Over the last decade, I’ve helped thousands of students secure funding for their futures. I’ve raised millions to ensure others could walk across the stage debt-free, with hope in their hands and dreams on their backs. But today, I find myself wondering how I’ll make it through my final year of my PhD program. Never in a million years did I think I’d be here, on the other side of the table, asking for help.

For the past several years, my doctoral journey at the University of Kentucky has been fully funded. First through a fellowship, and then through a research assistantship. But due to recent funding cuts under the current administration, my assistantship was unexpectedly eliminated; and with it, my only means of paying for school.

Since then, I’ve done everything I’ve always told my students to do. I’ve applied for scholarships, searched high and low for funding, and stayed in communication with departments. And still, every scholarship has come back denied. I don’t qualify for private loans due to “adverse credit history,” and both of my parents are deceased, so I don’t have the luxury of a cosigner or family safety net.

I was devastated, disappointed, and honestly, I was ready to quit. I was fully ready to accept being ABD (All But Dissertation) and walk away. My committee fell apart due to job shifts. My faith was low. And I couldn’t even answer people when they asked, “How’s your program going?” because I didn’t know if it was going anymore.

And then I remembered my why.

My dissertation is my story. I’m writing an autoethnography that explores the intersection of grief, racial trauma, and identity development while navigating doctoral education as a Black scholar. I’ve lived every single word I’m writing. I’ve collected journals and emails from the past few years; but now I have the opportunity to capture this moment, this heartbreak, this fear, this grit, as real-time data. Because my research isn’t just about me. It’s about every Black doctoral student trying to survive systems that weren’t built with us in mind.

Graduate students are students too. But most institutional resources stop at undergraduates, and too many of us are left to fight for scraps. My story is not unique, and that’s exactly the problem.

So now, I’m turning to my community. Since starting this program, y’all ask how you can support me. And I never really had an answer. But now I do.

This year for my birthday, instead of asking for more perfume or gifts, I’m asking you to help me cross the PhinisheD line. I need to raise $5,000 to cover my tuition for the 2025–2026 academic year, my final year. Anything you give will go directly toward keeping me enrolled and helping me finish strong.

If you’ve ever been encouraged by my story, impacted by my work, or believe in my assignment and calling to advocate the importance of educational equity, I’m asking for your help now.

Thank you for being part of my village, ️LETS GO FLIP SOME TABLES