Wherever I Go, I Grow: An Essay By a Military Child

By Allie B., Age 14

Being a military child means a lot of things.

Being a military child means missing someone before you even leave.

Being a military child means making friends fast because you don’t know how long you’ll get to keep them.

Being a military child means being resilient before you even learn what the word means.

But being a military child also means being proud.

My dad serves his country. He wears a uniform that means something bigger than any one person. And even though it means frequently packing up everything we’ve gotten used to, I’m proud of him. I’m proud of the sacrifices he makes, and I’m proud of the ones we make too, even if no one sees them.

People say, “Well, you must be used to it by now.” But how do you get used to leaving family behind?

Strength is something military kids like me learn early. It’s not the kind of public strength people cheer for, but the kind that’s hidden. The kind that shows up when you sit by yourself in groups. The kind that tells you it’s okay, even when you’re saying goodbye to friends who feel like family. The kind that gives you the strength to pack up your room even though you just finished unpacking it.

Last year, I moved to a different country for the first time—Australia. I remember stepping off the plane feeling unsure of how different everything would be. Because we were only there for a year, I told myself not to get attached. To keep friends at an arm’s length so it wouldn’t hurt as much when we moved again. But Australia surprised me—I loved it more than I ever expected. The people, the wildlife, the way the sky looked at sunset—it was all so welcoming.

I made friends who felt like they’d been in my life forever. The kind of friends you laugh with until your stomach hurts. I met so many different people and learned so many new things, and I definitely didn’t expect it.

So I’m glad I got to come here, even though we’re already moving again. I’m glad I let myself make friends like them, I’m really blessed.

And even though I’ve moved countless times over the years, some of my friendships have stayed. It may not mean that they’re by my side physically, but they’re there. No matter how many moves, no matter the time zones—we still talk. We still check in. We visit each other. We still care. That bond means more to me than I could ever explain. It reminds me that not everything gets left behind. Friendships can survive the distance. Friends and family stay, even when everything else changes.

Being a military child means living a life most people don’t understand. It means carrying pride and bittersweet memories at the same time. It means being strong, even when you feel anything but. But most importantly, it means learning to grow without roots, to bloom wherever you land.

It’s not easy, but it has made me who I am—someone who can still walk into a room full of strangers and find my place. Someone who can start over and over again and still accept new beginnings with open arms.

And maybe that’s the real gift hidden inside all the hard parts: I’ve learned that no matter where I go, I have support that encourages me to stay strong. Wherever you go, you will grow.

This piece is part of the 2026 USO Military Kids Creative Showcase. Curious to learn more about military kids’ experiences? Check out other pieces of art and writing here!