I don’t believe success is defined by what you have. It’s defined by what you do when you have almost nothing. What sets me apart isn’t a perfect record or an easy path, but the resilience and creativity I’ve developed from rebuilding my life after escaping an abusive marriage with my three children. I left in the middle of the night, with only our essentials and no plan but survival. That same night, I still had two college finals due at midnight. I remember sitting in a small hotel room, my kids asleep on one bed while I worked on my laptop using my phone’s hotspot. I had no notes, no quiet, and no backup plan. But I refused to let fear or circumstance steal the future I was fighting for. I finished those exams, not because it was easy, but because I refused to give up. From that moment, I learned that perseverance and innovation are survival skills. Living in a domestic violence shelter while balancing school, work, and parenting taught me adaptability, time management, and strength under pressure. Through therapy and the support of organizations like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree, I learned to rebuild not just stability, but purpose. These experiences are my advantage. They’ve shaped how I approach every challenge: with empathy, focus, and resourcefulness. I’ve developed the ability to think creatively under stress, solve problems with limited resources, and lead with compassion. Those are the same qualities that make a strong healthcare professional. Someone who can stay calm, think critically, and help others even in moments of crisis. I’m currently studying to become a medical laboratory scientist, a career that allows me to help find answers for patients in need. Behind every diagnosis is a person waiting for hope, and I want to be part of the team that provides that. My personal journey taught me that accurate answers can mean survival, and I want to dedicate my life to giving others the clarity and care that saved me. Receiving this scholarship would provide the stability I’ve worked so hard to build. It would allow me to focus fully on my studies, continue supporting my children, and eventually give back to the very programs that helped me rebuild. My goal is not only to succeed but to mentor others who are overcoming abuse or hardship. To show them that education and courage can transform pain into progress. I deserve this scholarship because I’ve proven that I can turn adversity into action, chaos into purpose, and fear into fuel.

To be a purposeful, responsible, and productive member of a community means more than simply being present—it means choosing to contribute with intention, living with integrity, and using your time, talents, and experiences to uplift others. These three qualities form the foundation of a strong, connected, and compassionate society. For me, they are not abstract ideals—they are survival tools I’ve leaned on to rebuild my life, and they are principles I intend to carry into my future as a healthcare professional, parent, and mentor. Purpose is about knowing who you are and using your experiences to serve something greater than yourself. I didn’t always know my purpose. For years, I was caught in an abusive marriage, silenced and diminished. But through education and the courage to leave, I discovered strength I didn’t know I had. I fled with my three children and pets in the middle of the night, submitting final exams from a hotel room because I refused to let fear destroy my future. That moment—and every moment after—taught me that my purpose is to persevere, to build a better life for my children, and to help others find their way through hardship. Responsibility, to me, means showing up—even when it’s hard. It means doing what needs to be done, not just for yourself, but for those who rely on you. As a single mother, full-time student, and domestic violence survivor, I’ve had to learn how to manage my time, emotions, and energy with intentional care. I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for “perfect” conditions. I stayed in school while living in a shelter. I sought therapy for myself and my kids. I advocated for legal custody, housing, and stability, even while navigating trauma. These weren’t easy decisions, but they were necessary, and taking responsibility for my healing and future became the most empowering thing I’ve ever done. Productivity isn’t just about getting things done—it’s about using your work to create meaningful change. I’m currently pursuing a degree in Medical Laboratory Science because I want to work behind the scenes in healthcare, where I can contribute to lifesaving diagnoses and support better health outcomes. This field enables me to utilize my passion for science in a way that directly benefits my community. I see productivity as purpose in action—whether it’s in a laboratory, at a parent-teacher meeting, or mentoring a survivor trying to find her voice. Looking forward, I plan to embody these values by continuing to pursue excellence in my studies, advocating for trauma-informed care in healthcare settings, and giving back to the organizations that helped me through my darkest times, like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree. I want to mentor other survivors and students, helping them see that they are not broken—that they are becoming. I want my children to see that resilience and service go hand in hand, and that even when life is difficult, we can always choose to act with purpose, take responsibility, and use our experiences to help others. To be a purposeful, responsible, and productive community member is to be someone who doesn’t just survive, but someone who builds, contributes, and uplifts. I know what it’s like to need help. And now, I want to be the kind of person who gives it. Through my career, my advocacy, and my personal life, I will continue striving to be that kind of community member—one who turns hardship into hope and purpose into impact.

