My grandfather died on a Tuesday. By Thursday, I took the first step toward a future I could never have imagined for myself. At the time, moving to Washington, D.C. and attending Howard University were not part of some carefully developed plan. I thought my life would remain in Texas. Yet, in one of the most painful weeks of my life, grief and possibility somehow arrived together. I was mourning the man who had been my heart while unknowingly beginning a journey that would eventually lead me to Howard University and a PhD in Social Work. My grandfather was more than my grandfather. My father was not consistently active in my life, so my grandfather filled a space that otherwise would have been empty. He was the man I could call. He encouraged me, believed in my ideas, and taught me lessons that continue to shape who I am. He taught me about entrepreneurship and the importance of creating something of my own. When I started Empowered Hands, an organization dedicated to creating employment and other opportunities for Deaf and hard-of-hearing people, he supported me. Before I became a graduate student, social worker, researcher, or doctoral student, he believed that what I was building could become something meaningful. He also taught me to value education. He wanted me to go to college and believed education could create opportunities beyond what I could see at the time. Then he died before he could see where those lessons would take me. Two days after losing him, I took that first unexpected step toward Washington, D.C. Eventually, I moved away from Texas, attended Howard University, earned my Master of Social Work, and continued into Howard's PhD program. There is something beautiful about that journey, but there is also something incredibly painful about it. This has been one of the hardest seasons of my life. There have been financial challenges, academic pressure, uncertainty, emotional moments, and days when I have questioned whether I could continue. In those moments, I do not only miss my grandfather. I miss having the ability to call him. I want to tell him what happened. I want to tell him that the granddaughter he encouraged to go to college is pursuing a doctorate. I want to tell him how Empowered Hands has grown and about the Deaf people whose lives I have been able to impact. I want to tell him about the difficult days too, because I know he would remind me that I can figure them out. His death taught me that grief does not disappear simply because life continues. Sometimes you carry grief with you into every new accomplishment. My grandfather never got to see me move to D.C. or walk across the stage at Howard. He will not physically be there when I become Dr. Zibora Gilder. But he is woven into all of it. Every time I advocate for someone, build something from an idea, continue my education, or keep going on a day when quitting would be easier, I am carrying forward something he gave me. Losing him created an absence that no accomplishment can fill. But his life also gave me a foundation that his death could not take away. I am still building the future he taught me to believe was possible, and I hope the life I create continues to make him proud.

For many years, I thought strength meant handling everything myself. I now understand that some of the strongest decisions I have made were admitting that I needed help, accepting support, and learning how to manage my mental health instead of pretending I could simply push through it. My experience has primarily been with mental health rather than substance abuse. I live with ADHD, depression, and anxiety, but for much of my early educational journey, I did not fully understand what I was experiencing or how significantly it was affecting my life. My undergraduate years were particularly difficult. I was dealing with depression, anxiety, low self-worth, and periods of suicidal ideation while also living with ADHD that had not yet been diagnosed. At the same time, I experienced major academic and financial challenges and lost my best friend to sickle cell disease. Everything felt like it was happening at once. School became increasingly difficult. I struggled academically and lost financial aid. Tasks that seemed simple for other students could feel overwhelming to me, and I often interpreted those struggles as personal failures. Instead of understanding that I needed different tools and support, I questioned my intelligence and whether I belonged in college at all. It took me seven years to earn my bachelor's degree. For a long time, I was embarrassed by that part of my story. Today, I see it differently. I kept going during a period when simply continuing required tremendous perseverance. My greatest growth came when I stopped believing that perseverance meant suffering silently. Through therapy, medication management, learning more about ADHD, and developing a stronger support system, I began to understand myself differently. I learned how to recognize when I am becoming overwhelmed, communicate what I need, and use accommodations and resources without feeling ashamed. That personal growth changed my academic trajectory. The student who once struggled to remain in college eventually returned to higher education and earned a Master of Social Work from Howard University with a 3.95 GPA. Today, I am pursuing my PhD in Social Work at Howard. I am proud of those accomplishments, but I am equally proud that I no longer sacrifice my mental health in pursuit of them. My plan for continuing recovery is intentional. I maintain an ongoing relationship with a therapist, use medication management when appropriate, utilize academic accommodations and support, and pay closer attention to signs that I am becoming overwhelmed. I am also learning that rest, boundaries, organization, and asking for help are necessary parts of maintaining my wellness. Recovery for me does not mean that depression, anxiety, or ADHD suddenly disappear. It means I have developed healthier ways to manage them and a willingness to seek support when I need it. My experiences have also shaped the social worker I am becoming. Because I know what it feels like to struggle without adequate support, mental health advocacy has become part of my commitment to others. I volunteer with students around mental health initiatives and want my future work to help make mental health resources more accessible, particularly for Black, Deaf, and disabled communities. My educational goal is to complete my PhD and use research, social work, and community advocacy to improve the systems people depend on for support. I want fewer people to believe they must reach a crisis before they are worthy of help. There was once a version of me who questioned whether she would even finish college. Today, I am working toward becoming Dr. Zibora Gilder. My recovery has taught me that resilience is not doing everything alone. Sometimes resilience looks like therapy. Sometimes it is medication, an accommodation, a boundary, or asking someone to help carry what has become too heavy. I am still ambitious and determined, but now I know I do not have to choose between pursuing my dreams and taking care of myself. I can do both.

There was a time when I thought struggling meant I was failing. I did not understand that I was trying to navigate college and life while dealing with mental health challenges I did not yet have the tools to manage. During my undergraduate years, I struggled with depression, anxiety, low self-worth, and periods of suicidal ideation. I was also living with undiagnosed ADHD. I could not understand why things that seemed manageable for other students sometimes felt overwhelming for me. I struggled academically, lost financial aid, and experienced the devastating loss of my best friend to sickle cell disease. These challenges did not happen neatly one at a time. They collided, and I did not have the mental health support, accommodations, or understanding of myself that I have today. It ultimately took me seven years to complete my bachelor's degree. For a long time, I carried shame about that. I saw the extra years as evidence that I was not good enough or disciplined enough. Depression reinforced those thoughts, anxiety made every setback feel larger, and ADHD made organization, focus, and completing certain tasks more difficult. My life began changing when I stopped treating mental health as something I simply needed to push through. Over the years, therapy, medication management, support, and eventually understanding my ADHD helped me learn how my mind works. I learned to ask for help. I learned to use accommodations without seeing them as an unfair advantage. I learned that managing my mental health requires intentionality, and that perseverance sometimes means changing how you move forward rather than forcing yourself to keep struggling in the same way. My challenges did not magically disappear. The difference is that today I have tools and people supporting me. I have a therapist who has become an important part of my support system. I understand myself better, recognize when I am becoming overwhelmed, and am more willing to communicate what I need. The student who took seven years to finish her undergraduate degree eventually returned to school and earned a Master of Social Work from Howard University with a 3.95 GPA. Today, I am pursuing my PhD in Social Work. That transformation has deeply influenced the social worker and advocate I have become. I know what it feels like to struggle internally while other people may not recognize the seriousness of what you are experiencing. Because of that, I am committed to mental health advocacy, including volunteering with students and supporting efforts that encourage people to seek help without shame. I especially want mental health services to be accessible to communities that are too often overlooked, including Black, Deaf, and disabled communities. People should not have to reach their lowest point before they are surrounded with meaningful support. My mental health journey has taught me that perseverance is not pretending everything is okay. Sometimes perseverance is going to therapy. Sometimes it is taking medication, requesting an accommodation, telling someone you are struggling, or trying again after a setback. I cannot change what the younger version of me experienced, but I can use those experiences to help create the

I want to build something I wish more Deaf and disabled young people could see growing up: a clear pathway from possibility to independence. My vision began with my brother. Growing up with a Deaf sibling allowed me to see his potential, but it also showed me how easily other people could place limitations on his future. Too often, Deaf and disabled people are told what they cannot do before they are given the opportunity to discover what they can do. I have spent much of my career working to change that. I founded Empowered Hands to help Deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals access employment, develop skills, and navigate systems. I later created Camp Empower to begin that work earlier by exposing Deaf youth to college, careers, accommodations, internships, and employment opportunities. Now, I want to build the next level. I envision an Empowerment Center where Deaf and disabled people can access services throughout different stages of their lives. A teenager could participate in career exploration and learn how to advocate for accommodations. A college student could receive mentorship and internship connections. An adult could receive employment support or learn how to start a business. Deaf and disabled women could participate in leadership and entrepreneurship programs designed to help them build confidence, professional networks, and financial independence. I want this to be a place built around strengths rather than limitations. Instead of asking, “What services does this person need?” I want us to also ask, “What does this person want to become, and what tools will help them get there?” My PhD in Social Work at Howard University is helping me develop the research and systems-level knowledge necessary to build this vision sustainably. I want to study the barriers affecting Deaf and disabled communities and use that research to develop programs, strengthen policies, train organizations, and measure whether our work is actually improving people's lives. Ultimately, I am not trying to build something that makes people dependent on Empowered Hands. I want to build something that gives people the tools to outgrow their need for us. I want a Deaf teenager who enters Camp Empower unsure about the future to return years later as an employer, mentor, entrepreneur, or community leader who opens a door for someone else. That is what I want to build: not simply an organization or a building, but a cycle of opportunity where access creates independence, independence creates leadership, and leadership creates opportunities for the next generation.

Growing up with a Deaf brother taught me that sometimes the greatest limitation placed on a young person is not their disability, but what other people believe they are capable of achieving. I watched my brother navigate school, communication barriers, and a world that was not always designed with him in mind. At the same time, I saw his abilities, personality, intelligence, and potential. That experience created a passion in me to make sure Deaf young people have the tools, exposure, and support they need to build successful lives beyond high school. That passion eventually led me to create Camp Empower, a summer program designed to help Deaf and hard-of-hearing youth begin thinking about their futures. I wanted the camp to be more than a place where young people spent their summer. I wanted them to leave seeing possibilities for themselves. Through Camp Empower, youth are exposed to both college and employment pathways so they can begin making informed decisions about what they want after graduation. We discuss careers, college, self-advocacy, workplace expectations, and the accommodations available to them in educational and employment settings. Understanding accommodations is particularly important because young people cannot advocate for resources they do not know exist. I also work with businesses and community partners to create opportunities for young people to gain exposure to real workplaces, internships, and employment experiences. For some participants, this may be their first opportunity to picture themselves working in a particular profession or to interact with employers who recognize their abilities instead of focusing on their disability. What matters most to me is that the young people have choices. College may be the right path for one student, while employment, entrepreneurship, or another form of training may be right for someone else. Success should not have only one definition. My responsibility is to help them develop the skills, confidence, information, and connections necessary to make those decisions for themselves. My community work has taught me that service is most powerful when it creates independence. I do not want Deaf youth to believe they need someone to rescue them or make decisions for them. I want them to understand their rights, recognize their strengths, advocate for themselves, and know how to access opportunities. That same philosophy guides my work through Empowered Hands and my decision to pursue a PhD in Social Work at Howard University. I want to better understand the systems affecting education, employment, mental health, and economic opportunity for Deaf and disabled people, and then use research to improve those systems. My brother helped me recognize a need in my community, but the young people I serve continue to shape my vision for what is possible. Every summer, my goal with Camp Empower is simple: I want Deaf youth to leave seeing a future bigger than the limitations other people may have placed on them. Ultimately, that is the good I hope to continue contributing to my community, not deciding someone else's future for them, but making sure they have the tools, access, experiences, and confidence to choose it for themselves.

I have learned that excellence is not perfection. Excellence is how you show up, especially when no one is watching. It is doing your best with what you have, following through on your commitments, and using what you have learned to make things better for someone else. My understanding of excellence has changed throughout my educational journey. My undergraduate experience was difficult. I faced academic, financial, and personal challenges, and it took me seven years to complete my bachelor's degree. That journey taught me perseverance. Years later, I returned to school with a clearer sense of purpose, earned my Master of Social Work from Howard University with a 3.95 GPA, and continued at Howard to pursue my PhD in Social Work. For me, excellence is reflected not only in that academic growth, but in what I choose to do with it. Service has been central to my life for more than a decade. Growing up with a Deaf brother introduced me early to the importance of access and advocacy. I saw his abilities, but I also witnessed barriers that had nothing to do with his potential. Those experiences helped shape my commitment to Deaf and disabled communities. I founded Empowered Hands to help Deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals access employment, develop skills, navigate systems, and pursue greater independence. I have worked with youth, adults, families, employers, and community organizations because I believe meaningful service should help people recognize their own strengths rather than create dependence. My service also extends beyond my professional work. Through social work organizations and community initiatives, I volunteer, mentor, advocate, and help connect people to resources. I have supported mental health awareness, disability advocacy, youth development, substance-use prevention, and community engagement efforts. Whether I am mentoring a student, helping someone prepare for employment, advocating for accessibility, or participating in a community initiative, I try to ask the same question: What can I contribute that will leave this person or community stronger? Howard University has strengthened that commitment. Attending an HBCU has reinforced for me that education carries a responsibility to community. I do not want my PhD to benefit only me. I want my research and education to address real problems experienced by people whose voices are too often excluded from decisions affecting their lives. My long-term goal is to become a leader in social work and the disability community, with a special commitment to empowering Deaf and disabled women. I want to expand opportunities in employment, entrepreneurship, mental health, education, and leadership. I also want to mentor future social workers and advocates so that service continues beyond anything I accomplish individually. I exemplify excellence by continuing to grow while reaching back for others. I may not always have the most resources or the easiest path, but I bring consistency, compassion, determination, and a willingness to serve wherever I am needed. That is the spirit of excellence I carry into my education, my work, and my community: not simply doing well for myself, but using every opportunity I receive to help someone else move forward.

