Trust the Becoming by Destinee

Trust the Becoming by Destinee - July 2025 Scholarship Essay

If I could offer my past self one piece of advice, it would be this: “Trust the becoming.”

There was a time in my life when I believed every step forward had to be perfectly planned. I was the girl who color-coded her school binders, outlined her five-year goals at 17, and measured her worth by grades and achievements. I thought if I followed the plan—get good grades, go to college, earn the degrees—everything would fall into place. But no spreadsheet or syllabus prepared me for the moments that would truly shape who I am becoming.

I would tell my younger self to breathe, to trust the process even when it’s uncertain, and to remember that growth often looks like stillness, silence, or even struggle.

One of the most defining moments of my life happened in a season of profound grief. I had just lost my great-grandmother—my best friend, my confidante, the one who always reminded me, “Go to God, and He’ll carry you through.” Her death shattered something in me that I didn’t know how to put back together. I didn’t want to go to God. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to feel. And yet, it was through that pain that I learned to sit with myself, to ask hard questions, and eventually, to return to the faith she had modeled for me so well.

That loss taught me that healing isn’t linear and success isn’t always loud. Sometimes, healing comes in the form of journaling through tears, learning how to ask for help, or simply making it to class when everything in you wants to stay in bed. I would tell my past self that resilience doesn’t always look like pushing through—it looks like learning how to rest without quitting, how to bend without breaking.

As I navigated college, I began to realize that the world wasn’t just waiting for the version of me who had it all figured out. The world needed the version of me who was willing to show up honestly and advocate for others who didn’t yet have the words or resources. That realization drove me into the field of counseling, and later into my Ph.D. program, where my research now centers on Black maternal mental health. I care deeply about creating spaces where Black women are seen, heard, and supported—especially in moments of reproductive loss, depression, or identity shifts after motherhood.

I didn’t always know this would be my calling. I would tell my past self that it’s okay to pivot. The major you start with might not be the one you finish. What seems like failure might be redirection. And that nothing learned—no pain, no doubt, no delay—is wasted.

If I could speak to her—the younger version of me who was scared she wasn’t doing enough or being enough—I would hold her face gently in my hands and say, “You are already becoming her. The woman you admire. The leader. The helper. The healer. You don’t need to rush.”

Trust the becoming.

That advice has carried me through personal storms, academic hurdles, and career shifts. It reminds me even now, in the thick of dissertation work and long nights of writing, that the pressure I feel is proof that I care—and that caring deeply is a strength, not a weakness.

So yes, I would tell her: Trust it all. The tears, the triumphs, the quiet days, and the uncertain ones. Because in all of it, you are becoming.