On December 11, 2015, my uncle passed away. My uncle was the only father figure I had, and he was the breadwinner and owner of the apartment in which my mother and I lived. That night, my mother and I did not only lose the one person who represented home to us in America, but we also lost our housing. On that bleak, dreary December school night, my mother and I found ourselves homeless and roaming the nearest Walmart Supercenter overnight when we had nowhere else to go. Our feet throbbed. Our stomachs churned. Starting then, at fifteen years old, I served as my mother’s and my foundation of dependability and practicality; I adopted the roles of translator, manager of finance, and house cook. I worked with my high school to find temporary housing and worked for wages after school. Because of my experiences, I understand how discouraging it is to be in those difficult circumstances, and I aim to help as many people as possible not to feel the same pain I felt as a teenager. Fortunately, those years of financial planning and preparing my family’s taxes ignited my passion and led me to pursue a major in accounting. To no surprise, learning more about the niche principles in accounting has been rewarding and enjoyable for me. I plan to attain a Bachelor of Science in Accounting and a Master of Business Administration. I aim to use the knowledge I gain through years of academia to give back to struggling communities. As I delved into the world of accounting and business, I realized that entrepreneurship was the perfect avenue for me to make that happen. I aim to start an affordable business consulting service to help disenfranchised groups struggling with financial literacy skills. My difficult upbringing and drive to enact change have prepared me for the rigorous work that entrepreneurship takes. According to a study examined by Pew Research, nearly 51% of employed Americans are to some extent dissatisfied with their occupations. A key factor as to why entrepreneurs tend to have higher satisfaction rates than employees is the concept of intrinsic and extrinsic motivations. Contemporary Educational Psychology Journal characterizes intrinsic motivation as participating in activities because they are “inherently interesting or enjoyable,” in contrast, extrinsic motivations are derived from receiving “a separable outcome” such as money or occupational benefits. Although entrepreneurship holds many risks, ultimately, entrepreneurs are investing in their own ideas and pursuits. When one is working for themselves on the entrepreneurial ventures that are important to them, they are motivated by intrinsic factors – the work in itself is rewarding. However, when working solely for external factors such as financial compensation, the motivation in said occupation eventually subsides and prompts job dissatisfaction. I aim to wake up every day looking forward to the workday ahead of me. I strive to live a fulfilled life and be proud of the work I do on a daily basis. Nothing could make me more proud than building a business that will help the disenfranchised communities I grew up in. I have great ideas about how to address my aspirations and turn them into a reality. If given the opportunity to pursue those goals, I will work relentlessly because I know that I have intrinsic motivation to help my community. Growing up as a black immigrant with limited financial opportunities, I am aware that bringing change in the world cannot happen overnight. However, it is crucial to provide educational and financial literacy skills for marginalized groups to grow beyond their circumstances. My business consulting firm will provide comprehensive financial, business planning, and educational resources to communities in need and others who seek consultants. Beyond providing the means for underprivileged individuals to launch their businesses, I intend my business model to include a facet of providing career development and financial literacy skills to those with unique capabilities that don’t fit into the traditional scope of the workforce market. These resources are necessary because those with unconventional jobs often lack the resources to market themselves to their target audience adequately. Alternatives, such as working in independent contracting, freelancing, or starting a business, serve as suitable options to obtain income. Helping underprivileged neighborhoods launch their businesses puts money back into struggling neighborhoods via property taxes. Increased property taxes allow for improved living conditions through public schools, housing, and general infrastructure funding. Advocating for issues at the intersection of my experience — poverty and financial equity— poses challenges, but what keeps me fighting is my belief that change is possible.

The world we live in faces endless corruption and reminders that institutions treat human lives unequally based on socio-economic statuses; however, it should not be this way. Making less income should not equate to receiving unequal treatment in the eyes of the law. Six years ago, my experience with housing inequality reshaped my aspirations and fueled my desire to help disenfranchised communities. In December 2015, my uncle passed away, which meant my mother and I lost the breadwinner and owner of the apartment we lived in. That night, my mother and I not only lost our housing but also lost the one person who represented home to us in America. On that bleak, dreary December school night, my mother and I found ourselves homeless and roaming the nearest Walmart Supercenter overnight when we had nowhere else to go. Our feet throbbed. Our stomachs churned. As undocumented immigrants, we can attain neither housing nor paid employment. However, we had not realized that we were wrongfully evicted because we had not violated the lease contract terms or been given proper notice. As we were homeless for the following weeks, we wished we had an advocate in our corner to point out that our landlord had illegally evicted us. Those weeks were some of the lowest points in my life. I was deeply terrified about what would happen to my mother and me. My circumstances that night could have driven me to despair, but instead, they ended up being my greatest source of inspiration. I understand firsthand the trauma of being homeless and not having the resources to help the situation. That night when my mother and I almost lost everything from our clothes to a shelter, I resolved that no teenage girl should ever feel as scared and helpless as I did. It made me realize how urgent and vital it is to fight for children and adults who face the same trauma and injustices every day. It drove me to push myself in high school and continue to maintain my work ethic in university. I will continue to work hard every day to eradicate the institutional structures that create systemic inequalities in the law that inflict trauma on underprivileged groups. After university, I will become an attorney to advocate for disenfranchised groups and revise the systems that cause oppression in many communities. My drive to pursue civil justice as an attorney stems from the issues at the core of my lived experiences — minority rights and fair housing. I am committed to seeking civil justice because, through attorneys’ work, court cases can change individuals’ lives and set precedents that help future generations of marginalized groups. My aspirations pose challenges, but what keeps me fighting is my belief that I can bring change.

