Attending higher education is more than a personal goal for me, it is a commitment to my son, my community, and the young people I serve every day. As a single mother, a first-generation college student, and a lead case manager in the nonprofit sector, the decision to return to school was not simple. It required sacrifice, courage, and a willingness to move forward even when the path felt overwhelming. But I know that earning my degree is essential to the future I hope to build, both for my family and for the youth whose lives I hope to impact. My journey back to school has been shaped by financial barriers and the realities of being the sole provider for my son. When I first attended college in 2018, I struggled, and my loans eventually went into default. Because of that, taking out new loans is not an option for me right now. Still, I refused to let that stop me. I made the choice to return to school part time and pay out of pocket on a payment plan. I can only afford one class at a time, and although it sometimes feels like I am moving slowly, I remind myself that progress is progress. I am doing everything in my power to pursue my degree while keeping a roof over my son’s head. Perseverance is not optional; it is the only way forward. Balancing work, motherhood, and school has taught me resilience and discipline. As a lead case manager working with homeless youth, I show up every day for young people who are navigating challenges far greater than their years. I help them secure housing, access resources, and learn to advocate for themselves. Many of them remind me of my younger self, full of potential but lacking support, guidance, or someone who believes in them. I strive to be that person for them. I lead with love, grace, integrity, and perseverance, and I hope to model the same values for my son. One of the most emotional moments in my journey happened earlier this year. When I returned to school in January, I knew paying out of pocket meant I could no longer afford my son’s soccer club fees. He has played since he was three, and the thought of taking that away from him broke my heart. When I explained the situation to his coach, he thanked me for being vulnerable and offered my son a scholarship for the season. I felt joy, relief, gratitude, and even a little embarrassment—but mostly I felt seen. That moment reminded me that asking for help is not a weakness. It is a bridge. It also inspired me to begin applying for scholarships myself, because I realized that support exists for people who are trying their best to move forward. Higher education will allow me to deepen the work I already do and expand my impact. My long-term goal is to work more directly with youth involved in the criminal justice system. These young people often come from low-income backgrounds, lack advocates, and face barriers that make it difficult to imagine a different future. I want to be part of changing that. With a degree, I will be able to take on leadership roles, influence programs, and create systems that uplift vulnerable youth rather than punish them. I want to continue being a helping hand, a voice of encouragement, and a reminder that their circumstances do not define their potential. Everything I do, returning to school, working full time, raising my son, is rooted in the belief that change begins with one person choosing to show up. I want my son to see that even when life is difficult, we do not give up. We adapt, we persevere, and we keep moving toward the future we deserve. Higher education is my path to creating that future, and I am committed to using my degree to build a positive, lasting impact in my community.

As a first-generation student, a single mother, and a lead case manager serving homeless youth, my life has been shaped by perseverance, community, and the lessons my mother instilled in me. Growing up with limited resources taught me early on that empathy is not just a feeling, it is an action. It is the willingness to show up for others even when you are still learning how to show up for yourself. Those experiences have become the foundation of my purpose: to build a more empathetic and understanding global community by pouring into the people around me every single day. My mother taught us that love, grace, and compassion are not weaknesses but strengths that can transform lives. She modeled resilience in the face of hardship, and her example taught me that community is something you build through consistent acts of care. Today, I carry those lessons into my work as a lead case manager for a nonprofit organization. I support homeless youth who often remind me of my younger self, full of potential but navigating circumstances that make it difficult to see a way forward. My role allows me to connect them to housing, resources, and opportunities, but more importantly, it allows me to offer them dignity, understanding, and hope. Balancing full-time work, part-time school, and single motherhood has strengthened my ability to lead with empathy. I understand what it feels like to juggle responsibilities, to push through exhaustion, and to keep going because others are counting on you. These experiences have sharpened my talents: listening deeply, advocating fiercely, and creating safe spaces where young people feel seen and valued. I use these skills daily to uplift my community, and they will continue to guide me as I work to build a world where compassion is the norm, not the exception. Being a first-generation student has given my educational journey a deeper meaning. My degree is not just an academic accomplishment, it is a milestone for my family, both those who came before me and those who will come after. It represents the breaking of cycles and the opening of doors that once felt out of reach. Scholarships like this one remind me that my story matters and that there are people who believe in the power of perseverance. That belief fuels me to keep going and to continue serving others with the same empathy that has carried me through my own challenges. To build a more empathetic and understanding global community, you must be part of your community. You must show up, listen, and lead with love. I am committed to doing exactly that, using my talents, my lived experience, and my dedication to vulnerable youth to create spaces where people feel supported, understood, and empowered. My journey has shaped me into someone who not only dreams of a more compassionate world but actively works to build it every day.

Being a first generation, Mexican American student is not just part of my identity, it is the driving force behind my purpose. Like José, my mother never finished high school or had the chance to pursue higher education. What she did have was an unshakable belief that education was the path out of hardship, and she carried that belief with her when she came to the United States. She instilled in us the understanding that her sacrifice was not only for a better life, but for the opportunities she hoped her children would one day have. I never took that for granted. Growing up, my mother pushed us to excel in every area, academics, sports, time management, and discipline. Her expectations were high because her love was deep. I worked hard to honor that. I made the honor roll every year of high school, graduated on the dean’s list, and lettered in varsity softball. I knew early on that I needed to be the first in my family to earn a college degree, not only for myself but to show my mother that her sacrifices mattered. My mother endured severe trauma in Mexico, and the stories she shared with us filled me with sadness and admiration. Instead of letting that pain weigh me down, I turned it into motivation. Every achievement, every late-night studying, every step forward in my education has been fueled by the desire to give meaning to everything she survived. Words cannot fully capture the excitement I feel when I imagine receiving my degree and walking across that stage. That moment symbolizes far more than academic success, it will be a tribute to my mother’s strength, resilience, and unwavering belief in me. Becoming a single mother at twenty was not part of the plan I had for myself, but it became my reality. My son is my world, and he has deepened my purpose in ways I never expected. Finishing my degree is no longer just a personal goal; it is a generational one. It began with my mother’s courage to come to the U.S. It continues with me becoming the first in my family to graduate. And it will extend to my son, who will grow up seeing the path that was paved for him through sacrifice, perseverance, and love. As a first generation, Mexican American student, I believe wholeheartedly that education is the key to unlocking opportunities and empowering individuals to create better futures for themselves and their communities. My journey is shaped by the people who came before me and the people who will come after me. Like José, my mother laid the foundation for her children’s success, even when she did not have the chance to pursue her own dreams. I carry her hopes with me every day. I am passionate about being a first-generation student because my education represents more than a degree, it represents healing, progress, and the fulfillment of a promise made long before I was born. People like José and my mother are the reason students like me have the opportunity to dream bigger than our circumstances. Their sacrifices, their courage, and their belief in us give us the strength to pursue education and transform it into something powerful for our families and our communities. As I work toward my degree, I do so with deep gratitude for José’s legacy and for the countless parents who carried burdens so their children could carry books. I hope to honor them by becoming the kind of person who lifts others the way they lifted us.

