To the Girl Who Was Tired by Kamrynn

To the Girl Who Was Tired by Kamrynn - July 2025 Scholarship Essay

There’s a strange kind of silence that follows growth. Not the kind that feels peaceful, but the kind that feels like no one is watching. It’s the silence after you’ve led the event, stayed up to study, made the call, sent the email, volunteered the extra hour without an immediate reward. I’ve lived most of my life in that kind of quiet.

If I could give my younger self one piece of advice, it would be this: Keep showing up, especially when it’s quiet. Because in those moments where you feel like no one sees you, that’s often when you’re becoming someone worth noticing.

When I was in high school, I was involved in my hometown's Youth Council, where I had the chance to lead a community book drive. I organized the entire thing myself, from setting up donation boxes to building partnerships, because I noticed something missing: Young students in my city didn’t have access to culturally relevant literature that reflected their lives. I didn’t have funding. While I didn’t have a huge team, I had my voice and the leadership lessons I’d picked up over the years. By utilizing the skills I had, the community book drive was a success. No one threw me a parade. No awards came in the mail. But that’s when I started to realize that this is what real impact feels like. Quiet. Focused. Lasting.

Since then, that mindset has shaped everything I do. In college, I joined AMWA and BSHA to dive deeper into the healthcare world. The more I learned, the more I understood how uneven healthcare truly is, especially for Black women and underserved communities. I saw how gaps in research, resources, and representation left certain people vulnerable. This lit a fire within me. I realized I didn’t just want to work in healthcare—I wanted to be a force that challenged it to do better. That’s why I volunteer at Memorial Hermann, not just to get hours, but to watch how patients are treated and how they respond when they feel seen. That’s why I said yes to being an Orientation Leader, guiding freshmen with the kind of care I wish I had. That’s why I keep signing up, keep leading, keep showing up—even when it’s hard, even when it’s quiet.

There are days I doubt myself, wondering if I’m doing enough, if any of it really matters. However, I’ve learned that real impact doesn’t always come with recognition. It shows up in the moments when no one is clapping. When you’re tired, but you say yes anyway. When you don’t know exactly where you’re going, you move forward anyway. I’ve come to believe that my greatest strength isn’t just ambition—it’s endurance. The kind that builds character in silence. The kind that will serve me in every hospital hallway, every patient interaction, and every policy discussion I step into. Because I know what it feels like to keep pushing without praise, to care deeply when it is easier not to, and to stay committed to something bigger than myself.

So to my younger self: the long nights, the second-guessing, the quiet work—it all adds up. You are becoming something unshakeable, something steady, something needed. Keep showing up. Because someone out there, one day, will need you to.