Growing up in the West Valley wasn’t just where I lived, it was where I learned what community really means. It was where I watched neighbors look out for one another, where my teachers knew my name and my story, and where I first felt the quiet pull toward service. Looking back now, as a nurse working with underserved populations, I can see clearly how those early experiences shaped who I became, not just as a professional, but as a person.

The People Who Taught Me Compassion

In the West Valley, we didn’t have a lot, but we had each other. I remember going with my mom to drop off homemade food at a neighbor’s house when their son got sick. I remember the church potlucks, the Little League games, the late-night phone calls when someone needed a ride or a babysitter. That kind of care wasn’t extraordinary, it was expected. It was just what you did.

I didn’t realize at the time how formative that would be. But when I walked into my first nursing job, and saw the look on a patient’s face who had been passed over, misunderstood, or simply ignored by the system, those instincts from home kicked in. Pull up a chair. Make eye contact. Listen first. No matter how fast the shift is moving, make them feel seen.

Learning to Work With Limited Resources

Growing up in a working-class neighborhood taught me a deep respect for people who make do with less. That same skill has become one of the most critical tools in my nursing practice. In communities where healthcare options are scarce and budgets are tight, you learn to get creative. You learn to advocate for your patients, even when there are gaps in the system. You learn that sometimes the most powerful thing you can offer isn’t a prescription, it’s your presence.

The West Valley taught me that doing more with less isn’t about sacrifice. It’s about determination. It’s about knowing your worth and the worth of your neighbors, even when society overlooks them. That mindset fuels me every day, especially when I’m working with families who feel like the odds are stacked against them.

Culture, Connection, and Care

One of the most beautiful things about growing up in the West Valley was the cultural diversity. My classmates and I came from all backgrounds and our differences weren’t seen as problems. They were our strength. Potlucks were full of flavors from every corner of the world. We celebrated each other’s holidays. We learned from each other’s grandparents.

That upbringing gave me a respect for cultural competency that guides how I deliver care. I don’t walk into a room with assumptions. I ask questions. I listen to family traditions. I understand that healing looks different for everyone. Whether it’s understanding a patient’s use of herbal remedies or recognizing the importance of prayer and faith in recovery, I carry the lessons of cultural humility with me in every exam room.

Facing Healthcare Gaps With Grit

The West Valley isn’t immune to the broader problems of our healthcare system. There were times growing up when I saw family members delay care because they couldn’t afford it. I knew classmates whose parents worked two jobs and still had to choose between groceries and prescriptions. These experiences stuck with me. They still fuel my desire to change the system from within.

Now, as a nurse, I focus my efforts on reaching people who have been forgotten by traditional healthcare models, the uninsured, the undocumented, the elderly who live alone, and the families struggling to make ends meet. I do this work not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary. And because I believe that every single person, regardless of income or background, deserves to be treated with dignity.

Mentorship and the Next Generation

One of my proudest roles now is mentoring young people from the West Valley who want to go into nursing or other healthcare fields. They remind me so much of myself, hardworking, a little unsure, but deeply committed to making a difference. I tell them, your roots are your superpower. Don’t hide them. Use them. They’ll give you the resilience to handle long shifts, the patience to care for people in pain, and the clarity to stand up when something isn’t right.

I also tell them that our community needs us. We need more healthcare providers who understand the lived experiences of the people they serve. Who can speak their language — literally and emotionally. Who can bring heart to a system that too often forgets it.

The Road Ahead

I don’t know exactly where my journey will take me next, but I know I’ll always carry the West Valley with me. Whether I’m working in a clinic, teaching new nurses, or advocating for healthcare reform, I’ll bring the grit, empathy, and resourcefulness that this community gave me.

Growing up here didn’t just shape my values, it gave me purpose. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.