The most impactful person in my life is my mother. Her story, marked by trauma, perseverance, and transformation, has shaped the values I carry and the kind of law enforcement officer I aspire to become. My mother was born in Mexico and entered foster care at age twelve. For four years she moved through instability until the owner of her foster home recognized a child that needed love and care and adopted her. At sixteen, she came to the United States, became a citizen, and began building a life that she had never been given the chance to imagine. Her early years were filled with hardship, but she met each challenge with resilience and grace. Those qualities became the foundation of the home she created for my sister and me. At seventeen, while still in high school, my mother met my biological father. They bonded through shared trauma and fell into heavy drug use. When she became pregnant with me, she made the decision to leave that life behind. She begged my biological father to do the same, but instead, the relationship turned violent. She endured physical, sexual, financial, and verbal abuse. When he harmed me at just two years old, she found the courage to flee in the middle of the night. Even then, the danger did not end. While pregnant with my sister, my mother continued to face threats. When I was three and my sister was an infant, we were abducted by my biological father. I remember holding my baby sister, crying, and hearing officers outside with bullhorns calling his name. I remember my mother screaming. I remember SWAT, firefighters, and police surrounding the parking lot. And I remember the officer who carried us out to safety and handed me a baseball card — a card I still have today. That moment defined my life. It was the first time I understood what it meant for someone to protect the vulnerable. It was the moment I knew I wanted to be in law enforcement. My mother raised us with the same strength that carried her through her own childhood. She taught us perseverance, not as a concept, but as a way of life. She encouraged us through faith, stood by us when we felt hopeless, and showed us what true work ethic looks like. She taught me to forgive, to lead with integrity, and to treat every person with dignity, no matter their circumstances. She showed me that people are not defined by where they come from, but by the choices they make when life demands courage. The qualities I have adopted from my mother directly shape the kind of impact I hope to make in my community through law enforcement. Her resilience taught me to remain steady under pressure. Her compassion taught me to see the human being behind every situation. Her integrity taught me to do what is right, even when it is difficult. And her story taught me the importance of protecting those who cannot protect themselves. I want to serve in law enforcement to be the person I needed when I was a child, someone who shows up, who stands between danger and the vulnerable, and who treats every individual with fairness and respect. My mother’s life, and the life she fought to give us, instilled in me the values necessary to make a meaningful difference. Her example is the reason I am committed to leading with integrity, serving with empathy, and protecting my community with the same courage she showed every day.

Growing up with a single mother shaped me in profound and lasting ways. The values that define me today, perseverance, integrity, compassion, respect, and gratefulness were not abstract lessons but lived experiences I absorbed from watching my mother navigate life with unwavering determination. She raised my sister and me on her own, and although our circumstances were often difficult, they were also filled with love, resilience, and quiet strength. My mother worked full time with no childcare, relying on public transportation to get us to school, work, and doctor’s appointments. I stepped into a helper role early, getting my sister and myself ready for school, walking us to the bus stop, and taking care of homework and snacks in the afternoons. My mother would “rest in her room,” and even as children, my sister and I understood that behind that closed door she was often crying or overwhelmed. We learned not to ask for new things at the store, not because we felt deprived, but because we understood the weight she carried and never wanted to add to it. Instead, we learned to be grateful for everything we did have, our favorite snacks, a warm dinner, and the comfort of knowing she was doing everything she could for us. As I grew older, my appreciation for her deepened. At nineteen, after completing my first year of college, I became pregnant with my son, who will be seven in May. Motherhood reshaped my understanding of my own childhood. Raising one child on my own has shown me just how extraordinary my mother was to do it with two. Her perseverance became my blueprint. Her love became my motivation. Being a single mother means being the provider, the problem solver, the protector, and the emotional anchor. It means juggling school events, soccer practices, full-time work, and my own education while trying to create stability and joy for my son. It is exhausting and beautiful, challenging and rewarding. And every time I feel stretched thin, I think of my mother and the example she set. She taught me that strength is not loud; sometimes it is the quiet decision to keep going, even when no one sees the struggle. I never imagined I would follow her path into single motherhood, but life unfolded that way for me. And while it has been difficult, I would not trade the bond I have with my son, or the person motherhood has shaped me into. My commitment now is to finish my degree by May 2027 so I can build a more secure future for us. I am currently paying out of pocket for this semester, and I hope to take two classes in both summer and fall. However, the financial strain of tuition, bills, and childcare makes that goal challenging. This scholarship would not only ease that burden but also honor the journey of single mothers like my own, women whose sacrifices often go unseen, but whose impact lasts a lifetime. Thank you for recognizing the resilience, dedication, and strength that define so many single mothers, and for considering my story as part of this opportunity.

Incarceration has shaped my life in ways that are both painful and unexpectedly motivating. My biological father has been incarcerated for about 95% of my life, and as a 27 year old mother now, I can see how deeply that absence and instability influenced who I became. I saw him only a handful of times growing up, and we never built a real father–daughter relationship. His choices, abuse, drugs, and gang involvement, created chaos for my mother, my sister, and I. My son has never met him, and for now, he knows my stepdad, the man who raised me since I was ten, as his grandfather. One day I will explain the truth, but only when he is old enough to understand without carrying the weight of it. Despite the trauma, there were positive impacts. From a very young age, I knew I wanted to work in law enforcement. Watching the harm caused by my father’s actions made me want to protect others from the same dangers. Even at eight years old, when a visit with my father turned into a kidnapping and my sister was attacked by a pit bull, I understood that the life he lived was dangerous and I wanted a different path. As strange as it sounds, sometimes I felt relief when he was incarcerated. In jail, he was sober, fed, sheltered, and unable to hurt himself or others. When I visited him recently, it wasn’t for him, it was more for me. I wanted him to see that despite everything, my sister and I built stable, meaningful lives. I am a mother, a student, and a hard worker, and my mom is finally in a good place. My own incarceration, though brief, changed me even more. I spent time in juvenile detention and again at eighteen. Even though incarceration was familiar to me from the outside, I never imagined I would end up behind those walls myself. Living it was devastating. I felt ashamed, scared, and disappointed in myself. That realization became a turning point. At 22, I felt called to work at a juvenile detention center with youth ages 11–21. Over two and a half years, I built strong rapport with young people whose stories often mirrored my own. Many had experienced trauma, instability, and circumstances far beyond their control. Working with them taught me that they are not “bad kids” they are human beings who deserve guidance, compassion, and a chance to rewrite their futures. It was humbling and heartbreaking to see how environment and lack of support shaped their paths, but it also reinforced my belief that people can grow, change, and take accountability. My upbringing, my personal experiences with incarceration, and my time working with justice involved youth taught me resilience, empathy, and the importance of second chances. These experiences strengthened my academic and career ambitions: I want to work in a field where I can help break cycles, protect communities, and support young people before they lose their future.

