I was seven years old, standing on a chair to reach the stove, stirring macaroni for my younger siblings while my mother slept off another binge in the next room. The phone rang-a bill collector-and I told them calmly, “She’s not here,” even though she was ten feet away. That day, like so many others, I was the adult in the house before I even knew what childhood was supposed to feel like. I was born into a caregiving role before I ever had the choice. I cared for my family in addiction, shielded my siblings from burdens they weren’t ready to carry, and learned to hold the weight of the world so others didn’t have to. That pattern followed me into adulthood, where I poured myself into caring for my own children and creating a calm in the chaos around me. For years, my “okay” depended on the peace I could create for others, even if it cost me my own. That came to an abrupt halt when I could no longer care for anyone else because I was hanging on by a frayed thread. Thankfully, it was the thread still connected to my Father in heaven-and He used it to weave me back together. He reminded me that I am worthy, and that of all the people I’d spent my life trying to please, I too am a person worth pleasing. That revelation changed how I view caregiving. I still serve my children wholeheartedly-through late-night homework help, doctor visits, navigating hard conversations, and simply being their safe place-but I now serve from a healthier foundation. I’ve learned boundaries and balance. Like the instructions on an airplane, I remember to put my own oxygen mask on first, knowing I can only care for others as well as I care for myself. Going back to school for psychology was part of that shift. For years, I put my dreams on the shelf, working jobs that drained me because they paid the bills. I believed college was out of reach-I came from poverty, had no savings, and was raising four children alone. But I wanted to leave a different legacy for them. I wanted them to see that no matter how long it takes or how steep the climb, they can pursue what matters to them and succeed. Caregiving has shaped my calling. I now see that true care is holistic-mind, body, and spirit. My goal is to become a faith-based, trauma-informed mental health practitioner who walks alongside those who feel discarded and hopeless, guiding them toward restoration. I want to open a wellness center where care is accessible, hope is constant, and no one’s past can disqualify them from healing. Receiving this scholarship would not only lighten the financial weight of my education but also give me the freedom to focus more fully on my studies and fieldwork. It would be an investment in the legacy I am building-for my children, for the people I will serve, and for the ripple effect of healing that can reach far beyond me. I have spent my life caring for others. Now, I am learning to care for myself, too-so I can show up for the world in the way God always intended me to.

I am the mother of four incredible children, and for many years, they were the reason I put myself last. I poured my entire being into caring for them-physically, emotionally, and spiritually-while pursuing a career I wasn’t passionate about. I told myself that my dreams could wait, that my purpose was to support them by any means necessary, even if it meant silencing my own ambitions. The truth is, I wore self-neglect like a badge of honor, believing that good mothers give until there is nothing left. I worked, I served, I sacrificed-and then, I burned out. I was running on fumes, an empty shell of the woman God created me to be. Somewhere along the way, I realized that my children didn’t just need a mother who provided for them; they needed a mother who was fully alive. The turning point came when I could no longer ignore the quiet voice inside telling me I was created for more. I had been pouring from an empty cup for too long. I understood then that caring for myself was not abandoning my role as their mother-it was strengthening it. If I wanted to teach my children resilience, perseverance, and faith, I had to live it in front of them. That’s when I took the leap. I left the career path that was draining me and returned to school to pursue my true calling-psychology with a focus on whole-person healing. I want to help others overcome trauma, mental health struggles, and spiritual disconnection, because I know firsthand what it feels like to be lost and still trying to show up for the people you love. At first, I thought college was out of the question. Coming from poverty, I feared student loans and financial strain. I counted myself out before I even began. But the same God who entrusted me with these four beautiful lives reminded me that He equips those He calls. I chose to believe Him and take the first step. Now, every late night of studying after bedtime routines, every class attended with a toddler on my hip, every paper written between cooking dinner and helping with homework-it all matters. I am not just earning a degree. I am building a legacy. My children are watching me persist, even when the road is long and the obstacles feel heavy. They are learning that no matter how many detours life takes you on, you can choose to rise again. Winning this scholarship would lighten the financial weight I carry and allow me to keep my focus on both my education and my family. But more than that, it would be an investment into a legacy of hope, faith, and perseverance-not just for my children, but for the generations they will impact. I am committed to showing them that dreams are not disposable, purpose is worth pursuing, and you are never too far gone or too far behind to begin again.

