"Still Growing"
My childhood was simple.
The earliest memory I have is from when I was three. I remember looking around my room, completely mesmerized by my toys. It was the first time I could really retain memories and understand what my parents were saying. I think they were at their happiest then—because I felt no fear. Everything was peaceful, yet full of wonder.
I remember how big the world seemed. My ceiling felt so high, like I’d never be able to reach it, not even in my dreams. When I was four, I used to lie on the couch pretending to be asleep, just so my mom would take my picture. I liked making her laugh. I remember cutting my own hair once, and surprisingly, she didn’t get mad—because I’d actually done a good job.
When I was six, school became the best part of my day. I loved dressing up in cute shoes and fancy clothes. Every day felt like a fashion show, and I didn’t care—I loved it. Everyone in my class dressed like that. It was just the norm, and I felt like I belonged. Back then, everyone got along. Everyone was your friend. No one felt lonely.
But when did that change? When did people start pulling away?
So many people I once called friends are strangers now. Why is that? Growing up, I was happy. I never felt stressed—only joy. I felt beautiful. I felt pretty. Even the shows I used to watch seemed full of magic. Now when I look back, I feel sad. Is that a sign I’m getting older? I don’t know. I can’t remember everything anymore. Where did those memories go? Why did they leave me?
I don’t want them to. I still want to feel what I felt back then.
Mid Childhood
Then people started drifting away.
My friends left, one by one. I didn’t understand why. They laughed at me sometimes. Did I say something wrong? Was it how I looked? Maybe that’s when my anxiety started. I used to love attention, but suddenly I couldn’t stand it. Was I the problem?
My best friend stopped hanging out with me. I never got an explanation. I kept asking myself: Was it something I said? Something I did?
And then came the biggest loss of all—my abuela. I had never lost a person before. I couldn’t fully grasp it. It didn’t feel real. I didn’t cry, not at first. But I remember crying myself to sleep one night. That was the first time I ever felt truly vulnerable.
I started wishing I didn’t have to grow up. Because if I stayed young, I wouldn’t have to lose anyone else. I thought maybe if I stayed little, my family would stay together. I didn’t want change. I didn’t want to be separated.
Then COVID hit, and everything changed again. I had no friends, no school, no connection. I felt completely alone. But then we got a dog. She was the sweetest, and for a while, she gave me joy. But the fear of death stayed with me.
That was also the time I started hearing more about romantic and sexual relationships. It felt confusing, overwhelming—like I had been thrown into something I wasn’t ready for.
Late Childhood
I was first introduced to the idea of homosexuality around this time. I started questioning myself. Was I gay? Did I like girls? I became close with a girl in my class—my first best friend in that new environment. We did everything together. I could tell she liked me. Did I like her too? I told myself I did… but I wasn’t sure. Was I just trying to fit in with what I saw online? Was I trying to follow a trend?
She also introduced me to the concept of self-harm. She said it was a way to cope. But I couldn’t believe that—hurting yourself as a way to feel better? It didn’t feel right.
Until something else happened.
One day, a man talked about me—about my body—right in front of me. It was suggestive. Gross. I didn’t know how to react. I felt sick. Disgusted. Scared. I don’t even know what emotion it really was. But I felt violated.
And it didn’t just happen once. It happened multiple times. Each time, I wanted to shrink away and disappear. I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone about it because the topic was too taboo. I felt stuck, ashamed, terrified. I started to hurt myself. I cried myself to sleep. I isolated myself even more—not because I hated people, but because I hated the way they looked at me.
No, not me—my body.
Early Teens
This is when I felt the most depressed.
The more my body developed, the more comments I got. I was afraid. So I cut my hair. And for the first time in years, I felt safe again. People stopped looking at me "that" way. I felt like I could breathe. But people also started treating me like an outsider. They looked at me weird. I didn’t care at first—but then it started to hurt.
I began questioning my identity more seriously. I liked how I looked when I dressed like a boy. But was it a defense mechanism? Or was it who I really was?
For three years, I didn’t know who I was. Was I a girl? A boy? Something else? I hated being seen as a woman. I still do. It feels like a label forced onto me, one that comes with pain and expectation.
Teen Years
Eventually, I went on my first date. I started growing my hair out again, dressing more femininely. I felt like I was reclaiming something—like I was slowly becoming stronger, safer.
But then the world reminded me how fragile that safety was.
The guy I went out with made comments—sexual ones. Right away. I wanted to disappear. Why is it so important to some men to talk about sex? Why is that the first thing they see in a girl?
Why did it have to be me?
I went home and sat in the shower, crying. I cried because I felt powerless again. I cried because I just wanted to go back—to when life was simple, when I didn’t have to think about things like this.
I cried again when I realized I was growing up.
More was expected of me now. More responsibility. More pain. If this is what growing up means—finding a man, getting married, having children—then maybe I don’t want it. Maybe I just want to be happy.
Does that make me lazy? Or… am I just still growing?
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