My name is Veronica Morningstar Adams, and I believe I am uniquely deserving of this award because my journey has been defined by perseverance, sacrifice, and an unwavering commitment to building a better future for my son and myself. I became a mother at nineteen, and my son, a bright, energetic seven-year-old—has been the center of my world ever since. Motherhood has shaped me into a woman who does not give up, even when the path is long, delayed, or difficult. It has taught me resilience, patience, emotional strength, and the kind of determination that comes from loving someone more than yourself. For seven years, I devoted myself entirely to raising my son. I kept him active in sports from the age of two, showed up for every milestone, and built our lives around stability and routine. But in doing so, I often felt myself disappearing into motherhood, a feeling many single mothers understand. I grew up watching my own mother raise two daughters alone while we lived on Section 8, food stamps, and shared bedrooms. She struggled, but she never stopped giving. She taught me to work hard, stay grateful, and pursue an education so I could create a different life for my family. Those values carried me through high school, where I played varsity and competitive softball, worked, and graduated with honors before beginning my degree in criminal justice at MSU Denver. After my first year of college, I became pregnant and made the difficult decision to pause my education. What I thought would be a short break became seven years. When my son turned one, I became a paraprofessional at a nearby school. It allowed him to attend the ECE program and provided me with income that gave us both stability. It wasn’t the criminal justice path I had envisioned, but it was the right sacrifice at the right time. During this time, we were living in a basement, going to school/work together, and I was working two jobs. M-F at the elementary school and weekends at a gym. I was in the middle of parting ways with my son’s father due to the abuse going on at home. It was a difficult time, and although pursuing my education remained, I knew the timing wasn’t right. I begin classes at Arapahoe Community College in January 2026, a decision inspired by a moment that humbled me and opened my eyes. I had to pull my son from his club soccer team because I couldn’t keep up with the payments between, rent, gas, food, and childcare left nothing extra, even while working full time as a Lead Case Manager. When his team learned why, they offered him a scholarship to continue playing. My heart was overwhelmed with gratitude, and it reminded me that there is always a way forward. That moment pushed me to believe I could also find a path back to school. Even though my 2018 loans are in default and I’m not eligible for FAFSA, I chose to pay for school out of pocket because I refuse to let financial barriers decide my future. I’m determined to continue my classes this summer and into the fall no matter how hard I must work to fund them. My why is my son, showing him that dreams don’t expire and setbacks don’t define us. Studying beside him has been one of my greatest joys. This scholarship would ease the burden and strengthen my belief that perseverance creates possibilities. My son has been the biggest blessing; I want to provide all I can for him.

Faith has been the steady force that has carried me through some of the hardest and most transformative years of my life. When I became pregnant shortly after completing my first year at MSU Denver, I believed it was a temporary pause, just enough time to embrace motherhood and give my son the love and attention he deserved. But life unfolded differently. What was meant to be a short break turned into seven years filled with challenges, blessings, and lessons. Becoming a single mother almost immediately after giving birth changed everything. My world revolved around my son and his needs, his development, his happiness. Along the way, I faced new jobs, moves, a car accident, a miscarriage, and financial strain. Through every season, prayer was the one thing I could always rely on. When I was scared, anxious, confused, or overwhelmed, prayer grounded me. When I was grateful or hopeful, prayer helped me express it. My faith reminded me that my story was already written, and that I didn’t have to carry every burden alone. There were many moments when I genuinely didn’t know how I was going to make something work whether financially, emotionally, or physically. Every time something shifted, a door opened, and a blessing arrived. And each time, it reinforced what I already believed: if I hand it over, if I trust, God will make a way. Returning to school after seven years wasn’t just a practical decision, it was a spiritual one. I had been debating it since my son was born in 2019, but the timing never felt right. Between work, parenting, and life’s unexpected turns, I didn’t see how I could possibly add school back into the mix. However, the desire never left me. It stayed in my heart, quietly reminding me that I had more to accomplish. When I finally decided to return in January, I was hit by another obstacle: my loans had gone into default, and FAFSA wasn’t available to me. I panicked when I saw the cost of just one class, over $1,000, knowing how tight my budget already was, all I could do is pray. I handed it over. Within three days, everything shifted. My COF kicked in and reduced the cost. I sold my iPad and made another $200. Then my dad called out of the blue and offered to help with monthly payments. The weight lifted almost instantly. It felt like confirmation that I was exactly where I was meant to be in this season. Faith shapes my academic goals by reminding me that this journey isn’t just about earning a degree, it’s about stepping into the future God has prepared for me. It’s about showing my son what perseverance looks like. It’s about honoring the strength I’ve built through every hardship. And it’s about trusting that the same God who brought me this far will carry me through the rest. My son is my biggest motivation. Everything I do, every sacrifice, every long day, every late night is for him. I want him to see that even when life gets hard, even when the path isn’t straightforward, you can still rise. You can still grow. You can still chase your dreams. I try to be present at every soccer practice, every game, every school event, even while working full time and being the sole provider. He is the reason I push through exhaustion and doubt. I’ve also been motivated by the people who have shown up for me in small but meaningful ways, my grandmother’s early influence, my father’s support, and the unexpected blessings that arrived right when I needed them. I’ve been motivated by my own journey. Every challenge I’ve survived has pushed me to want more for myself and for my son and to rely on my God and the plan he has for me. I have found, removing myself from social media over the last three years has had a tremendous positive impact on my mental health and delegation of my time. My apologies no socials!