What gives me an advantage is not that my journey has been easier than anyone else's. In many ways, it has been the opposite. My advantage is that I have learned how to turn obstacles into purpose, education into service, and personal experiences into work that creates opportunities for other people. My educational journey has not been traditional. I was raised by a single mother and learned early what it meant to work with limited resources. During my undergraduate years, I struggled academically while dealing with financial challenges, personal loss, and mental health challenges without the support and tools I have today. It took me seven years to complete my bachelor's degree. There was a time when that made me feel behind. Today, I recognize that those seven years taught me something a perfect academic record never could: how to keep going when the path does not look the way you planned. Years later, I returned to graduate school with a different understanding of myself and my purpose. I earned my Master of Social Work from Howard University with a 3.95 GPA and am now pursuing my PhD in Social Work. The student who once questioned whether she belonged in higher education became a doctoral student committed to helping make systems better for others. What also distinguishes me is what I have done with my education. Growing up with a Deaf brother introduced me to disability, accessibility, and advocacy long before I knew those words professionally. I saw his intelligence and potential, but I also saw how systems could create unnecessary barriers. That experience stayed with me. I later founded Empowered Hands, where I have spent years helping Deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals pursue employment, navigate systems, develop skills, and access opportunities. My work has expanded into social work, mental health, disability advocacy, community engagement, and research. I have a particular passion for empowering Deaf and disabled women to pursue education, meaningful careers, leadership, entrepreneurship, and financial independence. I am not pursuing a PhD simply because I want another degree behind my name. I am pursuing it because I have reached a point where I want to understand how to change the systems creating the same barriers I have spent years helping individuals navigate. My goal is to become a leader, researcher, educator, and advocate whose work connects universities with communities. I want my research to become programs people can participate in, policies that improve access, training that changes organizations, and opportunities that allow Deaf and disabled people to thrive. I also want to mentor future social workers and women who may have taken an unconventional path and wonder whether they still belong in spaces like these. Financial support matters in this journey. Doctoral education requires more than tuition. There are books, technology, research expenses, conferences, professional development, and the everyday cost of maintaining a life while pursuing an advanced degree. Receiving this scholarship would reduce some of that burden and allow me to invest more of my energy into my education and the communities I serve. If I have an advantage, it is this: I know what it means to struggle, I know what it means to rebuild, and I know what it means to use what I have gained to reach back for someone else. I am not waiting until after graduation to make an impact. I am already doing the work. This scholarship would help me continue becoming better equipped to do that work on a much larger scale.

For me, giving back has never been limited to volunteering for a few hours or participating in a single event. Service has shaped the direction of my education, career, and life. I believe one of the greatest ways we can serve others is by using what we have learned to create opportunities for people who have historically been denied them. My commitment to service began close to home. Growing up with a Deaf brother allowed me to see both his abilities and the barriers placed in front of him. I learned early that people do not always need someone to speak for them. Sometimes they need someone willing to stand beside them, make sure they have access, and help create space for their own voices to be heard. That lesson eventually became part of my life's work. I founded Empowered Hands to serve Deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals through employment support, advocacy, education, and community-based services. Some of my most meaningful experiences have been helping people prepare for employment, navigate systems, recognize their strengths, and gain greater independence. I have also volunteered my time through social work and community organizations, participated in mental health and disability advocacy, mentored students and emerging professionals, and supported initiatives addressing needs in underserved communities. Service, however, has taught me that helping one person at a time is important, but we must also address the systems creating the barriers. That understanding is one reason I am pursuing a PhD in Social Work at Howard University. I want to combine my community experience with research, teaching, policy, and program development. I am particularly committed to improving opportunities for Deaf and disabled people, with a special heart for women who experience multiple barriers to education, employment, leadership, mental health services, and financial independence. In the future, I want to expand Empowered Hands and develop innovative programs that move beyond simply providing services. I want to create pathways to employment, entrepreneurship, leadership development, mentorship, and economic independence. I want Deaf and disabled women to have spaces where they can build confidence, develop professional skills, connect with mentors, and see themselves represented as leaders. I also want my research to reach beyond academic journals. I want to translate what I learn into practical programs, training, policies, and resources that communities can actually use. I envision teaching future social workers, consulting with organizations on accessibility, mentoring the next generation of advocates, and using my voice to influence systems that determine who receives access and opportunity. Ultimately, I want my impact to multiply. If I help one woman obtain a job, that matters. If I can help change a system so that hundreds of women have greater access to employment, that creates lasting change. The world I hope to help build is one where disability does not determine a person's opportunities, where women are empowered to lead, and where communities have the resources to thrive. My goal is not simply to achieve success for myself. I want every degree, experience, connection, and opportunity I receive to become something I can use to open another door for someone else.

When I imagine the life of my dreams, I see a life that is peaceful, purposeful, financially stable, and surrounded by family. I do not define success only by a title, degree, or salary. I want a life where my career, family, relationships, finances, and personal well-being can exist together without constantly sacrificing one for another. I see myself as Dr. Zibora Gilder, having completed my PhD in Social Work and using my education to make a real difference. I see myself owning a beautiful home that feels peaceful and secure. It is a place where my family gathers for Sunday dinners, holidays, birthdays, and ordinary moments that become memories. I see myself married, raising a family, traveling, and having the freedom to be present for the people I love. Financial stability is also an important part of my dream. I want to pay my bills without anxiety, have savings and investments, prepare for retirement, and handle unexpected expenses without them becoming a crisis. I want to travel with my family, experience other cultures, and occasionally take a vacation where I can actually rest. I want to be able to support my mother and other family members when needed without jeopardizing my own stability. After spending years working hard and navigating financial challenges, I want to know what it feels like to make decisions based on purpose rather than survival. Professionally, I see myself as a nationally respected leader in the Deaf and disability community. I want to continue growing Empowered Hands and develop innovative programs that help Deaf and disabled people gain meaningful employment, become entrepreneurs, strengthen their leadership skills, and achieve financial independence. I want to create opportunities that empower people rather than simply provide services to them. I have a special heart for Deaf and disabled women. I want to build spaces where women have access to mentorship, professional development, education, business support, mental health resources, and connections with other successful women. I want a young Deaf woman to enter one of my programs and leave seeing possibilities for herself that she did not know existed. Disability should never determine how big a woman is allowed to dream. I also see myself teaching future social workers, conducting research, writing, speaking at conferences, and consulting with organizations. I want my research to leave the university and reach the people it was intended to serve. I want to help organizations become more accessible while mentoring the next generation of women, social workers, and disability advocates. However, I do not want success that requires me to work every hour of every day. I want mornings when I can sit quietly before starting my day, evenings when I can have dinner with my family, weekends when I can disconnect, and vacations when I am actually on vacation. I want to choose opportunities because they align with my purpose, not because I desperately need another paycheck. Most importantly, I want peace. My dream is not to become less ambitious. It is to reach a place where ambition and peace can coexist. I want to look at my life and know that I built something meaningful, helped other people thrive, created generational stability for my family, remained connected to the people I love, and gave myself permission to enjoy what I worked so hard to build.

From Surviving to Advocating Mental health has shaped every part of who I am. It has influenced how I see myself, how I build relationships, and ultimately why I chose to become a social worker. During my undergraduate years, I struggled with my mental health in ways that few people knew. I battled anxiety, depression, feelings of worthlessness, and periods of suicidal ideation. At the time, I did not have the support I needed or the language to explain what I was experiencing. I believed I had to carry those struggles alone. My academics suffered, my confidence disappeared, and I questioned whether I would ever accomplish the goals I had set for myself. For years, I measured my worth by what I couldn’t do instead of recognizing my strengths. It took me seven years to complete my undergraduate degree, and I carried shame about that for a long time. Looking back, I now understand that I wasn’t failing because I lacked intelligence or determination. I was struggling because I needed support that I did not yet have. Everything began to change when I allowed myself to accept help. Through therapy, medication management, and a strong support system, I slowly began rebuilding my confidence. Therapy gave me the space to process my experiences without judgment. Medication helped me manage symptoms that had once felt overwhelming. Most importantly, I learned that asking for help is not a sign of weakness but an act of courage. Today, I am a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University. The challenges have not disappeared, but I now have the tools, support, and self-awareness to navigate them. My therapist continues to play an important role in my wellness, and I prioritize my mental health just as intentionally as I prioritize my education. My own journey has completely transformed how I understand the world. I have learned that behind many smiles are silent struggles. Mental illness does not discriminate, and healing cannot happen where there is shame. This realization has made me a more compassionate person, a better listener, and a stronger advocate for others. Because of my experiences, I have committed myself to advancing mental health awareness and access. I volunteer with student mental health initiatives, advocate for culturally responsive mental health services, and work to reduce the stigma surrounding mental illness, particularly within Black communities where conversations about mental health have historically been difficult. I want people to know that seeking therapy, using medication, or asking for support does not make them broken. It makes them human. My experiences with mental health have not only shaped my career aspirations; they have given them purpose. I want to build systems where people receive support before they reach a crisis point, where mental health is treated with the same importance as physical health, and where no one feels they must suffer in silence. The person I was during my undergraduate years could not have imagined the life I live today. That journey reminds me every day that healing is possible. It is not always quick, and it is rarely linear, but with support, hope, and community, it is possible. That belief now guides both my life and my work, and it is the legacy I hope to leave for others.

My grandfather was one of the greatest influences in my life. I was a true “Papa’s girl,” and wherever he was, I wanted to be right beside him. Growing up under his guidance shaped the person I am today and influenced the path I chose in education, entrepreneurship, and community service. My grandfather taught me that success is not measured by what you have, but by what you give. He showed me the importance of hard work, integrity, humility, and treating every person with dignity. He believed that every person deserved respect, whether they were a business owner, a janitor, someone experiencing homelessness, or someone struggling with substance use. He taught me that if I could count what I gave, I had not given enough. That lesson became the foundation of my servant leadership and my commitment to helping others. My grandfather was also an entrepreneur who owned a restaurant in a marginalized community. What made his business special was not just that he served food, but that he served people. He believed that everyone deserved access to quality meals, regardless of their financial situation. I remember him selling chopped beef sandwiches for 50 cents because he wanted people in the community to know they mattered. His belief was simple: if someone could find two quarters on the ground, they should be able to come into his restaurant and have a good meal. That experience taught me that entrepreneurship can be a tool for social change and that businesses have a responsibility to their communities. Those lessons directly influenced my educational and professional goals. I became passionate about social work because I wanted to continue the work my grandfather modeled every day lifting people up, creating opportunities, and addressing barriers that prevent people from thriving. I earned my Master of Social Work from Howard University and am currently pursuing my PhD in Social Work, where I am developing the skills to create change at individual, community, and policy levels. I am also the founder and Executive Director of Empowered Hands LLC, where I support Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals through employment services, advocacy, and community empowerment. My grandfather’s example is reflected in my work because I believe every person deserves access, opportunity, and respect. My goal is not only to help individuals overcome challenges but to create systems that make success more achievable for entire communities. Being raised with my grandfather’s guidance gave me a strong foundation and a clear sense of purpose. He taught me that education is important, but education without service is incomplete. I carry his lessons with me every day as I continue my journey as a scholar, social worker, and advocate. Receiving this scholarship would honor the legacy my grandfather created in my life. I hope to continue building on the values he taught me by serving communities, creating opportunities, and ensuring that others feel seen, valued, and supported.

My educational journey has been shaped by resilience, determination, and a deep belief that education is one of the most powerful tools for creating change. When I think about the challenges I have faced throughout school, I do not view them as setbacks. I view them as experiences that have strengthened my purpose and prepared me to serve others. My journey has required me to overcome barriers related to being a first-generation college student, navigating higher education without a roadmap, understanding my own learning differences, and managing the financial challenges that come with pursuing advanced education. When I began my undergraduate journey, I was the first person in my immediate family to attend and complete college. I was also the first granddaughter and the second oldest of 21 grandchildren. Entering college was exciting, but it was also unfamiliar territory. I did not have family members who could explain how to navigate office hours, financial aid, academic systems, or the many unwritten rules that come with higher education. I had to learn by asking questions, seeking mentors, and becoming my own advocate. One of my biggest academic challenges was that I was diagnosed with ADHD later in life. During my undergraduate experience, I spent seven years working toward my degree while trying to navigate challenges that I did not fully understand. I knew I was capable, but I often struggled with things like organization, focus, time management, and balancing competing responsibilities. Without knowing the reason behind those challenges, there were moments when I questioned myself and wondered why I had to work harder to accomplish things that seemed easier for others. However, I refused to give up. Completing my undergraduate degree became more than an academic accomplishment, it became a symbol of possibility. I knew that earning my degree would not only change my life but would also change what my family believed was possible. My mother has always been one of my greatest inspirations. She was incredibly talented in sports and had so much potential, but she did not have the same opportunities to pursue higher education. Being able to walk across that stage and make my mother proud was one of the most meaningful moments of my life. I felt like I was honoring her dreams while creating a new path for my family. The greatest reward has been watching the impact of that first step. After I completed college, education became something my family could see and believe in. The grandchildren who came after me began pursuing higher education as well. Knowing that my journey helped inspire others to believe they could achieve their own goals has been one of the greatest accomplishments of my life. My educational journey continued as I earned my Master of Social Work from Howard University, and I am currently pursuing my PhD in Social Work at Howard University. My graduate education has been transformative because I entered these programs with a better understanding of myself, my learning style, and the importance of mental health support. Through therapy, accommodations, and behavioral strategies, I learned how to work with my strengths instead of constantly fighting against my challenges. My education has also allowed me to turn my personal experiences into professional impact. I am the founder and Executive Director of Empowered Hands LLC, an organization dedicated to supporting Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals through employment services, advocacy, community resources, and empowerment. My passion for this work comes from my lived experience having a Deaf brother and witnessing firsthand the barriers that Deaf individuals and families face. My goal has always been to use education not just for personal advancement, but as a tool for community transformation. Through my doctoral studies, I am building the skills necessary to address challenges at a larger level through research, policy, and advocacy. I want to create solutions that do not just help one person but improve systems that impact entire communities. Financial challenges have also been a significant part of my educational journey. Higher education requires a tremendous investment, and pursuing graduate and doctoral degrees while maintaining professional and community responsibilities has required sacrifice. The costs associated with tuition, books, technology, research, and living expenses can create additional stress for students who are committed to continuing their education. Scholarships provide more than financial assistance, they provide stability and the ability to continue focusing on the work that matters. Despite these challenges, I have continued to move forward because I understand the importance of this work. I know that my education represents more than a degree. It represents representation, opportunity, and hope for people who may not see themselves reflected in spaces of leadership and scholarship. My accomplishments include becoming a Howard University graduate, pursuing a PhD, founding an organization that serves Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing communities, advocating for disability justice, presenting at national conferences, and creating opportunities for others. However, my greatest accomplishment is showing others that barriers do not have to determine their future. Receiving this scholarship would support me as I continue my doctoral journey and expand my ability to serve my community. It would allow me to continue building programs, conducting research, and advocating for individuals who are often overlooked. I want my legacy to be measured not only by what I achieve, but by how many people are empowered because I continued to push forward. My journey has taught me that education is not simply about reaching a destination—it is about creating pathways for others. I am committed to continuing that work and using every opportunity I receive to make a lasting impact.

