What I Wanna Be When I Grow Up

When I was 5,
I wanted to be a hairdresser.
Then a doctor,
Then a mom.
What I wanted to be changed every week.
The possibilities were endless.

I turned 6, and I wished to be a ballerina,
Possess all the grace and beauty my baby siblings had.
I wanted to be seen,
And I wondered what they had that I didn’t.

I turned 7,
And boys turned mean.
They didn’t want to play tag at recess anymore,
Because I had cooties and girls were stinky.
I hated the color pink and wanted to become a construction worker,
“Just like my daddy.”
I think it was less about my dad and more about wanting to feel equal to the guys.

I turned 8, and I saw homeless people in the streets, so I wanted to become a cook to feed them.
I wanted to give them warm soup and hugs and tell them it was alright.

Suddenly, I was 9 years old, and I wished I were a scientist.
The world was a big, magical place, and all I wanted to do was explore it.
I wanted to make discoveries,
Find new plants,
Figure out what was wrong with them,
Maybe even fix it.
I thought if I could cure cancer, maybe people would want to be my friend.

I turned 10,
School became harder,
My dreams became quieter,
And friends became scarcer.
It wasn’t so much about what I could give anymore,
But about what I could do—and didn’t.
I wanted to be smart,
Get all the answers right.
Be liked.
Be praised.
Maybe then Mom and Dad would smile at me the way they did at my baby sister.

I turned 11,
And the expectations only grew.
I cared more about what everyone else thought.
I didn’t want to help the world anymore;
I wanted boys to like me,
Girls to be my best friends,
And to be pretty.
I wanted to be popular,
To be seen.
But sometimes, late at night, I’d wonder,
“Is this really me?”

I turned 12, and I wanted to be strong.
Stronger for Mom, because Grandma died.
Stronger for Dad, because Mom was sad.
Stronger for my siblings, because who am I if not dependable?
I wanted to stand out,
Not for the wrong reasons,
But to be a good person and help my family.
But I tried too hard,
And being strong for them meant not being myself.
It meant crying late at night and putting myself into boxes I was never meant to be in.

I turned 13, and I wanted to be free,
But to be free, I needed to know myself.
Instead, I lost pieces of me, trying to be everything for everyone else.
And there was no longer me.

I turned 14, and I became afraid of change.
I wanted to be stable,
Know my favorite color and what I didn’t like.
I wanted to know what came next,
And I didn’t want to say goodbye.

Now I’m 15 years old,
And I’m trying to find myself again.
Possibilities seem much broader than they did at 12,
And now I want to be a teacher.
I want to help kids.
But I also want to be strong, beautiful, and graceful.
I want to make people smile,
Let them know they are loved.
I’m not really okay,
But I think one day I will be.

Maybe I don’t know what I’m going to do
Or who I’m supposed to be,
But maybe the journey is the point.
Maybe it’s okay not to have it all figured out.