My mother is my everything. She is my eyes, my lips, and my being. Both genetically and metaphorically. In a time where depression and darkness loomed my life. She did everything in her power to lift my spirits and remind me of who I was. My mother raised me as a single mother, and most of my family members are deceased. Thus, my recollection of my family lineage is solely comprised of my mother. Whenever I see myself, I see her. My idea of power is mounted on the foundation of my mom. In this piece, I wanted to exhibit my mother’s role in helping rehabilitate me in an inopportune part of my mental health journey. In this illustration, the viewer can see the darkness of depression occupying a proportionate space of the piece. My hands cover my eyes to hide from my overwhelming sorrows. Below my hands are my three mental states of anxiety, fear, and depression. The most prominent and furthest figure to the right of my phases is my mother. I wanted to reinforce that even though our mental states contrast at that moment, I am still my mother’s daughter. Everything I am is directly from my mother. My mother and I’s lips, hands, blouse, hairstyle are identical in this particular artwork to further convey our likeness. However, my mother’s facial expression shows how assured and secure she is in contrast to my three anxious stages. She is looking over me with confidence that I will overcome my struggles. My mother’s unconditional love and support provided me with the strength to achieve my goals and dedicate myself to my passions during this challenging point in my junior year of high school. I mustered the courage to start and coordinate an LBGTQIA+ club at my school that provided equity for members of the LBGTQIA+ in our local community and a safe space for open discussions. My club, serving alongside organized nonprofits in the Dallas area, accomplished facilitating over thirty local businesses switching from binary restrooms to gender-neutral ones. I spent weeks writing to several queer alliance organizations to garner support and resources for our cause. Despite experiencing many setbacks along the way, seeing my fellow queer peers, at last, feel safe in this simple aspect of their lives made every obstacle worth it. I recall many conversations with friends, formerly strangers, who told me that my club helped them come out to their peers and family members. They felt their pride was their endowed right and that they could finally, truly embrace it. I forever yearn to work with nonprofits, especially those that work with my LGBTQIA+ members. I hope to make any person who feels different, whether it be because of their sexuality or mental circumstances, feel comforted. I strive to be a reliable support system to others the same way my mother was to me.

Growing up as an impoverished black immigrant in the projects, I was prompted to do everything in my power not to become a product of my environment. Thus, there was an imminent pressure to study harder, get a good job, and help my community. I had to work to overcome not only institutionalized racism but also overcome generational curses, like others in my position who have come before and after me. I constantly felt the pressure of yearning to be my family line’s savior. Starting as young as fifteen, I served as my family’s foundation of dependability and practicality; I adopted the roles of translator, manager of finance, and house cook. I kept my family on a frugal budget and a strict diet of rice, rice, and more rice. My rigid methods had been enough for my mother, uncle, and I to at least scrape by in his rented apartment. But unfortunately, that was until my uncle passed away. Thus, my mother and I did not only lose the one person who represented home to us in America, but we also lost our housing. On that bleak, dreary December school night, my mother and I found ourselves roaming the nearest Walmart Supercenter for five hours. Our feet throbbed. Our stomachs churned. As we exited that particular Walmart, an overwhelming numbness draped across my shoulders. I couldn’t spring into action with a budget, a meal plan, or a schedule. As the biting wind swept past my mother’s dark brown, brittle hair, I noticed how gray her once vibrant; youthful complexion had turned. Seeing my mother age, slowly worn down by our circumstances, was the final straw for me. I wanted to end my life at that very moment. It was all too much to carry. The weight of constantly upholding myself as the efficient and solution-based daughter – cracked me into a million pieces to the extent that I didn’t want to live to try to put it back together. What got me through that time was the support of my community. My high school counselor helped us find temporary housing, and my friendships got me through the moments when I didn’t want to go on. If it hadn’t been for my community, I would have most likely not been here to live another day. I learned I needed people and that I couldn’t handle it on my own. I discovered that having a community to lean on is crucial and that I am only as strong as the people around me. That moment in my life made me deeply cherish the relationships in my life. The bonds I have built helped rehabilitate me in my most vulnerable moments. I now put effort into nurturing the bonds with those around me because growing as a human being is a team effort. In addition to that experience re-shifting the way I viewed my relationships, I also prioritized building a nurturing relationship with myself and my personal goals. I used to be overwhelmed with how much I wanted to achieve in my academics and community work. Regardless of how hard I worked, I always felt I was not doing enough. In many ways, I felt worthless. However, when I lost everything and was homeless at 15, my life was put into perspective. The state of my mental health forced me to re-examine the unattainable expectations I had set for myself. I