I used to think “worth” was something you had to earn through perfection. That belief kept me silent, small, and surviving in an abusive marriage for far too long. But I’ve learned that worth is not something you earn, it’s something you realize. I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve because I’ve fought for them, sacrificed for them, and rebuilt my life around them. My dream is to become a medical laboratory scientist, a field where I can use my skills to make an invisible but vital impact in healthcare. The work may be behind the scenes, but it saves lives every day, and that resonates deeply with me. I know what it feels like to be overlooked, underestimated, and unseen. I also know how powerful it is when someone finally pays attention and helps you find answers. That’s what I want to do for others: bring clarity, healing, and hope, even if my name is never known. I didn’t come to this dream through a straight path. I came to it through chaos, courage, and grit. I was married with three children when I started college. As I grew more independent and confident through education, the emotional and physical abuse at home escalated. I knew I had to leave, but leaving meant walking into the unknown. One night, I packed up my kids and our pets and left everything behind. We found shelter in a hotel room, and that same night, I submitted my final exams while my children slept beside me. I didn’t ask for extensions. I didn’t make excuses. I pushed through because my education meant a future I could control. During the following semester, I continued school while living in a domestic violence shelter. I battled PTSD, panic attacks, and the exhaustion of parenting alone, but I didn’t stop. I reached out for help, connected with a therapist, and relied on support services through my college. I built a new life one step at a time by finding housing, securing full custody of my children, and staying on track academically. I am worth the dreams I’m chasing because I’ve already proven I won’t give up, even when the odds are against me. I don’t want success handed to me; I want the opportunity to earn it through effort, integrity, and service. My dreams are not just about personal achievement; they are about creating a better life for my children, contributing to the healthcare system, and giving back to the organizations that helped me survive, like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree. I also plan to mentor other survivors and students, especially single parents, who may be questioning their worth or doubting whether they deserve to dream. I’ve lived through the kind of fear that makes you feel small and the kind of struggle that tries to steal your future. But I’ve learned to move forward anyway. That resilience, that fire, is what makes me capable of turning my dreams into something real and lasting, not just for myself, but for others. I am not perfect. However, I am persistent, passionate, and prepared to put in the work. I don’t just want a career, I want a life of impact. And everything I’ve been through has shaped me into someone who will never take that for granted. That is why I am worth the dreams I aspire to achieve, because I’ve already fought to make them possible, and I will continue fighting to make them meaningful.