One of the greatest challenges I have faced in my educational journey has been finding the courage, stability, and time to return to school after a seven-year break. That decision was not simple or straightforward. It was shaped by years of balancing single motherhood, financial strain, full time work, and the desire to give my son every opportunity I could. Returning to school meant stretching myself even thinner, and for a long time, I questioned whether it was the right choice. But the same responsibilities that made the decision difficult also became the reason I ultimately chose to move forward. When I first attended MSU Denver right out of high school, I imagined a traditional college path. That changed when I found out I was pregnant after my first year. I made what I believed would be a temporary decision to step away from school to focus on preparing for motherhood. What I expected to be a short pause turned into seven years. During that time, my world revolved around raising my son, working full-time, and doing everything I could to make sure he had the stability and support he deserved. Being a single mother meant that every responsibility fell on me, every bill, every meal, every school drop off, every practice, every game. Time was never my friend, but somehow, I always found a way to make it work. Financially, life has often been tight. Living paycheck to paycheck while supporting a growing child and maintaining a household on one income requires constant sacrifice. I rarely had “me time,” but the moments I did have included Sunday church with my son and our quiet visits to the public library. They reminded me that even in the busiest seasons, there was still space for peace, reflection, and gratitude. One of the hardest moments came recently when I realized I could no longer afford the fees for my son’s club soccer team. He loves the sport, and I knew how much being part of that team meant to him. Having to pull him out felt like a personal failure. But then something unexpected happened: the club offered him a scholarship so he could continue playing. That blessing reminded me that even when I feel stretched thin, we are not alone. I have always believed that God places us in certain positions for a reason, even if we do not understand the timing. That scholarship felt like a sign that despite the hardships, we were still being guided and supported. As my son grew older and more independent, the thought of returning to school kept resurfacing. I wanted to build a better future for both of us, and I wanted to show him that it is never too late to pursue your goals. Still, I hesitated. I worried about how I would balance school with work, parenting, and everything else already on my plate. I wondered if choosing to go back meant taking time away from him. But I also knew that earning a degree would open doors that could change our lives long term. In January 2026, I finally made the decision to return. The process was not easy. FAFSA was unavailable to me because my student loans from 2018 were in default. Even though I have been actively making payments and applied for loan consolidation, the approval is still pending. Without financial aid, I had to pay out of pocket for my first class, using a payment plan to make it manageable. I decided to start with just one class to see how it would fit into my already full schedule. Balancing school again has meant staying up later, using every spare moment wisely, and learning to be even more disciplined with my time. But surprisingly, it has also been fulfilling. Being back in a classroom environment, learning, growing, and working toward something bigger has reminded me of the goals I once had and the person I still want to become. As this semester comes to an end in May, I have already registered for two classes for the summer term. It will be challenging, but I am ready. The financial aspect remains the hardest part. As the sole provider for my son and myself, there is only so far one income can stretch. That is why I am applying for scholarships now. I am taking a chance, hoping that support will allow me to continue my education without sacrificing my ability to provide for my son. My dream is to be the first in my family to earn a degree and to show my son that perseverance matters, that when you truly want something, you work hard, stay flexible, and keep going even when the path is difficult. Returning to school after seven years has been one of the biggest challenges of my life, but it has also been one of the most empowering. I have learned that strength is built in the moments when you feel stretched thin but keep moving anyway. I have learned that sacrifices made for education are not just for me, they are for my son, for our future, and for the example I want to set. And most importantly, I have learned that even when the journey feels overwhelming, faith, resilience, and determination can carry you through. Dedication, hope, motivation, and a clear goal have helped me push through the hardest moments. Creating a study schedule, managing my time wisely, and staying flexible have served me well. I will continue to find a way to pursue my degree until it is in my hands, with the support and cheers of my son beside me. I want to be the first in my family to earn a degree, not just for myself, but to show him that it is never too late to chase your dreams and that when you truly want something, you work hard, stay faithful, and keep going.

A second chance, to me, means the opportunity to grow beyond the circumstances I was born into and the mistakes I made when I was young. My early life was shaped by an absent father and the trauma he left behind, which pushed me into a mindset of sadness, anger, and a need to prove myself. Growing up with a single mother and a little sister, I felt responsible for protecting them, even when it meant getting into fights at school. At home, discipline was often physical, and although my mother has grown tremendously since then, those experiences shaped my emotional reactions. My first major mistake happened at eight, when I fell in with the wrong crowd and we accidentally set the school grass on fire. That led to arson classes and my first real encounter with consequences. At fifteen, another incident at school resulted in time in juvenile hall and expulsion from the district. I felt like I had ruined my future before it even began. Still, I stayed on honor roll and rebuilt my life at a new high school, surrounded by teammates who kept me grounded. My experiences in the juvenile justice system taught me accountability, resilience, and the importance of emotional control. They shaped who I am today and strengthened my commitment to becoming someone who serves and protects others with integrity. When I transferred to a new school, no one knew what I had just gone through. In a way, that anonymity became my turning point. It was my chance to rebuild myself, to grow from a painful and uncomfortable experience instead of letting it define me. Looking back, that was the moment I chose to give myself a second chance, long before anyone else did. The steps I’ve taken toward positive change began when I became a mother at twenty. Becoming a single parent pushed me to pursue the calling I had always felt toward law enforcement and to give back to the same community that once held me accountable. I started working for the State of Colorado at a juvenile detention center, surrounded by youth whose charges ranged from serious violent offenses to impulsive mistakes. Despite the challenges, I loved the work deeply. It gave me the chance to be the person who offered second chances, leading groups, creating safe spaces, and showing the youth dignity and respect. Within a year, I became one of the youngest supervisors, training new staff in trauma informed care and motivational interviewing. After 2.5 years, a miscarriage led me to step away and later transition into working with homeless youth, helping them secure housing and stability. I wanted to support young people not only inside the system but also in the community. This opportunity would help me continue my education and move closer to my legal and law enforcement goals. I would use the award funds for tuition, the practical support that would allow me to keep building a career centered on service, accountability, and second chances. I am already registered for summer classes, and this award would help cover six credits, including Correctional Processes and Interpersonal Communication. These courses directly support the work I want to do by strengthening my understanding of the justice system and improving my ability to communicate effectively with diverse communities. My educational and life goals begin with earning my degree and becoming the first in my family to finish college. As a single mother, the financial challenges can be overwhelming, but completing my education would lift a tremendous burden and allow me to continue part time while still supporting my son. My long-term goal is to become a youth probation officer or a juvenile criminal justice case manager. I want to work directly with young people who are navigating the same system I once did, offering guidance, structure, and hope. To me, “paying it forward” means showing up for at risk youth during their hardest moments. It means offering accountability while also reminding them that growth and maturity are possible, even after mistakes. I believe real change happens when young people feel seen, supported, and believed in. As a society, we have a responsibility to invest in the next generation if we want to see meaningful change. With my degree, I know I can be an even stronger advocate and support system for youth who feel lost or overlooked. My experiences have prepared me to meet them with empathy, honesty, and the belief that a second chance can change a life.

The Future of Human Connection In a world increasingly shaped by technology, preserving authentic human connection has become both more challenging and more essential. While digital tools offer convenience and instant access to information, they also create distance between people in subtle but powerful ways. Today, even initiating a simple conversation with a stranger can feel awkward or intrusive. Yet for many, myself included these spontaneous interactions are some of the most meaningful moments in daily life. They remind us that connection is not only possible but deeply rewarding when we choose to be intentional about it. One of the most effective ways to preserve genuine human connection is to be deliberate when moving through the world. This means going out of your way to start conversations, offering a compliment, or sharing a simple smile. These small gestures may seem insignificant, but they create openings for real interaction. They signal presence, warmth, and curiosity, qualities that technology often dulls. When we choose to engage with the people around us, we strengthen the social fabric that holds communities together. Three years ago, I made a decision that dramatically reshaped how I connect with others: I removed myself from social media entirely. I realized I was spending hours scrolling through content that added no value to my life. I found myself posting pictures of random things simply to keep up with an online presence that felt increasingly disconnected from who I really was. Stepping away from social media wasn’t about rejecting technology altogether; it was about reclaiming my time, attention, and sense of self. While this choice may seem unconventional, it worked wonders for me. Without the constant pull of online validation, I felt more grounded, more intentional, and more eager to engage with people face‑to‑face. This shift made everyday interactions more exciting. I found myself talking to strangers more often, feeling more carefree, and experiencing a greater sense of control over my life. Social media certainly has benefits, it is a powerful tool for marketing, networking, and sharing resources. But it also encourages people to portray idealized versions of themselves to impress strangers. It can invite unwanted attention or even danger. Most importantly, it can distract us from the richness of real‑world experiences. Organic human interactions stimulate dopamine, build emotional intelligence, and prepare us for the interpersonal demands of our careers and relationships. My own career aspirations highlight the importance of these skills. I want to go into law enforcement, a field where communication is not optional, it is essential. Reading body language, interpreting facial expressions, and communicating clearly can determine whether a situation escalates or resolves peacefully. These abilities cannot be learned through screens alone. They are developed through practice, presence, and genuine engagement with others. Strengthening human connection requires intentional habits. Putting phones away during meals with family, friends, or partners allows us to fully experience the moment. Taking in the scenery, breathing fresh air, and reflecting on life without the impulse to document everything helps us build memories that are richer than any photograph. Pictures are nice, but the sensory memories, what we saw, heard, felt, and experienced stay with us. Watching my younger brother grow up has made these changes even more apparent. At age 27, I see a stark difference between my teenage years and his. He is 16, and the lingo he uses, the way he interacts, and even his timid voice when ordering food reflect a generation shaped by screens. Many young people today feel anxious about interviews or simple social interactions because they have had fewer opportunities to practice them. What feels natural to older generations can feel overwhelming to those raised in a digital environment. We cannot allow constant screen use to become the norm. To protect authentic human connection, we must actively choose to connect with one another. That means being present, being intentional, being kind, and remaining curious. Technology will continue to evolve, but our humanity must evolve with it—not away from it. The future of human connection depends on our willingness to look up, reach out, and engage with the world in front of us.