The impact I want to make is to create a world where people who have historically been overlooked are not only included but empowered to lead. My education has never been just about personal achievement; it has been about gaining the knowledge, skills, and tools needed to create opportunities for others. I believe education is a pathway to transformation, and I want to use my journey to open doors for individuals and communities that have often been left behind. My passion for this work began through my family, especially my Deaf brother. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the barriers that Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals face when systems are not designed with them in mind. His experiences taught me that advocacy is not optional it is necessary. They inspired me to dedicate my life to ensuring that people with disabilities have access to education, employment, mental health resources, and opportunities to thrive. I am the founder and Executive Director of Empowered Hands LLC, an organization dedicated to supporting Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals through employment services, community resources, advocacy, and empowerment. What started as a commitment to serve my local community in Texas has expanded into a larger vision through EH Global Foundation, where I hope to create opportunities for Deaf communities globally. My goal is not only to support individuals one at a time but to address the larger systems and policies that impact their ability to succeed. My educational journey has been a critical part of preparing me for this work. I earned my Master of Social Work from Howard University and am currently pursuing my PhD in Social Work at Howard. My doctoral journey is focused on developing the skills to create research, policies, and programs that create meaningful change. I want to bridge the gap between lived experiences and systems-level solutions so that communities receive support that is culturally responsive, accessible, and effective. The people who inspire me are the individuals and families who continue to fight despite barriers. I am inspired by my mother, who showed strength and resilience even when opportunities were limited. I am inspired by my brother, whose life reminds me that every person has value and deserves to be heard. I am inspired by the communities I serve, who continue to demonstrate courage and determination. I also believe representation creates possibility. As a Black woman scholar, I understand the importance of showing others what is possible. I remember how powerful it was to see Black women with advanced degrees and leadership positions because it expanded my vision of what I could achieve. Now, I want to be that example for others, especially young people who may not yet see themselves represented in spaces of education, leadership, and advocacy. Receiving this scholarship would support my continued education and allow me to continue building programs, conducting research, and advocating for communities that deserve greater access and opportunity. My vision is to create a future where disability, race, and socioeconomic barriers do not determine a person’s ability to succeed. I want my legacy to be measured not only by what I accomplish, but also by how many people are empowered because I chose to serve.

My journey with mental health has shaped not only who I am as a student, but also the type of social worker, advocate, and leader I strive to become. Mental health is personal to me because I understand what it feels like to navigate challenges that are not always visible to others. For many years, I struggled without fully understanding why certain parts of school, organization, focus, and daily responsibilities felt more difficult for me than they seemed for others. I was diagnosed with ADHD later in life, and that diagnosis gave me a new understanding of myself. Looking back at my undergraduate journey, I spent seven years working toward my degree while navigating challenges I did not yet have the tools or language to explain. There were moments when I questioned myself and wondered why I had to work so much harder to accomplish things that seemed easier for others. Receiving support changed my life. Before beginning my Master of Social Work program and now pursuing my PhD in Social Work at Howard University, I was able to access therapy, accommodations, and strategies that helped me better understand and manage my needs. The difference was transformational. I learned that mental health support is not a sign of weakness it is a tool that allows people to recognize their strengths and reach their potential. My experiences have also impacted my family. Having a Deaf brother taught me early in life that people can face challenges that others may not see. Watching him navigate a world that was not always designed for him shaped my understanding of advocacy, accessibility, and the importance of support systems. It influenced my decision to dedicate my career to serving Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing communities and ensuring that individuals and families have access to resources that recognize their full humanity. As a social worker, I have turned my personal experiences into advocacy. Through my work as the founder and Executive Director of Empowered Hands LLC, I support Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals through employment services, community resources, and empowerment programs. I also advocate for mental health access through policy work with Students for Mental Health Action, where we focus on creating stronger systems of support for college students. This work is deeply personal because I have experienced the difficulty of maintaining continuity of mental health care while pursuing my PhD away from my home state. My mental health journey has taught me the importance of compassion, understanding, and creating spaces where people feel safe asking for help. I know what it feels like to struggle silently, and I know the difference that support can make. That is why I am committed to reducing stigma and ensuring that others do not have to navigate their challenges alone. Receiving this scholarship would support my continued education and allow me to continue my mission of creating more accessible, inclusive, and supportive communities. My experiences have not limited me they have strengthened my purpose and deepened my commitment to helping others.

Mental health is important to me because I have experienced firsthand how deeply it impacts a person’s ability to learn, grow, and reach their full potential. For many years, I struggled without fully understanding why certain things felt harder for me than they seemed for others. Being diagnosed with ADHD later in life changed my understanding of myself, my educational journey, and the importance of mental health support. During my undergraduate experience, I spent seven years navigating challenges that I did not have the language, resources, or support to fully understand. I often questioned my abilities because I did not yet know that I was facing a learning and mental health challenge. Completing my degree required determination, resilience, and persistence, but it also showed me how important access to mental health resources and accommodations can be for student success. Before beginning my Master of Social Work program and now pursuing my PhD in Social Work at Howard University, I was able to access therapy, accommodations, and behavioral strategies that transformed my approach to education and life. Having the right support allowed me to move from simply surviving academic challenges to truly thriving. It taught me that mental health support is not a weakness; it is a necessary resource that allows people to reach their full potential. One of the most impactful moments in my social work education happened during my first day in the program when a professor shared that we often delay caring for our mental health. She explained that if we had a severe gunshot wound, we would seek medical attention immediately, and we should view our mental health with that same urgency. While it was a very direct example, it stayed with me because it changed the way I viewed my own well-being. I realized my mental health deserved the same attention, care, and priority as my physical health. My commitment to mental health advocacy extends beyond individual support. I am actively involved with Students for Mental Health Action, a coalition that began at George Washington University focused on advocating for mental health policy changes that improve access for students. Through this work, we advocate for initiatives such as the Mental Health Compact, which would allow college students to continue receiving care from licensed mental health providers across state lines. This issue is personal to me because while pursuing my PhD in Washington, DC, I experienced firsthand the challenge of not being able to continue working with my trusted mental health providers in Texas due to state licensing barriers. As a social worker, I believe advocacy must happen at every level individual, community, and policy. Through my work as the founder and Executive Director of Empowered Hands LLC, I advocate for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing communities and understand how important culturally responsive and accessible mental health care is. I use my lived experiences to help reduce stigma and create spaces where people feel comfortable seeking support. My journey has taught me that asking for help is an act of strength. By sharing my story, advocating for policy change, and supporting others, I hope to create a future where students do not have to choose between their education and their mental health. This scholarship would support my continued education and allow me to continue advancing mental health awareness, accessibility, and advocacy for students and communities who deserve compassionate support.

Being a first-generation college student means being the person who takes the first step into a world that your family may have never experienced before. It means carrying the hopes, sacrifices, and dreams of those who came before you while creating a path for those who come after you. For me, being first-generation is not just a title it is a responsibility, a blessing, and one of the greatest honors of my life. When I started my undergraduate journey, I was the first person in my immediate family to attend and complete college. I was also the first granddaughter and the second oldest of 21 grandchildren. At that time, I did not fully understand the impact that decision would have. I only knew that I wanted to make my family proud and prove that education was possible, even when there were obstacles along the way. My mother was incredibly talented in sports and had so much potential, but she did not have the same opportunities to pursue higher education. Her story has always motivated me. Being able to walk across that stage, earn my degree, and share that accomplishment with her was one of the proudest moments of my life. I was not only achieving a goal for myself, I was honoring her dreams and showing my family what was possible. The most rewarding part of my journey has been seeing the ripple effect. After I completed college, education became something my family could see and believe in. The grandchildren who came after me began pursuing higher education. Watching my family members follow that path has been one of the greatest highlights of my life. To know that my journey helped someone else believe, “I can do this too,” is a feeling I will always treasure. My educational journey continued beyond my undergraduate degree. I earned my Master of Social Work from Howard University and am now pursuing my PhD in Social Work. Each step has required determination, sacrifice, and learning how to navigate systems that were unfamiliar. As a first-generation scholar, I have had to seek guidance, build my own networks, and advocate for myself while continuing to support my community. My dream is to use my education to create opportunities for others, especially Black Deaf communities that are often overlooked. Through my work as the founder of Empowered Hands LLC and my vision for EH Global Foundation, I am committed to turning my education into action by creating access, advocacy, and empowerment. This scholarship would help me continue my doctoral journey and expand the impact of my work. More importantly, it would support the mission that has guided me from the beginning: showing others that no matter where you start, what challenges you face, or what obstacles stand in your way, it is possible. I hope my story reminds others that being the first is not just about opening one door; it is about holding that door open for everyone who comes behind you.

Women’s empowerment has been the foundation of my personal and professional journey. As a Black woman, social worker, entrepreneur, and scholar, I have dedicated my life to creating opportunities for others to see themselves as leaders, advocates, and changemakers. My mission has always been rooted in the belief that when women are supported, communities become stronger. My journey began with Empowered Hands LLC, where I focused on supporting Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals in Texas through employment services, advocacy, education, and community resources. What started as a commitment to serve my local community has grown into a larger vision through EH Global Foundation, where I am working to expand support and empowerment opportunities for Deaf individuals globally. As a Black woman entrepreneur, I understand the importance of creating pathways for others to see that nontraditional journeys are possible. Representation matters, and sometimes seeing someone who looks like you achieve something you never thought possible is the first step toward believing you can do it too. I remember the impact of meeting my first Black woman with a college degree. At that time, I could count on one hand the number of Black women I had personally encountered with that level of education. That experience stayed with me because it showed me how powerful representation can be. Later, moving to Washington, DC, and being surrounded by Black women scholars, including meeting more than 30 Black women with PhDs within my first month, completely shifted my understanding of what was possible. I realized that visibility creates vision. I want to be that example for others in my community the person who shows young women that education, entrepreneurship, leadership, and service are within their reach. A significant part of my work focuses on uplifting Black Deaf communities, who are often overlooked within both racial justice and disability conversations. My advocacy comes from lived experience, including having a Deaf brother and understanding the barriers that Deaf individuals and families face. My passion is not only to support individuals but to challenge systems, create opportunities, and build a future where Black Deaf women and girls see themselves represented in leadership, education, and entrepreneurship. Women’s empowerment is about more than encouragement; it is about creating access, opening doors, and removing barriers. Through my nonprofit work, social work practice, and continued education, I strive to build spaces where women feel supported to pursue their goals and use their voices. My doctoral journey at Howard University reflects my commitment to gaining the knowledge and skills needed to create lasting, community-level change. Charlene K. Howard’s legacy represents the transformative power of education and mentorship. I hope to honor that legacy by continuing to empower women through advocacy, education, and opportunity. My goal is to help create the next generation of leaders who know that their dreams are possible and that their voices matter.

Rebecca Lynn Seto’s story is a powerful reminder that every child has a voice, even when they may not communicate through traditional methods. Her life demonstrates the importance of educators and professionals who take the time to truly understand a child’s personality, strengths, interests, and needs. If I were working with a child like Rebecca, my first priority would be to see the whole child not the disability. My approach would begin with building trust and learning who the child is as an individual. I would work closely with the child, family, teachers, therapists, and support team to understand their communication style, preferences, strengths, and challenges. Communication is much more than spoken words. It can include gestures, facial expressions, body language, assistive technology, pictures, signs, routines, and other forms of expression. My goal would be to discover the child’s unique way of communicating and create an environment where they feel understood, valued, and empowered. My background has prepared me for this work. I have a Bachelor’s degree in American Sign Language and a Master of Social Work, and I am currently pursuing my PhD in Social Work at Howard University. As the founder and Executive Director of Empowered Hands LLC, I have spent over a decade advocating for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals through employment services, community support, education, and accessibility initiatives. I also have personal experience growing up with a Deaf brother, which shaped my understanding of disability, advocacy, and the importance of inclusion. My internship at Gallaudet University’s Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing Child Resilience Center further strengthened my commitment to supporting children with disabilities. Through this experience, I worked on projects focused on mental health assessment tools in American Sign Language and gained a deeper appreciation for the importance of culturally responsive services for Deaf and disabled children. Family involvement is one of the most important parts of a child’s success. Families are the experts on their children. They understand their child’s personality, communication, interests, and needs better than anyone. A strong partnership between families and professionals allows us to create meaningful goals that reflect the child’s abilities and dreams. Families should not just be included in the process they should be respected as essential members of the team. My intent is to continue working with children and families impacted by disability, including within special education and Pre-K through 12th-grade settings. I believe every child deserves educators and professionals who are willing to be creative, patient, and committed to finding the ways they can learn, communicate, and thrive. Pursuing graduate education has also come with financial challenges. Balancing doctoral studies, community advocacy, and professional responsibilities has required sacrifice and perseverance. While scholarships and financial support have helped me continue my education, the cost of advanced education remains a significant challenge. I am committed to completing my doctoral journey because I know this education will allow me to create broader change for children and families with disabilities. Rebecca’s legacy reminds us that when we take the time to truly understand someone, we discover their gifts. I hope to continue that work by ensuring children with disabilities are seen, heard, and given every opportunity to succeed.

