I entered Hampshire College as a Division II student at 25, recently divorced, and searching for an academic path that aligned with my interests and experiences. I grew up in a strict fundamentalist community that discouraged higher education—especially for women—teaching instead that my purpose was to be a wife and mother. College was not encouraged, and when I first attempted it at 19, I felt unprepared and unsupported, ultimately dropping out after a year. I married soon after, following the expectations placed on me. Years later, after my divorce, I knew I wanted more for myself, and I was determined to build an education that allowed me to explore my interests freely, without the constraints of my past.
When I applied to Hampshire, I thought my focus would be studying Christian fundamentalism, with the goal of helping others who had grown up in similar environments. My background had given me firsthand experience with religious extremism, and I was interested in studying its psychological and sociological effects. However, as I immersed myself in Hampshire’s interdisciplinary curriculum, my interests evolved. I found myself drawn to psychology and cognitive science, particularly how people form beliefs, process change, and experience grief. Over the course of Division II, my focus shifted from simply understanding religious communities to exploring human cognition, emotion, and ritual—especially in the context of death and mourning.
My first semester at Hampshire was an intense period of personal and academic transformation. Not only was I adjusting to the demands of college after several years away from formal education and moving across the country, but I was also dealing with the collapse of the religious community I had grown up in. During my first few months at Hampshire, news broke that the leader of IHOPKC (International House of Prayer Kansas City)—the organization that had defined much of my childhood—had been accused of clergy sexual abuse by multiple women.
This revelation sent shockwaves through my family, many of whom were still active members of the church. For years, I had been slowly distancing myself from the group, but this event forced my family to confront truths they had long ignored. Seeing them struggle to reconcile their faith with the reality of what had happened was painful. My family had built their entire lives around IHOPKC, believing it was a divinely led movement, and suddenly they were faced with the realization that their leader had been abusing his power for decades.
Watching this unfold from afar was incredibly difficult. While I was immersing myself in Experimental Psychology, learning about obedience, authority, and group influence, I was simultaneously watching these dynamics play out in real time. The Milgram experiment, which examines how individuals comply with authority figures even when it conflicts with their personal morals, felt eerily relevant. It helped me understand why so many people within IHOPKC had remained loyal for so long, despite the warning signs. Cognitive dissonance, social pressure, and years of indoctrination had kept them bound to a system that ultimately failed them.
At the same time, I was also struggling with my own grief and cognitive dissonance. Even though I had left IHOPKC years ago, I still had to process the fact that much of my life had been shaped by this institution. I found myself grappling with anger, guilt, and a deep sense of loss—not just for my family, but for myself. I had spent years trying to untangle myself from this belief system, and now I was watching my family go through that same painful process.
Despite how challenging this semester was emotionally, it was also a turning point for me. I realized that my interest in psychology wasn’t just academic—it was personal. Studying how people form and maintain belief systems, how they justify harmful structures, and how they process grief when those structures collapse became my central focus.
At the same time that I was studying psychology, I was also engaging deeply with writing. In Creative Nonfiction, I wrote about my divorce, which forced me to reflect on how my upbringing has shaped my understanding of relationships, autonomy, and self-worth. Writing became a tool for self-examination, and I started to recognize that my marriage had been an extension of the fundamentalist values I had been raised with. Leaving it had been one of the first true acts of personal agency I had ever taken.
This realization led me to think more critically about grief as an emotional process. I had always associated grief with death, but through writing, I came to see it as a response to loss of all kinds—loss of faith, loss of community, loss of identity. This perspective shaped my academic interests moving forward, as I became increasingly drawn to the ways in which people construct meaning after loss.
As I progressed through Division II, I explored these ideas through a variety of courses. In Psychology of Memory, I studied how memories are reconstructed over time, which directly tied into my research on how people remember and process grief. In History of Psychology, I examined how Western psychological models have historically overlooked non-Western perspectives on mourning and death rituals. My coursework in Negotiation also provided valuable insight into how people navigate conflict, which has direct implications for my research on hospice care, where families often struggle with complex emotions and interpersonal tensions in end-of-life situations.
Throughout my Division II, I have critically engaged with race and power by examining how systems of privilege, oppression, and exclusion shape access to grief support, end-of-life care, and psychological research. Much of mainstream psychological theory, particularly in areas like bereavement and cognitive development, is rooted in Western, Eurocentric models that do not always reflect the experiences of racially and culturally diverse communities. In my coursework, I explored how marginalized communities navigate grief in systems that fail to accommodate their cultural mourning practices. Many hospitals and hospice settings operate under Western medical frameworks that prioritize efficiency and clinical detachment, often overlooking the importance of spiritual, communal, and ancestral traditions in mourning. This issue is particularly relevant to my Division III project, in which I will be interviewing hospice workers about their use of ritual in end-of-life care. I hope to highlight how race, ethnicity, and cultural background influence both patients’ and caregivers’ experiences of death and mourning, emphasizing the need for culturally inclusive models of bereavement support.
Beyond psychology, my engagement with race and power has extended into my work in social and political analysis. In Global Insecurity, I explored how Christian nationalism in the U.S. has been used as a tool of racial and political control, particularly in shaping policies on immigration, reproductive rights, and LGBTQ+ issues. This research connected to my personal experiences growing up in IHOPKC, where religious ideology was deeply intertwined with patriarchy, white supremacy, and political conservatism.
