From a young age, I watched my family navigate a complex landscape of health challenges bipolar disorder, PTSD, depression, schizophrenia, and autism were part of my reality. I also faced my own struggles with ADHD and depression, learning firsthand how critical compassionate, knowledgeable care can be. These experiences ignited my desire to pursue nursing: I want to be the advocate, guide, and source of comfort that so many in my community need but often lack access to. Before entering nursing school, I worked as a medical assistant in family practice and pain management clinics. There, I witnessed the profound impact of patient centered care and the difference a nurse’s attention and empathy could make. These experiences deepened my understanding of healthcare beyond symptoms and diagnoses, they taught me that listening, teaching, and supporting patients emotionally are just as vital as administering treatments. Nursing became not just a career path, but a calling: a way to transform lives, especially for underserved populations. As a single mother pursuing my BSN, I have learned resilience, time management, and perseverance. Balancing coursework, clinical rotations, and parenting has shown me that nursing is not just about skill, it is about heart. Receiving the Mighty Memorial Scholarship would allow me to focus fully on my education while alleviating some of the financial burdens of tuition costs. It would also honor the generosity that inspired the scholarship itself, reminding me to give back and help others in their educational journeys. If I had the opportunity to create something fun to make the world a better place, I would design a mobile platform called “Health Heroes Connect.” This interactive app would match nursing students and healthcare volunteers with community outreach opportunities, health workshops, and mentorship programs. Users could earn points for participation, unlock educational rewards, and track their impact on local communities. The goal would be to make giving back fun, accessible, and meaningful, inspiring the next generation of caregivers to engage with healthcare beyond the classroom. Ultimately, my inspiration to become a nurse comes from my lived experiences, my family’s journey with mental and physical health, and my desire to make healthcare accessible, compassionate, and empowering. Through nursing, I can combine empathy with expertise to help others navigate their own challenges just as Mighty’s generosity helped his daughter pursue her dreams. I hope to carry that same spirit forward in every patient interaction, every community effort, and every step of my career.

The decision to pursue nursing wasn’t a single moment—it was a series of lived experiences that shaped who I am and who I’m becoming. As a single mother of three children, a full-time student, and someone with a deep caregiving spirit, I’ve spent most of my adult life putting others first. Nursing is a career that allows me to continue doing that, but with purpose, education, and the power to create lasting change in my community. Growing up, I didn’t have many role models in healthcare. Mental illness, chronic disease, and generational trauma shaped my family more than wellness or preventive care ever did. I witnessed loved ones struggle in silence because they couldn’t afford treatment, didn’t trust the system, or weren’t taken seriously—especially as Black patients. These experiences stayed with me. They made me more aware, more empathetic, and more determined to be the kind of nurse who listens to her patients, sees them as whole people, and fights for their dignity. Before enrolling in nursing school, I worked as a medical assistant in family practice and pain management. That job gave me a front-row seat to the challenges patients face, not just medically but emotionally, mentally, and financially. I often found myself advocating for people beyond the scope of my role—whether that meant translating complex instructions, calming anxious patients, or simply offering them a moment of connection. It was there that I realized my heart was already doing the work of a nurse. I just needed the education to match it. What sealed the deal for me, though, was my own journey through motherhood and mental health. I was recently diagnosed with ADHD and depression—two conditions I carried for years without understanding why I struggled with focus, exhaustion, or emotional overload. Balancing these challenges with parenting and school has been tough, but it’s also been eye-opening. It’s taught me the importance of self-advocacy, mental health awareness, and creating systems of support. It’s also made me passionate about providing trauma-informed care, especially to patients who, like me, have felt invisible or overwhelmed in clinical spaces. Today, I’m in nursing school, working toward my RN and eventually my BSN. My dream is to serve in underserved communities, perhaps even launch a clinic that blends physical care with mental health resources. I want to help people heal in ways that honor their stories, culture, and struggles—not just their symptoms. When I read about Rose Browne, I saw a reflection of the woman I am striving to be. Like her, I’m walking a difficult path so my children can see what’s possible. Like her, I believe in education, perseverance, and purpose. Winning this scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of nursing school—it would carry forward the legacy of a mother who did it all with love, grit, and grace.

As a Black woman, mother, and future nurse living with ADHD and depression, I’ve experienced firsthand the emotional and financial barriers that keep people from accessing mental health care. I know what it feels like to suffer in silence, and I know how hard it is to find culturally competent providers you can afford and trust. My unique contribution to the world is building a bridge between underserved communities and the healing resources they deserve. I plan to use my nursing career to provide free and low-cost mental health education, support groups, and holistic health services in BIPOC communities. I envision creating community-based programs that combine clinical knowledge with cultural understanding—where people can talk openly about mental health without judgment, and where wellness is seen as a birthright, not a privilege. Long term, I want to help launch mobile mental health units and virtual care options that remove transportation and cost barriers. I also want to advocate for policy reform and grant funding for grassroots mental health initiatives, especially for youth of color. Healing starts with access, and access starts with people like me—people who understand the pain, the silence, and the potential for change. I want to be that change.