While there are many issues surrounding healthcare, the shortage of trained personnel exacerbates multiple systemic problems worldwide. This shortage impacts patient outcomes, increases provider burnout, and stretches hospital resources dangerously thin. In the United States, these issues are particularly acute and often worsened by self-inflicted barriers such as financial constraints, underfunded education pipelines, and insufficient clinical training opportunities. I have witnessed this crisis firsthand at the local level in Nevada through my experience with the Medical Laboratory Science (MLS) program at the College of Southern Nevada (CSN). Although CSN made a positive move by expanding the MLS program across two campuses, the intended increase in enrollment has not materialized due to a shortage of clinical rotation sites. Most hospitals and laboratories in Nevada are already operating under tight staffing conditions, and many are reluctant or unable to take on student interns. Despite the fact that Nevada is a licensed state for medical laboratory professionals—and CSN is the only institution offering both MLT (Medical Laboratory Technician) and MLS programs—the bottleneck in clinical training slots continues to restrict the number of students who can graduate each year. This problem is not unique to laboratory professionals. Our city, Las Vegas, recently celebrated the opening of the Kirk Kerkorian School of Medicine at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV). The school has seen impressive local enrollment and is viewed as a much-needed solution to the region's severe physician shortage. According to the Association of American Medical Colleges (AAMC), the U.S. is projected to face a shortage of up to 124,000 physicians by 2034. However, medical school enrollment alone doesn’t solve the problem. In Las Vegas, the limited number of residency positions, a requirement for medical licensure, means many graduates leave the state to complete their training and often do not return. Without a proportional increase in residency slots, the full benefits of our new medical school cannot be realized. A similar issue persists across all healthcare training programs: the scarcity of clinical rotation opportunities. This structural weakness in the training pipeline deserves immediate attention. Increasing the number of rotation sites is essential, but it addresses only part of the problem. Most clinical rotations remain unpaid, placing a significant financial strain on students. In my MLS program, we are required to complete a full-time, 16-week internship covering four disciplines: blood bank, microbiology, hematology, and chemistry. During this time, students must work 40 hours per week without pay. This is especially difficult because many of us in the program are non-traditional students with existing financial responsibilities. In my cohort, nearly everyone works, many full-time, while trying to balance the demands of school, unpaid internships, and preparation for national certification exams. This structure not only contributes to burnout but may also discourage capable individuals from entering or completing the program, thereby perpetuating the shortage of qualified healthcare workers. To truly address the healthcare personnel shortage, investment in educational infrastructure must include support for both clinical training capacity and student affordability. Incentivizing hospitals to accept more interns, funding paid clinical rotations, and expanding residency programs are practical steps that can create a more sustainable and equitable pipeline of trained professionals to meet the growing needs of our healthcare system.

For years, I was in an abusive marriage. The more I grew through education, developing confidence, independence, and a clearer sense of self, the more the abuse escalated. Eventually, I reached a breaking point when he came back from a mental hospital after threatening suicide, stating I was making him do it when I called the police when he threatened to kill me. I left in the middle of the night with my three children and our pets, with nothing but our essentials and the instinct to survive. That same night, I submitted two final exams from a hotel room because I refused to let fear take away the future I had been working so hard to build. Education gave me more than knowledge; it gave me options. It helped me recognize the abuse for what it was, and it gave me the confidence to believe I deserved better. Learning opened doors to resources, people, and systems that helped me escape, heal, and rebuild. It was through a student retention specialist that I was connected to therapy, housing support, and community organizations like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree. These resources were the lifeline that allowed me to stay in school while living in a shelter and healing from trauma. When people, especially women, have access to education, they gain the ability to make informed decisions, recognize red flags, build economic independence, and advocate for themselves and their children. Education also shifts societal narratives, challenging the normalization of abuse and promoting healthy, respectful relationships. I’m currently pursuing a degree in Medical Laboratory Science, a field that reflects my deep interest in health and my desire to make a tangible impact on people’s lives. While my work will often be behind the scenes, analyzing samples, supporting diagnoses, and contributing to critical healthcare decisions, I know that my presence in the medical field as a survivor of IPV holds meaning beyond the lab. I plan to use my story and my position to raise awareness about the intersections of healthcare, trauma, and abuse. Many survivors go through medical systems without disclosing their abuse, either out of fear, shame, or not knowing how to ask for help. As a professional who understands that silence firsthand, I hope to advocate for trauma-informed practices in clinical settings. I want to help build a healthcare environment where every professional, from lab scientists to nurses to physicians, is trained to recognize signs of abuse and respond with sensitivity and care. Beyond my clinical role, I also plan to give back through mentorship and outreach. I want to work with organizations like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree, not just as a former client, but as a mentor and advocate. I want other survivors, especially single parents and students, to see that their past does not define their future. I want to help build educational and support programs that empower women to leave unsafe environments and pursue meaningful careers. If I can use my voice and experience to help someone else take that first step out of fear and into freedom, then every hardship I’ve faced will have been worth it. In the end, education doesn’t just reduce intimate partner violence; it transforms lives. It did for me. And I plan to use both my degree and my journey to help others find safety, purpose, and power, just like I did.

