09/19/2026
PART III β BECOMING A NEW PERSON
Immigration. Identity. Transformation.
Chapter 19 β Learning to Speak
There was a time when simply walking up to a stranger and saying,
βHi. You have a beautiful smile.β
felt almost impossible to me.
Today, that sounds funny.
Now I can start a conversation with someone in a store, on an airplane, on the street, or while waiting in line for coffee. I can be the first to reach out my hand, smile, and offer a sincere compliment. I can ask someone how they are doingβand genuinely want to hear the answer.
People who know me today would probably never believe the person I once was.
Closed off.
Shy.
Insecure.
A girl who could have hundreds of thoughts running through her mind but struggle to find the courage to say even one of them out loud.
I was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Afraid of being misunderstood.
Afraid of looking foolish.
Sometimes it seemed safer to say nothing at all than to risk being rejected.
Silence became my armor.
Behind it, I felt safer.
But it is difficult to truly live while wearing armor.
βΈ»
The Girl Who Learned to Hide
I grew up in Ukraine during a time when people were not often taught to talk openly about their feelings.
Especially children.
We learned to be strong. We learned to adapt. We learned not to complain.
The Ukraine of my childhood and youth was itself learning how to live differently. The Soviet Union was already gone, but its shadow remained for many yearsβin peopleβs habits, fears, ways of thinking, in the way children were raised, and even in the way people saw themselves.
By the early 2000s, the country was changing before our eyes.
More Western products appeared in stores. People began traveling more. Some left to work abroad. Others returned from Poland, Italy, or America with completely different ideas about what life could be.
It felt as though the world was opening its doors.
Yet inside many of us, the old rules remained:
Donβt stand out.
Donβt talk too much.
Donβt draw attention to yourself.
What will people say?
For a child, those words can become an invisible cage.
Especially when you are already sensitive.
Especially when you have already experienced pain.
I learned early that a person can smile on the outside while carrying something inside that no one else can see.
After losing my older brother, it felt as though a permanent silence settled somewhere inside me.
There is a kind of pain that cannot be explained with words.
You simply carry it.
You wake up in the morning.
You go to school.
You talk.
You eat.
You laugh when you are supposed to laugh.
You keep living.
But somewhere deep inside you is a room whose door you never open for anyone.
My brother lived in that room.
And with him lived so many unanswered questions.
Why?
Why him?
Why so young?
Why can an entire life change in a single second?
Perhaps that was when I began hiding even more deeply inside myself.
Back then, I did not know the word βtrauma.β
I did not understand that pain could shape a personβs character.
I did not understand that the fear of losing someone could make you unconsciously keep others at a distance.
I knew only one thing:
Opening myself to people was difficult.
βΈ»
Then My Life Became Another Language
Immigration changes more than your address.
It changes you.
You leave a country where you understand the tone of someoneβs voice, the jokes, the looks, the unspoken meanings. You know how to behave. Even silence has a familiar meaning.
Then suddenly, you find yourself in a world where everything must be learned again.
Not only the words.
The gestures.
The way people communicate.
The humor.
The social rules.
Even the way strangers smile at one another.
In America, I was surprised by how easily complete strangers could begin a conversation.
βHow are you?β
βHave a nice day!β
βI love your dress!β
At first, I didnβt understand it.
Why would a stranger tell me she liked my dress?
Why was a cashier asking how I was doing?
Why would someone simply smile at me on the street?
It was unfamiliar.
So I watched.
I listened.
I learned.
But inside me still lived the same girl who was afraid to make the first move.
And now, on top of my old shyness, there was another challenge:
language.
I was no longer only afraid of saying the wrong thing.
I was afraid of saying it in the wrong English.
That doubled the fear.
I could form an entire sentence in my head.
Then check it.
Then rethink it.
And while I was still thinking, the moment would pass.
The person would walk away.
The conversation would end.
And I would be left holding all the words I had never said.
How many opportunities do we lose not because we are incapable, but because we are afraid of appearing imperfect?
I lost many moments that way.
Until one day, I realized:
If I wait until I am no longer afraid, I may remain silent for the rest of my life.
βΈ»
One Small Step
My transformation did not happen overnight.
There was no morning when I suddenly woke up as a different person.
There was no magical book.
There was no single conversation after which all my insecurities disappeared.
There were simply many small steps.
Sometimes they were so small that no one noticed them except me.
For example, speaking first.
To some people, that means nothing.
For me, it once felt like a victory.
I remember the feeling.
You see a stranger.
Immediately, your mind begins:
Donβt.
Why would you?
What if they look at you strangely?
What if you say something wrong?
And then another voice whispers:
Just say it.
So I did.
βI love your bag.β
Or:
βYou have beautiful hair.β
Or simply:
βHello.β
And do you know what happened?
Nothing terrible.
The person smiled.
βThank you!β
Sometimes they complimented me back.
Sometimes a short conversation followed.
The world did not collapse.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody said:
βYouβre not good enough to talk to me.β
And with every small conversation, another brick fell from the wall I had spent years building around myself.
I began to understand something incredibly simple:
Most people want to be seen, too.
They want a kind word.
They have insecurities.
They fear rejection.
They go home and think about their mistakes.
They look in the mirror sometimes and dislike what they see.
We are all far more alike than we realize.
βΈ»
The Hardest Conversation Was With Myself
Learning to talk to other people was only the surface.
