𝗩𝗶𝗮 𝗞𝗮𝗿𝗹 𝗔𝗮𝗿𝗼𝗻 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘇
They said when you turn 18,
everything changes.
Like the world would greet you with open arms,
like responsibilities would finally feel empowering,
like you’d wake up with a roadmap, a vision, a fire in your chest.
They said 18 is when you stop asking questions
and start giving answers.
When you stop dreaming small
and start chasing big.
When the world becomes yours —
your time, your turn, your story.
But they never told me
that 18 could feel like standing in a crowded room
and still wondering where you’re supposed to be.
Like you’ve grown out of yesterday
but haven’t quite arrived at tomorrow.
Like holding your breath,
waiting for something to feel different —
only to find
you're still you.
Same fears.
Same silence.
Same skin you haven’t fully grown into yet.
I thought 18 would feel different.
Like fireworks or freedom.
Like walking into the world
with a key around my neck and a voice that finally matters.
But 18 feels like
waking up late and pretending you’re not tired.
Like laughing with friends
while silently wondering if they still like you
or just got used to you.
They said 18 is grown-up.
But my hands still shake filling out forms.
I still Google things like
“how to file taxes”
and
“what to do when you feel lost at 2AM.”
Eighteen is not what I expected.
I thought it was the mountaintop.
Turns out, it’s just the beginning of a steeper climb.
It’s realizing
that some friends were only there because of the same room,
same schedule, same lunch break —
and when those go,
so do they.
It’s hearing “you’re an adult now”
and still asking for permission inside your own head.
It’s saying “I’m okay”
with a smile your childhood self wouldn’t recognize.
It’s carrying dreams that used to fly,
but now feel heavy with reality.
They don’t tell you that 18
is just 17 with more responsibilities,
more pressure,
more quiet goodbyes,
and fewer people who stay.
But I’m still here.
Learning.
Falling apart sometimes —
but piecing myself back together.
Because maybe 18
isn’t fireworks.
Maybe it’s flint and stone.
Small sparks,
quiet ones,
but real.
Maybe 18 is not about feeling different —
maybe it’s about becoming different.
One honest choice at a time.
One broken expectation at a time.
One soft, stubborn hope
that even if today is confusing,
I’ll still find a way through tomorrow.
