Hi! Lucille here. As many of you know, I have been pursuing a clinical psychology doctoral degree for several years now. You have often asked, "when will you be done" and I have answered that question with something like "it feels like never" or [insert number of years here]. I am proud to say that I am closer to the end than I am the beginning. To complete my program, we are required to complete an internship. Exciting right?! I'd like to think so. However, applying and interviewing costs can be rather steep and to be unable to foot the bill has the potential to stifle my growth. The process is not ideal for marginalized people, especially first generation folks like myself. Many people are able to borrow from family, but coming from a marginalized space, there are no pockets from which to borrow, so I'm looking to friends and friends of friends and friends of friends of friends. To apply to internship, we are required to write 4 essays. Essay 1 is an autobiographical statement which I have pasted below. I encourage you to read it and hear why it is that I do this work and why I hope you can help me continue to make an impact. I don't think it's fair that financial strain should keep marginalized people from achieving their goals. Do you?

Thanks a tons for your attention and time.
Warmly,
Lucille

ESSAY 1
The concrete jungle, Jersey City, New Jersey. It was a typical high school weekday when Ms. Irizarry came to visit. She was a counselor in the local academic enrichment program that provided underserved students developmental space to explore their potential. She asked a question that goes back to pre-school: what do you want to be when you grow up? Naively, quite confidently (and having skipped preschool), I replied, “a singer.” I was in a performing arts program being trained in vocal performance where I attended my performance classes at a nearby university. From Bach to Beethoven, French to Hebrew, I gained exposure to it all. And being a Black girl from an inner city, where 6% of people go to college, what else was I to say? She replied, perplexed, “you know getting discovered doesn’t happen just like that, right?” Sure, I did, didn’t I? She asked about my back up plan. I told her I would think on it.

Who was I, what was I good at, what mattered to me? Raised by my grandparents then my aunt after their passing, in low income housing under a roof with two siblings and five cousins, little room was left for imaginative play. Though, it provided ample inspiration on how to gain access to more: more financial security, more space, types of “more” that I could not quite imagine past my personal survivor tournament. I observed that no matter how difficult things became, no one around me gave up. I often wondered, how do people who work so hard still end up with so little?  I took advantage of what I could and followed the example of those who had come before me. Though I had no boots to strap up, I had feet to stand, so that’s what I did, that’s what we did. I lived the reality of “sticks and stones may break my bones” but I kept going. Whilst my bones were never broken, I witnessed backs break to put food on tables and dreams deferred because dreaming was for those who could afford it.

So, who was I? A person molded by hardship who remained determined not to see herself through a lens of struggle, but one of tenacity. What was I good at?  Holding space for the simultaneous nature of strength and struggle. What mattered to me?  Providing space for the forgotten people whose experiences had only taught them to be hard. Honored to bear witness to clients’ strength, while championing the liberative nature of feeling, I see my resemblance in clients’ faces. Thus, in the room, this is who I am. Someone who fights beside clients acknowledging strength and character where pathologies would have otherwise been the end of the story.

Ms. Irizarry returned two months later, and I finally had an answer to give. On a whim, I told her I wanted to be a therapist.