I chose to pursue a career in criminal justice at a very young age, long before I fully understood what the field required. My earliest memories shaped that decision. My biological father struggled with addiction and violence, creating a dangerous environment for my mother, my sister, and me. When the abuse extended to us, my mother made the courageous decision to leave in the middle of the night and never look back. Even after leaving, the trauma continued. At ages four and five, my sister and I were kidnapped by my biological father. I remember officers surrounding the house, bullhorns echoing through the air, and holding my sister tightly as I cried for my mother. That moment stayed with me. It was the first time I understood what protection looked like and what it meant to desperately need it. At six years old, I told my mother I wanted to be a police officer. She used to hum the “bad boys” theme song from Cops, and she even wrote a contract for me promising that I would be the first in our family to graduate college and enter law enforcement. My decision never wavered. Even as I grew older and learned how statistically unlikely my path might be, as a woman, a minority, and a single mother I refused to let those odds define me. Instead, they motivated me. Working in corrections for two and a half years gave me my first real experience in the criminal justice system. I worked closely with officers, wrote reports, learned physical restraint techniques, and handled high‑stress situations. What I valued most, though, was the human side of the work: verbally de‑escalating conflicts, checking in on inmates, leading groups, and encouraging the young girls in the facility who reminded me of myself at their age. Those moments confirmed that I wasn’t just choosing a career, I was choosing a purpose. I intend to positively impact society by leading with integrity, grit, honesty, compassion, courage, and grace. I want to be the kind of officer who sees people fully, not just their circumstances. I want to be someone who can de‑escalate with empathy, enforce the law with fairness, and serve with a deep understanding of how trauma shapes lives. I hope to be an example not only for my child and my family, but for women everywhere who aspire to enter this field despite the misconceptions or barriers placed in front of them. This scholarship would bring me six credits closer to completing my degree. As a single mother, balancing financial responsibilities with academic goals is challenging, but I am committed to creating a better future for my child and for the community I will one day serve. Every step I take toward this career is rooted in the belief that my past does not define me, it drives me. I am determined to become a strong, compassionate leader in law enforcement, and this scholarship would help me continue that journey.

I want to build a safer, more supportive community for young people who are at risk of entering the criminal justice system. That goal comes from a place that is both deeply personal and shaped by what I’ve witnessed professionally. Growing up with a father struggling with addiction and abuse, and a mother doing everything she could to raise two daughters alone, I learned early how much a child’s environment can shape their future. I also learned how easily a young person can be overlooked when their home life is chaotic, unstable, or unsafe. Those experiences stayed with me, and they became even more real when I began working in a juvenile detention center and saw how many kids were carrying stories similar to mine. Many of the youth I encountered weren’t “bad kids.” They were kids born into circumstances that limited their choices long before they understood they had any. Poverty, addiction, unstable homes, and lack of guidance create a path that society often blames them for walking. But the truth is that we, as a community, play a role in those outcomes when we fail to step in early, fail to offer support, or fail to believe in their potential. I want to build something that interrupts that cycle. With a degree in criminal justice, my goal is to create programs and spaces that offer compassion, structure, and real resources things like mentorship, mental‑health support, educational guidance, and safe adults who show up consistently. I want to help young people see the good in themselves before the system convinces them they’re defined by their mistakes. I want to help them imagine futures they’ve never been encouraged to picture. And I want to build bridges between families, schools, and community organizations so that no child feels like they’re navigating life alone. Building this kind of community matters because when we invest in our youth, we invest in everyone’s future. A supported young person becomes an adult who contributes, who mentors, who breaks generational cycles. The impact ripples outward safer neighborhoods, stronger families, and a justice system that focuses more on prevention than punishment. My commitment comes from lived experience, from the kids I’ve worked with, and from the belief that change is possible when someone chooses to care. What I hope to build is not just a program or a career path, but a culture of guidance and hope for the next generation so they can grow into adults who do the same for those who come after them.

Balancing my education with my responsibilities as a single parent has required intention, flexibility, and a willingness to grow through discomfort. After a seven‑year gap in my college journey, I decided to ease back in by taking just one class. With my seven‑year‑old’s busy sports schedule and my full‑time job as a case manager, I wasn’t sure how school would fit into my life. As this semester comes to an end, I’m proud of how well I’ve managed it. I discovered that the quiet hours after my son’s bedtime became “my time”, the space where I could study, read, and complete discussion posts. What I feared would interfere with school, like soccer practices and games, became part of a routine I learned to navigate confidently. Being a single parent means my son will always come first. His needs are my priority, and the time that remains is what I dedicate to my education. As the sole provider for our household, working less than forty hours a week isn’t an option, so time management has become an exercise in commitment and sacrifice. At twenty‑seven, I used to go to bed at the same time as my child 8 p.m. but returning to school required me to adjust. Now, late evenings and Sunday nights, while he works on his own homework, have become our shared study time. One of the most meaningful parts of this journey has been the conversations I’ve had with my son. When he asked why adults do homework, I explained that learning never stops and that knowledge is power. I told him that our brains grow when we feed them new information. He smiled and said that we are “trees growing together.” That simple phrase has become a reminder of why I’m doing this, not just for my own goals, but to model perseverance, curiosity, and resilience for him. Financially, things are challenging. Every dollar matters, and providing for my son is my greatest joy, but it also means that pursuing my degree requires creativity and resourcefulness. My dream of becoming the first in my family to earn a college degree and eventually buying a home with a yard for my son keeps me motivated. This scholarship would allow me to earn six more credits toward my degree and would lift a significant burden from my shoulders. With FAFSA currently unavailable to me due to loans in default from 2018, I am in the process of consolidating them, but the approval is still pending. While I wait, I am doing everything I can to continue my education through the summer. This scholarship would not only ease the financial strain but also help me maintain the momentum I’ve worked so hard to build after returning to school. I am hopeful, determined, and committed to showing my son that even when life gets complicated, we keep growing. One day, he will understand how much he contributed to my motivation not only to achieve my personal goals, but to create a stable, fulfilling life for both of us.

