Don't be average, don't be another statistic, don't be yet another uneducated Black male in this world." Those words have been stitched into my mind since childhood. I come from a small majority Black charter school in Delaware with limited resources, a declining staff, and low expectations placed on its students from the outside world. My parents attended college but never completed their four year degrees, making me the first in my family to walk this path all the way through. Nobody in my household could tell me how to write a competitive scholarship essay, navigate financial aid, or what to expect when I got there. I had to figure it out on my own. And I did. I graduated with a 4.3 GPA, finished in the top 3% of my class, earned First Honor Roll every marking period, served as Class President, appointed Executive Treasurer of Student Government, founded my school's Soccer Club, accumulated 175+ community service hours, earned 9 athletic certificates and 3 Varsity Letters, and was awarded the Purple Dragon Scholarship at my own graduation ceremony. I applied to over 60 scholarships, stayed up until 2am writing essays, and took on jobs to fund my own future. Nobody handed me a roadmap. I drew it myself. That is exactly why inspiring other first generation students is not just something I plan to do. It is something I feel obligated to do. Because I know what it feels like to stand at the starting line of this process completely alone, not knowing the unspoken rules, not having family connections to lean on, and not being sure whether someone like you is actually supposed to make it to the finish line. I plan to inspire other first generation students through my counseling practice, my mental health platforms, and simply by being visible. Representation matters. When a first generation student from a low resource environment in Delaware sees someone who looked like them, came from where they came from, and still made it to Howard University and built something meaningful, it does something to their belief system. It makes the impossible feel possible. I also plan to use my platforms to share practical guidance for first generation students navigating the college process, from financial aid to scholarship applications to the emotional weight of being the first. Nobody should have to figure this out alone the way I did. The most powerful thing I can offer first generation students is proof. Proof that the absence of a roadmap does not mean the destination is out of reach. It just means you have to be willing to build the road yourself. I was willing. And I plan to spend the rest of my life making sure the next generation of first generation students knows they are too.

Growing up, I learned that giving is not something you do when you have enough left over. It is something you do because someone needs it, and you have made the decision that their need matters as much as your comfort. That lesson started at home. I helped take care of my blind stepmother, ensuring she had the food she needed and that the things she could not do for herself were handled. There was no recognition waiting at the end. It was just showing up every day for someone who needed me to. Losing her when I was younger planted something in me that has never left. The understanding that giving starts with presence, not resources. She never asked for much. She just needed someone to show up consistently and without complaint. That experience shaped my definition of what it means to truly give. That same spirit carried into everything I did after that. At Northwest Church of Christ I contributed over 100 hours of service, helping with food drives, Thanksgiving food giveaways, painting, and supporting the seniors of our congregation. At Freire Charter School I supported school wide events, showing up before the crowds arrived and staying after they left. I founded my school's Soccer Club after the program was shut down because I refused to let a community dissolve simply due to lack of funding. I served as a Youth Soccer Coach mentoring 25 players because I knew what it meant to have someone pour into you. A degree in counseling psychology will allow me to use everything I have always done naturally and scale it into something that reaches far beyond my immediate community. I plan to open my own private counseling practice focused on serving underserved Black communities where mental health support has historically been inaccessible due to cost and stigma. I plan to build mental health platforms through social media where people can access real support without the pressure of speaking to someone directly. And I intend to conduct research on emotional regulation that can be implemented in schools and communities without requiring significant resources. Everything I plan to build is rooted in giving. Not because it is required but because I have seen firsthand what happens when people do not have someone in their corner. I have watched people lose their reason to care about themselves because nobody showed up for them. I have also watched what happens when someone does show up. The shift is real and it is lasting. A degree is not just a credential. It is the most powerful tool I will have ever had access to for serving the people around me. And I plan to use every bit of it.

The phone rang at 11 pm. I already knew before I answered that something was wrong. There are moments in life that don't announce themselves as important. They just happen, and you only realize their weight long after they've passed. That night was one of those moments. My friend's voice was breaking on the other end, with nothing left to say but that they didn't know how much longer they could keep going. I had seen it coming before they said a word. I watched them slowly withdraw from everything they used to care about. The energy they once carried disappeared. The laughter got quieter. And the weight behind their eyes got heavier every time I looked at them. Most of it stemmed from things completely beyond their control, the harmful ways they were treated at home by the people who were supposed to protect them. They felt trapped with no visible options and no way out of a situation they didn't create. I couldn't fix their home. I couldn't remove the source of their pain. I couldn't create options where there were none. But I could show up. So that's what I did. I sat with them. I listened without trying to immediately solve everything. I asked questions that made them feel seen rather than analyzed. And slowly, I started walking them through ways to cope with what they were carrying, healthier ways to process the pain, small ways to reclaim a sense of control in a situation that felt completely out of their hands. I drew from everything I had taught myself during my own seasons of drowning, the same process of delving into the why behind every feeling, the same logic of finding a reason behind every emotion, the same reminder that the spiral always feels permanent until it doesn't. It wasn't one conversation. There were many. Some nights I didn't have the perfect words. Some nights, all I could do was stay on the phone and just be present. But I never left. And slowly, I watched something shift. The calls got lighter. The laughter started coming back. They began to see options where they once saw walls. Watching that happen because I simply used my words and showed up consistently is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life. It confirmed something I had suspected for years but never fully understood until that moment. The most powerful thing one person can do for another is refuse to let them feel alone in their darkest moment. That experience is the foundation of everything I am working toward. I am heading to Howard University this fall to pursue a degree in counseling psychology, and that night is a large part of why. I want to spend my career being the person I was for my friend, but on a much larger scale. I want to build platforms where people can access real support without the pressure of asking for it directly. I want to open a practice where people who feel trapped, unseen, and out of options can walk in and finally feel like someone is in their corner. Helping someone in need taught me that you don't always need a solution. Sometimes you just need to show up and refuse to leave