She came into this world with a cry that split the air-a sound that was both a beginning and a redemption. My daughter, Sora, was conceived in the wake of violence. By the world’s reasoning, her life might have been seen as an unwanted reminder of trauma. But I knew something deeper: God makes no mistakes. Her life was written in His book before a single day of it came to be (Psalm 139:16). When I first learned I was pregnant, fear and shame crowded in like uninvited guests. Whispers of “you can’t do this” and “it would be easier to end it” pressed against my faith. Yet I could not escape the truth that every life, no matter its beginning, is sacred. To deny her life would be to deny God’s sovereignty over creation. I knew my choice would not be measured by convenience, but by obedience to the One who formed her in my womb and called her by name before I did (Jeremiah 1:5). Choosing life did not mean choosing ease. There were years when I had little more than my determination and God’s grace to get us through. We weathered financial drought, heartbreak, and moments when the world felt far too heavy for my shoulders. But with every struggle, Sora’s smile became my proof that God redeems what the enemy intends for harm. The hardest “yes” I ever gave became the greatest blessing I have ever received. Now, Sora is a vibrant young woman-compassionate, creative, and resilient. Her very existence is a living sermon: that light can rise from the darkest nights, that God’s plans are not thwarted by human evil, and that every child carries purpose that no circumstance can erase. Her life has ignited my calling. I am now pursuing my degree in psychology with the vision of walking alongside those who stand where I once stood-women in crisis pregnancies, tangled in fear, shame, and uncertainty. I have applied to serve with my church’s outreach team for mothers in crisis because I remember the weight of those moments. Sometimes what a woman needs most is not someone to argue her into life, but someone to see her, stand beside her, and remind her of the hope she can’t yet see. My career path is rooted in advocacy, faith-based counseling, and public speaking. I want to offer practical help and spiritual encouragement to women the world often overlooks-women who feel discarded, unworthy, or trapped by their circumstances. This scholarship would help lift the weight of financial strain so I can stay fully focused on my education and preparation for this work. Sora’s life has taught me this: we are not the sum of what has happened to us, nor are we defined by the moments we never asked for. God can take what was meant to destroy and turn it into a legacy of love. My daughter is living proof. She was never a mistake. She was, and will always be, a miracle.

For years, I thought deliverance from addiction meant I was free from the patterns that once held me hostage. But even after walking away from substances, I found myself addicted to something far more subtle-self-sabotage. Whenever my emotions grew heavy, my instinct wasn’t to nurture myself but to chip away at my own progress. I had been given freedom, yet I still lived like a prisoner inside my mind. Physically, I looked fine. I could smile in pictures and check the box for “healthy” on a form. But inside, I was depleted. I ate inconsistently, often stress-starving without realizing it. My energy was low, my nervous system was constantly in fight-or-flight mode, and my mind was stuck in survival patterns I had carried for years. Then came the shift: I made a decision to channel that destructive energy into something that could actually build me up instead of tear me down. I began working out-not just casually, but with the same intensity I used to harm myself. If I was going to push my limits, it would be in a way that produced life, not death. In the beginning, exercise was simply my “safe discomfort,” a place where I could pour out frustration and anxiety without making things worse. But over time, something unexpected happened: my workouts began to reshape more than my body. My mood improved, my resilience grew, and my nervous system started to calm. I learned to breathe through the burn, a lesson I could apply outside the gym when life turned up the heat. Training also taught me discipline in the one area I had been neglecting-nutrition. If I wanted muscle and strength, I had to fuel my body. I began eating more consistently, understanding that food wasn’t an enemy or a source of guilt, but fuel for both physical and emotional endurance. For the first time, I was learning to support myself instead of deprive myself. This experience taught me a truth I now carry into every area of my life: you cannot have one area out of alignment-mind, body, or spirit-and expect to function well. They are connected. If one is neglected, the others suffer. That understanding is now the foundation for my future. I am pursuing my degree in psychology, with the goal of becoming a PsyD-level holistic mental health practitioner. My mission is to help others-especially those who feel like the world has discarded them-understand that healing isn’t just mental, or just physical, or just spiritual. True and lasting transformation happens when all three are nurtured. Prioritizing my own health was not just about self-care-it was preparation. I know now that I can’t lead others where I haven’t gone myself. By choosing discipline over sabotage, and growth over numbing, I have not only rebuilt my own life but laid the foundation to guide others out of the darkness they feel trapped in. This is why I am committed to this path. My breakthrough was never just for me-it was the training ground for the work I was created to do.

