I wanted independence more than anything. I wanted my own schedule, my own decisions, my own life. I imagined freedom would feel loud and exciting—late nights, spontaneous plans, the feeling of finally being in control.
Instead, it feels quiet. Some days, too quiet. I wake up and no one checks if I’m awake. No one reminds me to eat or asks how I slept. The silence feels heavier than I expected, like something I’m still learning how to carry.
Being responsible for myself means I’m alone with my thoughts. When I’m stressed, there’s no one automatically stepping in to help. When I’m tired, I still have to keep going. Independence means there’s no backup plan unless I make one myself.
I don’t regret it. I’m proud of myself for making it this far. For paying my own bills, managing my time, figuring things out as I go. But I didn’t expect to miss being taken care of this much. I didn’t realize how comforting it was to have someone notice when I was struggling without me having to say anything.
I’m learning that growing up doesn’t mean not needing anyone. It just means learning how to ask. Learning that strength can look like reaching out, and that independence doesn’t disappear just because you admit you’re human.
