Two years ago, I came to the U.S. to get into a good college, but things quickly grew more complicated than that. I struggled at my new school, but beyond the language barriers, culture differences, tests, exclusions, daily expenses, and all the other things every other international student faces, the biggest challenge I faced was my host family. 

Conflict between me and my host mom started with little things: her condescending tone, unfriendly comments about my food, and her racist jokes. I tried not to take these things seriously. I thought avoiding conflict was the best way to prevent my life from becoming a bigger mess, so I just apologized when she yelled at me for “running up the water bill” because I “drank too much water.” I accepted it when, despite our contract stipulating that she would provide transportation, she made me Uber to school. For months, I maintained that I could bear with it and keep living with her as long as things were not so bad as to exceed my breaking point.

 One evening, my parents called me while I was making myself a pot of chicken soup. I didn’t tell them about my host mom. Instead, I told them about my chicken soup and bragged about my cooking skills. When we finally hung up, I stared at the pot of soup: it was actually awful, as if it was just a chicken’s bathwater. 

Something had changed about me. I had started to hide things from my parents and became more depressed than before. When my host mom accused me of stealing from her, saying, “You have an ugly heart,” and “You are a spoiled kid.” I really thought it wouldn’t affect me that much, but inside, it freaked me out. When I found out that she had been talking about me behind my back to my friends and teachers, that was my breaking point. 

I sought help from faculties at school, and hope rose in me again when one of my teachers offered to be my host family. It wasn’t easy to arrange for my teacher to be my new host family while I secretly packed up, but I managed to coordinate everything with the company. I realized my previous tolerance of my host mom might be the fear of change. I only told my old host mom after everything, including the new contract, was ready, and this time, she didn’t have any power over me anymore. With my new host family, I found peace and warmth, and finally, I relaxed. Without having to worry about my living environment, it became so much easier to make friends and focus on school. 

I had told myself that I wouldn’t make any changes until the situation got to a point that I couldn’t endure – but now I see that was an avoidable misery. I was scared to speak up and fight for myself because I was scared of moving into the same situation somewhere else or that it might make my life even worse. 

It requires great courage to make changes, and I was scared. 

Moving into a new environment, however, did bring beauty and hope back into my life. It was an important moment of growth for me. Although moving and finding another host family during the middle of the school year was a lot of work, trapping myself in an unpleasant position was never the solution. I have finally realized that all this time, the power of choosing my own situation is always in my hands. Growing up doesn’t just mean maturing physically and mentally, and independence is more than being able to live alone. To me, growing up was about finding the power to proactively make changes in my life, and learning to make decisions that are right for me. It was the right decision.