The most challenging part of being both a student and a single parent is carrying the weight of two futures at once—my son’s and my own—while trying not to let either one slip through my fingers. As the sole provider, every decision I make has a ripple effect. Every hour of my day is stretched between working full‑time, managing our home, getting my son to soccer practices, and then opening my laptop late at night to finish assignments. There is no safety net, no second income, no one to step in when I am exhausted. The pressure can feel overwhelming, but it is also what fuels me. I know that everything I am doing now is building the foundation for the life my son and I deserve. The emotional challenge is just as heavy as the practical one. When I’m studying, I feel guilty for not giving my son my full attention. When I’m focused on him, I worry about falling behind in school. It’s a constant tug‑of‑war between wanting to be fully present as a mother and wanting to push forward as a student. But then there are moments like when he sits next to me doing his homework while I do mine, when I realize that he is watching me fight for our future. He asks how my quizzes went, celebrates my small wins, and reminds me that we are in this together. Those moments make every sacrifice worth it. Financially, the struggle is real and constant. With FAFSA unavailable to me due to old loan defaults, I’ve had to pay out of pocket for classes while still covering rent, groceries, bills, and my son’s needs. When I recently had to tell his soccer club that I could no longer afford the payments, I felt defeated. But then they awarded him a scholarship, and I was reminded that even in the hardest seasons, blessings still find their way to us. That scholarship didn’t just keep him in the sport he loves; it reminded me that people believe in us, even when I feel like I’m barely holding things together. This scholarship would make a profound difference in our lives. It would ease the financial burden that weighs on me every day and allow me to continue my education without sacrificing my son’s opportunities or our stability. It would give me the space to breathe, to focus, and to move forward with confidence instead of fear. Most importantly, it would help me stay on track to graduate and step into the career I’ve worked so hard to pursue. My dream is to work in the criminal justice field, specifically with vulnerable youth. I have spent years working with homeless and at‑risk young people, youth who reminded me so much of my younger self. Growing up without guidance or stability shapes a child in ways that follow them into adulthood. Being able to mentor these young people, to help them feel seen, valued, and supported, has been one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. It showed me how powerful it is when someone simply believes in you. I want to bring that same compassion and understanding into the criminal justice system. I want to work with youth who are at risk of entering the system or who are already involved in it. I want to guide them toward safer paths, connect them with resources, and help them build the confidence and skills they need to break cycles of instability. I also hope to influence the next generation of criminal justice professionals—those who will shape the system in the years to come. I want to show them that empathy, cultural understanding, and humanity are just as important as policy and procedure. As the first in my family to earn a degree, I carry the hopes of my mother, my son, and the generations before me. I want my son to see that even when life doesn’t go as planned, you can still rise, rebuild, and create something beautiful. This scholarship would not only help me finish my degree, but it would also help me show my son, and the youth I hope to serve, that perseverance can change lives. My journey has been far from easy, but it has been filled with purpose. With support like this scholarship, I can continue paving the way for a future where my son and I thrive, and where I can uplift the young people who need guidance the most.

I am a single mother, a first‑generation daughter of an immigrant mother, and a woman who has learned to rise through circumstances that were never part of the plan. Becoming a single mom changed the entire direction of my life, but it also gave me the greatest blessing I could ever ask for my son. He is almost seven now, and every day he teaches me what love, sacrifice, and purpose truly look like. He is the reason I push forward, even when life feels heavy. He is the reason I returned to school after nearly seven years away. When I became a single mother right after my first year at MSU Denver, I put my education on pause to give my son the stability and attention he deserved. That pause came with financial hardship, stress, and many moments where I questioned whether I would ever find my way back. But it also came with joy watching him grow, cheering him on in sports, and learning how to build a life for the two of us on one income. Even when money was tight, I found ways to keep him involved in the activities he loves. When I recently had to tell his soccer club that I could no longer afford the payments, they surprised us with a scholarship. I felt humbled, grateful, and reminded that even in struggle, blessings find their way to us. Returning to school this year has been emotional in ways I didn’t expect. I took one class to see if I could balance full‑time work, motherhood, soccer practices, and studying. FAFSA isn’t available to me right now because of old loan defaults, so I paid out of pocket. But I proved to myself that I can do this. My goal is to graduate in 2028, even if it means going part‑time. Slow progress is still progress, and my son gets to watch me fight for our future. My career goal is to work in the criminal justice field, specifically with youth who are vulnerable, overlooked, or at risk of entering the system. I’ve worked with homeless youth and young people from unstable homes and kids who remind me so much of my younger self. I know what it feels like to grow up without guidance, without stability, and without someone to show you that you matter. Being able to mentor these youth, to help them feel seen and supported, has been one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. It confirmed that my purpose is to stand beside young people who are navigating the same storms I once did. I want to use my degree to guide the next generation, both the youth who need direction and the future criminal justice professionals who need compassion, cultural understanding, and heart. I want to be the person I needed when I was younger. I want to show my son, and the youth I serve, that even when life doesn’t go as planned, you can still build something beautiful from it. As the first in my family to earn a degree, I carry the hopes of my mother, my son, and the generations before me. My journey has been far from easy, but it has been filled with purpose. Through my career, I hope to uplift my family, my community, and the young people who deserve someone fighting for them, just as I continue fighting for us.

Becoming a single mother was never part of the plan, but it has become the greatest source of joy, purpose, and motivation in my life. My son, who is now almost seven, has taught me the true meaning of love and sacrifice. I became a single mom right after my first year at MSU Denver, and although I had every intention of finishing my degree on time, life took a different turn. I made the decision to pause school, thinking it would be temporary, but that pause stretched into nearly seven years filled with financial hardship, stress, tears, and just as many moments of joy. My son is the gift God knew I needed. Motherhood shifted my entire world. I stopped thinking about myself and focused completely on him—his needs, his happiness, his future. Every extra dollar goes toward his sports, clothes, school, and experiences. I’ve had him in sports since he was two, and even when money was tight, I found a way. Recently, I had to make the difficult decision to tell his club soccer team that we could no longer afford the payments. To my surprise, they awarded him a scholarship to continue playing. I felt overwhelming gratitude mixed with a bit of embarrassment, knowing they understood how hard things had become financially. But more than anything, I felt relief and pride that he could continue doing what he loves. This year, I decided it was finally time to return to school. I took one class to test whether I could balance full‑time work, motherhood, soccer practices, and coursework. FAFSA is not available to me right now because my loans have been in default since 2018, so I paid out of pocket on a payment plan. It wasn’t easy, but I proved to myself that I could do it. My goal is to take two classes this summer and continue part‑time until I graduate in 2028. It’s not the ideal pace, but it’s the only way to balance being a mom and the sole provider for my household. Progress may be slow, but the reward will be worth it. What has been most fulfilling is how much my son has embraced this journey with me. He asks how my quizzes went, sits next to me while he does his homework, and cheers me on the same way I cheer for him. Sometimes it feels like we’re best friends paving the way for our future together. He is my motivation, and everything I do is to give him the best life possible while teaching him what it means to work hard and never give up. As the first daughter of an immigrant mother, I will also be the first in my family to earn a degree. That brings immense pride not only to me but to my entire family. I want my son to see the importance of education, perseverance, and faith. This year has been a blessing, even with the challenges. I read in my free time, go to the gym to lift my spirits, and we attend church when his soccer schedule allows. We lean on each other, celebrate small wins, and keep moving forward with encouragement and love. My journey has not been easy, but it has been meaningful. I hope that through further education, I can uplift myself and create a more stable, abundant future for my son and me, one built on resilience, faith, and the belief that quitting is never an option.