Living in a single-parent household didn’t just shape my career goals; it defined them. When I fled an abusive marriage with my three children and our pets in the middle of the night, I had no plan, only the determination to survive and protect my family. That night, we found refuge in a hotel room, and I submitted two final exams by midnight while my kids slept beside me. In the days that followed, I entered a domestic violence shelter, struggled with panic attacks and PTSD, and began piecing our lives back together. It was during this time—juggling motherhood, healing, and education—that I realized I wasn’t just surviving. As a newly single parent, I discovered a strength in myself that I had long been told didn’t exist. Being a single parent has also taught me the importance of resourcefulness and time management—skills that are essential in college and beyond. I plan my coursework around my children’s school and activities, often studying after they’ve gone to bed. I’ve learned to be intentional with my time, to advocate for myself, and to never wait for the “perfect” circumstances to start moving forward. During college, I will continue balancing academics, parenting, and work. But I also plan to make time to give back. I want to mentor other survivors and students, especially single parents who feel overwhelmed and underrepresented. I’m committed to supporting organizations that helped me survive—like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree—by volunteering or offering guidance to others trying to break the cycle of abuse and poverty. Giving back is not just something I feel called to do; it’s a way of ensuring that my story has a purpose beyond my own family. After college, I plan to work in a hospital or clinical lab, where I can apply my skills and continue growing in the healthcare field. Long-term, I hope to pursue leadership roles, advocate for better mental health and support services in medical settings, and continue mentoring young professionals and survivors entering healthcare. Living in a single-parent household has been the most difficult and defining chapter of my life. But it’s also been the most empowering. It didn’t just change my goals—it gave them meaning. I’m not just pursuing a career. I’m building a legacy of resilience, service, and hope for my children, for others like us, and for every patient whose life may depend on the answers found in a lab.

In today’s complex and fast-paced world, Allied Health, Nursing, and Therapy professionals are often the quiet heroes, working tirelessly behind the scenes to keep communities healthy, functioning, and resilient. While their work may not always make headlines, it touches countless lives every day. Whether they’re analyzing lab results, calming a child in a hospital, guiding someone through physical rehabilitation, or helping a survivor begin healing from trauma, these professionals are foundational to public safety and individual well-being. I know this not only as a student studying Medical Laboratory Science but as someone whose life has been forever changed by the compassion and skill of these professionals. My path in health during college has changed how I see the profession and who I want to be as a healthcare worker. I was in an abusive marriage, and the deeper I dove into education and self-growth, the more volatile things became at home. One night, with my three children and our pets, I fled. We ended up in a hotel room, carrying only essentials, survival instincts, and fear. That night also happened to be finals week. I submitted two exams while my children slept beside me, determined to move forward despite the chaos. The following semester, I started school again, this time from a domestic violence shelter. That was when I met my multiple life-changing therapy professionals. I was placed in therapy triage through Signs of Hope. My therapist there helped me unpack years of trauma and finally accept help. Through a student retention specialist, I was connected to a trauma-informed therapist who helped me not just survive but begin to heal. Her role wasn’t just clinical—it was deeply human. She helped me understand my PTSD, normalize the panic attacks, and gave me strategies to rebuild my sense of self and stability. It wasn’t just her expertise that made the difference—it was the unwavering compassion, the active listening, and the steady presence she offered during the most fragile time in my life. Her work made it possible for me to be a present mother, a focused student, and eventually, a confident survivor. She never gave up on me and continued to help, even outside the college resources. In that same chapter of my life, I saw the importance of Allied Health professionals—especially medical lab technicians, nurses, and case managers—working together in shelters and clinics. Many survivors like me enter those spaces not just with emotional wounds, but with untreated medical issues, anxiety, malnutrition, and chronic conditions. These professionals handle it all with a mix of urgency and empathy, ensuring that people get the diagnostics, care, and referrals they need. They don’t just patch up problems—they restore dignity and set people back on a path toward wellness. That’s the kind of work I aspire to do. As a future medical laboratory scientist, I’ve come to appreciate just how critical lab work is in ensuring public safety and health. We are the ones who detect infections before they spread, monitor chronic illnesses, and support accurate diagnoses that guide lifesaving decisions. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the world saw just how vital lab professionals were in mass testing and data tracking, roles we’ve always played quietly behind the curtain. Our work informs treatment plans, protects vulnerable populations, and allows healthcare teams to respond swiftly and effectively to emerging health threats.