The red and blue lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting fractured colors across my lap. I sat in the back of a police cruiser, hands trembling-not because of the cold, but because I was finally being forced to face the truth I had been outrunning. The officer had just confiscated the drugs in my bag, and instead of snapping into interrogation mode, he looked at me with a question that cut deeper than any accusation: “Doesn’t it scare you? Psychedelics can make people lose it.” What spilled out next was more confession than conversation. I told him I knew my mental health was in a dangerous place. The medications doctors had prescribed over the years didn’t just fail to help-they had pushed me closer to the edge. They left me more suicidal, not less. Psychedelics, I explained, were the only thing that had kept me alive, allowing me to see life from angles trauma had blinded me to. He listened. He didn’t roll his eyes or write me off as another lost cause. Instead, he showed me mercy. He let me go that night, so I could keep the promise I had made to my children that I’d be home the next morning. I didn’t realize until later that God had used that officer to deliver me-not from arrest, but from resisting the rest and surrender my soul had been aching for. That was the day I understood: I had been trying to save myself on my own terms. And it wasn’t working. I have worked on my mental health for as long as I can remember. I began studying psychology and coping strategies as a teenager, determined not to let my struggles become a greater burden on my family than I already believed my existence to be. To the untrained eye, I could hide the worst of it. But no matter how much I learned, I couldn’t heal myself entirely. Years of battling depression, trauma, and unhealthy coping mechanisms taught me something no textbook ever did: while the biopsychosocial model of mental health is valuable, it’s incomplete without the spiritual dimension. Without God, I could gain insight but not peace. I could recognize patterns but not break chains. For years, my mental health shaped my relationships in ways I didn’t want to admit. My loyalty often bled into codependency. I believed if I sacrificed myself enough-my time, my needs, my boundaries-I might finally be loved and never abandoned. My empathetic heart was often chewed up and spit out by those who saw my vulnerability as opportunity. And the truth is, I allowed it. Because in my mind, losing myself seemed safer than losing someone else. God showed me this was not love. It was fear in disguise. It was also not the kind of sacrifice He asked of me. The ultimate sacrifice had already been made by His Son. I didn’t need to crucify myself emotionally for the sake of connection. Early in my life, my dream was to go into mental health work so I could save people from the depths of hell I had known. I wanted to be the rescuer. But God gently showed me that wasn’t my role-nor was it healthy for me or them. I am not God, and robbing someone of their journey, even the painful parts, would also rob them of the strength, resilience, and redemption they could find through it. Now, my mission is different. I no longer try to drag people out of the dark before they’re ready. Instead, I walk beside them, holding a lantern, showing them the same path I took when I finally surrendered my fight to Him. I meet people in the messy middle-the prodigals, the discarded, the ones the world has labeled “too far gone”-and I tell them the truth: “If God could redeem me, He can redeem you.” Today, I’m pursuing my Bachelor’s degree in Psychology, with plans to continue through my PsyD. My studies are not just academic; they are deeply personal. I understand mental illness not only from the perspective of research and theory, but from lived experience. I know what it’s like to navigate the mental health system, to feel unseen in a crowded room, and to cling to hope when the night feels endless. This lived experience fuels my commitment to the field. I aim to specialize in trauma-informed, faith-integrated mental health care-creating safe spaces where both science and spirituality are valued in the healing process. The truth is, pursuing this path hasn’t been easy. As a single mother, a first-generation college student, and someone rebuilding life after addiction, the road is uphill and costly. Financial stress is real. But so is my calling. I’m committed to completing my degree not just for myself, but for the generations after me-my children and the many others I will serve. A scholarship like this would not just lighten my financial burden; it would multiply my impact. It would allow me to devote more time to my studies, deepen my community involvement, and develop the programs I envision-programs that blend psychology, faith, and practical life skills for those coming out of the same trenches I did. Mental health is not just my career choice; it’s my redemption story. My beliefs have shifted from “I have to fix everything” to “God can redeem anything.” My relationships have shifted from transactional to transformational, built on mutual respect and boundaries. And my career aspirations have shifted from rescue to restoration-walking people to the place where they can reclaim their own lives. I am not the same woman who sat in the back of that cruiser. I am living proof that no pit is too deep for God’s arm to reach, no past too broken for Him to rebuild. And with the right education and resources, I will spend the rest of my life reaching into those pits for others-not to carry them out against their will, but to shine the light so they can see the way forward. A degree will give me the credentials. A scholarship will give me the freedom. But my faith-and my story-will give me the unshakable drive to keep going until every person I meet knows they are not too far gone. Because I wasn’t. And neither are they.