The real work went much deeper.
I had to ask myself:
Why am I so afraid?
Why does the opinion of other people matter so much to me?
Why does rejection hurt so badly?
Why can one critical comment erase ten compliments in my mind?
And slowly, the old wounds began to reveal themselves.
Insecurities.
Fears.
Pain.
Loss.
Everything we so often try to bury beneath work, family, responsibilities, and the noise of everyday life.
You can move to another continent.
You can change countries.
You can change careers.
You can change your hair, your clothes, your home, and the people around you.
But you cannot run away from yourself.
Inside an immigrantβs suitcase, we pack much more than clothing.
We bring our childhood.
Our fears.
Our disappointments.
Our dreams.
Our wounds.
The people we have lost.
The words we never had the courage to say.
I brought all of those things with me to America.
And eventually, I understood that if I wanted to build a new life, changing my circumstances would not be enough.
I would have to change myself.
βΈ»
I Wanted to Give Up Many Times
Personal growth looks beautiful in inspirational quotes.
βBelieve in yourself.β
βStep outside your comfort zone.β
βBecome the best version of yourself.β
But real transformation is rarely beautiful while it is happening.
It can hurt.
Because becoming someone new often requires looking honestly at the person you used to be.
At your mistakes.
At your wrong decisions.
At your insecurities.
At the places where you allowed other people to determine your worth.
At all the years you spent afraid.
There were moments when I thought:
Why am I doing this?
Why not simply accept that this is who I am?
Maybe Iβm just not a social person.
Maybe I was born this way.
But somewhere deep inside, I knew:
No.
This was not who I was.
Fear was not my personality.
Shame was not my personality.
Pain was not my personality.
Those were things that had happened to me.
But they did not have to determine who I would become.
That realization changed everything.
βΈ»
Finding My Voice
Over the years, something remarkable happened.
I stopped forcing myself to be open.
I actually became open.
I stopped forcing myself to smile.
The smile became natural.
I stopped analyzing every word.
I simply began to speak.
Today, I can easily approach someone I donβt know.
I can offer a compliment.
I can ask a question.
I can laugh at myself.
I can say:
βI donβt know.β
Or:
βI was wrong.β
Or:
βI need help.β
Or even:
βIβm hurting.β
Perhaps that is what real freedom is.
Not when you stop having weaknesses.
But when you stop being ashamed of them.
People sometimes meet me today and assume I have always been this way.
Positive.
Emotional.
Open.
It is true that sadness rarely shows on my face.
But my smile does not mean that my life has been without pain.
Quite the opposite.
Perhaps I value joy so deeply because I know what its absence feels like.
I know the value of one kind word.
I know what it feels like to be lonely in a room full of people.
I know what it is like to want to speak and not have the courage.
That is why today, when I notice someone standing apart from everyone elseβquiet, uncomfortable, unsure how to enter the conversationβI see them.
Because once, I was them.
Sometimes I am the one who walks over first.
βHi.β
And I can see the relief in their eyes.
For one person, it may be only a word.
But for another, it can mean:
I see you.
βΈ»
What Was Once My Weakness Became My Strength
Today, I help people who struggle to communicate with others.
Sometimes I look at them and recognize myself.
I want to say:
I know.
I know what it feels like when your heart starts beating faster.
I know what it is like to rehearse a sentence in your mind.
I know what it is like to believe everyone will notice your mistake.
I know what it is like to wish you could disappear.
But I also know something else.
You can come out of that place.
Not in a day.
Maybe not even in a year.
But step by step, a person can rewrite their own story.
And perhaps our greatest weaknesses can one day become the very places from which we are able to help others.
Someone who has never been afraid to speak might say:
βJust go over there and talk to them.β
But someone who once stood in the corner unable to say a word will say:
βI know why youβre afraid. Letβs take one small step.β
There is an enormous difference between the two.
Pain can make us hard.
Or it can make us compassionate.
I chose the second.
βΈ»
What Would He Think of Me Now?
Sometimes I think about my older brother.
I wonder what he would think if he could see me today.
Not the girl he remembered.
But the woman I became.
A woman who crossed an ocean.
Who started her life again.
Who fell.
Cried.
Feared.
Made mistakes.
And then stood back up.
A woman who learned to speak another language.
But more importantly, a woman who learned to speak in her own voice.
Sometimes I imagine him standing somewhere nearby.
Watching me.
Maybe smiling a little.
And I want so badly to believe he would say:
βIβm proud of you.β
I cannot hear those words.
But sometimes they seem to live somewhere inside me.
And then I think about the quiet, closed-off girl I once was.
I no longer want to criticize her.
I want to embrace her.
And tell her:
You are not weak.
You simply donβt know yet how much strength is inside you.
One day, you will speak.
One day, people will listen.
One day, your pain will no longer be a wall between you and the world. It will become a bridge connecting you to other people.
Perhaps that was my true transformation.
I thought I needed to learn how to speak English correctly.
Life was actually teaching me something much greater.
It was teaching me not to be afraid of being heard.
America gave me a new language.
Pain gave me depth.
People gave me lessons.
Faith gave me the strength to keep going.
And little by little, life gave me back my voice.
And when I finally learned to speak, something happened that I never expected.
I realized that my voice was not meant only for me.
Perhaps it had been given to me so that one day, I could help someone else find theirs.
But at the time, I had no idea just how far that voice would take me.