I was in an abusive marriage, and the deeper I dove into education and self-growth, the more volatile things became at home. One night, with my three children and our pets, I fled. We ended up in a hotel room, carrying only essentials, survival instincts, and fear. That night also happened to be finals week. I submitted two exams while my children slept beside me, determined to move forward despite the chaos. My grades for those two exams were barely passing, but they are the ones I am the most proud of. That night, I chose my children and to never let anyone stop me. It led to a cascade of events that helped me regain my sense of self and purpose. The following semester, I started school again, this time from a domestic violence shelter. That was when I met my multiple life-changing therapy professionals. I was placed in therapy triage through Signs of Hope. My therapist there helped me unpack years of trauma and finally accept help. Through a student retention specialist, I was connected to a trauma-informed therapist who helped me not just survive but begin to heal. Her role wasn’t just clinical—it was deeply human. She helped me understand my PTSD, normalize the panic attacks, and gave me strategies to rebuild my sense of self and stability. It wasn’t just her expertise that made the difference—it was the unwavering compassion, the active listening, and the steady presence she offered during the most fragile time in my life. Her work made it possible for me to be a present mother, a focused student, and eventually, a confident survivor. She never gave up on me and continued to help, even outside the college resources. In that same chapter of my life, I saw the importance of Allied Health professionals. Medical lab technicians, nurses, and case managers are all working together in shelters and clinics. Many survivors like me enter those spaces not just with emotional wounds, but with untreated medical issues, anxiety, malnutrition, and chronic conditions. These professionals handle it all with a mix of urgency and empathy, ensuring that people get the diagnostics, care, and referrals they need. They don’t just patch up problems—they restore dignity and set people back on a path toward wellness. That’s the kind of work I aspire to do. As a future medical laboratory scientist, I’ve come to appreciate just how critical lab work is in ensuring public safety and health. We are the ones who detect infections before they spread, monitor chronic illnesses, and support accurate diagnoses that guide lifesaving decisions. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the world saw just how vital lab professionals were in mass testing and data tracking, roles we’ve always played quietly behind the curtain. Our work informs treatment plans, protects vulnerable populations, and allows healthcare teams to respond swiftly and effectively to emerging health threats.