This opportunity is deeply meaningful to me because it represents more than financial support—it is a chance to continue building a better life for my son and myself. As a single mother for nearly seven years, my education has not always been a priority, due to caring for my son and his needs first. Every step of my journey has been guided by faith, and it remains the foundation that carries me through challenges and triumphs alike. Growing up in a faith-filled home was one of the greatest gifts I received. My relationship with God has strengthened year after year, and knowing I am never alone has shaped how I face life’s highs and lows. Whether life feels steady or turned upside down, I pray. I cry. I hand it over to God, trusting that He knows where I am meant to be and when. That trust guided me when I made the decision to return to school. With my student loans in default and FAFSA unavailable, I prayed that if this was the right time, God would make a way. The week classes were set to begin; my COF was approved and my dad called to say he would help with my first semester. That moment felt like confirmation. In November 2024, I experienced a miscarriage that left me emotionally broken, out of work, and unsure of my next steps. I had left a stable job with the State of Colorado because of the hardship, and I felt lost. Once again, I turned to prayer. Two weeks after applying for a new position, I received an offer as a Lead Case Manager with a nonprofit—despite not having the bachelor’s degree, the role required. They told me my experience working in the jail and serving vulnerable populations made up for it. I was overwhelmed with gratitude, both for their belief in me and for God placing me exactly where I was needed. My faith has also shaped the way I parent. Watching my son pray, ask questions about the Bible, and learn to treat others with grace brings me joy. When things don’t go our way, we remind each other that it’s okay—we lean on prayer and on each other. Our church, Red Rocks in Littleton, has become a home for us over the past two years, strengthening our spiritual foundation. Balancing full-time work, full-time motherhood, and school has been challenging, but it has also been a blessing. I am registered for summer classes, even though finances are tight, because I refuse to give up on the future I am building. My goal is to work in law enforcement, specifically with juveniles. My time working in corrections showed me how many young people grow up feeling alone, overlooked, or without guidance. When they wanted to talk about God, I listened and shared my own story. I believe part of my purpose as a mother and as a follower of Christ—is to show others they are not alone and that there is no wrong way to pray or ask for help. My faith has carried me this far, and I will continue to rely on it as I pursue greater heights. I trust that if I am meant to continue my education, God will provide the way. This scholarship would not only support my academic journey, but it would also support the future I am building for my son and the young people I hope to serve.

Books on self‑help and mental health have taught me that life moves in waves—some heavy, some calm, all temporary. As a single mother who grew up in a home shaped by abuse, addiction, and instability, these books helped me understand that healing is not linear and that perseverance is a skill you build over time. They taught me the difference between wanting change and taking action to create it, and they helped me recognize the importance of coping skills, boundaries, and human connection. Through reading, I learned that values and integrity must guide every decision, especially when life feels overwhelming. My mental health journey has shaped the way I see the world and the way I show up for others. Growing up with an abusive father, a single mother doing her best, and later experiencing losses from cancer, I learned early what it means to carry emotional weight. Those experiences could have hardened me, but instead they taught me empathy, patience, and the importance of speaking up when something is wrong. They taught me that leadership requires courage, and that advocating for yourself and others is not only necessary it is powerful. These lessons have influenced my relationships, my beliefs, and my career goals. They have made me more intentional about the people I surround myself with and more committed to raising my son with emotional awareness, resilience, and faith. They have also shaped my path in the criminal justice field. I want to be someone who understands trauma, not just from textbooks but from lived experience. My professional experience has reinforced this purpose. I spent two and a half years working as a juvenile corrections officer, where I saw firsthand how many young people enter the system because of circumstances, they never chose poverty, addiction in the home, homelessness, and generational trauma. Later, as a case manager helping house homeless youth, I learned how to advocate effectively, celebrate small wins, and get creative with limited resources. Goal‑setting, resourcefulness, and motivational interviewing became essential tools in my work. These experiences showed me that change happens when someone believes in you long enough for you to believe in yourself. As a single mother, I carry these lessons into my personal life as well. My son is my motivation, to finish my criminal justice degree, and to become the first in my family to earn a college degree. I want him to see that even when life is difficult, we keep going. We pray, we ask for guidance, we work hard, and we never give up. I want him to grow up knowing that his mother fought for a better life and that he can do the same. The social issue I am most committed to addressing is the vulnerability of youth within the justice system. Too many young people are born into environments that limit their choices before they even understand what choices are. I believe in integrating trauma‑informed care, motivational interviewing, and youth‑centered approaches into the justice system. These tools help young people recognize their own strengths and build internal motivation for change. Empowering youth, connecting them to resources, and being a steady, supportive presence can break cycles that have existed for generations. My goal is to make a positive impact by advocating for these changes and by continuing to work directly with youth who need guidance, stability, and hope. I want to help create a justice system that sees potential instead of problems, and that treats young people with dignity, compassion, and fairness.

Education matters to me because it represents the future, I am determined to build for myself and my son, one that looks nothing like the instability I grew up in. Neither of my parents attended college, and for most of my childhood, higher education felt out of reach. My father struggled with addiction to hard drugs, including fentanyl, and the chaos that came with it shaped much of my early life. When his addiction turned violent, my mother made the difficult decision to leave with my sister and me. Even though we found safety, the trauma stayed with us. Becoming a first‑generation college student is more than a personal milestone. It is a way of rewriting the story my family has carried for generations. It is proof to myself, to my parents, and most importantly to my son that our beginnings do not define our endings. Every class I take and every step I make toward my degree shows him what dedication and commitment can do. I want him to grow up knowing that hard work can break cycles, open doors, and create opportunities that once felt impossible. My path into criminal justice comes from those early experiences. Growing up around addiction taught me how deeply it affects children, families, and entire communities. That understanding pushed me to work in juvenile corrections, where I spent over two years talking with youth who were already facing the same dangers I once did. Hearing a fourteen‑year‑old describe how they were introduced to fentanyl is something that never leaves you. Their stories reminded me of my own childhood and strengthened my commitment to protecting and educating young people before they reach that point. Finishing my degree is not just about career goals, it is about the legacy I want to leave. I want to use my education to advocate for children who feel unseen, to educate youth about the risks of fentanyl, and to help families who are fighting the same battles mine once did. I want my son to see a mother who didn’t give up, who turned pain into purpose, and who built a better life through perseverance. The legacy I hope to leave is one of strength, compassion, and change. I want my son to remember that his mother chose a different path and worked relentlessly to create a safer, more stable future for him. And I want the young people I serve to know that someone who understands their struggles is fighting for them. Education is the foundation of that legacy. It is the bridge between where I came from and the future, I am determined to create for myself, for my family, and for the next generation.