My journey as a Black woman pursuing a doctoral degree in social work has been shaped by resilience, purpose, and a commitment to creating change for communities that have historically been overlooked. I am pursuing my PhD in Social Work at Howard University because I believe scholarship must be connected to action, advocacy, and service. As a Black woman scholar, I understand that this path requires a different level of tenacity. Continuing my education while actively engaged in advocacy and community work has not been easy. Navigating graduate school during a time of political uncertainty and changing priorities has created additional financial challenges and barriers. However, I remain committed because I understand that the work I am called to do requires persistence, courage, and the willingness to overcome obstacles. My commitment to social work and disability justice is deeply personal. I have a Deaf brother, and watching him navigate a world that often does not recognize or accommodate Deaf individuals shaped my understanding of advocacy from an early age. His experiences showed me that this fight is not one I can walk away from. I have a responsibility to continue pushing for equity, access, and inclusion because I have witnessed firsthand the barriers faced by Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing communities. As the founder and Executive Director of Empowered Hands LLC, I have dedicated my career to supporting Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals through employment services, community resources, advocacy, and empowerment. My work has shown me that while supporting one individual is important, creating systemic change requires looking at the larger picture. My doctoral journey allows me to build the skills necessary to impact not only one person but entire communities through research, policy, and systems-level change. Black Deaf individuals are often overlooked within both Black communities and disability spaces. Their experiences are frequently missing from conversations about equity, funding, and access. At a time when policies and resources that support marginalized communities are being challenged and reduced, my commitment to this work has only grown stronger. I want to ensure that Black Deaf voices are represented, protected, and included in the decisions that impact their lives. Throughout my academic and professional journey, I have learned that meaningful change happens when lived experience is combined with education, leadership, and advocacy. My goal as a scholar is to bridge the gap between research and practice by developing solutions that address systemic barriers and create opportunities for Deaf and marginalized communities to thrive. The legacy of Yaa Asantewaa represents courage, leadership, and the strength of Black women who stand up for their communities. I strive to embody that same spirit by challenging inequities, creating opportunities, and preparing future generations of social workers to lead with justice and compassion. Receiving this scholarship would provide critical support as I continue my doctoral journey. More importantly, it would affirm the importance of investing in Black women scholars who are committed to transforming communities. I am determined to use my education, research, and leadership to create lasting change and ensure that Black Deaf communities and other marginalized populations are not forgotten. Thank you for considering my story and supporting Black women who are building a more equitable future.

I have learned that selflessness is not about grand gestures. It is about consistently showing up for others, even when no one is watching. It is about using your time, skills, and experiences to make life a little easier for someone else. My commitment to helping others began with my family. Growing up as the sister of a Deaf brother, I witnessed firsthand the barriers that people with disabilities often face. I watched my mother advocate tirelessly for resources, accommodations, and opportunities. Those experiences taught me that sometimes the most important thing you can do for someone is stand beside them when systems fail to do so. That lesson has guided much of my life and career. For more than a decade, I have worked with Deaf and disabled individuals through employment services, advocacy, and community support. One of the most rewarding parts of my work has been helping individuals who had been repeatedly told what they could not do discover what they were capable of doing. Whether assisting someone in securing employment, helping them navigate services, or simply listening when they felt unheard, I have learned that dignity and opportunity can change lives. I have also dedicated my time to community service through nonprofit organizations, advocacy initiatives, and mentoring. As a social worker and disability advocate, I often work with individuals facing multiple challenges, including poverty, mental health concerns, discrimination, and lack of access to resources. These situations rarely have simple solutions. Sometimes helping means connecting someone to services. Sometimes it means advocating for policy change. Sometimes it means sitting with someone in a difficult moment and reminding them they are not alone. Selflessness has also required perseverance. There have been times when I faced my own obstacles, including academic setbacks, financial hardship, and personal loss. During my undergraduate years, I lost my financial aid while grieving the loss of my best friend. Those experiences could have caused me to focus solely on my own challenges. Instead, they strengthened my empathy for others who are struggling. They reminded me that everyone is carrying a story we may not see. Today, I am pursuing a Ph.D. in Social Work at Howard University because I want to create broader change for underserved communities. My goal is to improve mental health access, disability inclusion, and opportunities for individuals who have historically been overlooked. I believe that helping others is not separate from success; it is the measure of success. If there is one lesson I have learned, it is that the most meaningful impact often comes from ordinary acts of service performed consistently over time. I strive to embody that principle every day by using my education, experience, and voice to help others overcome barriers and reach their full potential.

If I could build one thing, it would be a place where Deaf and disabled individuals are not just accommodated, but empowered to thrive. Growing up with a Deaf brother, I witnessed firsthand how often people with disabilities are forced to adapt to systems that were never designed with them in mind. Whether in education, employment, healthcare, or community life, barriers often exist not because of disability itself but because society has failed to create accessible opportunities. Those experiences inspired me to dedicate my life to disability advocacy and social change. Through my education and professional experiences, I have developed a vision that extends beyond a single program or organization. I want to build a community hub that combines workforce development, entrepreneurship, mental health support, and community engagement for Deaf and disabled individuals. My vision includes employment training, small business development, accessible gathering spaces, and services that help individuals achieve independence and economic mobility. I am currently pursuing a Ph.D. in Social Work at Howard University and continuing my work through Empowered Hands, an organization I founded to support Deaf and disabled communities. Every class, research project, fellowship, and community initiative is helping me build the skills necessary to make this vision a reality. I am learning how policy, research, nonprofit leadership, and community partnerships can work together to create sustainable change. What excites me most about this vision is its potential impact. Too often, disability services focus only on addressing immediate needs. While those supports are important, I want to help create pathways to long-term success. I want Deaf and disabled individuals to have access to meaningful employment, leadership opportunities, entrepreneurship, and spaces where they feel valued and connected. Building this future will also strengthen communities as a whole. When people are given opportunities to contribute their talents and perspectives, everyone benefits. Communities become more innovative, inclusive, and resilient. My education is helping me build more than a career. It is helping me build a future where accessibility, dignity, and opportunity are not exceptions but expectations. Through advocacy, research, and community leadership, I hope to create lasting change that empowers future generations to dream bigger than the barriers placed before them.

Growing up in a single-parent household taught me resilience long before I understood the word. My mother worked hard to provide for our family, often with limited resources, while raising three children, including my Deaf brother. Watching her navigate financial challenges while advocating for my brother's educational and communication needs showed me the power of perseverance, sacrifice, and determination. As the oldest child, I learned early that challenges do not excuse you from responsibility. There were times when financial barriers, academic struggles, and personal loss made it difficult to see a path forward. During college, I faced significant setbacks, including losing financial aid while grieving the loss of my best friend. Those experiences taught me that success is not about avoiding adversity but about continuing despite it. Today, I am pursuing a Ph.D. in Social Work at Howard University. My experiences growing up in a low-income, single-parent household shaped my commitment to serving marginalized communities, particularly Deaf and disabled individuals. Through my work with Empowered Hands, disability advocacy initiatives, and community service organizations, I help connect individuals to employment opportunities, resources, and support systems that promote independence and self-determination. I believe that where you start in life should not determine where you finish. The lessons I learned from my mother, hard work, resilience, and service, continue to guide me as I work toward creating more equitable systems for underserved communities. My goal is to use education, research, and advocacy to ensure that others have access to opportunities that can transform their lives, just as education has transformed mine.

My commitment to the nonprofit sector began long before I understood what a nonprofit organization was. Growing up in Texas as the sister of a Deaf brother, I witnessed firsthand how much families depend on community organizations, advocates, and service providers when systems fall short. I saw my mother navigate educational, healthcare, and social service systems that were often difficult to access and understand. Those experiences taught me that while policies matter, people and organizations are often the bridge between individuals in need and the resources that can change their lives. As I grew older, that understanding evolved into action. After earning my degree in American Sign Language, I founded Empowered Hands, an organization dedicated to supporting Deaf and disabled individuals through employment services, self-advocacy training, and systems navigation. Through this work, I witnessed the transformative impact that nonprofit organizations can have on communities. I helped individuals secure employment, access accommodations, and build confidence in their ability to advocate for themselves. More importantly, I saw how addressing one barrier could create opportunities that extended far beyond a single person and positively affect families, workplaces, and communities. My desire to pursue a career in the nonprofit sector is rooted in a belief that meaningful change happens when people are empowered to participate fully in society. Too often, underserved communities face barriers that are not the result of individual shortcomings but of systemic inequities. Whether those barriers involve disability access, mental health services, educational opportunities, or economic mobility, nonprofit organizations play a critical role in filling gaps, advocating for change, and creating innovative solutions. My professional and volunteer experiences have reinforced this belief. Through my work with the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing Child Resilience Center at Gallaudet University, I supported mental health research and community engagement efforts designed to improve outcomes for Deaf youth and families. Through my involvement with community organizations and advocacy initiatives, I have worked alongside individuals navigating poverty, disability, trauma, and social exclusion. These experiences have shown me that lasting impact requires both direct service and systems change. As a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, I am preparing to expand that impact through research, policy, and leadership. My long-term goal is to improve mental health access, disability inclusion, and economic opportunities for underserved communities, particularly Deaf and disabled individuals. I hope to use research to inform policy, strengthen nonprofit programming, and ensure that community voices are reflected in decision-making processes. What draws me to the nonprofit sector is the opportunity to align my career with my values. I believe success is measured not only by personal achievement but by the lives we help improve along the way. Through nonprofit leadership, advocacy, and community engagement, I hope to contribute to a future where access, opportunity, and dignity are available to everyone regardless of their background, disability, or socioeconomic status. The nonprofit sector gives me the opportunity to turn purpose into action. It is where my lived experiences, professional skills, and commitment to social justice come together to create meaningful and lasting change.

Growing up in Texas as the sister of a Deaf brother, I learned early that opportunity is not distributed equally. I watched my family navigate education systems, employment barriers, and service systems that often underestimated the potential of people with disabilities. What became clear to me was that many of the challenges facing underserved communities are not simply social problems; they are economic problems. Access to employment, entrepreneurship, financial resources, and wealth-building opportunities often determines whether individuals and families can achieve long-term stability. My vision for economic empowerment begins with expanding access to opportunity for communities that have historically been excluded from traditional pathways to success. I believe business innovation has the power to create lasting change when it is intentionally designed to address inequities rather than reinforce them. Businesses can provide jobs, develop workforce pipelines, create accessible products and services, and invest directly in communities that have been overlooked. As the founder of Empowered Hands, I have spent more than a decade working at the intersection of workforce development, disability advocacy, and community empowerment. Through this work, I have supported Deaf and disabled individuals in obtaining employment, developing self-advocacy skills, and navigating systems that were not built with them in mind. I have witnessed firsthand how meaningful employment can transform not only an individual's financial circumstances but also their confidence, independence, and overall well-being. My long-term vision extends beyond employment services. I hope to develop innovative business models that create sustainable economic opportunities for Deaf, disabled, and other marginalized communities. Too often, these populations are viewed through a deficit lens that focuses on limitations rather than strengths. I want to help build enterprises that recognize talent, invest in human potential, and create pathways to ownership and wealth creation. Economic empowerment is also deeply connected to social equity. Communities cannot fully participate in civic life when they are struggling to meet basic needs. Business leaders have a responsibility to consider how their decisions impact workers, families, and communities. I believe that successful businesses can be both profitable and socially responsible. By centering accessibility, inclusion, and community investment, businesses can become powerful drivers of social change. My career goals align closely with this vision. As a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, I am studying systems that impact economic mobility, workforce participation, and community well-being. I intend to combine research, policy, and entrepreneurship to develop solutions that address both social and economic barriers. Whether through workforce initiatives, consulting on accessibility and ADA compliance, or creating community-based enterprises, my goal is to build systems that expand opportunity rather than limit it. The Social Change Fund United recognizes that economic justice is an essential component of social justice. I share that belief. Lasting change requires more than addressing immediate needs; it requires creating pathways for individuals and communities to thrive. Through business innovation, community investment, and inclusive leadership, I hope to contribute to a future where economic opportunity is accessible to everyone, regardless of race, disability, or socioeconomic background.