My readings in Speculative Nonfiction, particularly James Baldwin and Alice Wong, further pushed me to think about how power operates in personal narratives—who gets to tell their story, whose grief is legitimized, and how race, disability, and cultural background affect access to care and support. These works reinforced my understanding that grief, belief systems, and power structures are deeply intertwined, and that my research must be conscious of whose experiences are centered and whose are erased. As I move into Division III, I want my work to contribute to a broader, more inclusive conversation on grief and end-of-life care, ensuring that psychological research and hospice practices better reflect the diverse ways people process death, loss, and transition.
Through my work at the Gilbert Psychology Lab at Harvard, I was able to expand on these ideas in a different way. The research I contributed to, The Illusion of Moral Decline, examined how people mistakenly believe that society is becoming more immoral over time. Having grown up in a community that frequently reinforced the idea that the world was getting worse, I found this study particularly meaningful. It reinforced my understanding that belief systems are shaped not only by external narratives but also by cognitive biases that make us perceive change as inherently negative.
One of the most fulfilling aspects of my Division II experience was my work as a teaching assistant for two courses: Psychology of Cognitive Development with Melissa Burch and Speculative Nonfiction with Faune Albert. These opportunities allowed me to engage with teaching, mentorship, and research in a way that was both intellectually stimulating and personally rewarding. In Psychology of Cognitive Development, I worked closely with students as they explored key theories about how thinking, memory, and reasoning develop over time. I helped facilitate discussions on cognitive development, assisted students in refining their research proposals, and provided feedback on their assignments. I particularly enjoyed helping students critically engage with research articles, drawing on the analytical skills I had developed through my own coursework. It was exciting to watch students move from initial uncertainty about experimental design to developing thoughtful and well-structured research ideas.
My experience as a TA for Speculative Nonfiction was equally transformative, but in a different way. In this class, I worked with students who were navigating personal narratives, much like I had done in Creative Nonfiction. Many of the students were writing deeply personal essays, some of which touched on grief, trauma, or identity, and I found myself in a unique position to support them—not only in refining their prose but also in understanding how storytelling can be a powerful tool for self-reflection and meaning-making. Through one-on-one meetings and workshop discussions, I helped students clarify their arguments, strengthen their narrative voices, and connect their personal experiences to broader social and cultural themes. This experience reinforced my belief in the intersection between psychology and writing, as I saw firsthand how writing can serve as a means of processing emotions and reshaping personal narratives.
TAing gave me insight into teaching as an extension of research and mentorship. I found that I loved helping students develop their ideas and refine their arguments, whether in psychology or nonfiction writing. I also gained a deeper appreciation for the importance of accessibility in education. A couple of students came to office hours feeling intimidated by research methodology or struggling with writing anxieties, and I learned how to meet them where they were—breaking down concepts into more approachable terms and building confidence in their ability to engage with complex ideas. These experiences solidified my desire to pursue teaching and mentorship in some capacity after Hampshire, whether in academia, research, or public scholarship. My work as a TA also shaped the way I approach my Division III research, as I now see the importance of making research accessible, engaging, and meaningful to a wider audience.
My Division III project is a culmination of all these threads. I plan to conduct a qualitative study on how hospice workers use ritual in end-of-life care. Through interviews with hospice professionals, I hope to understand the role ritual plays for both patients and caregivers. Some of the key questions I will explore include: How do hospice workers create meaning through ritual? How do different cultural traditions influence the ways people approach death? What happens when standard mourning rituals are disrupted, such as in cases where patients die alone or in sterile hospital environments that do not allow for personalized traditions?
I will approach this research using an interdisciplinary framework that combines psychology, cognitive science, and writing. The qualitative nature of the study will allow me to capture the complexity of people’s experiences, which is essential given the deeply personal and often spiritual nature of end-of-life care. Additionally, I plan to explore the ethical dimensions of my research—particularly the need to approach interviews with sensitivity, as discussing death and grief can be emotionally difficult for participants.
Beyond Hampshire, I see my work extending into research, writing, and public engagement. I am interested in making psychological research more accessible to people outside of academia, particularly in areas like grief, trauma, and belief systems. Whether through teaching, research, or nonfiction writing, I want to continue exploring how humans process loss, construct meaning, and adapt to change.
My Division III project is a first step in this larger goal. By examining how people use ritual to cope with death, I hope to contribute to broader discussions about mental health, end-of-life care, and cultural approaches to grief.
When I entered Hampshire, I expected to study Christian fundamentalism, but Division II led me toward a broader exploration of psychology, cognitive science, and death rituals. Writing about my divorce in Creative Nonfiction helped me process my past, while my psychology courses provided new ways to understand belief systems, grief, and memory. The collapse of IHOPKC forced me to confront the realities of religious trauma in real time, while my studies gave me the tools to make sense of it.
Division II was a period of transformation, intellectual discovery, and personal reckoning. Moving forward into Division III, I am eager to apply my skills to a research project that not only aligns with my academic passions but also feels deeply personal and meaningful. By studying how hospice workers use ritual, I hope to contribute to broader conversations about grief, end-of-life care, and the fundamental human need for meaning in the face of loss.