I was emancipated at 15. I went to school and had a full-time

When Rosa Salazar declared: “I was emancipated at 15. I went to school and had a full-time job and apartment, and ever since, I’ve been on my own, parenting myself,” she revealed a truth as ancient as it is raw — that not all who walk the earth are guided by the steady hands of elders. Some must forge their path alone, shaping themselves with the fire of necessity rather than the comfort of nurture. To parent oneself is both a burden and a triumph, for it is to carry the weight of youth and adulthood at once, a double yoke borne upon young shoulders.

In every age, there have been those cast too early into the wilderness of independence. Some by circumstance, some by injustice, some by choice when the home no longer held safety. Salazar’s words spring from the modern practice of emancipation, a legal severing of ties that grants freedom but demands responsibility. To be emancipated at 15 is to be thrust into the storm while others your age still dwell under the shelter of their parents’ roofs. It is to learn to cook, to work, to pay, to endure, while still trying to hold fast to the dreams and lessons of school.

History offers us many examples of those who, like Salazar, parented themselves. Think of Frederick Douglass, who as a boy escaped slavery with no parent to guide him, teaching himself to read, to work, to speak with power, until he rose to lead others toward freedom. Or recall the young Joan of Arc, who, in her teenage years, claimed the voice of God and marched into battle as if both warrior and guardian of her own destiny. These lives, though born in different times, share with Salazar the mark of those who had no one to raise them — so they raised themselves, and in so doing, became stronger than any expected.

The essence of her quote lies in the recognition that self-parenting is a profound act of resilience. It is not only about paying bills or attending school; it is about cultivating inner discipline, whispering encouragement to oneself in moments of despair, and setting boundaries without the wisdom of elders to enforce them. To parent oneself is to be both the child who longs for care and the parent who must give it, a split of soul that demands immense strength.

Yet let us not mistake this resilience for ease. To walk this path is also to carry wounds — the ache of loneliness, the yearning for guidance, the absence of unconditional protection. Those who raise themselves often become fiercely independent, yet secretly carry the scars of what was denied. Salazar’s testimony is thus not only heroic but also deeply human: it acknowledges the cost of survival as much as its victory.

The lesson for us, O listeners, is this: never take for granted the gift of guidance, nor judge too quickly those who must stand alone. If you are a parent, remember that your presence and care may spare your child from battles they should not yet face. If you are one who has had to parent yourself, hold your head high, for you have walked a path few could endure. But also, seek healing in community, in friendship, and in love, so that the child within you is not forever left alone.

Practical actions spring forth: offer mentorship to those who lack guidance; be willing to extend compassion to the young who carry the burdens of the old. For those who walk the path of self-parenting, create rituals of self-care — speak to yourself as a loving parent would, honor your achievements, and forgive your missteps. In this way, you heal not only yourself, but also generations to come.

So let Rosa Salazar’s words echo across time: to parent oneself is a rare and grueling path, yet one that can forge strength like tempered steel. Carry this truth forward: though the world may strip away the safety of childhood, the human spirit has within it the power to rise, to endure, and to guide itself toward the light. And when you see another walking that lonely road, do not turn away — for your kindness may be the parent they have longed for all along.