My name is Vi, and for the past seven years, I have dedicated my life to building and leading a grassroots movement for first-generation, low-income refugee youth and families. What began during the COVID epidemic as a response to a community in need grew into a powerful force for good, creating programs that changed lives. Our groundbreaking programs helped low-income immigrants with high barriers secure internships, jobs, leadership, and advancement opportunities. Many of our students are now working full time, while others are still in university because our programs helped pay for their tuition. We taught them how to do their homework, held them as they cried in their cars about failing classes, and stayed by their side as they navigated education systems designed to intimidate and weed out first-generation students. More than anything, our community is more visible because of our advocacy work. I am deeply proud of what we accomplished together.

But behind the scenes, the weight of leadership took a heavy toll on my health. As the founder and leader, I became the person who absorbed everyone’s frustrations, conflicts, and pain. Over the years, the stress and emotional strain built up, and my health declined with a list of illnesses and conditions usually seen in someone much older. I pushed through the pain, determined to see our work through to the finish line. Three months ago, my body finally gave out. I became bedridden from severe pain and stress, unable to walk or even sit up without losing my breath. My muscles have atrophied to the point where I cannot stand up for long without collapsing to the ground. I am now teaching my body how to stand, sit, and walk again, but it is still a struggle, especially since I have also developed breathing issues during this time. For personal reasons, I am unable to access SSI or disability, and I have no family who can support me financially.

Last year, I used all my savings to help my parents relocate after they were laid off and evicted. Now, I am turning to my community for help. I need support to cover my rent, utilities, bills, and medication while I recover my strength and work toward finding stable employment. I have given everything I have for community work, and I’m asking now for help in my most vulnerable moment. I want to stay alive long enough to see the youth and children I’ve supported grow into successful adults. If I don’t slow down to heal now, I fear for my future. Your support means everything to me.