My little sister has autism. Watching her struggle to communicate, to regulate, to be understood by a world that does not always have patience changed me. I started asking questions. Why does her brain work differently? What does she feel when she cannot find the words? How can I help her? Those questions led me to healthcare. Specifically, psychology and neurobiology. I want to understand how disorders develop, how the brain processes fear and stress, and how to help kids like my sister live fuller lives. But I am not waiting until college to start. I joined P-TECH, my school's early college program, to earn my associate degree early. I volunteer at a free women's clinic, checking patients in and providing support. One afternoon, a teenage girl walked in, gripping the counter with shaking hands. I did not ask what was wrong. I just said, "You don't have to tell me anything. Do you want to sit over there? I can bring you water." Before she left, she turned and said, "Thank you for not making me explain." That moment taught me that compassion is not about fixing people. It is about seeing them. As a woman in healthcare, I will bring something that cannot be taught: lived experience. I grew up low-income. Some months, the EBT card is the only thing keeping warm canned soup in our stomachs after my dad's back gives out. I know what it feels like to be scared of a medical bill. I know what it feels like to watch a family member struggle and have no one explain why. That is why I want to become a doctor who works with children with developmental and behavioral disorders. I want to help families who feel as lost as my immigrant mom did when my sister was first diagnosed. I want to work in community health clinics that serve low-income families. I want to help patients navigate health insurance and medical bills the same way I learned to navigate grocery budgets: carefully, creatively, and with dignity. Women bring unique strengths to healthcare. We listen differently. We ask different questions. We notice the small things, like a girl's shaking hands, a mom's tired eyes, a sister's silent frustration. I have been that girl. I have been that sister. Now I want to be the one who stays in the room. At UT Southwestern, I help collect CDC WONDER data for disease research. Good data leads to good health policy. Good policy helps real families, families like mine. There is a quote that stuck with me: "Your nervous system doesn't respond to talent. It responds to practice." Last year, I did not even make it past the Area conference for HOSA. I froze. So I trained differently. This year, as Vice President of my school’s HOSA chapter, I helped lead more than 20 students, and I myself placed second in the state under Behavioral Health. I am not waiting to make a difference. I am already volunteering, researching, and leading. But I need this scholarship to keep going. My dad built things with his hands. I want to build something with my education. A career. A future. A different kind of life for my family. And then I want to come back and help other young women do the same. That is why I chose healthcare. That is how I will make a difference as a woman in this field.

My dad works in construction. Some months, the EBT card is the only thing keeping warm canned soup in our stomachs after his back gives out. Though that is my reality, it is not the whole story. I am the oldest sibling to a little sister with autism. That means I am also a third parent. Watching her struggle to communicate, to regulate, to be understood by a world that does not always have patience…that changed me. I started asking questions. Why does her brain work differently? What does she feel when she cannot find the words? How can I help her? Those questions led me to psychology and neurobiology. I want to understand how disorders develop, how the brain processes fear and stress, and how to help kids like my sister live fuller lives. I am not waiting until college to start. I joined P-TECH, my school’s early college program, to earn my associate's degree early. I volunteer at a free women’s clinic, checking patients in and providing support. One afternoon, a teenage girl walked in, gripping the counter with shaking hands. I did not ask what was wrong. I just said, “You don’t have to tell me anything. Do you want to sit over there? I can bring you water.” Before she left, she turned and said, “Thank you for not making me explain.” That moment taught me that compassion is not about fixing people. It is about seeing them. At UT Southwestern, I help collect CDC WONDER data for disease research. Good data leads to good health policy. Good policy helps real families, families like mine. As Vice President of my school’s HOSA chapter, I led more than 20 students to the State Leadership Conference. There is a quote that stuck with me: “Your nervous system doesn’t respond to talent. It responds to practice.” Last year, I did not even make it past the Area Conference for Behavioral Health. I froze. So I trained differently. Timed exams. No notes. Someone watching me. This year, I placed second in the entire state. I want to become a doctor who works with kids who have developmental and behavioral disorders. I want to help families who feel as lost as my immigrant mom did when my sister was first diagnosed. I want to research the messy, in-between answers that do not fit neatly into textbooks. But I also want to come back. I want to work in community health clinics that serve low-income families. I want to help patients navigate health insurance and medical bills the same way I learned to navigate grocery budgets. My dad built things with his hands. My sister taught me to see the world differently. I want to build something with my education. A career. A future. A different kind of life for my family. And then I want to come back and show others how to do the same. I am a low-income, first-generation, mixed-race student from Texas. I have been counted out before. But I have also been the person who sits with scared patients, who leads their peers, who fails and tries again. That is who I am. That is how I will make a positive impact. Not by being the smartest person in the room. But by being the one who stayed.