My path in health during college has changed how I see the profession and who I want to be as a healthcare worker. I was in an abusive marriage, and the deeper I dove into education and self-growth, the more volatile things became at home. One night, with my three children and our pets, I fled. We ended up in a hotel room, carrying only essentials, survival instincts, and fear. That night also happened to be finals week. I submitted two exams while my children slept beside me, determined to move forward despite the chaos. The following semester, I started school again, this time from a domestic violence shelter. That was when I met my multiple life-changing therapy professionals. I was placed in therapy triage through Signs of Hope. My therapist there helped me unpack years of trauma and finally accept help. Through a student retention specialist, I was connected to a trauma-informed therapist who helped me not just survive but begin to heal. Her role wasn’t just clinical—it was deeply human. She helped me understand my PTSD, normalize the panic attacks, and gave me strategies to rebuild my sense of self and stability. It wasn’t just her expertise that made the difference—it was the unwavering compassion, the active listening, and the steady presence she offered during the most fragile time in my life. Her work made it possible for me to be a present mother, a focused student, and eventually, a confident survivor. She never gave up on me and continued to help, even outside the college resources. In that same chapter of my life, I saw the importance of Allied Health professionals—especially medical lab technicians, nurses, and case managers—working together in shelters and clinics. Many survivors like me enter those spaces not just with emotional wounds, but with untreated medical issues, anxiety, malnutrition, and chronic conditions. These professionals handle it all with a mix of urgency and empathy, ensuring that people get the diagnostics, care, and referrals they need. They don’t just patch up problems—they restore dignity and set people back on a path toward wellness. That’s the kind of work I aspire to do. As a future medical laboratory scientist, I’ve come to appreciate just how critical lab work is in ensuring public safety and health. We are the ones who detect infections before they spread, monitor chronic illnesses, and support accurate diagnoses that guide lifesaving decisions. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the world saw just how vital lab professionals were in mass testing and data tracking, roles we’ve always played quietly behind the curtain. Our work informs treatment plans, protects vulnerable populations, and allows healthcare teams to respond swiftly and effectively to emerging health threats. When I eventually achieve my goal of becoming a medical laboratory scientist, I plan to give back, not only in my clinical role but also as a mentor and advocate. I want to return to the same organizations that helped me—like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree—and provide guidance, or even just a listening ear for others walking similar paths. These organizations saved my life by connecting me to professionals who cared. Giving back is not only a goal, it’s a responsibility I carry with pride and gratitude. Allied Health, Nursing, and Therapy professionals do more than treat. Their roles are foundational to public health, patient recovery, and everyday safety. My life is living proof. Whether working in labs, clinics, hospitals, or shelters, these individuals are changing lives with every shift, and with support, recognition, and investment, they can continue changing the world.

My path in health during college has changed how I see the profession and who I want to be as a healthcare worker. I was in an abusive marriage, and the deeper I dove into education and self-growth, the more volatile things became at home. One night, with my three children and our pets, I fled. We ended up in a hotel room, carrying only essentials, survival instincts, and fear. That night also happened to be finals week. I submitted two exams while my children slept beside me, determined to move forward despite the chaos. The following semester, I started school again, this time from a domestic violence shelter. That was when I met my multiple life-changing therapy professionals. I was placed in therapy triage through Signs of Hope. My therapist there helped me unpack years of trauma and finally accept help. Through a student retention specialist, I was connected to a trauma-informed therapist who helped me not just survive but begin to heal. Her role wasn’t just clinical—it was deeply human. She helped me understand my PTSD, normalize the panic attacks, and gave me strategies to rebuild my sense of self and stability. It wasn’t just her expertise that made the difference—it was the unwavering compassion, the active listening, and the steady presence she offered during the most fragile time in my life. Her work made it possible for me to be a present mother, a focused student, and eventually, a confident survivor. She never gave up on me and continued to help, even outside the college resources. In that same chapter of my life, I saw the importance of Allied Health professionals—especially medical lab technicians, nurses, and case managers—working together in shelters and clinics. Many survivors like me enter those spaces not just with emotional wounds, but with untreated medical issues, anxiety, malnutrition, and chronic conditions. These professionals handle it all with a mix of urgency and empathy, ensuring that people get the diagnostics, care, and referrals they need. They don’t just patch up problems—they restore dignity and set people back on a path toward wellness. That’s the kind of work I aspire to do. As a future medical laboratory scientist, I’ve come to appreciate just how critical lab work is in ensuring public safety and health. We are the ones who detect infections before they spread, monitor chronic illnesses, and support accurate diagnoses that guide lifesaving decisions. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the world saw just how vital lab professionals were in mass testing and data tracking, roles we’ve always played quietly behind the curtain. Our work informs treatment plans, protects vulnerable populations, and allows healthcare teams to respond swiftly and effectively to emerging health threats. When I eventually achieve my goal of becoming a medical laboratory scientist, I plan to give back, not only in my clinical role but also as a mentor and advocate to other women. I want to return to the same organizations that helped me—like Signs of Hope and The Shade Tree—and provide guidance, or even just a listening ear for others walking similar paths. These organizations saved my life by connecting me to professionals who cared. Giving back is not only a goal, it’s a responsibility I carry with pride and gratitude. Allied Health, Nursing, and Therapy professionals do more than treat. Their roles are foundational to public health, patient recovery, and everyday safety. My life is living proof. Whether working in labs, clinics, hospitals, or shelters, these individuals are changing lives with every shift, and with support, recognition, and investment, they can continue changing the world.