My decision to become a social worker began long before I entered a classroom. Growing up in Texas as the hearing sister of a Deaf brother, I witnessed firsthand how systems often fail the very people they are designed to serve. My brother attended the Texas School for the Deaf, and as his older sister, I spent years observing both the opportunities and barriers he encountered. I saw the impact that access, advocacy, and supportive professionals could have on a person's life. I also saw what happened when accommodations were delayed, expectations were lowered, or families were left to navigate complex systems on their own. These experiences shaped my understanding of social justice and inspired my commitment to serving underserved communities. As a Black woman, a person with ADHD, and a first-generation doctoral student, I understand that barriers are often layered. Many individuals are navigating multiple forms of marginalization simultaneously, yet systems frequently address only one challenge at a time. My own experiences taught me that overcoming adversity requires more than resilience; it requires access to resources, informed advocacy, and institutions willing to examine inequities within their structures. Throughout my career, I have worked to bridge those gaps. As the founder of Empowered Hands, I have supported Deaf and disabled individuals through employment services, self-advocacy training, and systems navigation. Through my work with the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing Child Resilience Center at Gallaudet University, I helped support mental health research and community engagement efforts focused on Deaf youth and families. Through internships and community service, I have worked with individuals impacted by substance use, poverty, disability, and educational inequities. These experiences reinforced my belief that social workers must not only help individuals navigate systems, but also work to transform those systems. What motivates me to work with underserved communities is the knowledge that many barriers are preventable. Too often, people are denied opportunities because of inaccessible services, lack of information, or policies that fail to account for their lived realities. I believe every person deserves dignity, opportunity, and the ability to participate fully in society. Social workers are uniquely positioned to advocate for those principles at both the individual and systemic levels. I view my responsibility as a social worker as twofold. First, I must support individuals and families with compassion, respect, and culturally responsive care. Second, I must challenge policies and practices that perpetuate inequity. Whether through research, community engagement, advocacy, or policy development, I believe social workers have an ethical obligation to speak truth to power and amplify the voices of communities that are too often overlooked. As a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, my goal is to contribute to disability justice, mental health equity, and policy reform. I hope to use research, education, and advocacy to improve systems for Deaf and disabled individuals and other underserved populations. In doing so, I strive to continue the legacy of social workers like Patricia Lee Wilson, who dedicated their careers to ensuring that all people have access to the resources and opportunities they need to thrive.

The hardest season of my life did not unfold in stages. It happened all at once. During my undergraduate years, I failed out of college and lost my financial aid in the midst of grieving the loss of my best friend to sickle cell disease. Academic struggle, financial instability, and profound personal loss collided simultaneously. There was no time to process one before the next arrived. I navigated undiagnosed ADHD, mounting academic pressure, and heartbreak simultaneously. At the time, I did not understand why school felt so overwhelming. Focus was inconsistent, deadlines blurred together, and I internalized every missed assignment as proof that I was incapable. When my grades fell and my financial aid was revoked, it felt like confirmation of my deepest fear, that I did not belong in higher education. Losing my best friend during that same period intensified everything. Grief does not pause academic expectations. It does not excuse tuition balances or appeal deadlines. I learned early what it means to carry stacked complexities at a young age. Coming from a single mother household with limited financial support made the situation even more fragile. There was no safety net. I had no one to guide me through the academic reinstatement processes. There were no additional funds available to offset the loss of aid. I felt embarrassed, overwhelmed, and unsure how to recover. Yet that season, though painful, shaped me profoundly. Instead of walking away permanently, I eventually chose to rebuild. Years later, receiving my ADHD diagnosis reframed my understanding of that period. I was not incapable; I was unsupported and undiagnosed. That realization gave me both relief and responsibility. I began to advocate for accommodations, create structure intentionally, and seek mentorship rather than struggle in silence. Losing my best friend at the same time taught me something equally important about mental health and resilience. Grief revealed how interconnected emotional well-being and academic performance truly are. It deepened my empathy for others navigating invisible battles. It taught me to approach people with patience because you never know what weight they are carrying privately. Failing out of college during a season of grief did not define my future; it clarified my strength. I learned that adversity rarely arrives neatly packaged. It stacks. It compounds. It tests your sense of identity. But I also learned that setbacks are not permanent unless you stop moving. If I could offer advice to someone facing similar circumstances, I would tell them this: do not confuse a moment of collapse with the end of your story. Seek support, even when pride tells you not to. Allow yourself to grieve fully. Advocate for accommodations. And remember that systems are not always built with you in mind, but that does not mean you do not belong within them. That season taught me resilience, humility, and purpose. It transformed failure into fuel. Today, I carry the lessons of that time into my academic journey and my service work. The young woman who once felt defeated by stacked adversity is now pursuing advanced education with clarity and determination. What happened all at once could have ended my story. Instead, it strengthened it.

I did not choose to care about intellectual and developmental disability justice; it was woven into my life from childhood. Growing up with a Deaf brother meant that I witnessed early how systems fail individuals whose needs fall outside of what society considers standard. I saw how easily disability is misunderstood, how often accommodations are treated as privileges rather than rights, and how families are forced into constant advocacy simply to secure basic access. Although Deafness is distinct from intellectual disability, my experience navigating disability within my family opened my eyes to the broader patterns of stigma, underfunding, and exclusion that impact the intellectual disability community as well. I watched my family attend meetings with educators, navigate limited resources, and advocate in spaces where disability was framed as a problem rather than a difference. That environment shaped my understanding of equity and ignited my commitment to systems change. What inspired me to pursue a career supporting individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities was recognizing that the barriers they face are not inevitable; they are constructed. In schools, students with intellectual disabilities are frequently underestimated, segregated, or mischaracterized. In public spaces, infrastructure often ignores accessibility needs. In policy conversations, individuals with intellectual disabilities are rarely centered as decision makers. These patterns reflect systemic neglect rather than individual limitation. As I advanced academically, I began to see how intellectual disability justice intersects with race, poverty, and access to care. BIPOC families navigating intellectual disability often face compounded inequities, including misdiagnosis, lack of culturally responsive providers, and limited funding for support services. My educational path in social work and disability advocacy has been driven by the desire to address these structural gaps rather than simply respond to their consequences. My relationship with my brother deeply influenced my educational goals. Growing up in a single parent household with limited financial support meant that advocacy required resilience. I learned early that information is power and that families must often educate themselves to secure appropriate services. Watching my mother advocate taught me that systems change requires both persistence and knowledge. That lesson continues to guide my academic and professional development. In my future career, I hope to make a difference by influencing policy and improving accountability within educational and public systems. I aim to strengthen enforcement of disability protections, expand funding for inclusive programming, and train educators and service providers to approach intellectual disability through a strengths based and culturally responsive lens. I also plan to engage in community education efforts that equip families with the tools to navigate complex systems confidently. Intellectual disability justice requires more than compassion; it requires structural reform. It requires professionals who understand lived experience and are committed to dismantling stigma at every level. My life has shown me that accessibility is not a luxury and that dignity must be foundational. Through continued education, advocacy, and leadership, I am committed to building systems that recognize individuals with intellectual disabilities not as afterthoughts, but as valued members of our communities whose potential deserves investment and protection.

During my undergraduate years, I struggled in ways I did not yet have language for. I worked hard, but focus felt inconsistent, deadlines felt overwhelming, and I often internalized the belief that I simply was not disciplined enough. At the time, I was undiagnosed. Navigating college without understanding that I had ADHD meant I relied solely on persistence rather than support. I completed my degree, but I did so without accommodations and without fully understanding how to advocate for myself. Receiving a diagnosis later in life transformed my understanding of education. It was not that I lacked ability; I lacked tools. Returning to graduate school as an adult learner gave me the opportunity to approach my education differently. I learned how to structure my workload, request accommodations, and design systems that support my learning style. More importantly, my journey reshaped my commitment to advocacy. I now recognize how many students struggle silently, particularly BIPOC students who are often underdiagnosed or misdiagnosed. My lived experience fuels my dedication to ensuring that disability accommodations are normalized, accessible, and free from stigma. Growing up with a Deaf brother deepened that commitment. From a young age, I witnessed how systems fail individuals with disabilities, not because of lack of potential, but because of lack of access. Schools were not always prepared, communication was often inconsistent, and advocacy frequently fell on our family. Watching my brother navigate environments not built for him shaped my understanding of equity and strengthened my resolve to pursue work that improves accessibility and accountability. Coming from a single mother household with very limited financial support made education feel both essential and fragile. There was no financial cushion, no generational blueprint for navigating advanced degrees, and no safety net if things went wrong. That reality made pursuing graduate education a deeply personal commitment, but also a calculated financial risk. Finding ways to reduce my tuition and minimize debt is not optional for me; it is necessary for long-term stability. As a working adult learner, I approach student debt with strategy. I maintain employment while completing my degree to reduce borrowing. I operate with a strict budget, prioritize tuition payments, and limit unnecessary expenses. I actively pursue scholarships and fellowships not only to offset costs but also to strengthen my professional portfolio. Through these opportunities, I am developing expertise in mental health advocacy, disability justice, and ADA compliance. I am intentionally cultivating skills that allow me to generate diversified income through speaking engagements, consulting, and accessibility training. Organizations increasingly require guidance on improving ADA compliance and advancing disability justice. By building credibility now, I am positioning myself to provide these services professionally, which will allow me to accelerate loan repayment while remaining rooted in impact-driven work. Additionally, I am aligning my career with public service sectors eligible for loan forgiveness programs. I refuse to choose between meaningful service and financial stability. Instead, I am building a path that honors both. Struggling undiagnosed, growing up with limited resources, and witnessing systemic barriers firsthand have shaped not only my values but also my financial discipline. Addressing student debt for me is about sustainability. Through employment, scholarships, fellowships, portfolio development, and intentional career planning, I am actively reducing financial risk while expanding my ability to serve. My education is not just an investment in myself; it is an investment in communities that deserve systems designed with them in mind.

Mental health shaped my life long before I had language for it. Growing up in a Black household, emotions were often managed quietly. Strength was praised; vulnerability was not always welcomed. I learned early how to perform resilience, even when I felt overwhelmed. As someone navigating ADHD and the responsibilities of being the hearing sibling of a Deaf brother, I internalized the idea that I needed to hold it together for everyone else. What I did not realize at the time was that suppressing emotion does not eliminate pain, it simply buries it. Mental health struggles in the Black community are often wrapped in silence. There is love, there is faith, there is perseverance, but there is also stigma. Therapy can be seen as weakness. Depression can be misunderstood as laziness. Trauma can be normalized rather than addressed. Watching people I love struggle without language or support changed how I understand the world. It made me realize that mental health is not an individual flaw, it is deeply connected to history, environment, access, and culture. My experiences reshaped my relationships first. I began to value communication more intentionally. I learned that people do not always say what they are carrying. I became more patient, more observant, and more compassionate. Instead of assuming silence meant strength, I learned to ask deeper questions. Instead of equating productivity with wellness, I began to recognize the importance of rest and reflection. Mental health struggles taught me that connection requires honesty, and honesty requires safety. They also reshaped my goals. I no longer see success as achievement alone. I see it as impact. My journey with mental health pushed me toward work that centers healing, dignity, and systems change. I witnessed how misdiagnosis, lack of culturally competent care, and stigma disproportionately affect Black individuals and disabled communities. I saw how easily people fall through the cracks when systems are not designed to recognize their humanity. That awareness moved me from quiet survival into purposeful advocacy. Pursuing graduate education in mental health and social work became an intentional act. It was not just about career advancement, it was about equipping myself with the tools to intervene where silence once existed. I want to help build systems where young people do not feel forced to suppress their pain. I want to normalize therapy conversations in spaces where they were once avoided. I want to advocate for mental health care that is accessible, culturally responsive, and inclusive of disability and communication differences. Mental health has also changed how I understand resilience. It is not the absence of struggle. It is the decision to seek support, to grow, and to remain open despite pain. It is choosing to speak when silence feels safer. It is recognizing that healing is not linear, but it is possible. My journey has taught me that destigmatization begins with conversation. When we tell our stories, we disrupt shame. When we acknowledge vulnerability, we create space for others to do the same. In honoring mental health openly, especially within communities where it has been hidden, we give permission for healing. Today, my aspirations are rooted in building bridges between advocacy and care. I want to contribute to research, policy, and community education that center mental wellness as essential, not optional. I want to mentor others navigating similar journeys so they know they are not alone. Mental health shaped my understanding of the world by revealing both its fractures and its possibilities. It taught me that silence sustains stigma, but courage fosters change. And through that understanding, I have chosen a path committed not just to surviving, but to helping others heal.

The most meaningful relationship in my life is the one I share with my Deaf brother. Growing up alongside him shaped not only how I communicate, but how I understand human connection at its core. From an early age, I learned that connection is not automatic or effortless. It requires intention, patience, and a willingness to meet people where they are rather than expecting them to conform to systems that were never designed for them. Watching my brother navigate schools, healthcare settings, and public spaces revealed how often communication barriers are mistaken for personal shortcomings. I saw how quickly people disengaged when connection required effort, adaptation, or empathy. At the same time, I witnessed the powerful difference it made when individuals chose to communicate accessibly and respectfully. When teachers, peers, or community members took the time to understand my brother, he was not only included, but he also thrived. That contrast taught me that relationships are not just personal experiences; they are systems of inclusion or exclusion that shape opportunity and belonging. This relationship deeply influenced the way I build connections with others. I learned to listen beyond spoken language and to value multiple forms of communication. I became attentive to body language, tone, and context, understanding that meaning is not always conveyed through words alone. I learned that true communication is not about speaking louder or more often, but about being understood and understanding in return. These lessons followed me into every environment I entered, from classrooms to professional spaces to community work. They taught me to slow down, to be present, and to prioritize clarity, respect, and care in my interactions. My brother also taught me that human connection is inseparable from dignity. When people feel seen and heard, trust grows. When they are dismissed, misunderstood, or treated as inconvenient, isolation follows. This understanding shaped my values and my approach to relationships. I do not view connection as transactional or surface level. I approach it as a responsibility, one that requires accountability and mutual respect. Whether engaging with individuals, families, or communities, I strive to build relationships rooted in trust rather than assumption. As I grew older, I began to recognize how these lessons extended beyond my personal life into broader social systems. Many institutions prioritize efficiency, productivity, and convenience over genuine connection. For people who communicate differently or experience the world differently, this often results in exclusion. My relationship with my brother made me acutely aware of how easily people are left behind when systems are designed without human connection at their center. It also reinforced my belief that meaningful change begins with relationships that honor difference rather than erase it. In a world increasingly driven by technology and digital interaction, the lessons I learned from my brother feel more relevant than ever. Technology can expand access and create new forms of connection, but it cannot replace empathy, accountability, or presence. Authentic human connection still requires people to show up fully and to engage with one another intentionally. Inclusion does not happen by accident, it happens when individuals commit to building bridges instead of barriers. Ultimately, the relationship with my brother shaped who I am by teaching me that human connection is not a soft skill, it is a responsibility. It is the foundation of strong families, resilient communities, and meaningful impact. Because of him, I carry a lifelong commitment to building relationships that honor communication, value difference, and create spaces where people feel genuinely seen and supported. That commitment continues to guide my goals and the way I move through the world, grounded in the belief that authentic connection has the power to change lives.