realized that the work I do for my community is not a race; rather, it is a marathon. My approach now is to look for tangible and specific ways to effect change, regardless of how big or small it may seem. Over time, what may feel like a small contribution will amount to a notable mass. Instead of creating overwhelming and lofty goals, I set practical intentions in the activities in which I participate. For instance, I know that I don’t have billions of dollars to redistribute to inner cities. However, I know that I can crowdfund and use social media to raise funds for those in dire circumstances. Lastly, those difficult moments in my mental health path broadened my sense of empathy and understanding of the world. When my anxiety and depression dictated my mind, those suicidal thoughts didn’t seem irrational. If anything, they felt tangible and reasonable; I believed that I was being considerate to others. I concluded that ending my life would alleviate the stress of those around me. My friends would not need to deal with my baggage. Because of that experience, I have understood what it is like being in that all-encompassing headspace. I have more empathy towards strangers I meet out in the real world. The battles others are fighting behind closed doors are concealed. It is so essential to move with patience and consideration when interacting with others. Before losing my housing, I established a facade of being stable and independent. However, that was not my reality; fear and depressive thoughts constantly flooded my mind. Although I encountered negative experiences in my teen years, I developed a unique perspective on how vital it is to value my mental health, especially as a black woman. My experience in losing shelter helped foster a stronger dynamic between my community and me. Additionally, I learned how setting inaccessible goals distorted my self-perception and hindered me from seeing how valuable I was. Prioritizing the relationship I have with myself includes creating sustainable plans that do not spread myself thin. Most importantly, my mental health journey has allowed me to be more understanding towards others as there is so much that is not skin deep.

After six long-drawn years, our dialogue began to feel quite repetitive. "Mwanangu [my child], everything will be okay. I prayed for us in today's mass at the chapel." I would then tiredly respond, "Ma, please come back to reality; there is no hope for people like us." Deep down — at fifteen years old — I too yearned for a more promising future, but under our circumstances, I felt I had no right to dream, to hope. Serving as my family's foundation of dependability and practicality, I adopted the roles of translator, manager of finance, and house cook. Unwilling to indulge my mother's unrealistic expectations, I kept us on a frugal budget and strict rice, rice, and more rice diet. I grew to feel like overspending by a few pennies could lead to a financial disaster. My rigid methods had been enough for my mother, uncle, and I to at least scrape by in his rented apartment. But, unfortunately, that was until my uncle passed away. Thus, my mother and I did not only lose the one person who represented home to us in America, but we also lost our housing. On that bleak, dreary December school night, my mother and I found ourselves roaming the nearest Walmart Supercenter for five hours. Our feet throbbed. Our stomachs churned. As undocumented immigrants, we can attain neither housing nor paid employment. As we exited that particular Walmart, an overwhelming numbness draped across my shoulders. I couldn't spring into action with a budget, a meal plan, or a schedule. As the biting wind swept past my mother's dark brown, brittle hair, I noticed how gray her once vibrant; youthful complexion had turned. Seeing my mother age, slowly worn down by our circumstances, made me realize that I couldn't just hide behind my pessimistic attitude. I desperately began filling out endless amounts of group housing applications, mentally disregarding our immigration status. For once, I was not concerned about the logistics nor the odds against us. I only focused on finding shelter for my mother and me. Miraculously, after thirteen days, we had finally gotten a response. A landlord allowed us to rent one room in a group apartment without all the required documents. A sense of relief washed over me: there was hope for people like us. As we settled into the group house over the next three months, I adopted a more buoyant attitude. I even took the occasional risk of adding beans to our dinners of usually plain rice. My mother would gaze over me as I cooked, with a proud smile and a rosary wrapped around her palm. "I told you, Mwanangu, that everything would be okay." I finally realized that she had been right all along, and I started fully taking advantage of every opportunity that I came across in my life, especially in academics. I learned to be less risk-averse and more of a risk-taker. I began to challenge myself academically and to invest more time in clubs that enriched my school. Instead of using my critical thinking skills to predict negative outcomes, I used them to help tackle issues in my school community. Now, I'm a girl with a 3.8 GPA as an accounting major and interning for one of the top law firms in Dallas. More importantly, I learned to use my abilities to work diligently towards resolutions, even when terrified. My immigration status no longer dictates my limitations or capabilities. I do. My pursuit of housing reshaped my attitude towards my academic career. I know that having a positive, solution-based outlook will keep me going as I pursue a career in public service as a public interest attorney. Advocating for issues at the intersection of my experience — minority rights, immigration reform, and fair housing — poses challenges, but what keeps me fighting is my newfound belief that change is possible.