined. The struggles I’ve faced, both in my health and my education and even my athleticism, have only made me more determined to live with purpose. Prosperity, for me, means using every lesson, every challenge, and every success to make a meaningful impact on the world.