Growing up with a Deaf brother shaped not only who I am, but the direction of my life’s work. From an early age, I witnessed how systems that were meant to support individuals with disabilities often failed to include them fully. I saw teachers struggle without proper training, institutions overlook accessibility, and families carry the burden of advocating for services that should have been guaranteed. These early experiences planted the seed for a lifelong commitment to advancing equity within the special needs community. I pursued a Bachelor of Arts in American Sign Language to better understand and engage with the Deaf community. Through my studies and community involvement, I quickly realized that language access was only one piece of a much larger issue. Many individuals with disabilities face barriers rooted in systemic underfunding, inadequate infrastructure, and policies that treat accommodations as optional rather than essential. What moved me most was seeing how often individuals were defined by their limitations rather than supported for their strengths. After graduation, I founded an agency focused on supporting Deaf and Hard of Hearing individuals through employment advocacy, systems navigation, and community empowerment. My goal was to focus on the full person rather than solely on their disability. Through this work, I helped clients access workforce opportunities, understand their rights, and build confidence in navigating complex institutions. At the same time, I became increasingly aware that meaningful impact required more than individual intervention. The challenges my clients faced were systemic, and real change required engagement at the policy and institutional level. This realization led me to pursue graduate education in social work and ultimately a PhD focused on disability justice and systems change. My career path is driven by the belief that professionals serving the special needs community must operate both at the direct service level and at the structural level. I plan to make social impact by influencing education systems, advocating for stronger enforcement of disability protections, and training future social workers and educators to approach disability through a strengths based and equity centered lens. In my future career, I intend to expand programs that integrate mental health, employment access, and educational advocacy for individuals with special needs, particularly within underserved communities. I am committed to advancing policies that ensure adequate funding for special education, improving provider training, and strengthening accountability measures so that accommodations are not dependent on a family’s ability to advocate alone. Serving the special needs community is not simply a professional goal for me, it is a responsibility rooted in lived experience. I have seen firsthand the difference that informed advocacy, compassionate support, and systemic change can make. Through continued education, research, and leadership, I am committed to building systems that recognize individuals with special needs not as burdens to accommodate, but as valued members of our communities whose talents deserve to be nurtured and protected.

I grew up learning early that mental health care was something people needed, but rarely something they could truly access. As the sister of a Deaf brother and as someone who navigated my own mental health needs, I witnessed how systems often misunderstood, dismissed, or overlooked individuals who did not fit traditional expectations of communication, behavior, or ability. These experiences shaped my understanding of how deeply mental health is connected to equity, access, and justice. I am pursuing a graduate degree in mental health because I have seen the consequences of care that is inaccessible, culturally disconnected, or entirely absent. In my community, mental health challenges were often met with silence, stigma, or punishment rather than support. For Deaf individuals, disabled individuals, and Black families, barriers to care included misdiagnosis, lack of culturally competent providers, and systems that prioritized compliance over compassion. I knew that meaningful change required more than advocacy alone, it required clinical knowledge, systems awareness, and professional credibility. As a first generation graduate student, returning to school was both a personal and collective decision. Higher education was not modeled as an accessible pathway in my family, largely due to financial barriers and limited institutional support. Like Dr. John DeNinno, I come from a background where pursuing advanced education required navigating economic uncertainty and systemic obstacles. Yet I understood that obtaining a graduate degree in mental health would allow me to better serve individuals whose needs are often minimized or misunderstood, particularly those living at the intersection of disability, race, and communication barriers. My academic journey is driven by ambition and responsibility. I seek to contribute to the mental health field by advancing care that is inclusive, trauma informed, and responsive to lived experience. Through graduate training, I am strengthening my ability to assess, intervene, and advocate in ways that honor the full humanity of the people I serve. This includes supporting individuals who have been historically excluded from mental health services due to language access barriers, stigma, or lack of provider awareness. Pursuing this degree is also about impact. I aim to influence systems, educate future practitioners, and expand access to mental health care for communities that have been underserved for far too long. Financial support through this scholarship would alleviate the burden of tuition and related expenses, allowing me to focus fully on my studies and clinical training rather than financial survival. I am pursuing a graduate degree in mental health because I believe care should be accessible, affirming, and grounded in dignity. With the right education and support, I am committed to carrying forward a legacy of service, resilience, and meaningful contribution to the mental health field.

As a person who grew up with a Deaf brother, I realized early in my life that something in our systems was fundamentally broken. I watched my family navigate schools, healthcare providers, and public institutions that were not built to communicate with or fully include Deaf people. Too often, the burden of access was placed on my brother and my family rather than on the systems that were responsible for serving him. As I grew older, I began to understand that these challenges were not isolated experiences, but part of a larger pattern of systemic exclusion that impacts Deaf and disabled communities, particularly within the Black community. What gave me the courage to go back to school was the realization that I could no longer operate only within the margins of a system that continued to cause harm. I recognized that passion and advocacy, while necessary, were not enough to dismantle structures that were feeding the need to exclude, misdiagnose, and overlook disabled individuals. I wanted to move from responding to inequity to actively changing the systems that produce it. My professional work with Deaf and disabled individuals further solidified this truth. I saw Black disabled students misidentified in educational settings, denied appropriate accommodations, and disciplined rather than supported. I witnessed families struggle to access information about disability rights and special education processes, often leaving parents feeling powerless and blamed for systemic failures. These experiences revealed how deeply rooted ableism and racial bias are within our institutions and how urgently change is needed. Returning to school was not an easy decision. It required confronting financial uncertainty, academic rigor, and the emotional weight of reentering spaces that have historically excluded people like me and my family. However, courage emerged from clarity. I understood that if I wanted to challenge policies, influence education systems, and advocate effectively at a structural level, I needed advanced training and scholarly grounding. Education became not a personal milestone, but a strategic tool for justice. Going back to school was also an act of responsibility. I felt a duty to my brother, to the families I serve, and to Black disabled communities who are too often left out of policy conversations and decision making spaces. I returned to school to ensure that lived experience informs research, that advocacy is supported by evidence, and that systems are held accountable for the people they serve. Ultimately, what gave me the courage to go back to school was the belief that change is possible when knowledge, purpose, and action come together. I chose education because my community deserves advocates who are prepared to challenge injustice, speak truth to power, and build systems rooted in equity, dignity, and access for all.

My journey into the field of mental health began with my own story. Living with ADHD and anxiety has given me firsthand understanding of what it means to navigate the world while your mind works differently. For years, I struggled silently, juggling focus, emotions, and the fear that my challenges made me less capable. But through therapy, medication, and mentorship, I learned that mental health is not about weakness; it’s about resilience, recovery, and community. That transformation guided me to pursue my Master of Social Work and now my Ph.D. in Social Work at Howard University. These experiences have profoundly shaped my beliefs about healing and human connection. I no longer see mental health as an isolated medical issue, it’s deeply social, cultural, and spiritual. I believe that care must be tailored to each individual’s lived experience, not built on assumptions or one-size-fits-all models. As I have learned to embrace neurodiversity within myself, I’ve also come to recognize how systems often fail to accommodate people with ADHD, anxiety, or trauma backgrounds. This realization fuels my work to redesign mental-health programs that honor difference instead of pathologizing it. My relationships have also evolved through this journey. I have learned how to communicate more authentically, how to listen without judgment, and how to give myself and others permission to be imperfect. Working with Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing teens has taught me even more about empathy and patience. These young people face unique barriers, limited access to therapists fluent in American Sign Language (ASL), inconsistent interpretation in clinical settings, and stigma that compounds across disability, race, and class. Many experience trauma simply because they are misunderstood or excluded. I have seen how powerful it is when communication is direct and inclusive. That is why I am dedicated to advocating for more Deaf therapists and ASL-fluent providers in mental health. When Deaf individuals can express themselves without an interpreter present, it removes the fear of bias and fosters true therapeutic trust. There is a major research gap in Deaf mental-health outcomes, particularly in trauma, depression, and resilience. As a doctoral student, I intend to contribute to filling that gap. My dissertation will focus on how language access and cultural responsiveness affect mental-health engagement in Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing communities. My goal is to develop evidence-based frameworks that can be used to train social workers, counselors, and psychologists to serve this population effectively. In the future, I hope to open a community-based mental-health center that integrates Deaf services, affordable therapy, and training programs for emerging BIPOC and Deaf clinicians. I want to create pipelines for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing students to enter the mental-health field so that representation becomes the norm, not the exception. Ultimately, my mission is to make mental-health care equitable, culturally competent, and accessible to all. As someone who has lived with mental-health challenges and witnessed systemic inequities up close, I bring both professional expertise and lived compassion to my work. I see every client as more than a diagnosis, they are whole people with stories, strengths, and potential. This scholarship would not only relieve financial pressure as I continue my doctoral studies but also affirm the importance of inclusive mental-health care. The investment in me is an investment in every future client, student, and community that I will serve. I am committed to carrying this work forward, to expand access, reduce stigma, and ensure that no one has to struggle in silence again.

My vision for making mental health care more affordable and accessible begins with breaking silence and reimagining connection. As someone living with ADHD and anxiety, I know firsthand how isolating mental health challenges can feel, especially in BIPOC communities where stigma still runs deep. I also see these same challenges in the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing teens I work with, who often face an added layer of inaccessibility due to communication barriers and a shortage of therapists who sign. My contribution to this work is rooted in creativity and culture. Art is a universal language; it can reach where words sometimes cannot. Through expressive arts, storytelling, and visual communication, I plan to create spaces where individuals can process emotion, build identity, and access healing outside of traditional, high-cost therapy settings. As a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, my goal is to design community-based mental health programs that merge art, education, and accessibility. This includes advocating for funding that supports Deaf therapists and affordable therapy models led by BIPOC clinicians. By training future providers in culturally competent and low-cost care, we can transform mental health services from a privilege into a right. Mental health care should not depend on language, income, or background; it should be accessible to all. My life’s work is to ensure that healing is not only possible but also inclusive, creative, and within reach for everyone who needs it.

Mental health has always been personal to me. Living with ADHD and anxiety has shaped how I learn, how I connect, and how I show up for others. My early college years were filled with self-doubt and chaos and a lack of support. When I finally returned to complete my Master of Social Work, I did it with therapy, medication, and a supportive network. That support changed my life. It showed me that people with mental health conditions don’t fail because they are incapable; they struggle because the systems around them aren’t designed to meet their needs. Now, as a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, my mission is to transform those systems. My research and practice focus on making mental health care accessible and equitable, particularly for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals—an often-overlooked community whose mental wellness is rarely studied and poorly supported. Too many Deaf individuals face barriers to therapy because most mental health professionals cannot communicate directly in American Sign Language (ASL). Therapy is built on trust, but it becomes complicated when an interpreter has to act as the middle person. Even with the best interpreters, there is always a risk of bias, mistranslation, or emotional disconnect. The lack of Deaf therapists is not only an access issue, it’s a research gap. There is limited data on Deaf mental health, trauma, and resilience because few researchers are fluent in ASL or familiar with Deaf culture. Without representation in both therapy and research, Deaf people’s mental health experiences are often generalized or misunderstood. I want to change that by building pathways that support Deaf individuals who want to become therapists themselves, while also training hearing providers to offer culturally and linguistically appropriate care. Working with Deaf teens has reinforced how critical this work is. Many of the students I serve have faced trauma, isolation, and educational neglect because the systems around them failed to communicate effectively. I’ve seen what happens when a young person finally has someone who listens, signs, and truly understands. Their confidence grows, their anxiety decreases, and they begin to imagine futures they never thought possible. That transformation is what mental health care should be: liberating, inclusive, and human. If I could make one change to today’s mental health system, it would be to institutionalize language access and cultural training for all providers. Every counseling, social work, and psychology program should include required education on working with Deaf clients and the importance of direct communication. Accessibility should never be an afterthought; it should be the foundation of care. Teletherapy has the potential to make mental health services more accessible, but only if it’s designed with inclusion in mind. For Deaf clients, that means platforms that automatically provide video relay options, captions, and secure interpreter integration. For clients with ADHD or anxiety, it means flexible scheduling and interactive tools that keep them engaged. Technology can remove barriers, but it must be shaped by the voices of those it aims to serve. My long-term goal is to become a licensed clinical social worker and researcher focused on trauma, accessibility, and cultural equity. I want to continue mentoring Deaf youth and advocating for systemic reform that elevates Deaf and BIPOC therapists into leadership positions. My lived experience has taught me that healing starts with understanding. Even though I’m not Deaf, growing up with a Deaf brother and navigating my own mental health journey has given me the empathy, perspective, and determination to make lasting change. I know that I will be an asset to this field, because I don’t just study mental health; I live it.

