Speech

1

I remember my mom telling me for the first time, “ You have to do it by yourself.” The words washed a cold wave of anxiety over me, though it was quickly overcome with a feeling of determination when I imagined how my mom would feel if I did this, taking one less thing off her hands. 

2

I was in kindergarten, sitting in the back seat as we drove home from school, when she explained that she’d registered me for the school bus because she couldn’t pick me up anymore. I whined, of course. I loved our car rides—the way we played “I Spy” while stuck in traffic, how she pointed out buildings and challenged me to read store signs aloud. She finally convinced me after promising we could walk back home from the bus stop together. 

3

 The first day I had to take the bus I was nervous. To me, a million things could go wrong. I carefully walked up to the bus that I was told was mine. I tripped while walking up the steps and struggled to scan my bus card. The bus driver taught me how and had me do it myself. 

4

Carefully swiping the card along the black edge like he did, I was able to make the card reader beep a sound that felt like a small victory

5

The bus was practically empty, I chose the seat closest to the door, gripping the edge of it as the engine rumbled awake.

6

I pressed my forehead against the glass, watching the familiar streets roll by. When I saw her waiting at the stop, waving with a warm smile, relief flooded me. The walks home weren’t as fun as the drives used to be, but they softened the change. For a while, things stayed that way — until they didn’t.

7

One afternoon, she told me she couldn’t walk me home anymore. “You have to learn the way yourself,” she said, repeating the same phrase that made my stomach twist. For the next week, she turned it into a game — quizzing me at every corner. “Where do you take a right — at the garbage cans or the roses?” she’d ask allowing me learn the route step by step, until I could see the path in my head like a map.

8

A few weeks later, she shared even bigger news: she had gotten a new job, three hours away. It meant she wouldn’t be there when I came home from school.

9

That’s when it hit me—she had been quietly training me all along. The end of our car rides, the solo walk from the bus stop—each was a small step teaching me to be independent. She wasn’t just letting go; she was teaching me how to stand.

10

 At first, stepping off the bus knowing no one was going to be there waiting for me felt lonely. Returning to a small apartment flat, which suddenly felt so big when it only carried me, was scary. But it never continued to feel that way. This different environment became the new normal. There were new freedoms hiding in that change. For example, instead of waiting with the kids who got picked up by car I got to be one of the kids who left the class first so they didn't miss the bus. Instead of walking straight home I always made a detour to the park before going just because I could. Instead of starting homework as soon as I got home—prompted by mom of course—I turned on the TV to catch up on some My Little Pony.

11

Little by little, I learned what independence really meant—not just being alone, but being capable.Whether it was learning to start homework on my own schedule or to guard the house key like a treasure.

12

Transitioning through those moments taught me something simple but powerful: growth is never comfortable. You can’t step forward without first stepping into the unknown.

13

Looking back, that independence I learned in the past was a confidence my mom instilled in me to face the future. 

14

Soon, I’ll face another change, another beginning. Once again, I’ll be letting go of familiarity. But this time, I won’t feel the chill of fear—only the warmth of anticipation for what’s to come.