Growing up, in itself, is not an abrupt affair

Filled with pomp and circumstance.

It does not stun one into silence

Or leave one with ringing ears

And a sense of weightlessness,

As if the world has dropped out from under them.

That is not what it is to grow up -- that part comes later;

That part will come when they look back

And truly realize that they have grown up already.

For me, growing up was a night spent worrying

Which turned into a year’s worth of nights,

Which soon turned into myriad secrets so looming

That the darkness could no longer contain them.

Growing up was an “I’m sorry”

To a person who never said it back

And an “I forgive you”

To someone who had caused me more pain

Than they would ever know;

Growing up was a conversation

On a long car ride,

Telling my parents that their little girl felt more like a boy

And begging them to remember

That I was still the same person

And hoping that they would love me

As they did before.

Growing up was learning to say goodbye to someone

Whom I had thought would be with me

Forever -- whenever, wherever;

It was remembering the nights spent

Staying up until 3 AM

Laughing until we cried;

It was knowing that that would never happen again

And being able to say,

“That’s okay. I’m okay.”

Growing up is not a sudden rush

Or a pivotal moment.

It is no single word or action,

No one minute or day to look back on.

Growing up comes in fragments.

Growing up comes in decisions both great and small

(Though mostly small, mostly the ones

That nobody else will remember).

Growing up comes in

“I’m sorry” and

“I forgive you” and

“I’m still me” and

“I’m okay.”

Growing up is,

Proudly, wholly, and unashamedly

To be.