How can liberation truly exist if disability and accessibility are not centered in the fight for social justice? Liberation is not a destination; it’s a daily practice of courage, accountability, and imagination. I’ve learned this through my work as Director of Operations for Disabled Voters for Harris and as founder of the T.H.R.O.W. Movement (Transforming History, Reclaiming Our Worth), a series of town halls designed to create intersectional conversations about justice, language access, and inclusion. Both projects were born from one truth: if our movements are not accessible, they are not liberatory. Too often, disability justice is treated as an afterthought rather than a foundation of liberation. In my advocacy work, I’ve seen well-intentioned organizing spaces unintentionally silence the very people they claim to uplift. Captions are missing, interpreters aren’t budgeted for, venues lack ramps, and outreach strategies overlook those who can’t “show up” in traditional ways. As someone who lives with ADHD and anxiety, I understand what it means to navigate systems that were never designed with people like me in mind. My question forces us to confront that contradiction: What does liberation mean if it leaves behind those who cannot hear, walk, speak, or process in expected ways? Through Disabled Voters for Harris, I’ve worked to create accessible pathways for civic participation. We focus on voter education, poll access, and outreach to individuals with disabilities who are too often ignored by mainstream political efforts. Our approach is simple: access is not charity; it’s justice. Every time we provide an interpreter, make materials plain-language friendly, or ensure transportation to the polls, we are not doing “extra work”; we are practicing liberation in action. The T.H.R.O.W. Town Hall series emerged from similar reflections. It is a Deaf-centered, trauma-informed community conversation that bridges race, disability, and healing. We discuss topics ranging from advocacy fatigue to audism (discrimination based on hearing status), always asking how systems, educational, political, and religious can be rebuilt to affirm all bodies and minds. Liberation, to me, means making knowledge accessible and creating spaces where truth is not only spoken but also signed, captioned, and felt. As a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, I view liberation as both scholarship and practice. My research explores how language access and trauma intersect in marginalized communities, particularly for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals. I study how systemic neglect like the failure to provide early language exposure leads to social, educational, and mental-health inequities. This is not just about advocacy; it’s about rewriting the blueprint for inclusive systems. What makes my liberation work different is that it’s personal. I’ve been the student who almost gave up because of untreated ADHD and anxiety. I’ve been the professional who walked into “equity” meetings that were anything but equitable. I’ve also been the organizer who learned that progress doesn’t happen in isolation. Liberation requires community, and community requires accessibility. My vision for the future is to continue creating models that center disabled voices in social justice organizing. I want to develop policy frameworks that make accessibility non-negotiable in civic participation, education, and public health. I believe the next generation of justice leaders must understand that disability justice is racial justice, gender justice, and economic justice. Arnetha Bishop said mental health access was a human right; I believe accessibility is, too. My life’s work is dedicated to making liberation real not as a slogan, but as a practice that includes every voice, every language, and every body.

Mental health has never been an abstract topic for me, it’s been a lived experience. Living with ADHD and anxiety has shaped how I learn, how I connect, and how I serve. My early years in college were difficult. I struggled with focus, organization, and self-doubt. For a long time, I felt like my mind worked against me. I withdrew from school twice, convinced that higher education wasn’t built for someone like me. But through therapy, medication, and faith, I began to understand my challenges, not as flaws, but as parts of who I am that needed structure, compassion, and support. When I returned to complete my Master of Social Work, I did it with the right supports in place—academic coaching, therapy, and a community that believed in my potential. This made all the difference. I thrived. My MSW became a turning point in my life, showing me that when people with mental health conditions are supported instead of stigmatized, they can excel. That experience reshaped not only how I saw myself but also how I approach the field of mental health. Today, as a Ph.D. student in Social Work at Howard University, my mission is to expand access to trauma-informed, culturally competent care for marginalized populations. My studies and professional work focus on bridging gaps in mental health access, particularly for individuals who experience systemic barriers such as language deprivation, disability, or racial bias. I currently work with Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing teens, helping them develop employment and life skills. Many of these young people have faced trauma, isolation, or misdiagnosis simply because their mental health providers lacked cultural and linguistic training. Those experiences reinforce my commitment to building systems that meet people where they are. My research explores how language access, neurodiversity, and identity intersect to shape mental health outcomes. I aim to create practical frameworks for service providers that emphasize communication access, community engagement, and early intervention. I believe in a holistic approach that takes into account not only the person's diagnosis but also their experiences and surroundings. Having lived with anxiety and ADHD, I bring both empathy and lived perspective to my work. I understand what it means to feel overwhelmed, unseen, or misunderstood. That insight helps me connect with clients who are often hesitant to seek help. I tell them what I wish someone had told me years ago: “You are not broken. You just need the right tools and support to thrive.” My long-term goal is to develop community-based programs that normalize mental health conversations within Black and BIPOC families. I want to train educators, social workers, and mental health professionals to recognize neurodiversity as a strength, not a deficiency. By fostering compassion and understanding, I believe we can break generational cycles of silence and stigma. Financially, pursuing my doctorate has been challenging. As a first-generation graduate student, I manage tuition, research costs, and living expenses in Washington, D.C., while balancing part-time work and student loans. This scholarship would ease that financial burden and allow me to devote more energy to my dissertation and to mentoring students who are walking similar paths. Arnetha V. Bishop's legacy embodies my commitment to advocacy, accessibility, and care for those often overlooked by traditional systems. My journey has taught me that recovery and purpose can coexist. Through my education and my work, I want to continue her mission to make mental health care not just available but equitable, compassionate, and grounded in community.

Working with a child like Rebecca means seeing beyond labels and learning how to communicate in ways that meet the child where they are. As the sister of a Deaf brother and a social worker who has spent years teaching Deaf teens life and employment skills, I’ve learned that connection always comes before instruction. My work has taught me that children like Rebecca don’t need to be “fixed”; they need to be understood, valued, and supported with creativity and consistency. My approach to working with students with complex needs begins with observation and curiosity. I take the time to learn how each child expresses emotion, choice, and curiosity, whether through gestures, movement, sounds, facial expressions, or assistive technology. I believe in a total communication approach, using visuals, sign language, sensory tools, and alternative communication devices to support expression. For many children, rhythm, music, or play-based learning can provide opportunities that words cannot. My goal is always to create a sense of belonging that allows each child to engage at their pace and in their own way. Equally important is the partnership with families. My professional and personal experiences have shown me that family involvement is the most powerful factor in a child’s growth. Families are the experts on their children; they hold the key to understanding what comforts, motivates, or frustrates them. I have seen how my mother fought to ensure my Deaf brother received accessible education and language support. This advocacy has shaped my belief that families should always participate, not just as participants, but as true collaborators. Kids do better when their families and teachers work together. As a licensed Master of Social Work now pursuing my Ph.D. at Howard University, my mission is to improve how schools and systems support children with disabilities and communication differences. My research explores trauma-informed, culturally responsive approaches to education for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing youth, ensuring that programs are not only accessible but also affirming of identity and community. I intend to continue this work within the Pre-K through 12th-grade setting, helping design training for educators and support staff that prioritizes inclusive communication, emotional regulation, and family engagement. I confirm my ongoing commitment to working in special education and related support programs. I plan to develop interdisciplinary frameworks that bring together teachers, social workers, therapists, and interpreters to create holistic, student-centered care. My long-term goal is to build community-based programs that equip both professionals and families with tools to nurture communication and resilience for children like Rebecca. While pursuing this vision, financial stability remains a challenge. As a first-generation doctoral student, I cover most of my expenses through part-time interpreting, program coordination, and student loans. Relocating from Texas to Washington, D.C., for graduate study has meant balancing the cost of living, research expenses, and clinical placements with limited outside support. This scholarship would significantly reduce that strain, allowing me to dedicate more time to my dissertation research and mentorship of students entering the social work and education fields. Rebecca’s story embodies the reason I do this work. Her joy, laughter, and love remind us that communication is not limited to words; it’s found in connection, patience, and presence. I want to continue building spaces where children like Rebecca are seen not through their challenges, but through their strengths and the beauty of who they are.

Being a first-generation college student has meant becoming the bridge between where my family has been and where we’re going. I am the first person in my family to graduate from college and now the first to pursue a Ph.D. When I walk into classrooms, I carry more than my own dreams; I carry generations of hope from a family that didn’t always have the chance to imagine higher education as possible. Growing up, college wasn’t something my family talked about because no one had been there before. My mother worked hard as a single parent to make ends meet, and my grandparents taught me the value of perseverance and faith. But when it came to navigating college applications, financial aid, or even what a GPA meant, I was on my own. Every form, every deadline, every late-night study session was unfamiliar territory. Yet, I knew that if I could figure it out, I could open doors for everyone who came after me. When I graduated with my bachelor’s degree, it wasn’t just my achievement; it was my family’s. My nieces, nephews, and cousins watched me walk across that stage, and suddenly, they saw themselves there too. For the first time, they started talking about college visits and career goals. Some have already left our home state to attend universities across the country. That, more than anything, is what being a first-generation student means to me: creating possibilities where there were none before. The journey hasn’t been easy. From navigating financial instability to balancing mental health challenges like ADHD and anxiety, every milestone has required perseverance. Moving from Texas to Washington, D.C., for my Ph.D. program at Howard University was one of the hardest transitions I’ve ever made. Without family nearby and limited financial support, I’ve had to build a new sense of home while learning to manage the demands of doctoral research. But I remind myself daily that I’m walking a path that didn’t exist for my family before, and that makes every challenge worth it. My dream is to use my education to give back to my community by creating programs that expand access to education, mental health care, and advocacy for marginalized populations, especially Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals. I want every young person from a background like mine to know that higher education isn’t out of reach, that it belongs to them too. This scholarship would provide not only financial relief but also affirmation. It would help me continue my research and community work without the constant worry of how to make ends meet. More importantly, it would help me keep building a legacy of opportunity for the next generation of my family, and for others like us who are daring to dream bigger than our circumstances.

My journey through mental health and recovery has been one of pain, resilience, and transformation. For years, I lived in silence, battling battles that no one could see. I was diagnosed with ADHD in college, after failing out twice and struggling to understand why I could not seem to meet the expectations that others and I had for myself. On the surface, I appeared strong, driven, and independent. But beneath that exterior was exhaustion, confusion, and a deep sense of shame that I couldn’t just “get it together.” Growing up in a Black family where mental health was often dismissed or misunderstood, I learned early that strength meant silence. You didn’t talk about anxiety. You didn’t mention depression. You definitely didn’t admit you needed help. When I started failing classes and isolating myself, it wasn’t seen as a symptom; it was seen as a weakness. The pressure to be the “successful one” in the family made it even harder to ask for help. I carried my pain quietly, and that silence began to consume me. During my early college years, I lost several family members within a short span of time. Grief, combined with untreated ADHD and anxiety, became unbearable. I started drinking to cope, to quiet my thoughts, to numb my emotions, and to feel something that wasn’t sadness or fear. At first, it seemed to help me manage, but soon it controlled me. My grades plummeted, my relationships suffered, and I lost the sense of purpose that once guided me. The turning point came when I realized I was losing myself. I was tired of pretending to be okay. I sought help, hesitantly at first, through therapy, and eventually found a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with ADHD and major depressive disorder. For the first time, I understood that my struggles weren’t moral failings or laziness—they were treatable conditions that required compassion, structure, and care. That realization saved my life. Recovery wasn’t instant. It was a process of trial, error, and patience. I had to rebuild my relationship with myself piece by piece. I began to attend therapy regularly, learned coping techniques like mindfulness and journaling, and surrounded myself with people who valued honesty over perfection. I also began my sobriety journey, recognizing that healing required both mental clarity and spiritual renewal. Through prayer, support groups, and community, I found purpose again. Returning to higher education after my diagnosis was a leap of faith. I eventually enrolled at Howard University’s School of Social Work for my master’s degree, determined to turn my pain into purpose. The same experiences that once broke me became the foundation for my academic and personal growth. I learned to advocate for myself, to use accommodations that supported my learning needs, and to build a balance between structure and grace. Now, as a Ph.D. student at Howard University, I am continuing that work at a higher level. Graduate school brings new challenges financial stress, academic rigor, and the pressure to perform—but I approach them differently now. I manage my ADHD with medication and behavioral strategies, maintain my mental health through therapy and support networks, and stay grounded in faith. My recovery plan involves regular therapy sessions, medication management, support group participation, and a commitment to rest and spiritual reflection. I also keep an open dialogue with my healthcare providers both in D.C. and in Texas, ensuring continuity of care. My academic and career goals are rooted in advocacy. I want to develop community-based programs that bridge gaps between mental health, disability access, and cultural understanding. As someone who has lived through mental illness and recovery, I bring empathy and authenticity to my work. My vision is to create trauma-informed spaces where others, especially people of color and Deaf or Hard-of-hearing individuals, can heal without stigma. This journey has taught me that recovery is not about perfection; it’s about persistence. It’s about getting up even when your body and mind tell you not to. It’s about believing that you are worthy of care and that your story can help someone else keep going. Every challenge I’ve faced has deepened my compassion and strengthened my resolve to make mental health care more accessible, equitable, and inclusive. I am still healing, still learning, and still growing. But today, I am proud of the woman I’ve become a scholar, an advocate, and a survivor. My journey through mental health and recovery has not been easy, but it has shaped me into someone who leads with empathy, fights with faith, and lives with purpose.

