When I told my math teacher where I was from, she said, “I am so sorry you moved here.”

I distinctly remember the downpour of rain on my first day at Bryant.  Alone in a new state, I remember feeling left out as I saw various groups of my peers stand together, already friends.

Not needing new ones.

I looked down as I felt tears at the corners of my eyes. My throat constricted and I knew my face was bright red from embarrassment. In that moment, I knew it was going to be a rough school year.

I grew up in Joliet, Ill., a suburb one hour south of Chicago. In seventh grade, my parents got a divorce, and in the summer before my ninth grade year, my mother remarried, altering the course of my life.

When I tell people where I’m from, they say, “Wow, that must have been  a culture shock!”

Yes, it was, but I pushed past it, and I never judge someone by where they’re from or how they speak.

This is what I was: a person who felt alone and judged all the time. A person who felt so insecure about herself that I couldn’t imagine talking about my true feelings to people.

When I talked to people, they would make me repeat things and say things to amuse them. I began to feel like a joke, not a person. What happened to the rumor of southern kindness?

Now that some time has passed, I’m no longer as shy. I began to laugh at things again,to be myself and to open up.

I had the mindset that I’d only be down here for a year. Before, I didn’t try to make friends, but now friends come to me.

My situation can be compared to the life cycle of a butterfly. The caterpillar is a meek little worm trying to make its way through life, being blown in the wind, just trying to make it to the next tree. After she makes a cocoon and after healing, she blossoms into a beautiful butterfly. She’s no longer worried about the trials of the world, but is able to fly through them head on into a whole new mindset–not caring about what others might think of her wings, but how she grew them.