Congratulations, Class of 2025: Katherine Pierce’s Commencement Speech

Hello, Class of 2025.

I’m Katherine Pierce.

Yes, that Katherine Pierce. And before anyone starts whispering—yes, I’ve done a few questionable things in my time. But let’s not pretend any of you haven’t skipped a few classes, broken a few hearts, or bent the truth to get what you wanted.

Congratulations. You’re officially human.

You’re also officially… done with high school.

So. Now what?

Some of you are off to college. Some of you are starting jobs. Some of you are still figuring it out. Good. Stay figuring it out. People who think they’ve got everything planned are the easiest to destroy—I mean, surprise.

Here’s what they don’t tell you during those saccharine speeches with slow piano music and metaphors about wings: the world doesn’t hand you anything. You take it. You charm it. You outlast it. And when it tells you no? You smile—and find another way in.

Take it from a girl who’s lived several lives and worn more disguises than I can count: the power doesn’t come from who people think you are. It comes from knowing who you really are—and using it.

And here you are—smiling for photos, sweating in polyester, trying not to cry in front of people you secretly wanted to destroy at least once. It’s beautiful, really.

You’ve been told this is an ending. A farewell to lockers and hall passes and childhood.

But let me tell you a secret: nothing really ends. Not the way you think.

This isn’t the beginning of your life. You’ve already lived through the hard parts—the heartbreaks, the betrayals, the nights you didn’t think you’d survive. And you made it through.

So no, this isn’t a beginning.

It’s a becoming.

People don’t just wake up new. Change doesn’t come with a tassel turn or a diploma. It comes when something breaks—and you decide what to do with the pieces.

I’ve asked myself that question—now what?—a thousand times. After wars. After betrayal. After the kind of heartbreak you crawl away from. And still… I answered.

That’s the trick. Not being fearless—but choosing to keep going anyway. Chin lifted. Heart guarded. But never closed.

They’ll try to make you choose—who you are or who you should be. Comfort or risk. Safety or fire.

But unforgettable people? They don’t pick. They become.

They become someone who can love without losing themselves. Who can be both gentle and brutal. Who refuses to disappear just to make others more comfortable.

So here’s how you start:

1. Protect your attention.
   The world will sell you distractions dressed up as dreams. Likes instead of love. Busy instead of bold. Don’t fall for it.

2. Be present.
   Stop waiting for a big break or perfect moment. This is the moment. The choices you’re making right now, the people you love, the thoughts you let repeat—those are building your future in real time.

3. You are your thoughts.
   Not your grades. Not your followers. Not who your parents hoped you’d be. What you focus on, you feed. So focus on what makes you sharper. Stronger. Freer.

4. Stay curious.
   Even about the things that hurt. Especially about the things that hurt. Pain makes excellent fuel—if you let it.

5. Stay kind.
   Not agreeable. Not silent. Kind. The kind that sets boundaries, tells the truth, and leaves when it needs to. You are not required to set yourself on fire to keep anyone else warm.

6. Do it with a smirk.

   And when the time comes—and it will—to start over, to pivot, to burn the old version of yourself to the ground? Do it with a smirk. Because the strongest people you’ll ever meet are the ones who’ve had to reimagine themselves more than once. And still chose to care. Still chose to fight. Still chose to love.

So go. Make mistakes. Fall wildly in love with the wrong people. Change cities. Change names. Break your own heart. Then rebuild it—stronger, sharper, stitched together with your own damn hands.

Let me give you something no guidance counselor ever will:

You don’t need a five-year plan.

You need a spine. A soul. A little audacity.

And this truth:

You are not here to be chosen.
Not by a college.
Not by a job.
Not by someone who only loves you on their terms.

You choose you. Over and over, as many times as it takes.

Even when it’s lonely. Even when it’s hard. Even when the world says you’re too much.

Especially then.

Because the second you start waiting for someone else to decide your worth? You’ve already lost.

And speaking of losing—you will.

You’ll lose people. Dreams. Versions of yourself you thought were permanent.

But that’s not failure.

That’s evolution.

You don’t become unforgettable by clinging to what no longer fits. You become unforgettable by letting go—and walking forward like it was the plan all along.

Congratulations, Class of 2025.

Whatever comes next—meet it head-on. On your terms. It’s not the end. It’s not the beginning. It’s the becoming.

With all my wicked little heart,
Katherine Pierce