Losing my grandfather changed everything about the way I see life, love, and purpose. He was not just my grandfather, he was my father figure, mentor, and biggest supporter. I grew up without my dad, but my grandfather filled that space completely. He taught me how to have faith, how to treat people with kindness, and how to keep going even when life felt impossible. He was the one who showed me what real strength looks like. My grandfather battled and overcame a heroin addiction, but he never let his past define him. Instead, he used it to teach me about grace and perseverance. He showed me that redemption is possible and that no matter what we go through, God’s love and forgiveness can turn pain into purpose. Watching him rebuild his life taught me resilience, not the kind that comes from never falling, but from learning how to rise again and again. He was also the person who first believed in my dreams. From a young age, he encouraged me to think like an entrepreneur, to take pride in hard work, and to always help others. He believed in education and made sacrifices so that I could have the opportunities he didn’t. He was there for every achievement, every setback, every hard day. He was my constant reminder that I was capable of more than I realized. When I lost him, my entire world felt empty. The week he passed away, I received an invitation to attend the Black Deaf Symposium in Washington, D.C. That experience changed the trajectory of my life. It opened my eyes to the intersection of race, language, and advocacy, and it sparked something powerful in me. It was during that trip that I first felt called to pursue social work as a way to serve and uplift others. That moment would eventually lead me to apply to Howard University’s Master of Social Work program and now, my Ph.D. program in the School of Social Work. His loss could have broken me, but instead, it became my motivation. His belief in me continues to guide my choices. When life gets overwhelming, I think about how he never gave up, no matter how hard things became. That memory pushes me to keep going, especially during moments when I question whether I can balance it all. My grandfather’s faith shaped my own. He taught me to lean on God, especially in grief. I still find comfort in his lessons about kindness and humility, treating people the same, whether they have everything or nothing. Because of him, my work as a student and advocate is centered on helping others find their voice. His passing was painful, but it also gave my life deeper meaning. I now understand that love doesn’t end when someone passes, it transforms. His guidance still shows up in the quiet moments when I need direction or courage. He taught me that purpose is born from pain and that faith can turn loss into legacy. Because of him, I am not just chasing degrees; I am pursuing impact. I want to create spaces where people feel supported, just as he supported me. His encouragement laid the groundwork for my education and my dedication to serving others through social work and advocacy. Losing him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced, but his life continues to inspire mine. I am who I am today because he never stopped believing in me. This scholarship would honor his legacy by helping me continue the work he began, living a life of faith, perseverance, and service.

Faith has always been my anchor, but this past year tested it in ways I could never have imagined. In August 2025, I began the Ph.D. program at Howard University’s School of Social Work, a dream that represented years of perseverance and prayer. I entered the program with excitement and humility, knowing God had called me to create global impact for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals. But only a few weeks into my first semester, my faith was shaken to its core. On September 10th, I received a call that my Deaf sister-in-law, two nieces, and two nephews had been in a devastating car accident in Houston. Their father, also Deaf, was frantic. My youngest niece, just five years old, had sustained a cracked skull and was being airlifted to another hospital. Two of the other children were also injured. While trying to keep up with my doctoral coursework and the financial strain of graduate school, I suddenly had to become an emergency caregiver, interpreter, and advocate all at once. When I arrived at the hospital, I was met with another crisis, no ASL interpreter had been provided for my Deaf family members. As a doctoral student studying social-justice frameworks and disability access, I found myself living the very problem I sought to change. I had to advocate for my brother and sister-in-law while managing my own fear that we might lose one of the children. In those moments, my education took a back seat, and my faith became my lifeline. Each prayer was a declaration that God was still in control. I remembered Psalm 46:1 “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Every decision, from navigating hospital staff to comforting my family, required strength that only faith could supply. Miraculously, after days of uncertainty, every child survived. My niece underwent brain surgery, and my sister-in-law, though injured, recovered. I returned to school exhausted but with a deeper understanding of purpose. This experience reminded me that faith is not only what sustains us, it is what refines us. It transformed my research from academic theory into lived conviction. I no longer study advocacy from a distance; I live it every day. My purpose is clearer than ever: to use my education to fight for language access, culturally responsive care, and trauma-informed systems for Deaf families who, like mine, are often unseen and unheard. I also recognize how God weaves stories across generations. My brother became Deaf after a case of meningitis in the same Houston hospital where, decades later, his daughter would need brain surgery. Our family’s journey has come full circle, and through it all, God’s grace has remained constant. Like Nabi Nicole, whose faith guided her service, I view my work not as a job but as a calling. My ambition is rooted in obedience, to be a vessel for change, compassion, and healing. In the future, I plan to build Deaf-centered programs that combine faith-based healing, counseling, and advocacy. My dream is to create community spaces where families receive both spiritual support and practical resources, where no one has to face crisis without communication, understanding, or hope. Receiving the Nabi Nicole Memorial Scholarship would not only ease my financial burden as a graduate student, but it would also affirm the very values that have carried me through: faith, service, and perseverance. Like Nabi, I want to dedicate my life to uplifting others through both word and action. I believe God placed me in this season and in this work for a reason. To be living proof that faith can transform tragedy into testimony.

Service has never been a separate part of my life, it is woven into everything I do. My journey began at home, growing up as the sibling of a Deaf adult. Watching my brother navigate a world that often failed to understand him taught me empathy, patience, and the importance of advocacy. I learned early that giving back doesn’t always start with grand gestures; sometimes it begins with translating, supporting, or simply making sure someone is included in the conversation. Today, I continue to give back through both formal and informal community work. I volunteer with organizations that promote accessible education and family advocacy. Whether I’m helping coordinate community events, mentoring students in advocacy programs, or supporting families in learning to communicate more effectively with their Deaf or Hard-of-Hearing loved ones, I see service as an act of connection. It means meeting people where they are and helping them see what is possible when they have the right tools and support. My work with nonprofits has allowed me to collaborate on projects that blend research, direct service, and empowerment. I assist with workshops that train future advocates to recognize barriers and develop solutions that are inclusive and sustainable. I also help connect community members to resources for language access, mental-health support, and employment. Every interaction reminds me that service is about more than charity, it’s about justice, equity, and the belief that everyone deserves to thrive. In the future, I plan to expand my impact through research and program development focused on inclusion and access. My studies in social work have deepened my understanding of how systemic barriers affect families like mine. I intend to use that knowledge to design evidence-based programs that promote early language access, family communication, and culturally responsive education. My vision is to create a network of support where professionals, social workers, educators, interpreters, and counselors collaborate to build pathways of success for underrepresented communities. Ultimately, I want to establish a community hub that offers advocacy training, counseling, and professional development for service providers. This center would not only help individuals but also strengthen institutions through education and partnership. I see it as a living embodiment of what Priscilla Shireen Luke stood for compassion that moves beyond words into consistent, tangible action. My long-term goal is to contribute to global inclusion efforts, particularly in areas where Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals lack educational and employment resources. I hope to partner with international organizations to exchange best practices and help develop culturally appropriate approaches that recognize local needs. True service does not stop at one community’s border; it grows by learning from others and sharing what works. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue this work with greater focus and stability. It would reduce financial barriers that can limit students who are deeply involved in service but also balancing school and community commitments. With this support, I could devote more time to hands-on projects that directly impact families and to the research that informs policy and program design. I am driven by the same spirit that defined Priscilla Shireen Luke’s legacy, the belief that even small acts of kindness can ripple outward to change lives. My education is a tool, but my heart for service is the reason I will keep showing up, giving back, and helping others do the same. Through empathy, collaboration, and determination, I hope to leave behind a world just a little more accessible, connected, and hopeful than the one I found.

Challenges and opportunities have shaped my life journey, teaching me the value of perseverance, community, and education. Growing up, I experienced firsthand how the absence of accessible communication and culturally affirming resources created barriers not only in classrooms but also in daily life. These experiences instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to advocate for others who are often unheard. Pursuing higher education at this stage in my life is not just a personal achievement—it is a continuation of a calling to create meaningful change for my community. Over the years, I have walked paths that were not always smooth. I balanced family responsibilities, work, and service while often being the first or only Deaf woman of color in academic and professional spaces. These experiences required resilience but also sharpened my determination to succeed. I discovered that persistence is not just about accomplishing personal objectives, but also about creating opportunities for future generations. That perspective has guided me through setbacks, reminding me that each challenge is an opportunity to grow stronger and more resourceful. My personal values are grounded in equity, cultural pride, and empowerment. I believe every person deserves the right to communicate, to learn, and to belong. Observing the separation of too many children from their natural language and cultural communities due to systemic gaps in education has shaped this belief. These patterns of displacement are not abstract—they affect real families and entire communities who are deprived of their full potential. My values compel me to work toward solutions that affirm identity while promoting access and opportunity. These values directly shape my career aspirations. My long-term goal is to create and strengthen programs that provide linguistically responsive and culturally relevant services for Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing individuals, particularly those most marginalized. I envision working at the intersection of social work, education, and policy to ensure that no child has to endure the same gaps I witnessed and experienced. By integrating trauma-informed care, community-based research, and culturally grounded practices, I hope to contribute to a body of work that transforms how institutions serve our communities. Community service has always been central to my journey. I have organized advocacy initiatives, mentored young people, and partnered with organizations to address barriers faced by Deaf individuals and families. Service is not something I view as optional—it is a responsibility to use my skills and experiences in ways that uplift others. My education is therefore not about personal advancement alone; it is about equipping myself with the knowledge, tools, and credibility to make a greater impact. This scholarship will play a pivotal role in helping me achieve these goals. Higher education, particularly at the doctoral level, requires not only intellectual commitment but also financial support. Scholarships relieve the financial strain that can otherwise limit students from fully focusing on their research, fieldwork, and service. For me, receiving this support means being able to dedicate myself more fully to building a dissertation and future career that will generate evidence-based solutions and practical resources for the community. It means having the capacity to amplify voices that are too often ignored. My education is not just an investment in myself but an investment in my community. I plan to use the knowledge, research, and leadership training I gain to advocate for inclusive programs, support linguistically responsive educators, and build bridges between institutions and the communities they serve. My vision is a future where every Deaf child has access to early language, culturally responsive teachers, and the support networks needed to thrive. This scholarship will turn that vision into reality.

Throughout my life, I have encountered numerous challenges, learned valuable lessons, and discovered the strength within myself to push through adversity. These experiences have not only shaped who I am today but have also fueled my decision to return to higher education at this stage in my life. At 40, I find myself stepping into a new chapter, one where education is the key to fulfilling my purpose and impacting the communities that matter most to me. My journey has been anything but traditional. As someone who has been deeply involved in the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing community for years, both as an advocate and an ASL interpreter, I have witnessed firsthand the barriers that exist for marginalized groups, especially those who are underserved or misunderstood. Early in my career, I worked as a social worker in a variety of settings, but it wasn’t until I ventured into working with individuals with disabilities that I truly discovered my calling. This work opened my eyes to the systemic issues that Deaf individuals face, particularly in education, employment, and access to essential services. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that my true passion lies in advocating for and serving these communities—especially in education, where I can provide the tools for empowerment and independence. It is my belief that education is transformative, and that it has the power to break the cycles of oppression and marginalization. As I approach the completion of my Master’s in Social Work and prepare for my PhD, I feel a strong commitment to continue expanding my knowledge and using my expertise to ensure that every person—regardless of their background—has access to equal opportunities. My experiences as a Deaf individual, a social worker, and an advocate have deeply influenced my personal values and career aspirations. I am driven by the belief that access to education is a basic human right, and that advocating for inclusive practices is essential to creating a more just and equitable society. Whether through my volunteer work at the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing Child Resilience Center, my role as a mentor for Deaf youth, or my work in the church, I have continually sought to give back to the community by advocating for those whose voices are too often silenced. Returning to school at this stage in my life is not just about earning a degree—though that is important—it’s about continuing the journey toward making a meaningful difference in the lives of others. I plan to use my education to drive change within the social work field, specifically by working on initiatives that break down the systemic barriers Deaf individuals face. I aspire to create programs that foster greater understanding of the needs of these communities, while advocating for better policies and resources that can help eliminate inequalities in education, employment, and healthcare. This scholarship would play a critical role in helping me achieve these goals by alleviating some of the financial burdens associated with my studies. It will allow me to focus on my education without the constant worry of how to pay for it, giving me the freedom to fully immerse myself in my studies and contribute to the advancement of social work for marginalized communities. In conclusion, the opportunity to further my education is not only a personal milestone but also an opportunity to continue serving my community and making an impact where it is needed most. I am determined to continue the work that has been so meaningful to me, and with the help of this scholarship, I am confident that I can make the difference I have always aspired to achieve.

Imagine waking up every day with a sense of purpose, excitement, and fulfillment. This is the life of my dreams—where my passion for social justice, education, and advocacy seamlessly blends with my professional goals and personal growth. As a Deaf advocate and social worker, I envision a future where I can continue to break down barriers for the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing community, ensuring that they have the same access to opportunities as anyone else. In my dream life, I am a leader in the field of social work, working with marginalized populations to create systemic change. I will have earned my PhD in Social Work, building on my current education at Howard University, where I am already immersed in research focused on disability rights, audism, and systemic oppression. I will work as a professor, mentoring the next generation of social workers, and conducting research that will further the understanding of how we can better serve and empower individuals from disenfranchised communities. As a researcher and educator, my work will center on disability advocacy, with a focus on the intersectionality of race, disability, and gender. I will collaborate with other thought leaders in the social justice space to develop programs and policies that challenge existing barriers and promote inclusivity. I will be at the forefront of dismantling the systemic structures that perpetuate discrimination against Deaf individuals, especially those who are also people of color. In this dream life, my advocacy does not stop at the academic or professional level. I also see myself as an active member of my community, using my voice and skills to fight for justice. Whether through working with grassroots organizations, developing programs that provide resources for the Deaf community, or serving as an ASL interpreter in public spaces, I will be a constant presence in the lives of those who need support. I will dedicate myself to ensuring that the rights of Deaf individuals are respected, their voices heard, and their contributions valued. On a personal level, this dream life will be one of balance. I will create space for self-care and relaxation while staying deeply connected to my community. I see myself building strong relationships with family and friends, where I can nurture my personal growth and celebrate my achievements with those who matter most. The sense of joy that comes from knowing I am making a tangible difference in the world will fuel my continued commitment to my work. In this ideal life, I will also have the opportunity to continue my journey of spiritual growth. I envision myself playing an even greater role in my community’s spiritual life, serving as an ASL interpreter for various religious services, and ensuring that the Deaf community can fully participate in worship and spiritual practices. The intersection of my faith, my work, and my advocacy will be the foundation of my strength and purpose, guiding me as I strive to create a more inclusive and compassionate world. Ultimately, the life of my dreams is one where I can live authentically, contributing to society in meaningful ways while advocating for those who are too often overlooked. It is a life where education, advocacy, and compassion come together to make the world a better, more inclusive place for all.