Everything in life is temporary. That statement has stayed with me since the day I watched my great grandmother be laid to rest. Witnessing the tears she drew from everyone around her was a lingering reminder to take advantage of every second I have. I have experienced that truth firsthand in more ways than any young person should, losing relationships, friendships, goals, people, and time. Experiencing this at a young age left me with endless questions. But unlike most, I did not just sit with those questions. I starved for the answers, driven to understand loss on the deepest level possible. That hunger is what led me to psychology. When I first began this research, it was purely for myself, and I didn’t know the word psychology existed yet. Mentally, I was drowning, spiraling constantly over what I had done wrong and how I could have avoided certain situations. I delved deep into those feelings, determined to understand why I felt the way I felt and how to resolve it. Through that process of self educating, I naturally learned a great deal about psychology and the effects of neglecting your mental health. I learned how loss affects everyone differently, causing people to behave in ways that slowly damage themselves, leading to low self-esteem, low energy, and a complete lack of motivation to climb out. When those problems go unresolved, the losses build up, and in some of the most devastating cases, people lose their lives entirely. Being able to climb out of that spiral myself is what first made me wonder whether I could help others do the same. I had many friends carrying heavy mental burdens, much of it beyond their control, with the most common source of pain being the harmful ways they were treated by their own parents. Some had experienced thoughts of suicide, feeling trapped with no visible options (all of whom have since received professional help). Though I could not directly solve the situations they were in, I was able to listen genuinely and guide them toward healthier coping methods. Watching those friends slowly exit the spiral they had been stuck in because I simply used my words inspired me to keep expanding my knowledge and see how far I could go in helping people. My goals in actively contributing to suicide prevention involve expanding mental health education so people can help themselves without total reliance on a therapist. Many people lose their reason to care about themselves, others, and life as a whole, and when that goes unaddressed, it leads to devastating outcomes. These resources need to exist where people already are, which means social media. As I grow in my research, I plan to build platforms where people can access psychology backed guidance and broad support without the pressure of speaking to someone directly, motivating others to understand they are not alone, and that someone is always available to guide them through loving themselves and rising from the dirt. Spanning from witnessing the loss of life to losing relationships and pieces of myself, taught me what actually helps and what only numbs the pain. By becoming both a therapist and an entrepreneur focused on those who are struggling, I plan on making changes to this world little by little.

“It’s time to start thinking about other options”. As I felt those words settle in my head, I came into a deep state of thought. Thinking about each minute I've spent working to get into my own college of choice, only to be told that the reality of financial hardship can easily shut down any dream a person may have. To be told that you may not be able to get into a college you’ve spent hours and days stressing over, was heartbreaking. Especially knowing the limited options you have to do anything about it, knowing that you cannot create thousands of dollars from thin air. Having to swallow this big pill is even harder than hearing it itself, which is a pill I still haven’t allowed myself to swallow. I refuse to give up on this opportunity to go to my dream college, Howard University, and this is just one chapter of a much longer financial story I've been forced to navigate. I can’t remember a time where me and my family were in a position of "financial freedom”. It seems like whether I was aware of it or not, my parents had to work hard for every penny and scrape dollars wherever they could find it. Because of this hard work, although we never got into a deep state of poverty, any long pause of time without work would’ve led us straight to it. Because of this, I've learned how to appreciate every little thing I have and work hard so that everything would be easier in the long run. By keeping this mindset, I was able to consistently achieve academic excellence. I paid attention in class, especially in my sophomore financial class which taught me a lot about where I should be looking in my future career, and the amount of money I should be striving for in order to not have to struggle like my family does now. With all the education i’ve been able to accumulate throughout my experiences in highschool, and learning from my parent’s mistakes I plan on taking advantage of all opportunities that come my way, applying to every scholarship I can, and attending college to achieve a life I can feel flexible and free in, and eventually helping and supporting my family in the way they need to be supported, just like they have supported me. Within the upcoming year, I'm praying every day and scraping for dollars like I've always had to do. Being able to have opportunities such as scholarships and having a laptop to apply to them is something I'd never take for granted. As an African American, I'm used to having to work extra hard for all the things that I want, so that in itself is something I take pride in myself for. With the financial education that I have and which will only continue to grow, I will set myself on a path where financial hardship becomes much less of an issue by doing everything necessary, working hard, and learning from every mistake that comes my way.