Hold onto your superpowers
My commencement address to Miami Dade and to all of you
I gave the commencement address at Miami Dade College this weekend, and I wanted to share a version of that speech here. Because this wasn’t just a speech for graduates. It was a message for this moment, for all of us.
Right now, people are trying to undo what makes America exceptional: our democracy. Our economic opportunity. Our diversity in culture, ethnicity, and language.
More and more people are feeling the pressure to conform. To stay quiet. To hide what makes them different. When it can feel easier—or safer—to blend in. To act like everyone else. To fall in line.
Maybe you’ve felt that. I know I have.
This is a reminder that your differences aren’t something to downplay.
They are your superpowers. Hold onto them.
You might not be graduating this spring—but I hope you read this with the heart and spirit of someone who is.
Someone still full of hope. Still idealistic. Still ready to build something better.
Congratulations, graduates.
Like many of you, I’m the proud child of immigrants—the first in my family to graduate from college in the United States.
My parents were political refugees from Uganda. They left everything behind—hiding my mother’s wedding jewelry in toothpaste tubes to get through police checkpoints—and landed in America with little more than hope and each other.
They arrived in the middle of a Chicago winter, wearing shorts and T-shirts. They Americanized their names—Mike and Meena—to find jobs. And a few years later, they had me: Reshma.
Growing up, I hated my name. I wanted to be Elizabeth, Jessica—anything but Reshma, a brown girl in a white town.
There’s a memory that stays with me. I was standing in front of a keychain rack at Kmart, spinning it around and around, searching for my name. I never found it.
In Schaumburg, Illinois, it felt like girls like me didn’t exist.
I spent years trying to blend in—until one day, I decided to stop. I started a diversity club. I found my people—the ones without keychains.
And slowly, I began to see that being different wasn’t a liability.
It was my superpower.
That superpower took me further than I ever imagined.
It gave me the courage to run for Congress as the first Indian-American woman in my district—though I didn’t win, I was the first to try.
It gave me the vision to found Girls Who Code when I looked around a computer science classroom and thought: Where are all the girls?
It gave me the conviction to launch Moms First, fighting for child care and paid leave when too many mothers were being pushed out of the workforce.
My work helped me see that my parents had given me a new lens to look at the world—and the grit, ambition, and audacity to navigate it.
They gave me a life I didn’t know I wanted, and a name I didn’t know I needed.
Who the hell cared if it wasn’t on a keychain?
Being Reshma was my superpower.
Being a brown girl was my superpower.
Being the child of immigrants was my superpower.
It hasn’t always been easy. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you, either. Maybe, in certain moments, you wondered how you’d make it.
But here you are.
I hope that today, you see how those experiences made you stronger. Better prepared. Ready to take on anything.
No one can take away your superpowers.
But people will try.
Today, I’m starting to feel the same pressures as when I was younger.
That things might be easier if I was Rachel or Rose. If I looked like everyone else. If I acted like everyone else. If I fell in line.
Some of you might feel that way, too.
Like maybe the world doesn’t want to hear from you. That it would be easier if you blended in. If you could fit your name on a keychain.
I don’t need to tell you about what kind of world you’re graduating into. You can see it yourselves:
Right now, people are trying to undo what makes America exceptional: Our democracy. Our economic opportunity. Our diversity in culture, ethnicity, and language.
The world may tell you that your experiences somehow don’t count—or, worse, that they count against you. That you shouldn’t be proud of where you come from, or how long it took you to get here, or what your name is, or who gave it to you.
I’m here to tell you that that’s a lie.
Excellence requires difference. People with different experiences, backgrounds, and origin stories.
You represent meritocracy… diversity… the ability to come together, learn, and transform your life.
When people think of what makes America great, they should think of you.
Because we are in a moment that needs more of you. A moment that demands people who are willing to be different, who bring unique perspectives to the table, who can see who’s in the room—and most importantly, who isn’t.
You are exactly what the world needs.
Because the real American dream looks like all of you.
Congratulations, graduates.
While you’re here…
In my latest episode of My So Called Midlife, I talk to the incredible Dr. Becky about why midlife is a learning space — and how reclaiming our needs, setting boundaries, and tolerating frustration can transform not just our parenting, but our whole lives.
Moms First hosted a breakfast this week with Tech:NYC to bring together women in AI. We did it to build real community. Because AI isn’t going anywhere, and women deserve to be at the center of shaping what comes next. Also—someone at the event had the best curls I’ve seen in a while. Obviously, I asked for her routine. Here’s the link.
Thank you,
Reshma