From Crisis to Calling by Elijah

From Crisis to Calling by Elijah - August 2025 Scholarship Essay

I tossed and turned in the thin sheets offering no comfort as I laid tangled in them. I yearned for a good night’s rest after another long day of classes and a double shift at the bowling alley when the quiet of the night suddenly shattered. An angry rumble of voices rose from outside the door, followed by the metallic clang of something hitting the pavement. My heart hammered against my ribs as a car horn blared a staccato cry that cut through the air. Even in my tired state, I knew this was a transaction gone wrong outside the motel door. Then, the sound of pounding against the neighbor’s door followed. I fumbled for the bedside clock, the bright red digits of 3:09 AM a stark, surreal confirmation that this was not a dream.
The commotion outside seemed to push the walls inward, a representation of the thoughts racing through my mind as I rested my head on the wafer-thin pillow. I desperately tried to tune it all out, to just disappear into my own head, but then I heard a soft muffled sob from my mom next to me. The sound was all too familiar, a dull ache I carried for so long, so I reached across the darkness and found her hand, squeezing it softly in a silent attempt to comfort us both. I turned my gaze to my father in the bed next to me; he was sitting bolt upright, a shadow hunched in the dark, his body rigid and his gaze fixed on the door. He was ready to protect us from a threat, even though his vision had faded due to his condition.
Eventually, the bickering outside faded into a tense, heavy silence. The frantic banging on the door ceased, and the muffled sound of a car leaving left me with a quiet that was more unsettling than the noise itself. I didn’t have the energy to ponder on what happened. Instead, I laid down and stared at the hideous popcorn ceiling, wondering when life would go back to normal again.
Then, the quiet dread of the next day began to settle in. A familiar pit formed in my stomach as my mind scrolled through tomorrow's schedule. After a full day of classes, I had a long shift at the shoe store, followed by the closing shift at the bowling alley—two jobs, back to back, another long day just like yesterday and the day before that. At least I could count on eating a warm meal at the bowling alley, a luxury that beat the cold, stale gas station food I had been living on for the past few days. The thought was a small comfort, but it quickly soured. The old refrain began to play in my head: If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I am so tired of being tired.
For more than half of my last semester at community college, a deep sense of instability became my family’s new reality. The foundation of our lives began to crack when my father, the unwavering rock of our family, was forced to leave his job due to a debilitating illness. Without his income, the financial strain was immediate and crushing. Our home—the only place I had ever known—fell into foreclosure, and we were forced to surrender it.
Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of a cascading series of heartbreaks. The full foreclosure and my father’s unemployment left my parents’ credit in tatters. As we desperately searched for a new place to live, we were met with wall after wall of different landlord’s discrimination. The rejection was brutal, and the constant strain of our situation was already fracturing my parents’ relationship, with a heartbreaking separation on the horizon. Trapped in this perfect storm of misfortune, our last resort became a small room at a Red Roof Inn, a temporary prison we would call home for a little over two months.
Eventually, as the dust settled, our family found its footing. My parents secured separate housing, and I found myself in a position to be able to lend them a small hand financially. I also purchased my first car, a symbol of newfound independence, and achieved my associate's degree, earning a place on the Dean's List for the fourth consecutive semester. Throughout that entire ordeal, the thought of a four-year university was my North Star—not merely an escape from my grim reality, but a driving fantasy that fueled me on the days I felt I had nothing left to give.
Now, as I step into my first year at Illinois State University as a finance major, my aspirations are sharp and intentional. I am driven to take full advantage of every resource, from building a robust professional network and seeking out mentorship to excelling in my classes to lay the groundwork to become a certified financial planner. My motivation, however, is not a flight from the past, but a deep-seated connection to it. The memory of that motel room, of my parents' silent pain, and of our financial instability was not a burden; it is the unwavering fuel behind my ambition. My dream is not merely to build a successful career but to empower other families with the knowledge and tools to navigate their own financial futures, ensuring they never have to endure the financial burden and emotional turmoil we did.