I started college in 2020, married with three kids. Now, I am a single mom of three kids, working and going to school full-time. During school, I survived online learning for both myself and my kids. During this time, I also realized how resilient, intelligent, and resourceful I was. I grew more self-confident and happier with myself. That did not reflect well on my husband. I was already in an abusive relationship, and the further I continued and excelled, the more it escalated. Last year, I left in the middle of the night with my three kids and pets for a hotel. This was during finals, and I completed my last two exams in the hotel room, trying to finish before the midnight deadline. I didn’t do as well as I normally would, but I am still proud of those exams. Looking back, I had an excellent reason to ask for an extension, but I finished the exam anyway. I had put so much hard work into trying to finish my degree, and I didn’t want to let him stop me. During the following semester, I started classes while living in a domestic violence shelter. It was difficult and traumatizing, to say the least. I struggled with PTSD and panic attacks. Years of suppressed feelings resurfaced all at once. Depression hit like a brick, and I was left in tears. A part of me felt shame and didn’t open up to friends for help at first. But I still made it through. I opened up to a few people and sought help from a school student retention specialist, who helped me and my family with therapy. I am now in my own apartment with my kids, having won full physical custody, all without having received child support that he has been trying to avoid. Despite everything that happened, I never gave up on school, kids, job, or myself. I had felt little for so long, but now I feel that my grit will help me be unstoppable. Anything and everything is possible now. I am still going through the divorce process, but I’ve learned to let the past not define me and focus on myself and my family. All this was possible by refusing to stop moving forward and the support from strangers. The struggles I went through changed my beliefs and relationship with society around me. In my lowest moment, I saw firsthand the kindness in the world. From the people who devote their lives fighting for others to a newlywed couple donating flowers to a domestic violence shelter. Not every act has to be huge to make an impact. Despite everything, the world is still a good place. Good people exist and are willing to help, and that is how I want to continue living my life. I want my kids and I to be the type of people who lend a helping hand and choose to stand up for others. It's important to believe in others so that they can believe in themselves.

My name is Vanessa, and if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that strength doesn’t always roar—sometimes, it quietly endures, adapts, and keeps showing up. I’m a single mother of three, a full-time student pursuing a degree in Medical Laboratory Science, and a survivor of domestic violence. I left an abusive marriage in the middle of the night with my children and our pets, determined to create a new future—one rooted in safety, healing, and purpose. I completed my online finals from a hotel room the night I left, with nothing but determination, my phone’s hotspot, and the weight of survival on my shoulders. Since then, I’ve continued school while navigating homelessness, trauma, single parenthood, divorce, and rebuilding my life from scratch. It was a bumpy road and I cried many tears. It was during that time that I experienced extraordinary kindness from strangers. As a future medical laboratory scientist, I plan to use my career to bring clarity and answers to people during their most vulnerable moments. Behind every test result is a patient, a story, and a chance to help. I want to be a part of that. My goal is to contribute to healthcare not just with technical skill, but with compassion and lived empathy. But my impact won’t stop in the lab. I am committed to giving back to the organizations that helped me stand again—Signs of Hope, The Shade Tree, and Legal Aid. These programs offered me shelter, resources, and dignity when I needed it most. One day, I want to return as a mentor, speaker, and volunteer to support other women and families walking similar paths. I know how isolating it can feel, and I want to be a reminder that healing is possible and that your future is not limited by your past. I want to return to the world the compassion, understanding, and safety that I was given in my worst moments in life. I would not be here where I am today without the strength and determination of people willing to shield and stand up for victims of abuse. By combining my scientific training with my life experiences, I hope to make a lasting difference, both in healthcare and in my community. I want to turn survival into service and use every hardship I’ve faced as fuel to uplift others. My story isn’t just about what I’ve overcome; it’s about what I’m building next.