I used to believe I was too damaged to dream. Too undone to be useful. Too fractured to ever fully function. But the truth is-I wasn’t broken. I was buried. And healing unearthed me. Mental health has never been a distant concept for me. It has been the backdrop, the battlefield, and now-my life’s mission. I didn’t study psychology to simply earn a degree. I chose it because I needed to understand the mind that had once tried to destroy me. I needed language for the ache. I needed truth that could hold me when everything else fell apart. My earliest encounters with mental illness were unspoken. Generational trauma moved through our home like smoke-visible but never named. Depression was “laziness,” anxiety was “overreacting,” and addiction was whispered about only after funerals. I didn’t have words like trauma response or hypervigilance. I just knew I always felt unsafe, unheard, and unseen. By my late teens and early twenties, I spiraled. Substance use became my medication. Control became my god. Exotic Dancing became my escape-a performance of power, all while my soul caved in behind the scenes. I masked everything: pain, fear, rejection, grief. I wore a thousand faces and yet never felt truly known. And then, the unraveling. Mental illness wasn’t just something I studied-it was something I barely survived. I’ve walked through suicidal ideation, addiction, CPTSD, panic attacks, and emotional collapse. I’ve stared into the mirror and not recognized the woman looking back. I’ve cried out to a God I wasn’t sure was still listening. And still-He came for me. Healing didn’t come easy. It didn’t come pretty. It came in rehab meetings, in trauma therapy, in the patient stillness of motherhood. It came in courtrooms, custody battles, and the haunting silence of loss. It came through relapse scares and hard boundaries. But eventually, healing came. And when it did-it didn’t just save me. It gave me back to myself. Mental health struggles didn’t derail my purpose-they revealed it. They showed me how layered and sacred recovery truly is. They taught me that healing is not linear-it’s cyclical, sacred, and slow. And most of all, they taught me that pain is not the enemy-shame is. That’s why I no longer hide my history. I honor it. Because it gave me my why. Today, I am a first-generation college student working toward my degree in psychology. I’ve been sober for nearly three years. I’m raising four beautiful children. And I’m building a brand rooted in whole-person wellness, trauma-informed coaching, and spiritual healing. My life is not just a second chance-it’s a divine assignment. My goals now are directly shaped by what I lacked. I didn’t have safe spaces growing up-so I’m creating them. I didn’t have language for what I was going through-so I’m studying to become a Doctor of Psychology. I didn’t have advocates who understood addiction from the inside out-so I’m becoming one. Mental health has also transformed my relationships. I no longer chase people who love me conditionally. I now recognize trauma bonds and emotional manipulation. I model apology, accountability, and repair with my children. I give grace to those still walking through their own pain. I hold boundaries not as walls-but as gates of protection for my peace. I know how to ask for help. And I know how to receive it. Perhaps the greatest shift has been in how I see the world. I no longer judge others by their behavior-I wonder about their wounds. I don’t just see addicts-I see people in pain. I don’t label someone “crazy”-I ask what happened to them. My worldview is no longer rigid and binary. It is compassionate, complex, and layered with lived understanding. I’ve learned that mental illness is not a moral failing. It’s not weakness. It’s not attention-seeking. It’s an invitation-to slow down, to listen deeper, to heal generationally, and to advocate loudly. We do not need more diagnoses-we need more dignity. We need more spaces where the wounded are welcomed, not labeled. And I intend to help create those spaces. I believe in therapy and in prayer. I believe in nervous system regulation and in Scripture. I believe that science and Spirit are not at war-they are partners in our healing. And I believe that my pain wasn’t wasted. It was preparation. Receiving this scholarship would not just be financial support-it would be a vote of belief in the very thing I’m building. It would help me finish my degree, obtain my certifications, and launch resources that speak to the heart of those silently suffering. I want to publish devotionals, lead healing retreats, mentor young women, and create legacy for my children that they don’t have to recover from. I may not have grown up with wealth, stability, or emotional support-but I have resilience, faith, and a calling bigger than my past. Mental health shaped every part of me-and now I use every part of me to serve others. This is not the end of my story. This is the chapter where I stop hiding-and start helping.

