In fourth grade, I moved to a new town, a predominantly white community where I quickly realized I was different. At first, I thought the feeling would pass, that I just needed time to adjust, but it wasn’t just in my head. The stares, the whispers, and the uncomfortable silences when I walked into a room all told me that I wasn’t just imagining things. It was in this town, at this age, that I first experienced racism in a way that I couldn’t ignore.
I, a biracial woman, became the target of racial bullying. Sometimes, it was direct, cruel words thrown at me without hesitation. Other times, it was more subtle—the way kids excluded me from games, never asked me to go to the school dances, or looked over at me when we discussed racism in school. It made me feel isolated, like no matter how hard I tried to fit in, I would never fully belong. I carried that weight with me, letting it seep into my self-worth.
The bullying fueled my anxiety and depression. I began doubting myself, not just in social situations but in every aspect of my life. I was hesitant to raise my hand in class, afraid of drawing attention to myself. I avoided social situations where I might be the odd one out. I convinced myself that it was easier to stay quiet, easier to blend in, easier to not try at all than to risk failing in front of people who already saw me as different.
For years, I let those experiences define me. I believed that if others saw me as less than, maybe I was. I convinced myself that I wasn’t smart enough to take challenging classes, not outgoing enough to make friends easily, not strong enough to push past the weight of my own insecurities.
But at some point, something changed. I realized that empowerment isn’t about waiting for others to see your worth—it’s about seeing it in yourself. I had spent so much time believing in the negativity that had been thrown at me that I never stopped to recognize my own strength. Slowly, I started to push back against the voice in my head telling me I wasn’t enough. I reminded myself that the people who tried to tear me down didn’t define me and that I had the power to take control of my own story.
When I embraced that mindset, everything began to change. I started challenging myself academically, signing up for harder classes despite my fears. I put myself out there socially, making connections with people who valued me for who I was. I found my voice, speaking up instead of shrinking back. The anxiety and depression didn’t magically disappear, but I refused to let them dictate my choices anymore. I refused to let fear keep me from becoming the person I knew I could be.
Empowerment, for me, means rising above the limitations others try to place on me. It means recognizing that my identity, my voice, and my experiences are valid and important. It means knowing that I deserve to take up space in any room I walk into, without apology or hesitation.
Now, when I look back at the girl who was too afraid to stand tall, I want to tell her that she is enough. She is powerful. And no one—no words, no stares, and no hate—can take that away from her.
Because I am still that girl, but now, I stand tall.