My name is Veronica Adams. I am 27 years old, a single mother to a beautiful seven‑year‑old boy, and someone whose life has been shaped in profound ways by the impact of drugs—especially fentanyl. My earliest memories include the chaos and fear that came from having a father addicted to hard drugs. His addiction didn’t just consume him; it consumed our home. When his drug use escalated to violence, my mother knew she had to protect my little sister and me. Leaving him was the first step toward safety, but the emotional and psychological effects of growing up around addiction stayed with me. Those experiences planted a seed in me at a young age. I knew I wanted to go into law enforcement, not out of anger, but out of a commitment to protect children who were living through the same situations I once did. I understood firsthand how addiction tears families apart, how it steals stability, and how it exposes children to trauma long before they can understand what is happening around them. That commitment led me to work in juvenile corrections for about two and a half years. During that time, I had countless conversations with youth between the ages of 12 and 18 about their experiences with drugs, especially fentanyl. Hearing a fourteen‑year‑old explain how they were introduced to fentanyl is something that stays with you. Many of them didn’t even know what they were taking at first. Others were pressured, misled, or simply trying to escape pain they didn’t have the tools to cope with. Their stories broke my heart, not only because of their age, but because I recognized the same patterns of vulnerability and exposure that I had lived through myself. Fentanyl has become a threat that reaches into every community, and I have seen its consequences up close. I have lost friends to drugs they believed were safe, only to find out later they were laced with fentanyl. Those losses strengthened my resolve to be part of the solution. They reminded me that education, prevention, and early intervention are not optional—they are essential. Today, I am finishing my degree in criminal justice with the goal of using my education and experience to protect and empower younger generations. I want to work directly with youth, families, and communities to break the cycles of addiction and trauma. My goal is to help children understand the risks, pressures, and realities surrounding fentanyl before they encounter it. I want to be a voice that reaches them early, a resource they can trust, and an advocate who understands their struggles not from a distance, but from lived experience. My past could have defined me in a negative way, but instead it has become my motivation. Being a mother has only strengthened that purpose. I want my son to grow up in a world where children are educated, supported, and protected from the dangers that once surrounded me. I want him to see that even painful beginnings can lead to meaningful futures. Fentanyl has affected my life in deeply personal ways, but it has also shaped my mission. Through my criminal justice degree, my work with youth, and my commitment to prevention and education, I am working toward a future where fewer families experience the devastation that mine did. My story is not just about what I survived, it is about what I am determined to change.

The social issue I am most committed to addressing is the cycle of disadvantage that affects vulnerable youth especially those who grow up facing poverty, unstable homes, trauma, and involvement with the juvenile justice system. My dedication to this work is deeply personal. As a single mother, a survivor of domestic violence, and someone who grew up in a low‑income, single‑parent household, I understand how easily a young person’s life can be shaped by circumstances beyond their control. My own path could have looked very different if not for the few supports, I was fortunate enough to have. That understanding drives my determination to be that support for young people who often feel unseen, unheard, or written off. For years, I have worked in fields that place me directly alongside youth who are navigating some of the hardest moments of their lives. My early work in juvenile corrections opened my eyes to how many young people enter the system not because they are inherently “bad,” but because they have been failed by the systems meant to protect them. I saw firsthand how trauma, neglect, and lack of guidance can compound until a young person ends up in a place that feels impossible to climb out of. Those experiences stayed with me and shaped my belief that rehabilitation—not punishment—is what truly changes lives. Today, I work in the nonprofit sector helping homeless youth secure stable housing. Housing is more than a roof; it is safety, dignity, and the foundation for every other form of healing. Many of the youth I serve have histories of family conflict, abuse, or system involvement. When they finally have a place to call their own, even temporarily, they begin to see themselves as worthy of stability and capable of building a future. Being part of that transformation is one of the greatest privileges of my life. My next step is pursuing a degree in criminal justice so I can work directly with juveniles in the probation system. I want to be the kind of probation officer who sees the whole child not just their file. My goal is to help youth recognize their own value, build resilience, and develop the tools they need to break cycles of trauma and instability. I believe that when young people are met with compassion, structure, and genuine belief in their potential, they can rewrite their stories. As a mother to a seven‑year‑old boy, I am also motivated by the world I want him to grow up in. I want him to see that adversity does not define us, and that giving back is a powerful way to turn pain into purpose. Every day, I strive to model perseverance, empathy, and commitment to community, not just for him, but for the youth I serve. Addressing the social issues facing vulnerable youth requires patience, advocacy, and heart. I bring all three, shaped by my own lived experience and strengthened by the young people who trust me with their stories. My hope is to continue building a career that uplifts juveniles who need support the most, helping them see the possibilities ahead of them and reminding them that their past does not have to determine their future.

One of the greatest struggles I have worked to rise above is rebuilding my life after leaving a domestic relationship while raising a young child. Choosing to leave was not simple or safe, but I knew staying would put both my son and me at risk. I refused to become another statistic, and I wanted my child to grow up seeing strength, safety, and stability—not fear. Walking away was the first step, but rebuilding everything from the ground up has been the true test of resilience. As a single mother and the sole financial provider, every day requires careful balance. I work full time in the nonprofit sector supporting homeless youth, helping them secure housing and stability. The work is meaningful, but it is also demanding, and I carry the weight of knowing that my income alone keeps our household afloat. At the same time, I am raising a now seven‑year‑old boy who is active in sports and deserves the chance to explore his interests and feel supported in every part of his life. Between practices, school events, and the daily responsibilities of parenting, our schedule is tight, and our resources are often stretched thin. Despite these challenges, I made the decision to return to college after eight years away. I am currently pursuing my AAS degree in Criminal Justice because education feels like the clearest path toward a safer, more stable future for my child and me. I want to show my son that women can be strong, dependable, and capable of achieving their goals with dignity and perseverance. I want him to see that even when life becomes overwhelming, we do not give up, we adapt, we work harder, and we rise. Going back to school has not been easy. Paying out of pocket this semester has been especially difficult, and there have been moments when I questioned whether I could continue. But stopping now would mean stepping away from the dream I have fought so hard to reclaim. I am determined to become the first generation in my family to earn a college degree, not only for my own growth but to set an example for my son. I want him to witness firsthand what it looks like to pursue a goal even when the odds feel stacked against you. There are days when I feel like I am running on empty balancing full‑time work, part‑time school, and full‑time motherhood but I remind myself why I started. I remind myself of the life I left behind, the safety I fought to create, and the future I am building. Education is not just a personal ambition; it is my way out, my way forward, and my way of ensuring that my child grows up with a role model who never stopped striving for better. I am still rising above the challenges that come with being a single parent, a student, and a survivor, but every step I take brings me closer to the life I envision for us. This journey has taught me resilience, discipline, and hope, and I am committed to seeing it through.