To me, recovery means remembering who you are-and refusing to let pain, addiction, or shame have the final say. It’s not just about getting clean. It’s about getting honest. It’s choosing to stay, to feel, to fight for a life worth living-even when your past tries to haunt you. Recovery is rebuilding trust with your own soul. It’s learning how to care for your mind, body, and spirit when all you’ve ever known is survival. For me, recovery began when I realized I didn’t want to die-but I didn’t know how to live. I was a mother, deep in addiction and trauma, feeling like I had ruined everything. But grace met me in that place, and I’ve been clean now for two years and eight months. Since then, I’ve returned to school as a first-generation psychology major, launched a faith-based wellness brand in development, and am working toward becoming a trauma-informed Doctor of Psychology. Recovery is being present-for my children, for my purpose, and for myself. It is the daily decision to show up with compassion, courage, and clarity. It gave me back my voice, my future, and the power to rewrite my story. Recovery, for me, is a sacred second chance at living for the first time.

To me, a “YOU GOT IT GIRL” is a woman who knows her strength isn’t measured by medals or mirrors, but by the moments she chose to rise when everything said she couldn’t. I am that girl. I’ve fallen, fought, gotten back up, and turned every setback into sacred fuel. I don’t just show up-I show out with purpose. I was a competitive gymnast for over 12 years. From childhood, I was drawn to movement. Gymnastics taught me discipline, resilience, and how to stay focused under pressure. That foundation shaped every version of me to come. In my young adult years, I turned to dancing-yes, as a form of income, but also because I’ve always loved the way the body can express what words can’t. I worked in adult entertainment for over a decade. It was a complex season, but it kept me connected to my physicality and helped me survive. Movement was always my medicine, even when I didn’t yet know how to name the ache I carried. Now, I train as a weightlifter and I’m pursuing my CPT certification so I can become a faith-based fitness and mental health coach. My vision is to create a space where women can heal physically, emotionally, and spiritually-a brand that reclaims health from a place of wholeness, not shame. For me, athleticism has never been about competition. It’s been about endurance, alignment, and transformation. I’m not interested in aesthetics. I’m interested in resurrection. One of the greatest challenges I faced came during the darkest season of my life. Addiction, trauma, and poverty stripped me of nearly everything-including custody of one of my children. I was ashamed, heartbroken, and hopeless. But even in that pit, I believed there was more. I clawed my way out. I got sober. I returned to school as a first-generation college student. And I decided that I would build the kind of life-and business-that could help others out of their own darkness too. Someone I deeply admire is Stephanie Ike Okafor. Her voice carries quiet power. She speaks truth with compassion, and she lives what she teaches. Her obedience and authenticity remind me that leadership doesn’t have to be loud-it has to be real. Pastor Mike Todd is another inspiration-his boldness in marrying faith with relevance reminds me that God will use our entire story, even the parts we thought disqualified us. This scholarship would allow me to invest in practical resources to launch my whole-person wellness brand. From registering my LLC to securing business tools, continuing education like Revelation Wellness, and completing my CPT program-this funding would help me take what I’ve built behind the scenes and bring it into the light. This work isn’t just about me-it’s about every woman I’m called to serve. I may not compete on a college team, but I train like my life depends on it-because for a while, it did. I’m an athlete in the arena of recovery, motherhood, entrepreneurship, and faith. Being a “YOU GOT IT GIRL” means carrying your story with courage, using your strength to lift others, and showing up even when no one’s clapping. I do that daily. And I’m just getting started.

