Please Don't Tell Me I'm Not Broken

Please Don't Tell Me I'm Not Broken

I was broken by a lack of healthy attachment and inherited relational trauma and an unhealthy blended family situation that forever-changed the make up of my heart.

I learned that love looks like a thing love doesn’t actually look like. I will never be who I could have been if things had been different.

That doesn’t make my life a waste or make me unworthy of good things.

It doesn’t mean I have to hate the people who broke me (though I used to, and if you hate someone right now that’s okay.)

But it also doesn’t mean I need to pretend my emotions weren’t dropped on the floor a thousand times and walked on and accidentally kicked around and into corners.

I was broken. Telling people like me — and maybe like you - that we’re not is denying a major part of who we are. It slows our healing because it adds a layer of needing to process the shame we feel for feeling broken when everyone tells us that, actually, we’re not.

I’m broken.

I’m still putting my pieces back together.

And that’s okay.