Mental health has never been a distant issue in my life—it’s something I live and witness daily. I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, and that diagnosis was the missing puzzle piece that explained so much of my lifelong struggles with focus, motivation, and emotional regulation. But even before I had a name for what I was experiencing, I was surrounded by the quiet and often painful echoes of mental health challenges within my family. Mental illness doesn’t discriminate—but in the Black community, it’s often silenced. I grew up watching loved ones suffer in isolation. My family has a history of bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, PTSD, depression, and autism. These were not just labels to us—they were the daily realities we managed behind closed doors. But because we didn’t talk openly about mental health, those realities were often misunderstood, misjudged, or ignored. I remember watching the people I love most in the world try to navigate life with unhealed trauma, untreated illness, and little to no support. Some were incarcerated. Others self-medicated. Some withdrew completely from the world. As a child, I didn’t have the language to explain what was happening—I just knew that something was broken, and no one seemed to know how to fix it. These early experiences left a deep imprint on me. I internalized the idea that you just keep going, no matter how much you’re hurting. That rest, support, or asking for help made you weak. That mental health was a luxury or something other people got to address—not us. As a result, I spent years ignoring my own symptoms. I struggled through school, relationships, motherhood, and daily life with an invisible weight on my chest. When I finally got diagnosed with ADHD during nursing school, it was both a relief and a revelation. I wasn’t lazy, undisciplined, or incapable—I just had a brain that worked differently. It was the first time I looked at myself with compassion instead of shame. That diagnosis gave me permission to learn how to support myself. I started therapy. I explored medication options. I learned about executive function, sensory overload, and time blindness. And slowly, I started to reclaim parts of myself I thought were lost forever. My diagnosis also helped me reflect more deeply on the mental health patterns within my family. It helped me understand my mother’s anxiety, my sibling’s autism, my father’s PTSD. It gave me tools to better support my children, one of whom has his own unique challenges. Instead of repeating the cycle of silence, I’m breaking it—by naming things, seeking help, and advocating for my family out loud. This transformation has directly shaped my goals and the nurse I want to become. I don’t just want to pass my exams and get my license—I want to be a nurse who sees people fully. Someone who understands that a patient’s story doesn’t begin with their diagnosis or end with their discharge paperwork. I want to advocate for mental health as an essential part of overall wellness, especially in marginalized communities where stigma still lingers and access is limited. My experiences with mental health have also reshaped my relationships. I show up differently now. I lead with empathy. I set boundaries. I listen more. I don’t expect people to have it all together, and I don’t feel the need to pretend I do either. My transparency has inspired others around me to be more open, and together we’re building a circle of honesty and mutual support. As a single mom of three, I’ve made it a priority to teach my children that their emotions matter and that they’re never alone in their struggles. We talk about mental health in our home the way others might talk about the weather—casually, openly, and without judgment. That kind of normalization is a small act of rebellion against generations of silence. My understanding of the world has expanded in profound ways. I no longer see mental health as something separate from physical health, success, or survival—it’s central to all of it. I’ve come to believe that healing doesn’t happen in isolation; it happens in community, in dialogue, and in the willingness to say, “I’m not okay” without fear. I’ve also realized that systems often fail those with mental illness, especially those of us who are Black, low-income, or justice-involved. This awareness has fueled my desire to not only work in healthcare, but to push for equity within it. The Ethel Hayes Destigmatization of Mental Health Scholarship speaks to my heart because it’s rooted in honoring a life lost to mental illness and transforming that pain into purpose. I see my own family’s story reflected in Ethel’s. And I see my life’s mission aligned with her legacy: to bring light to the darkness and voice to the silence. Receiving this scholarship wouldn’t just support my education—it would support a movement I’ve already committed myself to. A movement toward compassion, equity, and healing. A movement where people like my son, my sister, and even my younger self can feel seen, supported, and safe. Mental health is not just part of my story—it is my story. And I’m learning to write each chapter with courage, clarity, and care—not just for myself, but for everyone else still searching for the words.

I was just nine years old when I held my grandmother’s hand after she suffered a stroke. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I could feel the fear and confusion in the room. What I remember most vividly, though, is the nurse who calmly explained things to my family, comforted us, and stayed by my grandmother’s side like she was her own. That day changed something in me. I knew I wanted to be someone who brought that kind of peace and care to others when they needed it most. Over the years, that moment stayed with me and shaped the decisions I made. I became a medical assistant and gained hands-on experience working in family practice and pain management. I saw the human side of medicine—the moments when patients were scared, vulnerable, or in pain—and I found purpose in helping them feel seen, heard, and safe. Still, I knew I wanted to do more. Nursing offers the chance to advocate more deeply for patients, to blend clinical skill with compassion, and to be a true partner in someone’s healing. Now, as a full-time nursing student and a single mother of three, I’m more committed than ever to this path. It isn’t easy balancing school, parenting, and working PRN, but I’ve learned that strength isn’t just about pushing through—it’s about having a heart that won’t quit. My children are watching me chase this dream with everything I have, and that motivates me daily. I want them to see that even when life is hard, it’s never too late to pursue a calling. What draws me to nursing is its unique ability to touch lives at every stage. Nurses are there when a new baby takes its first breath, when a patient gets difficult news, and even when someone is taking their last. We aren’t just giving medications or checking vitals—we’re offering presence, understanding, and hope. I want to be that kind of nurse: one who listens, who advocates, and who truly cares. I’m especially passionate about serving vulnerable and underserved communities. As a woman of color entering this field, I carry with me a deep awareness of the disparities that exist in healthcare—especially in maternal health. I want to be a nurse who not only provides excellent care but also speaks up for those who too often go unheard. I believe representation matters, and I hope my presence in this field inspires others from similar backgrounds to pursue whatever career path they choose as well. Becoming a nurse isn’t just my career goal—it’s a personal mission rooted in my life experiences, my family, and my desire to be a part of something bigger than myself. I’m ready to show up, do the hard work, and be a light for others—just like that nurse was for my grandmother and for me. I found out about this scholarship on the Bold.org website.