My biggest dream in life is to become a Doctor of Psychology and build holistic trauma recovery centers for individuals who have endured what I once did-addiction, childhood trauma, single motherhood, poverty, and the ache of starting over with no roadmap. I want to be proof that healing is possible, not just for the privileged, but for the broken, the battling, and the barely-holding-on. I didn’t grow up believing someone like me would ever be eligible for scholarships, let alone become a doctor. I’ve always known mental health was my calling-but poverty tried to convince me it wasn’t possible. I put off college, not because I lacked vision, but because I didn’t want to bury myself in debt chasing a dream I couldn’t yet afford. Still, the delay didn’t cancel my purpose-it equipped me. I earned life experience credentials the hard way, and God whispered, “Now you’re ready.” I come from generational dysfunction, addiction, and deep emotional wounding. I’m a single mother of four, a first-generation college student, and a recovering addict with one year and eight months clean. There was a season in my life where I didn’t think I’d make it to the next sunrise. Now, I wake up determined to leave a legacy my children can live from-not recover from. My dream is born from both pain and purpose. I’ve walked through trauma most textbooks only describe, and I know what it feels like to be written off. But I also know the power of redemption. My calling is to help others rewrite their stories-especially those who feel stuck in survival mode. My trauma taught me what brokenness feels like; my healing taught me what restoration looks like. That duality has become my fuel. Currently, I’m studying psychology at Colorado Christian University, where I’ve completed 72.5% of my degree. I’m also interviewing for a position in the Neurobehavioral Unit at Nationwide Children’s Hospital, which would allow me to begin serving trauma-affected children in a clinical setting. Every class and every step forward is part of the bigger vision I hold. Beyond academics, I volunteer with Elevation Church, creating warm spaces for first-time guests and supporting those new in their faith. I also serve as a Justice Ambassador, advocating for reforms in areas where underserved populations often fall through the cracks. These roles remind me that healing must reach both the personal and systemic levels. I’m also completing my Certified Personal Trainer certification to integrate physical health into the mental and spiritual work I offer. I’m actively building my faith-based wellness brand, Toshia Amara, which will include coaching, devotionals, and trauma-informed resources. Though it hasn’t officially launched yet, the foundation is laid, and every move I make is layered with purpose. This scholarship would allow me to accelerate my journey, reduce financial barriers, and further prepare the ground for the work I’m called to do. The dream isn’t about chasing titles-it’s about building safe spaces where people can walk in carrying shame and walk out carrying hope. Standing on that field to receive this award wouldn’t just mark my progress-it would honor the thousands of unseen steps that got me here. I’m not swinging for applause-I’m swinging for freedom. For my children. For the ones still stuck. For the healing that’s on its way. Thank you so much!

I am a single mother of four, a survivor of childhood trauma, and the first in my family to attend college. I know the effects of developmental trauma not from textbooks alone, but from the inside out. I was born into a cycle of dysfunction-abuse, addiction, abandonment. The kind of environment where your nervous system stays in survival mode before you even know how to spell your name. But what was once my cage has now become my cause. Developmental trauma during early childhood doesn’t just fade with time. It lingers. It impacts the way a child learns, trusts, connects, and sees themselves. I’ve witnessed the ripple effect in my own life and in the lives of my children. I’ve lived the consequences of what happens when trauma goes unspoken and untreated-how it shows up as addiction, codependency, dissociation, depression, and shame. But I’ve also lived the power of healing. By God’s grace, I am now nearly 3 years sober. I’m not just breaking the cycle-I’m rebuilding the foundation. I returned to school to pursue a degree in psychology, with a clear goal: to become a Doctor of Psychology and open holistic trauma recovery centers that offer clinical, emotional, and spiritual care-especially to those who grew up feeling like statistics instead of souls. I’m currently interviewing with the Neurobehavioral Unit at Nationwide Children’s Hospital. It’s not just a job opportunity-it’s the beginning of my life’s work. This role would allow me to contribute to trauma-informed care, learn from professionals who are actively changing lives, and start serving the very population I feel called to. I want to be the presence I never had-the one that says, “You are safe now. You are seen. You are not broken beyond repair.” Every paper I write, every exam I pass, every scholarship I apply for-it all funnels into one mission: to multiply what I’ve been given. Because healing isn’t just for me-it’s for my children, for my clients, for future generations. Receiving this scholarship would not only lift a financial burden off my shoulders-it would be a seed sown into the legacy I’m building. A legacy where trauma is no longer inherited, where mental health is honored, and where faith and science meet to restore what’s been broken. Thank you for considering my story, not for pity, but as a seedling of purpose. I’ve known since adolescents I wanted to work in mental health and now I'm m ready to carry this calling with diligence, humility, and boldness.