My journey with mental health is not a single chapter—it’s a theme that runs through every part of my story. It is the quiet thread that held me together during the loudest moments of crisis, and the voice that taught me to listen, even when it was hard. Struggling with PTSD, anxiety, and panic attacks after escaping an abusive marriage didn’t just impact my daily life—it reshaped how I see myself, my goals, my relationships, and the world around me. When I fled with my three children and our pets in the middle of the night, I didn’t know where we were going—just that we couldn’t stay. That moment was the beginning of both a terrifying upheaval and a powerful transformation. We spent finals week in a hotel room, and I took my exams while my kids slept beside me. I was terrified, grieving, exhausted, and determined. In the weeks that followed, I moved into a domestic violence shelter and started a new semester. I was living in survival mode, but I pushed forward. That’s when the mental health toll began to fully surface. Panic attacks, nightmares, hypervigilance—it was like I had escaped the physical danger, but my body hadn’t gotten the memo. I was expected to function as a student, a mom, a worker—but internally, I was unraveling. And yet, I kept showing up. Eventually, I realized that surviving wasn’t enough—I wanted to heal. With the help of a student retention specialist, I connected with a therapist and began working through the trauma. This decision was a turning point. I learned that asking for help wasn’t a weakness—it was wisdom. I learned how to name my triggers, how to create boundaries, and how to hold space for my emotions without being consumed by them. I didn’t just want to survive the pain—I wanted to understand it, so it wouldn’t control me. This shift directly shaped my goals. I chose to study Medical Laboratory Science not only because I love science, but because I believe in using knowledge to bring clarity and answers during times of fear and confusion. That’s what lab work does—it turns uncertainty into understanding. Much like therapy helped me decode my trauma, I hope to help decode the illnesses that impact people’s lives, offering support from behind the scenes in healthcare. My personal battles with mental health gave me empathy, resilience, and an appreciation for the complexity of the human experience—traits that I believe make me not just a strong student, but a compassionate future professional. My relationships also changed. I had to relearn trust, starting with myself. Leaving my marriage meant reclaiming my voice and my autonomy. I became more intentional with the people I allowed into my life, choosing those who respected my growth and honored my boundaries. I also had to rebuild my relationship with my children, helping them process the upheaval while modeling vulnerability and strength. They’ve seen me cry and they’ve seen me conquer—and I believe that showing them both is the key to raising emotionally intelligent humans. Perhaps most importantly, my experience with mental health reshaped how I see the world. I used to believe that strength meant never breaking. Now I know that true strength is in the rebuilding. I see people differently now—not as “put together” or “falling apart,” but as complex beings, often carrying invisible battles. I am more patient, more compassionate, and far less judgmental. Mental health doesn’t define me, but it has informed everything I do. It taught me to seek help without shame, to advocate for myself and others, and to believe in the power of persistence. It gave me a new lens through which to view success, not as perfection, but as progress. And it has become my reason for continuing to show up, both in school and in life. I’ve learned that healing is not linear, and strength is not loud. Sometimes it looks like staying in school while living in a shelter. Sometimes it looks like submitting exams between panic attacks. And sometimes, it just looks like getting out of bed and trying again. That’s the kind of strength I carry into every relationship, every class, and every goal. That’s the strength I’ll bring into the lab and my future. And that’s the perspective I now share with the world: that we are not broken—we are becoming.